Kilo Class

journey east-southeast right out beyond the kelp beds, which extend to Cape Sandwich on the distant easterly limit of the island. From there he would drive slowly back, working around the islands of the Golfe des Baleiniers and Baie de Rhodes, before arriving close to Cox’s Rock.

This was the landmark in his mind, the black sea-swept hunk of granite he and Bill Baldridge had been able to see at the seaward end of Gramont when Bill had spotted the periscope. That was the only real signpost he had, and the latest communication from SUBLANT suggested that the Taiwanese Hai Lung 793 might show up in these waters in a week’s time.

This would give him ample time to make a thorough search of the archipelago in the heart of Kerguelen, and to get back into position to observe the incoming Taiwanese by November 18. This time, of course, he would not need to see the Dutch-built submarine’s periscope to know it was present. The sonar system in Columbia would pick up the noise of hull 793 in a heartbeat. Or less.

And so, for almost a week, Boomer and his team groped around the windswept waterways to the northeast. They stayed at PD and spent much time avoiding kelp beds and making sure they stayed clear of rocks. David Wingate seemed to be glued to his charts. They crept back and forth down the Baie de Rhodes, traversed the short channel up to the mouth of Baie de Londres. They circumnavigated Howe Island, and Gramont, both ways. But they heard not a sound. The only good news was a satellite signal from SUBLANT, which informed the Commanding Officer that Columbia would not be reporting to the Arabian Gulf and would be returning to New London at the conclusion of the Kerguelen patrol, on November 19. Christmas at home, thank God, Boomer thought. And a unique circumnavigation of the world, too. Though they could never claim it.

At dusk on a bright November 16, Boomer ordered them to a position two miles north of where he and Bill Baldridge had seen the periscope from the deck of Yonder, in the Gulf of Choiseul. If the Hai Lung should show up, they had a fair-to-middling chance of locating it, but it was not an ideal position for a watchful submarine. The inner waters of this relatively narrow bay, surrounded by land from the north-northwest all the way south and back to the northeast, were a real headache for a sonar operator. So was the relatively shallow water — six hundred feet max — not to mention the constant threat of a rough sea.

Lieutenant Commander Krause did not like it, and Boomer felt very uneasy. That evening he and Jerry Curran spent much time discussing the problem until finally the CO said bluntly, “You know, Jerry, if that Dutch sonofabitch came sneaking through here at night, in a sea, we might never see her, and we might not even hear her. She could just go right by and we’d never know…there has to be a better way.”

“I know it’s a pain in the ass, sir, but I think we should get right out of here, a hundred and fifty or so miles back out to the northeast, beyond the big shoal area, where there’s deeper, quieter water and we can probably pick up an incoming snorkeling submarine as far out as the second convergence, thirty miles plus. It’s hopeless right here, too noisy, too shallow, and too confining. If we can get a decent distance offshore, in the open sea, the Hai Lung has much less chance of getting past us, if he’s on a direct course from Bali, which of course he must be. And if he is snorkeling, which he is quite likely to be.”

“You’re right, Jerry…we’ll move our operational area right now. We’ll be in good shape before midnight and we’ll follow the Taiwan boat right in, soon as she goes by.”

“Make your speed eight knots…steer 000. Abe, I want you to go on up here for twelve miles, then come right to 060, out to the two-hundred-meter line.”

“Aye, sir.”

Columbia cleared Choiseul Bay at 2106 and headed back up the track northeast, back along the route they knew the Hai Lung must follow if it were bound for the same spot where Boomer and Bill had observed the periscope the previous February.

The Americans reached their patrol area, just south of the forty-seventh parallel at seventy-two degrees east and waited, for a patient twenty-four hours. The trouble was, the Hai Lung did not show up, and they patrolled slowly all through November 17, the sonar men silently watching the screens and listening.

That evening was scheduled to be their next to last in the Kerguelen area, and Boomer knew he would soon have to access the satellite, report their plan, and request permission to leave on November 20.

