The Hunt for Red October

“The bastard went right past. Either ignored the decoy or flat didn’t hear it. He’s abeam of us, we’ll be in his baffles soon,” Chief Laval reported.

Chambers swore quietly. “So much for that idea. Right fifteen degrees rudder.” At least the Dallas had not been heard. The submarine responded rapidly to the controls. “Let’s get behind him.”

The Pogy

The Pogy was now a mile off the Alfa’s port quarter. She had the Dallas on sonar and noted her change of course. Commander Wood simply did not know what to do next. The easiest solution was to shoot, but he couldn’t. He contemplated shooting on his own. His every instinct told him to do just this. The Alfa was hunting Americans…But he couldn’t give in to his instinct. Duty came first.

There was nothing worse than overconfidence, he reflected bitterly. The assumption behind this operation had been that there wouldn’t be anybody around, and even if there were the attack subs would be able to warn the boomer off well in advance. There was a lesson in this, but Wood didn’t care to think about it just now.

The V. K. Konovalov

“Contact,” the michman said into the microphone. “Ahead, almost dead ahead. Using propellers and going at slow speed. Bearing zero-four-four, range unknown.’

“Is it Red October?” Tupolev asked.

“I cannot say, Comrade Captain. It could be an American. He’s coming this way, I think.”

“Damn!” Tupolev looked around the control room. Could they have passed the Red October? Might they already have killed him?

The Dallas

“Does he know we’re here, Frenchie?” Chambers asked, back in sonar.

“No way, sir.” Laval shook his head. “We’re directly behind him. Wait a minute…” The chief frowned. “Another contact, far side of the Alfa. That’s gotta be our friend, sir. Jesus! I think he’s heading this way. Using his wheels, not that funny thing.”

“Range to the Alfa?”

“Under three thousand yards, sir.”

“All ahead two thirds! Come left ten degrees!” Chambers ordered. “Frenchie, ping, but use the under-ice sonar. He may not know what that is. Make him think we’re the boomer.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

The V. K. Konovalov

“High-frequency pinging aft!” the michman called out. “Does not sound like an American sonar, Comrade.”

Tupolev was suddenly puzzled. Was it an American to seaward? The other one on his port quarter was certainly American. It had to be the October. Marko was still the fox. He had lain still, letting them go past, so that he could shoot at them!

“All ahead full, left full rudder!”

The Red October

“Contact!” Jones sang out. “Dead ahead. Wait…It’s an Alfa! She’s close! Seems to be turning. Somebody pinging her on the other side. Christ, she’s real close. Skipper, the Alfa is not a point source. I got signal separation between the engine and the screw.”

“Captain,” Mancuso said. The two commanders looked at one another and communicated a single thought as if by telepathy. Ramius nodded.

“Get us range.”

“Jonesy, ping the sucker!” Mancuso ran aft.

“Aye.” The systems were fully powered. Jones loosed a single ranging ping. “Range fifteen hundred yards. Zero elevation angle, sir. We’re level with her.”

“Mancuso, have your man give us range and bearing!” Ramius twisted the annunciator handle savagely.

“Okay, Jonesy, you’re our fire control. Track the mother.”

The V. K. Konovalov

“One active sonar ping to starboard, distance unknown, bearing zero-four-zero. The seaward target just ranged on us,” the michman said.

“Give me a range,” Tupolev ordered.

“Too far aft of the beam, Comrade. I am losing him aft.”

One of them was the October—but which? Could he risk shooting at an American sub? No!

“Solution to the forward target?”

“Not a good one,” the starpom replied. “He’s maneuvering and increasing speed.”

The michman concentrated on the western target. “Captain, contact forward is not, repeat not Soviet. Forward contact is American.”

“Which one?” Tupolev screamed.

“West and northwest are both American. East target unknown.”

“Keep the rudder at full.”

“Rudder is full,” the helmsman responded, holding the wheel over.

“The target is behind us. We must lock on and shoot as we turn. Damn, we are going too fast. Slow to one- third speed.”

The Konovalov was normally quick to turn, but the power reduction made her propeller act like a brake, slowing the maneuver. Still, Tupolev was doing the right thing. He had to point his torpedo tubes near the bearing of the target, and he had to slow rapidly enough for his sonar to give him accurate firing information.

The Red October

“Okay, the Alfa is continuing her turn, now heading right to left…Propulsion sounds are down some. She just chopped power,” Jones said, watching the screen. His mind was working furiously computing course, speed, and distance. “Range is now twelve hundred yards. She’s still turning. We doin’ what I think?”

“Looks that way.”

Jones set the active sonar on automatic pinging. “Have to see what this turn does, sir. If she’s smart she’ll burn off south and get clear first.”

“Then pray she ain’t smart,” Mancuso said from the passageway. “Steady as she goes!”

“Steady as she goes,” Ryan said, wondering if the next torpedo would kill them.

“Her turn is continuing. We’re on her port beam now, maybe her port bow.” Jones looked up. “She’s going to get around first. Here come the pings.”

The Red October accelerated to eighteen knots.

The V. K. Konovalov

“I have him,” the michman said. “Range one thousand meters, bearing zero-four- five. Angle zero.”

“Set it up,” Tupolev ordered his exec.

“It will have to be a zero-angle shot. We’re swinging too rapidly,” the starpom said. He set it up as quickly as he could. The submarines were now closing at over forty knots. “Ready for tube five only! Tube flooded, door — open. Ready!”

“Shoot!”

“Fire five!” The starpom’s finger stabbed the button.

The Red October

“Range down to nine hundred — high-speed screws dead ahead! We have one torpedo in the water dead ahead. One fish, heading right in!”

“Forget it, track the Alfa!”