what support we can, maybe try to scare the little bastards off. But nothing overt, nothing that can be interpreted as a hostile act.' He turned to face me now, and I saw the concern in his eyes. 'There's too much at stake, Lab Rat. Too much, right now.' 'What do you mean, too much at stake?' I asked. 'We're on a friendship mission, a cultural exchange military style, if you will. Isn't that right?'
And again, the admiral shook his head. 'That, yes. But there's more to it than that.' A brief, wintry smile crossed his face. 'You've already found out I'm not telling you everything. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?'
In between the admiral's comments I could hear the questions, orders, and concerns of the Hunter 701 pilot coming across tactical.
'She's going deep, she's going deep. Put another two sonobuoys on her. We can't lose her now, not while…'
'But what does that mean, Admiral?' I pressed. 'Just how deep are we in this?' 'Deep enough,' the admiral said. His eyes were fixed on the speaker.
Admiral Wayne was a Tomcat pilot. He had been one for twenty years, flying wing-to-wing with Tombstone Magruder for more tours than I cared to think about. We knew a fair amount about USW ? most admirals do ? but it certainly wasn't his speciality. Watching him now, I could almost see his mind mapping out the possibilities, tracing the actions and tactics of the Viking pilot against the submarines.
Where the hell are those other Vikings? Jesus, we have more than we can handle in here! TAO, what the hell is-?'
'She can't go that deep,' the admiral said, almost to himself. 'It won't make that much difference ? not here. The Russians know that. Surely the skipper knows it, too.'
I knew what the admiral was talking about. The ocean up here was a barely liquid frozen slab of water, dense, with a uniform temperature and gradient that created a perfect isothermal layer. Sound waves were affected only by the depth of the water, since the temperature was constant. But the water was not deep enough to create truly long-range transmission paths. Indeed, playing USW in these frozen waters was truly a challenge. The temperature and depth profile combined to create convergence zone transmission that bore no resemblance to its cousins in warmer climates.
Somebody better tell that boomer to get out of the way. Sierra 002 is headed right up her ass. Damn it, can't we get word to them somehow?
The submarine symbols of the large-screen display moved with chilling slowness. The blue symbol, representing the friendly submarine ? or at least we believed it was the friendly ? was tracking south, apparently oblivious to the company in the water. The Soviet ? excuse me, Russian ? submarines were vectoring in from the north, east, and south, slowly and inexorably boxing her in.
Surely she must know. One of the unvarying rules in the undersea warfare environment is the reciprocity of sound. If you can hear them, then they can hear you ? like the signs you see on a tractor's rear-view mirrors that warn If you can't see me, I can't see you. If the Russians' submarines could hear the U.S. submarine well enough to track her, then the U.S. submarine must know that the Russians were there. Must ? the superiority of our acoustic gear in terms of sensitivity and processing ability was just too great.
But then why weren't they doing anything? Attempting evasive maneuvers, making a course change, even getting the hell out of the area?
Did they think that the carrier and her air wing would protect them? Hell, we weren't even supposed to know she was here!
But then again, it could be one of those massive operational screw-ups. The submarines were told one thing, we were told another. In our case, that would be nothing. If the powers that be had let a U.S. submarine enter these potentially hostile waters without telling her of the true tactical situation, it was criminal. Someone would face the long green table over this, I was sure. Just as long as it wasn't me. If she shoots now… The pilot's voice, which had earlier been rising to almost a frenzy, sounded almost resigned now. He had torpedoes on his wings, but no shot.
Not this close to a friendly. Even absent a formal declaration of a no-attack zone, he could not in good conscience put a weapon in the water this close to an American submarine.
'But what the hell are they doing?' Admiral Wayne said. He turned to me, a puzzled look in his eyes. 'Sure, they're closing on her. But there's no indication of hostile activity yet ? at least, not anything I'm willing to classify as that. They are in their home waters, and we're operating without any notice to them. Just what the hell am I supposed to do?'
Within the minimums now.
I could see from the screen that the Hunter pilot had assessed it correctly. The Russian submarines were now well within torpedo range of their prey.
But would they fire? What possible justification would they have for attacking a U.S. submarine, even in these waters? For all that she was in their home waters, our submarine was outside the twelve-mile limit, well within international waters. Bad manners, extremely bad manners, but not an act of war.
Want some company up here?
The flight deck above my head had been silent for several minutes now, so I should not have been surprised when the new voice entered the tactical net. It was another S-3B, one of the alert aircraft that had been on the deck just moments before.
Yeah, come on. Let some other people play here, too.
And the third voice, this one as uncertain and erratic as a young man going through puberty. In the background, I could hear the hard thump of a helicopter's rotors. I knew Batman was as relieved as I was.
There are not many things that threaten the submarine as much as a couple of ASW helicopters working in conjunction with a long-range Viking aircraft. The helicopters are equipped with dipping sonars, and an acoustic transducer that is lowered from their underbelly by a long cable.
The operator can select the depth, positioning the receiver in exactly the same layer of water as the submarine.
A tactical display was catching up now, showing the location of the two ASW helicopters as well as the additional S-3B. A potent force, enough to deal with three Russian submarines. Would be, except for the small problem about putting weapons in the water.
No, don't do that. You can't ? damn him, he's closing!
There was a new rate note of alarm in the first pilot's voice.
Home Plate, Hunter 701. Sierra 002 is showing down Doppler. He's heading away from us, and away from the U.S. submarines ? and toward you.
'General quarters!' the admiral snapped. The TAO was a microsecond ahead of him. Before he even finished the order, the hard, incessant bonging of general quarters filled the ship.
Finally, the U.S. submarine reacted. She almost looked uncertain, changing course slightly several times, before staying up on her original course. She continued south for several minutes, then made one final turn.
Back toward us.
'What in the hell does she think she is doing?' the admiral muttered.
'The safest place to be right now is far away from the carrier.'
'Maybe we're not the only ones with secret orders, Admiral,' I said, suddenly aware of the possibilities. 'You knew about the submarine ? I didn't. Maybe the sub skipper has orders you don't know about. Like to protect the carrier.'
'I don't need a submarine with this much air-power,' the admiral snapped.
'The best submarine hunter is another submarine,' I pointed out quietly. 'You've seen that before.'
The admiral stared at something I couldn't see in the corner, growling softly at me. I kept quiet. Finally, he said, 'We stick to the original plan. Whatever that submarine is doing, that's their business. And the same thing goes for the other submarines now ? as far as I can tell, they have made no overt or hostile actions. And I am not about to start an international incident by getting too nervous too soon. After all, we're here on a friendship mission.'
Some friendship mission. I could still hear feet pounding down the passageways as the ship set general quarters. It takes time, sometimes too much time, to mobilize six thousand sailors to their battle stations. Ten minutes ? anything less is considered good.
As the minutes dragged on, the admiral appeared to reach a decision.
