Shattered Trident - Страница 19

“Please, just Christine. That’s what we’re hoping to do. What about the ‘white explosion’? Could this be some sort of gas that was released from the ship, and then ignited?”

Mac frowned and shook his head, then remembered she couldn’t see his reaction. “Unlikely. To be visible at that distance, the column would have to be over a hundred feet high. I’ve never heard of a jet of flammable gas like that, and to be white…”

He paused for a moment. “What will throw a white column, not of gas but of water, a hundred feet or more in the air is an underwater explosion—a mine, or more likely a torpedo. There are dozens of photos of a torpedo exploding under a ship, creating a plume of white spray and vapor that high.”

“A torpedo?” She sounded incredulous. Mac was also surprised by the thought, but it did fit the data. “But what about it being a mine, an old one left over from World War Two?”

“An old, forgotten mine, broken free from its moorings and sitting in the path of the unlucky vessel?” Mac realized he was being dramatic, but it was a dramatic idea. And highly unlikely.

“There was fighting all through that area, Christine, and I’m no expert, but I don’t know of any minefields laid near that location, although it could always have drifted there from Heaven knows where.” He sighed. “But more to the point, there haven’t been any ships striking old mines in that part of the world for decades. Anything’s possible, but I believe a torpedo is the more likely culprit.”

“Adding a mystery sub to the mystery ship,” she answered. “Is there any other alternative?” She sounded desperate. “My choices are the unlikely and the incredible.”

“I’ll work on the question, at least to rule out the mine theory,” Mac offered. He decided he liked talking to Ms. Laird… Christine. He was willing to spend some time on it. This was more interesting than the article on steam plants. Well, a little more interesting.

“I’d be very grateful, Mr. McMurtrie. We’ll mention your blog in the feature.”

“Then it’s my turn to be grateful, and please, just call me Mac.”

“I’ll call again, Mac, before we run the piece.”

Mac answered, “I’ll look forward to it,” and hung up.

6. SPOILER

30 August 2016

0200 Local Time

USS North Dakota

Off Hainan Island, South China Sea

“CAPTAIN TO CONTROL!” The blare from the general announcing system violently wrenched Jerry from a deep sleep. Propelled out of his rack by the sudden spasm of every muscle in his body, he was still shaking as he jumped into his loafers. Throwing open his stateroom door, Jerry dashed for the control room not more than thirty feet away. Thigpen was right behind him, equally disheveled and groggy.

Bursting into the control room, Jerry was momentarily confused. Why isn’t control rigged for red? he wondered. As his brain dragged itself into a lucid state, he remembered, no periscopes on this boat. Electro-optics didn’t need to worry about becoming night-adapted.

“Sorry for the sudden wake-up call, Skipper,” apologized Lieutenant Commander Phil Sobecki, the ship’s engineer and third ranking officer. “But things just got really screwy.”

As the engineer spoke, he motioned for a young sailor to come forward. In his hands was a steaming cup of coffee. Still a little fuzzy, Jerry gratefully accepted the offering and nodded his thanks to the young man, who was maybe all of nineteen years old. Taking a sip, Jerry felt the world start to come into focus.

“Define screwy, Eng,” he said wearily.

“Sir, we just picked up four loud explosions. Two to the west and two to the southeast.”

Jerry’s head snapped up from the cup. He was amazed by the report. “Four explosions? They’re sure of this?” he asked while tilting his head toward the sonar techs.

“Without a doubt, Skipper.”

“Show me what you’ve got,” ordered Jerry.

“Yes, sir. Ollie, bring up the merged track data. Sonar, recall the audio on both events.”

Ensign Olivia Andrews quickly manipulated a few buttons on the fire control panel, and the bottom screen on her console changed to an electronic Geoplot display. “Merged track data sent to the port VLSD, sir,” she reported.

“Very well,” replied Sobecki. The plot popped up onto the big screen; two bearing lines jutted out from North Dakota’s track. One was on a bearing of two six six, the other down one one zero. Jerry noticed immediately the lack of range information.

“You didn’t get a range off the wide-aperture array?”

Sobecki shook his head. “No, sir. The explosions were pretty far away, at least thirty nautical miles. Sonar, play the audio for the western event.”

