Shattered Trident - Страница 21

“That’s a possibility, Nav, but the dots don’t stack up very well for that hypothesis,” Thigpen argued, referring to the fire control’s visual display of a neat vertical line of bearing dots when the solution was a good one. “This would be the second rotation on the retaliation merry-go-round. Remember, the Vietnamese mined the carrier first. I doubt the Chinese will let these attacks go unanswered.”

“The XO’s correct,” observed Jerry. “But it doesn’t matter what the Kilo skipper’s motivation is right now. We need to find him, and pronto.”

“And do what, sir?” objected Thigpen testily. Jerry noted the fatigue in his XO’s voice. Both men had been up since the initial attacks some twenty hours earlier. Thigpen rubbed his forehead, then continued with a more restrained tone, “It’s not like we can shoot him to get him to stop.”

“That’s a reasonable question, XO. I don’t know what we can do, if anything. But we can still learn something by observing his actions, even if all we do is watch him kill more ships. However, the first order of business is finding the guy.” Jerry then looked down at the electronic navigation chart on the horizontal large-screen display, and motioned toward the left-hand side of a large square drawn on the chart. “So, we’ll head toward the western edge of our patrol box and look for him. Once we reacquire the Kilo, we’ll direct Fargo back into contact and then turn about and head back east.”

“But that means we’d be leaving the Chinese navy bases uncovered, won’t it?” Covey asked hesitantly.

Jerry shook his head. “No, we’ll leave Minot behind to keep the bases under surveillance while we head off to find the Kilo.”

Covey looked confused. “Sir, I thought you didn’t want to deploy both UUVs at the same time?”

For a brief instant, Jerry felt a little irritated by his weapons officer’s response. Then Jerry remembered that he too was very tired. Taking a deep breath he said, “That was the original plan, Dave. Circumstances have changed, and the plan needs to adapt accordingly. Now, launch Minot, get her on station, and then get us heading westward at best tactical speed.”

* * *

The electronic ring of the phone dragged Jerry back to consciousness; he’d fallen asleep while reviewing the chemistry logs. Groping for the handset, he yanked it from the cradle. “Captain,” he mumbled.

“Skipper, CDO. My apologies if I woke you, but we’ve reacquired the Kilo.”

“Ahh, excellent. I’ll be right there,” Jerry croaked.

Stumbling into the head he shared with Thigpen, Jerry nearly collided with his XO as he tried to splash some cold water on his face. Amused by Jerry’s semi-comatose expression, Thigpen hunched over and shrieked softly, “It’s alive!”

Jerry looked over the towel as he dried his face; he attempted to give Thigpen an evil stare, but failed, his eyes only opened halfway. “That, Mr. Thigpen, is a matter of debate,” he finally replied.

Thigpen laughed as he finished combing his hair. “Was that Phil?”

“Yeah, we’ve picked up the Kilo again.”

“Oh goodie! Just in time for my CDO watch,” exclaimed the executive officer.

“What time is it?” Jerry asked, confused. He still wasn’t entirely awake yet.

“It’s 2330. Give or take a couple of minutes.”

“Really? Is it that early? The Kilo must have been heading east the whole time,” said Jerry, more to himself than anyone else. His brain was beginning to process data again.

“Sounds about right. He was heading easterly when Fargo lost contact,” answered Thigpen. Looking down at his watch, he added, “I need to go do the prewatch tour with Q. I’ll see you in control in about twenty minutes.”

Jerry acknowledged the XO’s departure with a curt wave. His mind was on the Kilo. After a quick rinse with mouthwash to get rid of the old-sock taste in his mouth, Jerry headed up to control. He’d just closed the door when he heard the sonar supervisor announce, “New sonar contact. Designated Sierra-seven nine, bearing zero five one. Sounds like diesel engines starting up.”

“Very well, Sonar Supervisor,” Covey responded, then, turning to the section tracking party, ordered, “Begin tracking Sierra-seven nine.”

Walking up to the command workstation, Jerry saw Sobecki and Covey hunched over, focusing on one of the displays. The engineer was furiously moving the trackball, while Covey punched some buttons. Both looked a little worn.

“CDO, report.”

“Yes, sir. Our friend is contact Sierra-seven eight. He bears three two zero, range about eight thousand yards, drawing right.” Sobecki pointed to the port VLSD, where all the pertinent data was enlarged just above the tracking symbol. Jerry noted they were on the Kilo’s starboard beam and drawing behind him, very nice. They would soon be in his baffles and they could close from that advantageous position.

