“Left rudder, reverse course,” Ramius ordered.
“What?” Mancuso was astounded.
“Think, Mancuso,” Ramius said, looking to be sure that Ryan carried out the order. Ryan did, not knowing why.
“Think, Commander Mancuso,” Ramius repeated. “What has happened? Moskva ordered a hunter sub to remain behind, probably a Politovskiy-class boat, the Alfa you call him. I know all their captains. All young, all, ah, aggressive? Yes, aggressive. He must know we are not dead. If he knows this, he will pursue us. So, we go back like a fox and let him pass.”
Mancuso didn’t like this. Ryan could tell without looking.
“We cannot shoot. Your men cannot shoot. We cannot run from him — he is faster. We cannot hide — his sonar is better. He will move east, use his speed to contain us and his sonar to locate us. By moving west, we have the best chance to escape. This he will not expect.”
Mancuso still didn’t like it, but he had to admit it was clever. Too damned clever. He looked back down at the chart. It wasn’t his boat.
The Dallas
“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!”
“Aye, okay, the Alfa’s bearing two-two-five, steadying down. We need to come left a little, sir.”
“Ryan, come left five degrees, your course is two-two-five.”
“Left five rudder, coming to two-two-five.”
“The fish is closing rapidly, sir,” Jones said.
“Screw it! Track the Alfa.”
“Aye. Bearing is still two-two-five. Same as the fish.”
The combined speed ate up the distance between the submarines rapidly. The torpedo was closing the October faster still, but it had a safety device built in. To prevent them from blowing up their own launch platform, torpedoes could not arm until they were five hundred to a thousand yards from the boat that launched them. If the October closed the Alfa fast enough, she could not be hurt.
The October was now passing twenty knots.
“Range to the Alfa is seven hundred fifty yards, bearing two-two-five. The torpedo is close, sir, a few more seconds.” Jones cringed, staring at the screen.
Klonk!
The torpedo struck the Red October dead center in her hemispherical bow. The safety lock still had another hundred meters to run. The impact broke it into three pieces, which were batted aside by the accelerating missile submarine.
“A dud!” Jones laughed. “Thank you, God! Target still bearing two-two-five, range is seven hundred yards.”
The V. K. Konovalov
“No explosion?” Tupolev wondered.
“The safety locks!” The starpom swore. He’d had to set it up too fast.
“Where is the target?”
“Bearing zero-four-five, Comrade. Bearing is constant,” the michman replied, “closing rapidly.”
Tupolev blanched. “Left full rudder, all ahead flank!”
The Red October
‘Turning, turning left to right,” Jones said. “Bearing is now two-three-zero, spreading out a little. Need a little right rudder, sir.”
“Ryan, come right five degrees.”
“Rudder is right five,” Jack answered.
“No, rudder ten right!” Ramius countermanded his order. He had been keeping a track with pencil and paper. And he knew the Alfa.