U.S.S. Seawolf

And for once he got it roughly right.

The captain said, “I just wish we had more time for a thorough recon of the whole area over here, but time we don’t have. Linus, I’m going straight in.”

Seawolf came forward at six knots, leaving no wake on the surface. At 350 yards the CO took a last look to confirm the exact bearing and distance of the Xia.

“FIVE DOWN…MAKE YOUR DEPTH 110 FEET…make your speed eight.

“Conn me in on sonar, XO.”

“Passing eighty feet, sir.”

“UP PERISCOPE.”

At this close range, every yard counted. And for the first time, Seawolf seemed sluggish, not getting down quickly enough, as if hanging in the water, still going straight, with momentum that appeared to be lasting forever.

“CHRIST! Sir, she’s real close,” called Linus.

“Okay, okay. I got you. Keep talking me in…come on, Seawolf, for Christ’s sake, fast down and level…”

“There’s her screws. Bearing. MARK.”

“Bearing right ahead, sir. True. Two-seven-zero.”

“Read off the sky-search angle, someone.”

“Three degrees below horizontal, Captain!”

Linus’s voice was rising.

“Good.”

“Bubble amidships, sir. Depth one hundred ten feet…course two-seven-zero.” Andy Cannizaro’s voice betrayed tension, but it was firm and clear.

“Captain, aye…that angle’s not so bad as you think…it’s the refraction, Linus…the periscope’s gonna pass underneath her, believe me…start the fathometers.”

“Upward fathometer recording, sir. Steady trace from the surface, fifty-six feet from the top of our sail, sir.”

“Captain, that’s nice.”

Judd Crocker was now performing the most delicate balancing act of his life, as Seawolf matched speed with the bigger Chinese boat, which now rumbled along the surface directly overhead, casting a mammoth black shadow over them, its massive screws thrashing water right above them, threatening instant decapitation of the sail if the American submarine rose more than about 15 feet in the water. But the burly yachtsman from Cape Cod knew all too well what happened when the propellers of a big nuclear ship smash into the hull of another: A lot of steel and sometimes a lot of people end up littering the ocean floor.

Judd held her steady, at six knots, keeping his ship exactly under the center of the Xia’s keel, with no time now for even a thought about the Chinese sonar room right above them.

“The Xia maintains speed and course, sir…”

And then the operator called it: “MARK! Upward sounder showing twenty feet above our sail, sir. I’m looking up right now, right on her center line.”

“Beautiful,” whispered Judd, trying to be quiet, like the rest of his men, afraid that somehow their own heartbeats would give them away.

Still at the periscope, he had the picture right in focus. “MARK! Large grating on her keel line…very slightly to starboard. Helm…come right one. I repeat, one degree.”

And now the CO ordered a fractional increase in speed for Seawolf to complete a long run straight underneath the Xia, moving slowly from stern to bow.

CO: “MARK! Intakes right above, port and starboard…MARK! Second grating…”

And all the while the racing pens of Seawolf’s upward fathometers flew across the moving-paper recorders, making a pinpoint-accurate picture of the Xia’s keel, her precise shape and measurements from her waterline downward. With agonizing slowness they edged forward, and now no one was speaking, and the only sound came from the sonar room as the moving pen kept writing, and, as Lt. Commander Omar Khayyam might have added, “and, having writ,/Moves on.”

It was the fathometer man who broke the silence. “MARK! We’ve lost the hull trace, Captain. We’ve gone right by…we’re back looking at the surface.”

Seawolf’s team had done it. The first half of the critical picture was in the bag, but now the CO would have to attempt another desperately dangerous maneuver, coming right around the stern of the Xia, and risking everything for a second crucial set of pictures, to be taken through the periscope camera, right off her stern, up close and personal. This would complete the picture, giving the measurement of the missile tubes above the waterline.

“RIGHT FULL RUDDER…MAKE YOUR DEPTH SIXTY-TWO FEET…THREE UP…MAKE YOUR COURSE ONE- EIGHT-ZERO.”

Seawolf swung away, making a hard turn to starboard, right off the Xia’s bow, from just below her keel, the beginning of a wide, fast three-quarter circle that would take her right around the Chinese submarine, and across her stern as it ploughed slowly along the surface.

“MAKE YOUR SPEED FIVE KNOTS…”

“UP PERISCOPE!”

And now they were directly in the photography-run procedure, with a view less than 100 yards away.

Judd Crocker stared out at the Chinese submarine while Seawolf’s photographic system snapped off the shots. It seemed to take forever. And suddenly Judd saw men appearing on the bridge of the Xia. At least he thought they were just appearing. He was certain they had not been there when he first looked, it seemed moments ago.

And then his fears were dramatically confirmed. One of them pointed straight between Judd Crocker’s eyes, directly at Seawolf’s periscope.

Nonetheless he held his nerve, waiting for the camera crew’s report. By the time it came, eight seconds later, there were three Chinamen, all pointing at Seawolf’s periscope.

Strangely Judd said nothing, but kept the mast up for another whole minute, providing the Chinese on the bridge with a spectacular view of the American periscope heading south.

Linus thought that as camera runs go, this one had been a disaster. The periscope had been clear of the water for a minute and a half, God knows how long after the report of completion. Linus Clarke, not for the first time, thought his captain had completely lost his grip.

“Captain, sir…your periscope’s been up for ninety seconds…they’ll surely see us,” he added anxiously. But late.

“You’re surely right, Linus. Why do you suppose I don’t give a rat’s ass?”

“Jesus, Captain, beats the shit out of me.”

“Down periscope.” Judd Crocker made that last order at the very final moment, giving the Chinese on the bridge just a few seconds more to watch him vanish, directly to the south.

But now the CO’s escape options were closing. IF they had been spotted, and he must now assume they had, since it would have been a minor miracle if they hadn’t, he should clear the datum. To the west made little sense, because that way led to the shallow water surrounding the island of Hainan and the Chinese Navy base. To the north were the busy operational waters of Admiral Zu Jicai’s Southern Fleet headquarters, and it seemed quite likely that the Xia might be heading home, since her exercise area contained a plain and obvious intruder.

For the moment he had to get away from her, because if that ship was about to summon half the Chinese Navy to locate Seawolf and hunt them down, well, he had to know that, which meant listening to her enemy report to base. This might not happen for at least 20 minutes: drafting, formatting, command approval, encryption, and radio tuning. All this preceded the transmission of a highly classified military signal.

And he thanked God for his two Chinese-speaking “spooks” from Naval Intelligence, who would pick that