well aware of Strelbitski’s eyes boring into the back of his head from
across the attack center. The man had been silent since the attack, and
sullen. His arm, dislocated during the momentary turbulence after the
explosions, was now resting in a sling, and his face had the pasty look
of a corpse.
By now, Moscow knew that the missile had not been launched on time, that
Chelyabinsk had not been incinerated. No doubt, the air above the ice
was thick with coded radio messages just now, demanding that he
acknowledge and explain himself.
Should he assume the American sub had left, surface, and carry out his
orders? Or continue the hunt?
“Slow to five knots!” he ordered. “Ahead slow!”
Damn it, the American had to be here somewhere!
1617 hours
Control room/attack center
U.S.S. Galveston
Montgomery’s face was pressed against the periscope’s eyepiece.
Scanning forward and up, he could see the light filtering down from the
surface through the ice, a white-hazy ripple of light and shadow,
growing brighter as Galveston slipped beneath thin-ice leads, darker
beneath the pressure ridges and thicker blocks.
There still was no sign of the enemy.
“Captain! Sonar!”
“Captain. Go ahead.”
“Sir, I’m getting very faint noises to starboard, on a heading of
one-zero-two. Range … hard to make out, but I think it’s pretty
close. A mile. Maybe a bit more.”
“What kind of noises?”
“Hard to pick it out of the background, sir. We’re still getting some
low-frequency stuff, and the ice has been cracking apart ever since the
explosion. But my guess would be something damned big on two screws.”
Bearing 102 … that was almost abeam of the Galveston. Montgomery
walked the periscope around to the right …
And there she was, no more than a blunt-nosed shadow against the
brighter ice overhead, but unmistakable. He estimated the range off the
reticle markings on the periscope image, using the Typhoon’s length of
558 feet as a trigonometric key. The Typhoon was now about eighteen
hundred yards to starboard, just over a mile. He’d never have seen her
if he hadn’t gone deeper to silhouette her against the light.
“Gently now,” Montgomery said, keeping the target in his sights. “Helm,
come right to a heading of one-seven-five. Dead slow.”
“Heading one-seven-five, dead slow, aye, sir.”
The minutes dragged as Galveston slowly turned, reversing her northbound
course toward one heading almost due south … and sliding gently once
again into the Typhoon’s baffles. As with combat between fighter
planes, the combatant who first spotted the other usually had the
advantage. Montgomery was not about to lose it again.
“Mr. Villiers?”
“Tubes one through four are loaded, sir. Mark 48 ADCAP. Outer tube
doors are open.”
“Are you tracking Mr. Ekhart’s target?”
“We’re tracking.”
“Fire one.”
“One away. Running hot and clean, positive guidance.”
“Fire two.”
“Two away. Positive guidance.”
“Fire three.”
“Three away.” Montgomery saved the fourth torpedo against the
unexpected. Running time for the Mark 48s at a range of one mile was
just under one minute.
1619 hours
Control room/attack center
Russian PLARB Slavnyy Oktyabrskaya Revolutsita
“Torpedoes in the water! Very close! Bearing zero-zero-three, coming
in directly astern!”
“Release countermeasure decoys!”
“Decoys away!”
“Come hard left! Full speed now!”
“Coming left.”
“Engineering! I want one hundred ten percent! Now!”
“Yes, Captain!”
“Captain! Torpedoes closing! Estimated range four hundred meters …”
“Move, damn you!” he screamed at the helmsman. “Put the helm hard over!
Stand the bastard on his side!”
“I knew you should have fired the missile when you had the chance,”
Strelbitski said. “I will see to it that-”
“You are at liberty to report me to Moscow,” Dobrynin said. The deck
was tilting now at an angle of nearly thirty degrees, forcing him to
grab a stanchion to support himself. “Assuming we survive the next few
minutes.”
“Two hundred meters …”
“Release more countermeasures!”
1620 hours
Sonar room
U.S.S. Galveston
Ekhart heard the increase in the pitch of the fast-pinging active sonar
as the lead torp sprinted the last few yards to its target. He whipped
off his headset. “Thar she blows!” he called as the rest of the sonar
operators pulled off their earphones as well.
The first explosion rumbled through the water, louder than the blast