To Kill the Potemkin

28

Federov gazed through binoculars at the four thin vertical lines that poked out of the sea a half mile away — radar and radio antennae and two periscopes. He still had no positive identification but he felt certain it was Barracuda—who had a better motive? And of course by now they must have deduced or established that Potemkin had not sunk. Once more he realized what a self-serving game it was to assume the Americans were stupid or easily fooled. The acoustical device may have bought them time. The apparatchik had brought them a crisis.

He had outrun Barracuda, outdived it, out maneuvered it, but he had not escaped it. They were good, damn them. The very stealth of the American submarine disturbed him. No, this was no chance encounter; the Americans had tracked him — precisely how, he wasn't certain, though a likely possibility was that they had managed to lay down a bottom sonar system, as rumor had had it. He also realized with a chill that the American sub could have sunk him. But they had observed him, and more… He had no doubt that the American commander was taking his picture, and he could not allow that film to be delivered to the Pentagon. His orders, which had always seemed to leave him too little room for discretion, even if he realized the reason for them, had been delivered in person by Gorshkov the day Potemkin had sailed — under no circumstances was he to permit discovery of this top-secret, most advanced submarine. Well, he had been discovered. Now he had to take the action necessary to offset the damage of that discovery.

But first he must do what he could to drive off Barracuda to make possible Dherzinski's escape, then using Potemkin's depth and speed, try to recover his advantage. Both sides knew the rules, the FBMs of both navies were supposed to be untouchable. Yet now both sides had violated that unspoken understanding. His side had by dispatching Dherzinski from its hidden station to save his ship and its wounded, and the Americans had by persisting in tailing the FBM and even, no doubt, photographing it just as they had Potemkin. He had wondered when he sent his message to Gorshkov describing his condition whether the admiral would risk exposure and identification of Dherzinski to save Potemkin. He was glad he had, but wondered what he would have done in Gorshkov's place…

All of which was at best a momentary diversion from the action he knew he must take. Barracuda must be silenced. He would make a threatening gesture, then submerge… to attack from the surface would give the American an opportunity to shoot back, and possibly destroy the Potemkin… And the destruction of the Potemkin must not be allowed, it was not even thinkable — which thought helped him push from his consciousness what he was charged with doing… Secretly, in a corner of his mind, he wished the American would escape, save him from what he must do — and then quickly he shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on his mission… Damn you, damn you, damn you was the inclusive litany reverberating in his brain, but nobody was listening, and now he no longer could.

He spoke into his headset. "Radio, did the American transmit?"

"No, sir, not yet."

He took a deep breath, wiped his eyes. "Range to target."

"Range one thousand meters."

"Start torpedo guidance sonar."

"Guidance on."

And silently he screamed across the sea at the periscopes, at the American captain, at Gorshkov… This is madness…

In Barracuda's sonar room Sorensen and Fogarty snatched away their earphones just in time. The screech of the Russian targeting sonar erupted from the loudspeakers.

"Sonar to control, she's activated her target frequency."

"Down scopes. Retract antennae. Right full rudder. All ahead full. Stern planes down twenty degrees. Take us down to four hundred feet, Leo. All hands prepare for evasive maneuvers."

In the maneuvering room Chief Wong opened the main steam valve all the way, and Barracuda's prop suddenly turned the sea to foam. The helmsman pushed his joystick over to the right and tilted it forward. The ship banked, tilted forward, and shot down into the depths.

Springfield watched the depth gauge as Barracuda rapidly approached four hundred feet.

"We're going to come around and make sure there's no torpedo on our stern. Left full rudder."

Still accelerating and descending, the ship wrenched to the left.

"Control to sonar, activate ultrasonic torpedo detection frequency."

"Sonar to control, activating torpedo detection frequency."

A burst of ultrasonic pulses searched the water for a hard, swiftly moving object. "Sonar to control. No contact. He didn't shoot."

"Very well. Secure echo ranger. Helm, make our course zero four five. Depth, eight hundred feet. We'll go under the thermal and give him a run for his money. We have positive proof of her existence, Leo. I tell you, she's going to come after us. We won't be able to pick up Dherzinski until we know the Alpha is on her way north."

Pisaro was still holding the Nikon. "We got the goods. Do you think Dherzinski will try to go back to Cuba?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. If she does try, she'll run into our blockade. Then she'll know for sure that we have the ability to track her. Eventually the Russians will discover SOSUS. When they do they'll know we can pinpoint Dherzinski wherever she goes, and that should be the end of her Caribbean patrols. The next time we have a chance to send up a buoy we'll get a SOSUS report on Dherzinski. Control to sonar, where's the boomer now?"

"Sonar to control. Five thousand, two hundred yards. Speed fifteen knots and increasing. She's submerging now, but I'm about to lose them both above the thermal. The Alpha is still on the surface."

Barracuda descended to eight hundred feet, turned northeast, and began to move away from Potemkin.

Federov scrambled off the bridge, down the ladder and into the control room. One glance at the diving panel told him all the hatches were sealed.

"Identification, Popov."

"It's Barracuda, Captain."

