party?”
The Tomcat streaked northward through the cold gray sky.
0925 hours Zulu (0925 hours Zone)
Viking 704
Northwest of the Faeroe Islands
“So what happens now?” Magruder asked as a thud from the rear of the
plane announced the deployment of another sonobuoy.
From his position in the right rear seat, Meade answered in a distracted
tone. “Now we hunt. We just dropped a DICASS, an SSQ-62. Instead of the
Jezebel’s passive sonar the DICASS will send out active pings on command.
We’ve got to lay several of the suckers so we can triangulate range and
bearing data and locate our underwater friend.” He paused. “The Skipper has
the next set of coordinates locked into the flight computer now, and Curtis is
busy working on the acoustic data from the Jezebel.”
“Anything I can do?” Tombstone asked.
“Now that you mention it, yeah. Keep an eye on the non-acoustic sensors.
We ran over them yesterday, remember?”
“Yeah.” Magruder found the panel and nodded even though the TACCO
couldn’t see him. “Yeah, I’ve got ’em.”
“Good. Keep a close watch on the MAD. It’ll pick up a sub by detecting
the metal in its hull … if we get close enough, and if it isn’t one of those
new titanium hulls the Russkies have been playing with. Anything registers on
the MAD and you sing out, Commander. Okay?”
“I think I can handle it,” Tombstone said.
Curtis spoke up from the left rear Senso position. “I make the contact a
Victor III. Number five, I think, but I’m not positive. The signal’s a
little bit confused.”
“Confused?” Meade asked.
“Yeah … I don’t know, sir, there might be more than one engine making
the noise down there, but it’s intermittent. I thought I heard two boats for
a while, then only one.”
“SOSUS reported possible multiples,” Harrison reminded them. “But you’re
sure about the ID, Curtis?”
“Wouldn’t swear to the specific boat, sir, but the sounds I heard were a
Victor III all right.”
“I’m tagging it on the tactical plot,” Meade said. “Curtis, pass the
data back to the Jeff over the Link-II.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the enlisted man replied.
Magruder was still unfamiliar with many of the more arcane aspects of
sub-hunting, but he remembered that the Link-II was the on-board Navy Tactical
Data System which kept track of the ships, aircraft, buoys, and submarines in
a given area. It could be monitored by the ships of the battle group. The
Senso and TACCO shared the responsibility of keeping the NTDS data current and
sending it off to the ASW module in Jefferson’s CIC.
“What’s the nearest help we can tap, Spock?” Harrison asked.
Meade didn’t answer immediately. “Hmmm … Gridley’s closest,” he said
at last.
Harrison glanced across the cockpit at Magruder. “Commander, get on the
horn to the Jeff and ask ASW if we can get a little help from the Gridley. A
LAMPS helo would be a big help tracking down that sucker.”
“And the frigate’s towed array’ll spot anything trying to break out to
the southeast,” Meade added. “That’ll keep the bastards from getting any
closer to the battle group.”
Magruder keyed in the radio and passed the request to the Jefferson.
“Viking Seven-oh-four, this is Guenevere,” Lieutenant Nelson’s voice came
back. “Request acknowledged. Wait one.”
Seconds ticked by as the Viking continued its low-level flight barely two
hundred feet above the ocean. Magruder heard another sonobuoy launch, and the
S-3B banked left to take up a new heading.
“Viking Seven-oh-four thanks you, Guenevere!” the radio announced.
“Switch to Channel Five. Call sign is Jericho, repeat Jericho.”
“Guenevere, Seven-oh-four thanks you,” Magruder said. He switched
frequencies to establish contact with the Gridley. “Jericho, Jericho, this is
Viking Seven-oh-four.”
“Seven-oh-four, Jericho. Copy you five by five. We’re readying you a
helo now. Call sign will be Trumpet. ETA your position is thirty Mikes,
repeat thirty Mikes.”
“Roger that, Jericho,” Tombstone responded. He was disappointed at the
long delay, still reacting with the instincts of a fighter pilot to whom
thirty seconds, not thirty minutes, was considered a long time. But Harrison
didn’t look concerned. “We’ll be in touch. Seven-oh-four is clear.”
“Got something on DICASS two, sir,” Curtis announced. “Same signature