U.S.S. Seawolf

United States of America. It seemed that whenever there was a standoff, China came off worse, especially in matters naval. The big American Carrier Battle Groups, forever prowling close to Taiwan, Japan and the Philippines, were literally the bane of his life, always too strong, too fast and too threatening.

And how could he ever forget the terrible weeks two years previous when the U.S. Navy decided to eliminate seven of his new-built Russian submarines, the elusive diesel-electric Kilo-class boats? The colossal cost of trying to protect them, the sheer helplessness he felt in the face of the pitiless underwater marauders from the Pentagon — no, Zhang would never forget those days.

He would never forget the ultimate humiliation, the ruthlessness of the U.S. Navy. And he would never forgive either; not for the gigantic cost in losses to China’s military, nor for the loss of so many of the PLAN’s leading submariners. Worse yet, he, Zhang, would never forgive the U.S. for the loss of face he had suffered, both before his peers and in his own warrior’s soul.

“Zhang, would you sink Seawolf, if you could?”

“I might. I just might.”

“But how?”

“I think two Kilos might do the job very satisfactorily. Should we ever locate her again.”

271801JUN06.

33.00N 128.10E. Depth 150. Speed 5.

Course three-one-five.

“The satellites have her, sir. The Chinaman is steering zero-nine-zero, running north of Cheju Island…that’s about seventy miles to our west-nor’west. Still heading straight toward. We just need to hang around right here, she’s gonna come right on by.”

Pearson spoke in the certain navigational tones of a man who was guiding the destiny of Xia III. But Judd Crocker understood that. They’d come a long way, and their quarry was about to fetch up over the horizon.

Personally, Judd was kind of impressed with himself that he had called her course out several days ago. All on his own, studying the chart. But he tempered that self-congratulatory mode by telling himself that any submariner on earth knows you head for the deepest water, whether you come from Massachusetts or Manchuria.

And now they could only wait, stay dived and silent, and keep a weather eye out for escort ships. His orders were rigid on that one point: Don’t get detected. He just had to make sure the sonar room stayed on high alert, listening for a rise in the levels, listening for the throb of the Xia’s propeller, watching for her engine lines on the screen, staying well off track, and then falling in quietly behind, tracking her until she dived. And then sticking to her like a limpet.

If the Xia dived, they would have no more help from the overheads. The next satellite pass was not due for another couple of hours. By then Xia III would be long past. At least she should be. And Judd checked his watch again—1900 now — and, echoing the plaintive cry of his ultimate boss, he muttered, “Well — where the hell is she?”

The answer was, close. At 1900 Xia III was still on the surface, just clearing the northeast headland of Cheju Island, and setting a southeasterly course that would take her within five miles of the waiting Seawolf at around 2010. She had made an even more direct beeline for the deep water than Judd Crocker had expected, and he smiled quietly as his sonars picked her up, steaming toward him at 25 knots.

“Conn-Sonar. I’m getting something, sir…just a faint mark on the trace…”

“Hard left rudder…resolve ambiguity…”

Seawolf swung left, permitting her towed array to reveal whether the approaching ship was to port or starboard.

“Right off our port bow, sir. Bearing three-four-five. Designate track two-zero. Checking machinery profiles right now.”

The control room was silent as everyone listened for the verdict from the sonar officer — almost the only sound in the entire ship was that of Frank’s fingers punching the keyboard of his computer. Then he called it.

“Conn-Sonar. Right here we have a twin-shafted nuclear ship with shrouded props…the engine is Russian, big GT3A turbines…profile fits the engine lines of a Russian Typhoon ICBM.”

“So that’s how they did it,” murmured Judd Crocker. “They doubled the size of the old Xia to cope with their new stolen missiles — but they used a Russian engine for propulsion. They sure are buddy-buddies these days. I know one Admiral Morgan who is not going to love this.”

^{Seawolf Locates the Xia}

The Xia came on toward them, passing to the east about 7,000 yards distant, still on the surface. Seawolf fell in behind, about two miles off the Chinese boat’s stern, and together they proceeded through the deep trough of ocean that runs west of the Japanese archipelago of small islands.

Captain Crocker twice made a sharp 15-minute move to periscope depth for a visual check on the big missile submarine from Huludao. But his chances were limited. Right on the 32-degree line of latitude, 62 miles off the western coastline of Kyushu, Xia III dived, driving down to a depth of 200 feet, her speed dropping to 12 knots, the first time she had ever been below the surface.

Seawolf tracked her, adjusting her own depth and speed, very occasionally pinging the Xia with the very latest disguised active sonar, almost impossible to detect, even by the Americans and the Brits. The trouble was, no one on board the American spy ship knew whether the Chinese were using the same system, despite the fact that they had acquired it under the most suspicious circumstances.

The uncertainty concerning China’s ability to actually use what they had hijacked was unsettling to the officers of Seawolf. Were they being located by a silent satellite probing the waters from space? Were they being unknowingly pinged with a disguised active sonar, as they were pinging the Xia?

“Generally speaking, Linus, my policy is that no news is good news. It’s my belief that if the Chinese could locate us, they’d do it right away, and then act immediately to clear us right out of the area. Or at least try to. So far, no one’s done anything. Which means we are almost certainly undetected.”

“Can’t argue with any of that, sir,” said Clarke.

But at that moment, the peace of Seawolf’s control room was ruffled.

“Conn-Sonar. The Xia’s turning…”

Frank’s operator was watching the turbo alternator, and on the 60-hertz frequency it had been showing for some while it had moved to 63 hertz, which meant the Xia had shifted the range rate from zero to some 18 knots closing.

“JESUS! She’s coming almost straight at us…speed six knots…”

“LEFT FULL RUDDER,” snapped Crocker. “Make your course zero-nine-zero. I’m going clear to the east of her…make your speed six knots.”

Seawolf swung away, toward the Japanese coastline.

“Sir, have we been detected?”

“Does she know we’re here, or what?”

“Christ, I bet it’s that satellite system they stole. Are these guys watching our every move?”

“Easy, gentlemen,” said Judd. “She’s probably just clearing her baffles, checking her stern arcs, making sure no one is following her. Put yourself in her place…you’re on the maiden voyage of the last word in Chinese missile submarine technology. You’re running south down this lonely sea to find deep water to conduct your trials. On board you probably have, or at least you will have, intercontinentals powerful enough to knock down a major American city.

“You know the U.S. is more than just interested. You know they will at least try to take a look. You know the U.S. is light years ahead in all submarine technology. Would you take the occasional look over your shoulder? Sure you