U.S.S. Seawolf

fitted with China’s first decent towed-array, developed from the stuff they stole from us.”

“Guess we better be careful,” said Lt. Pearson. “Especially if they got the ole CY-1 into action.”

230700JUN06.

North of the Ryukyu Islands.

29.10N 129.30E.

Speed 30. Depth 300. Course 305.

Seawolf ran swiftly underwater into the approaches to the East China Sea on Friday morning, five days after leaving Pearl. The journey through the great Pacific wilderness had been uneventful. They never even heard another ship. Nine times during the journey Seawolf’s periscope came jutting out of the water, but the one-second signal from the satellite was always the same: The new Xia was still moored securely alongside in Huludao, her reactor still running.

^{Seawolf’s Operations Area}

Judd Crocker slowed to 20 knots as they picked their way through the tiny Japanese islands, with 1,500 feet of water beneath their keel. Up ahead was the unseen line of the south-flowing Japanese current that forms the seaward frontier of the China Sea.

Seawolf was not going that far, and when Pearson called out their position at longitude 129 degrees, the CO ordered, “Right standard rudder…make your course three-six-zero…speed twenty knots…depth two hundred feet.”

To Clarke he added, “We’ll make our patrol area just south of the entrance to the Korean Strait — the water’s deep and Japanese. We can hang around here until something shakes loose, then we can creep up to the one- hundred-meter line and wait for the Chinaman. That’s if I’m right about the course he’s bound to take over here to the east. If he’s on the other side, we’re in trouble, because we can’t track him underwater. Alternately, if he’s over there he’ll be on the surface anyway, so the overheads can track him, and we’ll catch up with him later.”

And so they slid along the eastern side of the Yellow Sea, off the far southern coastline of Japan’s 130-mile- long province of Kyushu. This is the last major land before the flag of the Rising Sun peters out into its lonely chain of remote Pacific islands, running southwest for 540 miles, almost to Taiwan.

But around these islands is the only deep water in the entire area, before the great continental shelf of the People’s Republic of China rises up to meet incoming submarines, driving them inevitably to the surface, or at least forcing them to leave behind the giveaway trail of a swirling wake.

Seawolf’s CO planned to do neither, and in 350 feet of water they patrolled silently below the surface, their speed now down to only 10 knots, the senior officers hoping to God the Chinese had not yet mastered the satellite sub-spotting techniques they had hijacked from the laboratories in California.

The weekend passed without any change. Four times they accessed the American satellite, and each time there was confirmation that the Xia had not moved. At 0900 on Monday morning, June 26, however, one of Frank’s sonar operators thought he picked up something out to the west: “Hard to explain…just a slight rise in the background level…doesn’t sound much like weather.”

The CO joined Frank standing behind the operator’s chair, and several minutes went by before they picked up any further sight or sound. “There it is again, sir…right there…we got faint engine lines coming up. Relative one- twenty-five…”

“Come right to one-thirty-five to resolve ambiguity.”

Seawolf swerved around while the sonar men tried to resolve the bearing. It took more than 10 minutes because the lines continued to be faint. Kyle Frank called it at 0922: “Bearing two-eight- zero.”

By now the “waterfall” screen was showing a much more definite picture of the engine lines, and the computer was scanning and comparing at high speed, trying to pinpoint the exact ship they were locating.

“It’s a submarine, sir, no doubt about that,” said Frank as his eyes darted from one screen to another. For a few moments he was silent, and then he blurted out, “Jesus, sir, it’s Russian…right, here we got ourselves a real live Russky…look at that. It’s a Kilo-class boat, I’d guess ten thousand yards off our starboard quarter…what the hell’s that doing here?”

“Possibly the same as us — waiting for the Xia?” asked Rothstein.

“I doubt it,” replied Judd. “The damn thing’s stacked with Russian technology anyway. I’d be surprised if there was anything they don’t know about it. They’re all best friends these days. They don’t need to spy. I’d say the Kilo was Chinese — I think they have about five of them now, and one of them is out here on some kind of exercise.”

“Shall we go a little closer, sir…see if we can learn anything?”

“I think we might, Linus. But I don’t want to go too close, maybe five thousand yards off track. Steer course two-five-zero…make your speed six knots…”

Seawolf edged in closer, and as she did Kyle Frank’s man picked up a new sound, machinery noise only, bearing one-four-zero.

“This is possibly a surface ship, sir, moving left slow or stopped, with a diesel engine running…puts us right between the Kilo and him.”

“I’ll have a look down the bearing, Sonar.” Seawolf’s CO kept the periscope up for a span of about seven seconds. He instantly identified the contact as a 5,000-ton Dazhi-class support ship. The computer told the sonar room it was 40 years old and carried four electrohydraulic cranes and a large stock of torpedoes.

“Know what I think?” said the captain.

But before anyone could answer, Kyle Frank’s sonar operator had picked up another passive contact very close to the Kilo.

“Jesus Christ!” said the operator to himself. “Bastards’ve opened fire on us.” But he was all pro when he made his announcement.

“TORPEDOES…INCOMING…POSSIBLY TWO…BEARING TWO-EIGHT-THREE…BEARING STEADY…”

Lt. Commander Clarke said, “My God, sir…what if they have warheads…STAND BY FULL DECOY PATTERN… we ought to be firing back…these bastards are shooting at us…trying to sink us, sir.”

“Negative, XO,” replied Captain Crocker.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, NEGATIVE!” Linus Clarke’s voice was almost out of control. “I’M LOOKING AT TWO TORPEDOES INCOMING FROM A CHINESE SUBMARINE!”

“Sure, Linus. Just shut up for a minute, willya? I’m gonna let ’em go right by. RIGHT STANDARD RUDDER… MAKE YOUR COURSE TWO-EIGHT-THREE.”

“But how the hell do you know they’re going right by, sir?”

“Well, first of all they haven’t gone active. Second, it’s gotta be about a hundred to one against the torpedoes being at the same depth as us. And five hundred to one against them being on the exact right course to hit us. That’s an acceptable risk.”

“POSITIVE TWO TORPEDOES BEARING TWO-EIGHT-THREE…BEARING STILL STEADY, SIR,” called the sonar operator.

“’Course it is,” replied the captain. “We’ve just wandered into a torpedo test-firing exercise. That old Dazhi support ship I saw is acting as a TRV, torpedo recovery vessel — and none of the Chinese on either ship has the remotest idea we’re here. We’d sure know if they did.”

Right now, not for the first time in this submarine, the CO and his XO had totally different mindsets.

Judd Crocker’s thought process had told him with great clarity, Up range from us is an obvious torpedo recovery vessel. The Kilo has loosed a couple off. Neither of them is aimed at me in this small patch of water. I assess it’s at least 5,000 to I against either of the weapons hitting us, and even if one did, it plainly does not have a warhead, and it would not be in any way terminal.

Linus Clarke’s view was diametrically opposed: We are virtually in enemy waters. These bastards are shooting. Jesus Christ! My captain has placed our submarine right in the path of the torpedoes. He refuses to put out decoys. HE ACTUALLY DOES NOT WANT TO DO ANYTHING…HE MUST BE OUT OF HIS MIND. It’s a basic law of the universe…cover your ass. My God, a minute from now we could all be dead.

And even as the tortured thoughts of the XO thudded through his brain, the big TEST 96 missiles came cleaving through the water, not increasing in speed from 30 knots, not going active, but nonetheless coming