As he had thought. "What's his course?"

"Zero four five. He's running away. I'm about to lose him under a thermal."

"We must catch him." To stop those pictures of Potemkin from being delivered, to insure Dherzinski getting safely back to its lair. Once again a litany, to keep himself on course… "Belay torpedo guidance. We're going right down there with him. Engineering, this is the captain. Fast dive. Take us down to three hundred meters. Flood tanks, now."

Alexis opened all the saltwater vents and Potemkin dropped like an anchor, an extremely dangerous maneuver. One hundred fifty meters down and rapidly descending, Federov ordered, "Blow tanks. Neutral buoyancy. Alexis, stop us at three hundred meters."

It took all of Alexis's engineering skill to slow Potemkin's rate of descent without suddenly popping back to the surface or completely losing control and sliding down to crush depth and imploding. He shouted through the intercom.

"Captain, we must make way to get some lift on the planes."

"All ahead slow."

Potemkin moved forward and gradually stopped sinking. Alexis stopped her at exactly three hundred meters, a thousand feet down.

"Popov, is Barracuda back on your screen?"

"Yes, sir, we're under the thermal now — there he is, bearing zero four five. Speed estimated fifteen knots and increasing. And there's Dherzinski." On Popov's screen Dherzinski was steaming due north, by now almost out of sonar range.

Alexis appeared in the control room. "Captain," he said quietly so as not to be overheard by the others, "are we going to try to rendezvous with Dherzinski again? We have to get these sick men off the ship. They're too sick to work, and I need engineers. I can barely spare the men I need to crank the stern planes by hand."

Federov spoke without looking at him. "We must eliminate the American sub first. There is no other way."

"Did he transmit?"

"No, and we will not give him a chance. You know our orders as well as I do. Don't think about it, Alexis. Don't. He would do the same thing if the situation were reversed." He needed to believe that.

"This American is no fool, Nikolai, and his boat is very quiet…"

"All ahead two thirds," was Federov's reply. "Course zero four five. We're right on his stern now."

In the control room of Barracuda each man felt both tension and exultation. The film was a success: seventy-two sharp photos of the Soviet subs. Luther had blown up one of the photos, and Springfield had a grainy eight-by-ten print of the Russian captain's face. High cheekbones, dark eyes and a peaked cap.

"He must be the CO," said Pisaro, although there was no insignia of rank on the cap. Pisaro nervously lit a cigarette and rubbed his hands over his scalp. "We're outnumbered here, Skipper."

"Leo, all we can do about that is what we're doing, drawing the Alpha off and separating them. Control to sonar, where is Dherzinski?"

"Sonar to control. Dherzinski's speed is holding at eighteen knots. Course holding steady at zero zero zero, but I'm not gettin' much of a signal, Skipper. She'll be out of range in a few seconds."

"Very well. Control to engineering. Make revolutions for thirty knots. Go right ten degrees, course zero five five."

As the ship banked to the right, the side-sweeping sonars picked up the sound of Potemkin's flooding vents. "Sonar to control. The Alpha is descending rapidly. Captain, she flooded her tanks and dropped straight down. She's going to be on our stern, right in our baffles."

Sorensen switched off the intercom and swore at the screen. The Alpha was going down swiftly, using her titanium hull to best advantage. Thirty seconds later, she disappeared. "Sonar to control, the Alpha is gone. Her last recorded depth on the down-searching scanner estimated one thousand feet. She's in our baffles."

Springfield looked at Pisaro, then at the photograph of Federov. "Leo, they're trying to intimidate us with the Alpha. He wants to scare us with his titanium boat. And if he does, he'll get bolder, figure he owns the damn ocean…"

Sorensen stared at his screen. "The last time this bastard disappeared from the screen he hit us," he said to Fogarty. "I've got a feeling… Sonar to control."

"Go ahead, sonar."

"Recommend we clear baffles, sir. I don't know where she is."

"Very well, sonar. Control to engineering, prepare for slow speed. All ahead slow. Go right twenty degrees."

Ninety seconds into the turn, the Alpha reappeared on the screen.

"I knew it," said Sorensen. "Sonar to control. Contact bearing one four eight. Range three two five zero yards and closing. Speed twenty-four knots, depth one thousand feet."

"Very well, sonar. We have her on the repeater."

Springfield crossed the control room to the weapons console and stood behind Hoek. "We've got to threaten him, give him second thoughts. Make him back off… otherwise the bastard will try to finish us… Control to sonar. Prepare to activate target-seeking sonar."

As Sorensen punched at his keyboard, Fogarty felt as if he were in suspended animation. The impossible was about to happen? No one was going to back down?

The Alpha abruptly slowed and turned sharply to the right.

Sorensen reacted instantly, understanding that the Alpha's action meant he was about to shoot. "Sonar to control, recommend evasive action."

"Helm, left full rudder! All ahead full. Thirty degrees up angle! Sonar, activate torpedo detection frequency!"

Potemkin's torpedo room was portside amidships. Federov wheeled to the right, reversed his prop and stopped dead in the water. "Fire acoustic-homing torpedo."

