Bocharkov mumbled his acknowledgment. “We would not see them preparing to launch unless we saw them manning the topside surface vessel torpedo tubes.”
“And it is still dark topside.” Tverdokhleb snorted with a short laugh. “But in little over an hour, the skies will begin to lighten. Then we can see them clearly if they try.”
Bocharkov started to correct the navigator, but Tverdokhleb was right. He could watch the destroyers now, but he needed more light to see what they were doing topside. And more light meant more opportunity for them to see his periscope.
“Make your speed five knots.”
“Recommend course two-nine-zero in ten minutes. Depth will remain the same, but it will parallel the shoal waters near the United States navy airfield. You may want to stay near the shoal waters, if the Americans intend to use active sonar.”
Bocharkov was surprised. Tverdokhleb did not strike him as an officer who understood underwater tactics. Keeping close to shoal waters — without running aground — might confuse an active-duty sonar ping. The ping would get the submarine, but it would get the rocks and debris behind the submarine also.
“Cubi Point,” Bocharkov said aloud.
“Sir?” Orlov asked.
“Cubi Point is the American airfield off our port bow. It also has shoal waters running alongside it.” Bocharkov looked at the bulkhead clock. “Change course to two-zero-zero at time zero three seventeen.”
Orlov looked at the log keeper and saw the young starshina notating the entry.
“Sir, the contact is moving,” Oliver reported.
“Course, speed, direction?” Burkeet asked, his words running together.
“I have a right-bearing drift, sir. I have cavitations in the water. Slow speed, but he’s moving, sir.”
Burkeet grabbed the sound-powered handset from its cradle and relayed the information to both Combat and the bridge.
On the bridge, MacDonald reseated the handset. “Lieutenant Goldstein, are you ready to assume the deck?”
Goldstein saluted. “Yes, sir, I am. We are on course one-seven-zero, speed two knots, and are at general quarters. Admiral Green is embarked—”
“Thanks, Lieutenant,” MacDonald interrupted. He lifted his head slightly. “This is the Captain. Lieutenant Goldstein has the deck.”
“This is Lieutenant Goldstein! I have the deck!”
At the navigation table, the quartermaster of the watch wrote into the logbook the time at which the captain transferred the bridge to Goldstein.
“Any directions, sir?” Goldstein asked.
“I’m going to Combat. Be prepared for course and speed changes, but you are not to exceed six knots without my direct orders.” MacDonald looked at Green. “Admiral, would you care to join me?”
“Would I care to join you? Why, Captain MacDonald, thank you for asking.”
Crossing the bridge toward the hatch leading to Combat, Admiral Green handed his empty cup back to the boatswain mate of the watch. “Good coffee, Boats.”
“Captain off the bridge!” Boatswain Mate Manny Lowe shouted as MacDonald followed the admiral through the watertight hatch. At the plotting table the duty quartermaster glanced at the clock on the bulkhead and notated the time when the captain left the bridge as 3:21. He also notated Admiral Green’s departure.
“What you got?” MacDonald asked Burkeet. Joe Tucker stood to the right of the officer, the XO’s head more inside Sonar than in Combat, where the others stood.
“Oliver has the submarine on a left-to-right drift, sir. Not a lot of speed, but looks to me as if he’s trying to head to open water.”
“Have we reestablished comms with Coghlan?”
“No, sir, not yet, but Radio says they are working with Coghlan’s radio shack. They expect to have it soon.”
“Tell Radio to work faster.”
“Aye, sir.” Burkeet nodded at Stalzer, who relayed the useless order. The issue was seeding the cryptographic cards into the readers. Those cards were the key to secure communications and required two-person control at all times. The communications officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Alton Taylor, and Radioman Chief Petty Officer Bob Caldwell had just opened the safe that held the cryptographic material. They would have to audit the open package, select the material for today, and then sign for its use. On the other end a curt Chief Caldwell told Stalzer to “eat shit and die,” that they were working as fast as they could.
Stalzer put the handset back in its cradle. “Chief Caldwell said only a few more minutes.”
MacDonald looked at Joe Tucker. “XO, see what you can do.”
Joe Tucker stepped through the nearby aft hatch, heading toward Radio.
MacDonald turned to Green. “Sir, recommendations?”
“Well, Danny, what do you recommend? Do we want to stop him from reaching open waters, or do we want to startle him to the surface here?” The admiral pointed toward the bow of the ship, hidden by the bulkhead that separated Combat from the bridge.
MacDonald’s eyebrows furrowed into a deep “V.” He took a deep breath. “I would say chase him, get near him, and let him know we know he is here.”
Joe Tucker was back through the hatch. “A few more minutes and they will have comms with Coghlan.”
Both MacDonald and Green nodded. Green turned back to MacDonald. “No weapons. If he surfaces, then it will be a coup for us in the world’s press. The Philippine government will be furious; other Asian countries will be rushing out to check their harbors.” Green nodded again, biting his lower lip for a moment, before a big smile spread across his face. “But we don’t attack him.” Then, after a slight pause, he added, “Damn it.”
Burnham walked up to the officers. “Sir, just double-checked with Subic Operations Center. They’re saying they’re working to give the all clear for us to commence pinging.”
“Would the Russians consider pinging them an act of war?” Green asked.
MacDonald nodded. “They could. If they know what we know is going to happen in the next few hours.”
Green guffawed. “Oh, Danny, you are funny sometimes. No one knows what we know.”
MacDonald felt his face turning red. You don’t know what you don’t know was something a previous skipper of his used to say whenever someone was emphatic about something. You don’t know what you don’t know.
“But if they do know, Admiral, then they may be concerned we are going to sortie right by Vietnamese water and continue—”
“You may be right, Danny,” Green interrupted, biting his lower lip. “If the only reason the Soviets have been this brazen is because of what the Israelis may be planning, then…” Green’s voice trailed off. A second or two passed before he continued, his voice serious, “Jesus Christ, Danny. Guess even us admirals get a little arrogant about our own wars, don’t we? So wrapped up here I missed the global picture — forgot about how the Soviets view everything.”
“Yes, sir,” MacDonald said, wondering what the admiral was talking about. “But we haven’t heard anything definite. Maybe the intelligence is off. Maybe the Israelis are not going to attack.”
“Don’t agree when I’m berating myself, Captain. Admirals are always right, even when they are wrong.”
“Should we relay this information to Subic Operations Center, sir?”
Green did not answer the question. He glanced around at fully manned Combat, then back at MacDonald. “They were spying on us for a lot more than our war. Maybe they are here to pull a Pearl Harbor on us, fire an array of torpedoes.”