The sonar supervisor acknowledged the order and soon the sound of the ocean filled the control room. At first, all Jerry heard were the noises from local biologics and the occasional fishing boat. Then came the first explosion, followed soon by the second. They were clearly explosions, and they were distant; beyond the ranging ability of the passive arrays along his submarine’s flanks.

The second set of explosions was a mirror image of the first. Again, there was no doubt as to what they were. A cold chill ran down Jerry’s spine. Was this just the beginning?

“The explosions in both cases were five or six seconds apart, Captain,” said Sobecki.

“Sounds about right for a salvo interval from a Kilo-class boat,” Thigpen interjected.

Jerry agreed. “Yes, it does. Unfortunately.” Then pointing toward the western event, he asked, “Was Fargo still in contact with that new Kilo?”

“As of the last data dump, yes, sir. Our little drone was firmly in trail,” Sobecki replied.

“When’s the next scheduled comms window?”

The engineer pointed to an open menu on one of the command workstation’s displays. “A little under three hours from now, sir.”

Jerry frowned; three hours seemed like an awfully long time to wait.

“We could send it a coded pulse to command it to come up sooner,” suggested the engineer.

“But that means transmitting,” Thigpen warned. “Our orders are pretty explicit about remaining undetected, sir. If Fargo is still in trail of the Kilo, there’s more than a good chance they would pick up the pulse as well.”

“A good point, XO,” Jerry conceded. “But do you think they would be able to recognize the pseudo-random noise pulse as being a valid contact? Or would they be more likely to blow it off as spurious noise?”

“Skipper, I wouldn’t know a funky pulse from snapping shrimp. My point is that we don’t have a good understanding of the modifications to the Vietnamese boat’s sonar. We know it’s an all-digital version of the older Rubikon sonar, but is it smart enough to recognize a funky pulse? I dunno, but it is something we need to consider.”

Jerry nodded silently, translating Thigpen’s carefully spoken “we” to mean “you.” Sipping at his coffee, Jerry took a hard look at the information on the VLSD. Thigpen’s concerns and Admiral Burroughs’s stern admonition, “You cannot be detected. Clear?” echoed inside his head.

* * *

The Vietnamese were new to submarines, and the Russians were notorious for providing only basic system and operational training. The upgraded Rubikon sonar suite on the Vietnamese Kilos was theoretically capable of picking up the signal, but Jerry doubted very much that a newly trained operator would recognize it as something worthy of interest.

And there was the sense of urgency nagging at him. Three hours was a long time to wait for the data from his UUV. It very likely had information on the attack to the west that he needed to pass up the chain of command as soon as possible. If the balloon had just gone up, as he feared, he had to report now, not three or four hours from now. He made up his mind.

“Engineer, send the coded pulse to Fargo and come to periscope depth to receive the satellite downlink. Get the CTs ready as well; there is probably a hell of a lot of chatter going on up there right now. XO, get the commo up and prepare another OPREP-3 message. I think the war we’ve been told to watch for has just started, and we need to let our bosses know ASAP,” ordered Jerry.

Thigpen and Sobecki acknowledged their orders, and the control room became abuzz with activity. Jerry had watched his XO’s face as he gave his instructions. If Thigpen disagreed, it didn’t show.

Jerry thought about hanging around in control, but that would send the wrong message. He had to show he trusted his people if they were to believe in themselves. Instead, Jerry headed back to his stateroom. He was awake now; he might as well get some work done while he waited for Fargo’s data.

On his way out, Jerry overheard Thigpen telling the messenger of the watch to wake up Mr. Franklin. The young lad dutifully answered, “Aye, aye, sir,” but then added, “XO, would you like a cup of coffee, too?”

“Coffee!?” uttered Thigpen cynically. “I don’t need no stinkin’ coffee. I have adrenaline!”

* * *

Jerry tried to review the previous week’s reactor plant chemistry logs for the third time. He just couldn’t concentrate long enough for them to make any sense. He knew the logs were important—reactor plant safety was a major consideration in any submarine CO’s evaluation—but it was extremely difficult to focus on something so mundane when a war was starting around you. Mercifully, the Dialex phone rang, rescuing him before he tried yet again.