Alexis hesitated, then stuck his thumb into the red button on his console. A gas turbine-propelled torpedo shot out of a tube. The projectile took off after Barracuda at forty knots, the on-board ultrasonic echo-ranging sonar probing the sea for its target. The instant the torpedo was away Federov ordered, "Stern planes, maximum down angle, all ahead one third. Take us down to one thousand three hundred meters." He must not give the Barracuda a chance to find him and shoot back. He must not think of the torpedo he had loosed. He must not think.

"Incoming! Torpedo, bearing one eight zero!"

Barracuda was racing upward at thirty degrees, trying to rise into a cooler layer of water. Springfield was counting on the torpedo's searching in a normal down-spiraling pattern. He calculated he had ten minutes before the torpedo either ran out of fuel or outpaced Barracuda and ran up her stern.

"Control to weapons, load chaff decoy."

"Weapons to control, understand load chaff decoy. Weapons to torpedo room, get the decoy in the tube."

"Torpedo room, aye aye."

When Barracuda was at four hundred feet, Springfield ordered, "Zero angle on the planes. Fire decoy."

"Decoy away."

A jet of compressed air pushed the chaff decoy out of the tube, and it promptly began to emit electronic pulses that imitated Barracuda's target-frequency sonar. The decoy began to spiral down as Barracuda continued up.

The Russian torpedo had remained at eight hundred feet, its sonar confused by the reflecting nature of the ceiling of the thermal layer. When it heard the decoy it zeroed in.

Two minutes after the decoy was fired, Sorensen and Fogarty heard the explosion.

"Goddamn," Sorensen exclaimed. "It worked. Keep your eyes on the screen, kid. There may be another one."

In the control room there was momentary relief. When the decoy destroyed the torpedo, even Springfield allowed himself a minor celebration. A moment later, however, it was replaced with a quiet fury. "Go right thirty degrees, stern planes down ten degrees. Leo, take us down to fifteen hundred feet. We've got to get this son of a bitch before he gets us. He fired first."

"One thousand three hundred meters and holding."

Potemkin was steaming at twelve knots, 4,264 feet beneath the surface of the sea. At that tremendous depth she was in the deep sound channel, and Popov's sonars were subjected to a barrage of strange noises. Ordinarily sounds in the channel were trapped by a warm thermal layer above and a very cold thermal below. The only exception was a thundering source of noise such as Potemkin herself. Potemkin with her hard-bolted machinery produced sonic signals of many different frequencies, some of which were refracted into the layer above, revealing her presence, while at the same time rendering her own sonars ineffective. Popov could hear neither Barracuda, nor the torpedo, but he did hear the unmistakable sound of an explosion.

"Captain, we got him—"

Federov looked at the screen and at Alexis, who was shaking his head. "Don't be too sure, Popov. We don't know what we hit. Go right six degrees. We'll make a wide circle."

Sorensen was standing before his console, working the down-searching sonars. "C'mon, Ivan, you shot your wad, come back and see what damage you did. C'mon…" And then to Springfield: "Sonar to control. Recommend all stop and quiet in the boat."

"Attention all hands. All stop. Quiet in the boat."

Barracuda hovered at fifteen hundred feet. Fogarty expected another torpedo, Sorensen did not. The down-searching sonars were acutely sensitive to frequencies that refracted through the various thermal layers.

A fuzzy splash of illumination appeared on one side of the screen. "There she is. Sonar to control. Contact, range six thousand yards, depth four thousand two hundred feet, bearing one one three, speed twelve knots. She's coming right at us, Captain, but she's deep."

Fogarty slammed his fist on the console. "But we can't shoot her that deep. A Mark thirty-seven will implode at twenty-five hundred feet."

Sorensen nodded. "You're right, Fogarty, but when this Alpha took a shot at us, I figure he bought himself a nuke. Our job now is to survive… and his is to see we don't."

Fogarty stared at the screen. "We wouldn't… Springfield wouldn't… Jesus, we can't—"

"Fogarty, prepare to feed the guidance system on a Mark forty-five."

Fogarty hesitated. Sorensen just stared at him, and Fogarty, numb, began punching buttons…

"Attention all hands. Battle stations, nuclear. Control to weapons, load tube six with a Mark forty-five."

In the torpedo room Lopez bit through his cigar. He stood up and crossed himself. "Johnson, cut loose a Mark forty-five. Open the door."

Four torpedomen moved along the rack and unbolted the torpedo from its mooring. A fifth opened the torpedo door. Carefully, they slid it onto the guides, and pushed it into the tube. Lopez closed the electronic locks in the proper sequence and ran the circuit tests. "Torpedo room to control," he said into his headset, "Mark forty-five loaded in tube six."

"Control to weapons, arm warhead."

Hoek was having trouble breathing. He responded in a scarcely audible whisper and pushed the coded numbers into his keyboard. "Mark forty-five warhead armed and ready."

"Flood tube."

"Flooding tube, aye."

In the sonar room Sorensen and Fogarty could only listen to the commands as they passed back and forth over the intercom.