“We’ve just picked up a new contact, Sierra-seven nine, off to the northeast. We’re working on a solution now. Say, Skipper, do you want me to get you a cup of coffee?”

“No thanks, Eng, I probably drink too much anyway,” Jerry replied as he studied the tactical situation on the display. “Have you attempted to contact Fargo?”

“Not yet, sir. The last fix we had indicated the UUV was still well outside of acoustic modem range; it won’t be close enough for about another hour.”

“Hmmm, I guess we’ll have to dog this fellow ourselves for a little while then,” lamented Jerry with feigned inconvenience.

“What a shame,” Sobecki replied cynically. Both men sported large grins. This was exactly the kind of action that any submariner worth his or her salt longed for.

“OOD,” sang out the sonar supervisor, “Sierra-seven nine is classified as a Type 039 Song-class submarine, snorkeling.”

Jerry, Sobecki, and Covey all looked surprised. There was nothing in the intel reports that suggested a Song-class boat had deployed. “Very well, Sonar Supervisor,” said Covey over his shoulder. “This complicates things a bit.”

“Indeed it does,” Jerry admitted, “but we’re still in a good position to control the tactical situation.”

Sobecki nodded his agreement. Then, leaning past Covey to get a clear line of sight to the tracking party, he grumbled, “Hey, Ollie, don’t you have a solution on Sierra-seven nine yet?”

“Coming up now, Eng,” Andrews shot back. “It should be up on the port VLSD.”

The data popped up on the display along with a tracking symbol in the approximate position and an error circle. The Song bore zero four eight, range ten thousand yards, heading due south at three knots.

“He’s chugging along, fat, dumb, and happy, recharging his battery,” Covey observed.

Jerry frowned. The picture just didn’t look right. “CDO, what’s the range between the Kilo and the Song?”

Sobecki spun the trackball, moving the cursor over the Kilo, and then dragged it to the Song. “Range is about 12,800 yards, Skipper.”

Jerry’s frown morphed into a disappointed grimace. “Are you serious? They shouldn’t have any problems at that range hearing the Song when it’s making such a racket!”

“Maybe their sonar isn’t as good as we’ve given them credit for, sir,” commented Covey.

“My aunt Agatha with a hearing trumpet couldn’t miss that!” Jerry’s voice was laden with sarcasm. The Vietnamese were new at this game, but surely they weren’t incompetent.

Standing there staring at the large-screen display, Jerry wrestled with the inconsistency. Maybe Covey was right and the updated Rubikon sonar wasn’t all that the advertisements claimed it to be. But still, even the older version would have been able to detect a relatively loud target this close. It just didn’t make sense. Perplexed, Jerry started going over possible alternatives in his head. He didn’t get far before the sonar chief blurted out, “Possible target zig, Sierra-seven eight, based on frequency. Target has either turned towards or sped up.”

“Confirm target zig, based on bearing rate,” cried Andrews. “Sierra-seven eight has altered course to starboard.”

The expression on Jerry’s face must have changed, as Sobecki started chuckling. “There, are you happy now, Skipper?” he teased.

His head hanging low, Jerry let out a long sigh. “Well, at least it now makes sense. But…”

“But,” interrupted Sobecki, “the Kilo is now heading straight for the Song.”

“Yup, that about sums it up.”

“Do you want me to summon the XO to control?”

“Yes, please, Engineer.”

As Sobecki called for Thigpen over the 1MC, Jerry moved closer to the large display on the port side—his thoughts focusing on the tactical picture. The situation was degrading slowly. It would be at least half an hour before the Kilo would reach a firing position, assuming the Song didn’t change course. But what could he do with that time? Would it even be possible to break up the attack? His orders were pretty straightforward, and everything that came to mind violated those orders.

It didn’t take Thigpen even a minute to reach control, and by then the fire control system had determined, conclusively, that the Kilo was on a perfect intercept course. There was no mistaking what was happening. The Vietnamese Kilo captain was getting into position to ambush the Chinese submarine. Jerry’s mind was racing. Shooting tankers was bad enough, but attacks against another country’s naval vessels kicked things up a notch. And then there were the safety concerns for his own boat. They weren’t far enough away to be immune from a stray torpedo. Should he just bug out and put more distance between the warring parties? He really didn’t like that option, but there seemed to be nothing else he could do. If only they could come up with a way to spook the other subs without giving themselves away.