Tidal Rip

Sea, leading to the G-I-UK Gap. The North Cape — Bear Island — Svalbard Gap came first, stretching from mainland Norway to tiny Bear Island about two hundred nautical miles due north. Bear Island sat on the sprawling Spitsbergen Bank, shallows leading farther north to the gigantic, desolate islands of mountainous Spitsbergen; Svalbard was one of those islands. As usual, in March, most of Spitsbergen was frozen hard into the polar ice cap; the edge of the solid ice in late winter extended close to Bear Island this year.

Bear Island and Spitsbergen were Norwegian possessions — which meant that they were occupied by Germany.

“I bet those Russian captains are grateful these are friendly waters now,” von Loringhoven said.

“I’m sure they are,” Beck said.

Norway had been an active part of NATO. The North Cape — Bear Island — Svalbard Gap was once the West’s forward line of defense against the Soviet Northern Fleet’s subs and ships. Looked at from the other direction, it also formed the gateway into the Barents Sea, where American carrier battle groups would be in easy striking range of Russian naval bases, and air-defense radars, and Russian airfields. Now, instead, the barrier gap and the airfields of Norway were German.

Even so, the Russians needed to keep up appearances in order for the subterfuge to work. And once again, the feeling of risk and danger for Beck was heightened.

A failure to communicate, by a bureaucratic dunderhead at one of our shore-command centers, could mean I’m about to be blown to bits by friendly — German — forces.

Beck reminded himself that, running submerged in wartime, a submarine had no friends.

“Contact on acoustic intercept!” Werner Haffner shouted.

“Keep your voice down,” Beck snapped. “Put it on speakers, and identify.” Young Haffner was the excitable type.

The control-room speakers came alive with the sounds of the nearby ocean: crashing waves and wind-driven sleet squalls, whale songs of different species, swishing schools of polar cod, and the occasional tumbling iceberg.

“Both 945A contacts have gone active,” Haffner stated. His reedy voice was level.

Everyone in the Zentrale waited nervously for something more to happen. Are things going according to plan, or has it all got muddled by the fog of war and both Germans and Russians are about to start shooting?

After an interval on tenterhooks, a deep-toned ping filled the air in stereo. The rumbling made coffee cups shake in their holders. A few crewmen jumped in surprise or fear; Beck gestured for them to be steady. After a pause, there was a different series, three high-toned pings that pierced Beck’s skull.

Stissinger shook his head as if his ears hurt. “The 945A to starboard is using the single deep tone, Captain. The 945A to port is using the three-part high-pitched tone.”

“Very well, Einzvo. Any signs of weapon-launch transients?” Beck wasn’t taking chances.

“Negative, sir.”

“Very good. Sonar, engage acoustic-masking signal-processor feedback routines…. And turn down the speakervolume.”

In sixty seconds, the deep-toned ping and then the three higher-pitched ones repeated.

“Actively suppressing echoes with out-of-phase emissions,” Haffner said. “Wide-array transducer complexes and electromalleable rubber tiles all functioning nominally.”

Stissinger turned to Beck and translated Haffner’s technobabble into practical terms. “Nobody should be able to steal an echo off our hull, Captain.”

“In theory. That’s why we’re doing this in German waters first.”

The two Russian submarines were pinging at full power, not to search for contacts, but to announce their presence to anyone in earshot, like a foghorn. According to recent international notices to mariners, this was how neutral submarines were supposed to safely transit choke points in declared war zones, if they chose not to run on the surface for identification instead. To make sure the submerged submarines were genuine neutrals exercising their rights of innocent passage — and not enemies pulling a bluff — the belligerent side in control of the constricted waters would send small probes to study the intruder’s acoustic signature and visual appearance from very short range. Or they might use airdropped sonobuoys, augmented by blue-green laser line-scan cameras. The laws of war did not allow combatants to board and inspect warships of neutral countries — only merchant ships could be subjected to such blockades or quarantines.

Stissinger reported that the two Sierras were slowing. Beck ordered the pilot to reduce speed so as not to draw ahead and increase his own vulnerability. Beck used his light pen on the gravimeter display to show the pilot a fold in the bottom terrain in which to nestle the von Scheer.

“Captain,” Stissinger said a few minutes later. “Our on-hull sensors are detecting scattered blue-green laser light. Assess that friendly surveillance probes are examining the two Sierras.”

“Very well, Einzvo… Everyone stay focused. This is a dress rehearsal. Next time, across the Norwegian Sea, we’ll all be using live weapons. Get used to the tension now. We’ll be informed soon enough if our signature down here is too blatant.”

Stissinger acknowledged crisply.

Beck waited to learn if the von Scheer was stealthy enough. If things went wrong, in this mock infiltration of a German-owned barrier, and the problems couldn’t be corrected easily, he would have to get his ship through the G-IUK Gap somehow, some other way — or die trying.

Beck had a wild thought that the von Scheer had already been found out and localized, and the Allies were truly desperate, and a massive enemy air-launched strike would tear in at the von Scheer any second — and collateral damage to meddling Russian fast-attacks be damned.

But no enemy air strike materialized.

“New message received, sir,” Stissinger said. “All clear to proceed. The two 945A ships are accelerating.”

“Very well. Pilot, have engineering make propulsor RPMs to keep pace.”

“Jawohl… Engineering acknowledges.”

“Use extra care to keep proper station as we follow the bottom down off of the continental shelf.”

“Understood.” They would soon reach water more than three thousand meters — ten thousand feet — deep; these Russians couldn’t go below six or seven hundred meters.

All three ships sped up, maintaining formation.

“The 945As now steady at twenty-five knots.”

“Very well, Einzvo.”

“Sir,” Haffner said, “at this speed the Russian vessels are giving off machinery noise again.” He passed a diagram of the decibel levels to Beck’s console. Beck, a former sonar officer himself, read the frequency power spectrum quickly.

“Own-ship status?”

“Own ship is ultraquiet, Captain. No sound shorts. Assess our flow noise is masked well by the moving pair of 945As.”

“Very well, Sonar.”

Beck hoped this trick worked next time, crossing the G-IUK Gap, when the stakes were so high and the play was for keeps.

It would take two days to go from Bear Island to the G-IUK Gap. The more time passed — running drills, making plans, waking, sleeping, eating — the more Beck had to wonder.

The Allies know that Russia is helping Germany. What if they pay extra attention when Russian fast-attacks go by? Intell says that so far they haven’t, so as not to antagonize Moscow… but that was before the fire in the underground U-boat pens, with heat and smoke up the chimney… and Norwegian partisans, who must know the von Scheer has sailed.

CHAPTER 8