Seas of Crisis

Carter, ‘Resume docking.’ ”

Once more Sessions typed, and Harley acknowledged.

The sonarman cringed again.

“Thud and clunks,” O’Hanlon said. “Assess as mating collar lineup, and lockdown clamps engaging.”

Carter signaled that the docking had succeeded.

“Detection likelihood by Master One undetermined,” O’Hanlon said. Without knowing what class of submarine Master One was — what quality of passive sonars it carried — plus still lacking any useable data on distance, O’Hanlon and Finch had no way to calculate an enemy detection threshold for the noises just made.

Jeffrey had another idea. “Could we and Carter somehow triangulate a range to the contact?”

“Negative, sir,” O’Hanlon said. “We’re too close together. Otherwise I’d’ve suggested it.”

“Very well, Sonar Supervisor.”

“Master One still approaching. No further data.”

“Very well.”

He’d fallen behind the curve of unfolding events, thrown off guard by Master One’s appearance when his strike group was at its most vulnerable — in the middle of a minisub rendezvous next to unfavorable terrain. He pushed to get back ahead of the curve.

“Signal Carter, ‘Strike group maintain formation and continue to track Master One. Secure all unnecessary machinery for maximum silencing.’ ”

Once more Sessions typed, then announced Carter’s acknowledgment. Bell issued orders to COB, including to secure the ventilation fans. O’Hanlon said that Master One continued coming closer. Torelli said his people thought the contact was now about ten miles away, and might come within four miles before passing and going off into the distance. Given the uncertainty in these figures, this was much too close for comfort.

“Sir,” Sessions called, “Carter signals, ‘My pump jet is exposed to Master One’s probable track near closest point of approach. Will be unable to suppress echo if Master One goes active.’ ” The rotary slats at the back of a pump jet had no effective anechoic protection.

Jeffrey examined the navigation plot and the gravimeter. He faced the same problem as before. The nearby slope from the continental shelf down into deep water showed clearly on the gravimeter. The strike group was pinned against that slope. The shelf itself was only two hundred feet deep here, and for Carter to rise that high on autohover from her present formation depth of seven hundred fifty feet might cause her steel hull to pop — a dead giveaway to the ever-approaching Master One. And there were unknown dangers up on that shelf, including maybe antisubmarine mines or sensors, or both.

“Captain,” Jeffrey told Bell, “on auxiliary maneuvering units, translate own-ship sideways one hundred yards due east.”

Bell gave the new helm order; Patel acknowledged and worked his console to put it into effect.

“Signal Carter,” Jeffrey said, “ ‘Am increasing separation. Prepare to pivot your ship on auxiliary maneuvering units to heading due north.’ ”

Patel reported when he’d completed the eastward lateral shifting of Challenger. That gave Carter enough room to safely rotate her bow from south to north.

Jeffrey signaled Harley to pivot his ship. Now both ships’ baffles, and their pump jets, were protected by facing the slope of the shelf. This was the best that Jeffrey could do. If Master One was also hugging the edge of the shelf, bad things would happen quickly. Depending on that other sub’s depth, a collision wasn’t impossible, even if she didn’t open fire. The strike group was in international waters, but not by much. Genrietty Island wasn’t very far away.

“Your intentions, Commodore?” Bell asked.

“Sit here and wait.”

“I’m not sure I can agree with that, sir.”

“Why not?”

“The shelf floor seems to be safer than the steep open side of the slope. We know Master One is a submarine, and it’s approaching. We don’t know for sure there are any sensors planted on the shelf. That makes Master One the greater threat, the one to maneuver smartly to avoid.”

“Negative. The known threat is not the greater threat. The greater threat is the unknown floor of the shelf.”

Bell frowned. “At least rotate both ships so we’re facing Master One head on, show our smallest profiles, and point our torpedo tubes right at her.”

“Sorry, but no. I don’t want to lose the contact we hold on the wide-aperture array, then risk not regaining it soon enough on the bow sphere. Turning now would show our largest acoustic profiles at Master One’s closest point of approach instead, which is more dangerous.” A sub typically emitted greater acoustic energy from her sides than in the direction of dead ahead. And twirling both subs in place with their auxiliary maneuvering units, to keep their noses pointing at Master One, was too noisy and too complicated. “We can’t open fire first, our ROEs don’t allow it here. Besides, if we do have to shoot when shot at, I’d rather save the best setup for when Master One is nearest us. Our tubes will be aimed right at her then, with hers aimed away from us…. We stay put.”

Bell frowned again. “Understood.”

As always when the fans were stopped, the control room was getting stuffy. This latest tactics dispute between Bell and Jeffrey had heightened the already existing tension among the crew. People tried to settle in for another uncomfortable wait.

“Signal Carter, ‘Acknowledge this message and then secure acoustic link except for extreme emergency. I will signal if evasive maneuvers required, or when I deem Master One is out of counterdetection range against strike group.’ ”

Jeffrey watched the tactical plot as Master One changed from a large, multicolored blob, showing a broad area of uncertainty, into a point: O’Hanlon and Torelli at last had better data.

Yikes. The closest point of approach would be within two miles, not four, in ten minutes. Master One was on a course due west at fourteen knots, at a depth of six hundred sixty feet — two hundred meters to her captain, who’d be thinking metric. Very close. She was an Akula-II, identified by quirks in her signature as K-335, commissioned in 2001 and upgraded since then.

O’Hanlon’s initial detection had been a fluke, showing how unpredictable sound propagation could truly be under the ice cap. Akula-IIs were extremely quiet.

“Sir,” Bell said in an undertone, “the Akula-Twos have very good nonacoustic ASW detectors.”

He knew Bell meant magnetic anomaly sensors, wake turbulence measuring devices, and chemical sniffers.

Jeffrey wasn’t worried about magnetic or turbulence detection. Even the revised closest point of approach was too far away for Carter’s steel hull to be detected above the magnetic field noise caused by the proximity of the North Magnetic Pole, over in northwestern Canada. Turbulence wasn’t an issue since Jeffrey’s strike group was drifting with the current. The real problem was the current, which ran from west to east: from the strike group toward the Akula-II.

Every submarine gave off traces of lubricants and hydraulic fluid into the surrounding sea. Fuel oil for the backup emergency diesel engine, even sewage from the waste-holding tanks, might also leak in small amounts. Carter had just come from six months in dry dock. How well was she repaired? Battle damage was known to greatly increase the rate of chemical leakage. If Carter was leaving a big and strong enough plume, K-335 would notice.

Despite the warmth in Control, Jeffrey’s hands began to feel morbidly cold. There was a burning sensation in his stomach. But all he could do, as he’d already told Bell, was wait.

Oh crap.

Jeffrey walked up the aisle to Bell. He bent over to talk into his ear. “Akula-Twos have gravimeters.”

Bell’s jaw clenched immediately. He remembered what Jeffrey had said days ago, about setting a special gravimeter watch. If Challenger could spot a stationary submarine’s reactor compartment, the same thing would work in reverse.