Dangerous Ground

He saw her hands hover over the controls. She could reduce the power, but how much? And would the ROV hold position or start to sink? And where were the divers? He knew they would try to keep clear, but they had to be nearly blind as well.

“I can see the needle on the battery gauge moving,” she warned. “It’s slow, but I can actually see it going down.”

“Just a few more moments and we’ll know.” Jerry tried to be positive.

The cloud cleared and the view suddenly expanded to show open water. They were already out of the cargo hold, about ten feet above the barge deck and rising.

“Head for the Manta,” Jerry said needlessly. Davis was already pivoting Huey as she cut back slightly on the lifting power. Sweeping with the camera, she searched for the Manta’s rounded arrowhead shape.

The phone talker’s voice intruded as he studied the video screen. “U-bay, conn. We’re building a track on the contacts. They are approaching from the south. Course is roughly north at twelve knots.”

“What’s the range?” Jerry asked.

“Ah, they don’t have a lot of range data yet,” the phone talker responded. “Sonar says there’s not enough bearing drift.”

Jerry sighed, but understood the problem. A passive track doesn’t provide range by itself. The bearings can be plotted over time as they change, and the target’s location estimated fairly accurately, but it needed a series of bearings that did change, the faster the better. Normally, if the contact was coming straight on, the sub would maneuver to create an adequate bearing rate, but Memphis was pinned, forced to loiter until her men were back aboard.

“I can see you,” Emily reported. The Manta had just come into view of the camera, illuminated by Huey’s lights but still as dark as the water surrounding it.

Jerry quickly sized up the relative position of the two vehicles. He had to remember where Huey’s camera was aimed relative to the ROV’s body, where each vehicle was pointing, what their relative depth was, and where the barge was. The ROV was encumbered, and he was blind.

Picking a point that headed him away from the barge but still closed the distance to Huey, he turned the Manta to port and concentrated on the video image. Davis kept the camera trained on him, which gave him a rough idea of the Manta’s relative position, but he still had to remember the control lag. He had to think a few seconds ahead to send a command, then wait a few seconds more to see if he’d done it correctly. He ended up in an acceptable position, but farther in front of the ROV than he had wanted.

Even before he stopped, Emily began moving the ROV toward him, trying to minimize the time and the drain on her batteries. She positioned Huey over the larger vehicle.

“The camera can look down, but not under me,” Davis worried.

“Reynolds knows that.” Jerry answered. “He’s got a plan.”

“Like what?” she asked desperately.

Jerry tried to imagine the divers, clumsily shifting a heavy load in the dark and cold. “He’ll pass a second line from the load to that lift point on the Manta where he wants to rig it. As soon as that’s threaded, he’ll send Harris out front. ”

“I’ve got a diver,” she said. Jerry saw a figure swim into the camera’s field of view. It looked like Harris. Whoever it was, he waved at the camera, then pointed down. Emily reduced the power to the thruster, trying to maintain position over the Manta. The diver made another downward motion, this time more urgently, so she made a more drastic reduction and Harris gestured approval by clasping his hands together.

He guided her forward and then left, with smaller hand movements. Jerry tried to think of something he could do to speed up the process, but he couldn’t even tell Reynolds and Harris about the Grishas. As far as he knew, the Russian ships were still well off, but they couldn’t be sure.

They’d agreed in the wardroom on an “emergency recall” signal, which was Davis flashing Huey’s external lights four or more times. At that point, the two men would drop whatever they were doing, clip onto the Manta, and they’d head back at the ROV’s top speed of twelve knots. It would mean abandoning the warheads, though, and so far, Hardy hadn’t given that order.

The camera suddenly jerked, and Emily let out a startled yelp, although she immediately followed it with, “It’s loose!” The Manta and diver seemed to fall away from the camera, and she had to quickly reduce power to avoid having the ROV come to the surface.

Jerry concentrated on maintaining a steady course and speed while Emily brought the ROV back and positioned its eyes on the Manta and its load. This took a few nervous minutes, and Jerry promised himself that if anyone ever asked him about his ideas for a future UUV, the first, second, and third suggestions would all be for a camera.

“Make a pass over the Manta,” Hardy ordered. “I want to see how the load is rigged.”

“I don’t know if we’ve got the time for that,” Patterson’s voice cautioned.

“I’ll decide that, Doctor,” Hardy answered sharply. “Mr. Mitchell has to know to properly handle the Manta. If we lose the warheads on the way back, this will all be for nothing.”

Jerry agreed, but admired Hardy’s nerve. He hadn’t thought of the Captain as a risk-taker, but he’d taken Memphis to the very ragged edge of Russian waters and sent divers in to recover a nuclear warhead. He’d put his career and the safety of the two divers and the boat on the line. Now that he’d bet the farm, Jerry guessed he was doing everything he could to make the bet pay off.

Davis answered, “Yes, sir,” and brought her vehicle around in a tight circle. A speed of three knots seemed almost blindingly fast, and she had to slow down as she trained the camera on the top of the Manta.

Both crates were attached to the lift point by one end. The other ends were unsecured, but at least the cases were laid in a fore-and-aft manner. The COB and Harris should be able to hold the back ends in place so the crates wouldn’t wobble. Jerry could only guess what the weight and drag would do to the “flight characteristics” of the Manta. He remembered one of the training videos at Newport that showed a one-third-scale prototype carrying two dummy Mk 48 torpedoes. The ballast system on this larger prototype should be able to handle the extra weight.

Davis maneuvered Huey again to take up station behind Jerry’s vehicle, so they could watch the divers. Harris and Reynolds reconnected themselves again and grabbed the back ends of the warhead cases; Jerry heard two taps on the Manta’s hull.

Informing Davis about the turn, he headed for Memphis, steadily increasing speed to ten knots. He also decreased his depth, rising to forty feet. That would reduce the divers’ nitrogen saturation a little, although Jerry couldn’t do anything about the cold or their fatigue. He couldn’t imagine that they could rest at all, either, clipped onto the Manta’s deck, struggling to keep the cases from moving around.

“The battery’s low. I don’t know if Huey can make it back at ten knots.”

“Do not reduce speed,” Hardy ordered. “We need that camera to watch the divers, and we’re short on time. I’m bringing Memphis in to you.

“Mr. Mitchell, I’m making my depth seventy feet. I want you to alter course to one six five. I can cut at least half a mile off the distance.”

Amazed that the Captain was taking Memphis inside Russian territorial waters, Jerry answered, “Alter course to one six five, aye, sir,” and ordered the Manta to the new heading. How shallow was Hardy going to take her? If Memphis touched the bottom, she’d do more than dent a fender. The rudder projected down below the keel, and if that was damaged, they’d be unable to maneuver. The pit log, a small sensor that read Memphis’ speed, was also located on the underside of the boat. If that even brushed the bottom, they’d have only the roughest idea of their speed.

And Memphis’ nuclear power plant depended on seawater for cooling. The main seawater inlets were near the keel, and they weren’t small. If Hardy got too close, Memphis would vacuum up junk and silt from the bottom and clog the condensers. That would cripple the plant, and the only way they’d get home was on Aeroflot.

Both Jerry and Davis had been carefully watching the video screen. His nightmare was one of the divers suddenly coming loose and being lost behind them before they could slow down. Alone, exhausted, with no way to find his way back, he’d depend on the ROV to find him, but Huey’s battery was officially critical. Emily had the manual open, studying the graphs and furiously calculating discharge rates.

“U-bay, conn. Sonar holds you passively at three four zero. No range.”