But at 2224 on November 17, a charge of excitement shot through the ship. Boomer was in the navigation area when a sudden voice from the sonar room stopped him dead. It was the sonar officer, Lieutenant Bobby Ramsden. “We’re getting something, sir,…slight rise in the background level…it’s difficult to explain…but I don’t believe it’s weather.”

A few minutes went by. With Boomer now in the sonar room with Lieutenant Commander Curran, the young sonar Lieutenant spoke again. “Faint engine lines coming up. Relative ninety-two. Alter to one hundred thirty-five to resolve ambiguity.”

Columbia slewed around. Ten minutes later, the bearing was resolved at 053. The “waterfall” screen was now showing definite engine lines. The computer was flashing the information through its brain, comparing the lines to the bank of examples they carried. Jerry Curran was monitoring three screens simultaneously, and when he spoke, a bolt of electrified emotion shot clean up Boomer Dunning’s spine.

“Hell, sir, this is a Russian…the computer says right here we got the engines of a goddamned Kilo.”

“The computer doesn’t know its ass from its elbow,” commented the Commanding Officer, softly. “It’s K-10.”

“Might I ask with due respect how we know that, sir,” asked Lieutenant Commander Krause, who had just materialized, as he was prone to do at critical moments.

“You sure can,” said Boomer. “Because that’s the only one it could be…no other nation which owns a Kilo, except China, has the remotest interest in being anywhere near Kerguelen. If it did, Fort Meade would know.

“Besides ourselves, China is the only nation truly exercised by Taiwanese activity. They own four Kilos now. And Fort Meade knows where three of them are…two in Zhanjiang, and one in Shanghai. The fourth, K-10, is missing according to our latest satellite. It left Canton on October 15, three days after the Hai Lung. But it was a bit nearer, and it’s a bit faster…trust me, Mike, the engine lines on that screen are the lines of K-10.” And then he grinned and added, “The one that got away.”

“What now, sir?”

“We stay clear, watch him from a safe distance. He might know something we don’t. But the Hai Lung is still our first objective.”

This was the first sign of life Columbia had encountered since passing a tramp steamer in the Tasman Sea three weeks previously. Every eye in the control center was focused on the computer screens.

Commander Dunning, who had watched and waited patiently for so many days, was standing next to the periscope, and he snapped out his first urgent command since the Kurils. “Come left 350. I wanna stay ten thousand yards off track.”

“Three-five-zero, aye.”

Lieutenant Commander Curran spoke next. “This, sir, looks like a little task for our new sonar tracking system.”

“Oh yeah…the one where we blunder around disguised as a porpoise.”

Lieutenant Commander Curran laughed. “Yessir, that’s the one. And I do understand your skepticism, but it’ll work. I’ve seen the trials. We can ping the intruder on active sonar for as long as we wish, and he’s never gonna know we’re here.”

“Of course, if it doesn’t work,” replied Boomer, “we might be a bit too dead to know whether it worked or not.”

“Sir, it won’t malfunction. It’s just regular active sonar, but when it pings the Kilo they’ll think it’s a porpoise singing, or a shrimp farting, or a whale copulating…we can vary the sound all the time. Honestly this thing is one big miracle. It’s designed for active tracking…it’s perfect for us right now. Just so long as we don’t use it regular or too often.”

Commander Dunning, who was accustomed to believing that active sonar alerts your enemy, shook his head. “I guess so, Jerry. But don’t be wrong, for Christ’s sake. Something tells me the Chinese in K-10 are likely to be trigger-happy, and I’d prefer them not to open fire right back down the beam of the fucking singing porpoise.”

“Yessir, I agree with that. But I’m very confident. We’ve been testing it for about three years. We can just ping ’em on active, enough to keep track, and they’ll never know they’re being watched.”

“Who bats first?” asked the Captain, drolly. “The porpoise or the farting shrimp.”