“I want a single ping. Only one,” he finally said, glancing at the clock mounted on the bulkhead behind the helmsman. It showed ten minutes to four.
“Roger, sir,” Burkeet answered. “One ping.”
In the background he heard Admiral Green add, “Make it low-power, Lieutenant. Too much power will have the sonar ricocheting off the rocks and bottom.”
Why didn’t I think of that? MacDonald asked himself.
“Officer of the Deck, come to course two-three-zero, speed four knots.” This would clear the port torpedo tubes for launching the Mark-32 torpedoes.
He heard the ping of the sonar as it reverberated through the destroyer, knowing that belowdecks the noise would startle those not prepared.
“Hold it, hold it!” Bocharkov said as the loud echo of the sonar ping faded. “They used low power on their sonar,” he added. The captain of the destroyer was a smart opponent, he decided. He looked at Vyshinsky and handed the message board back to him. “You and Golovastov, return to your station.”
“But, Captain,” Golovastov objected. “This is a message from Moscow. It is an order—”
“I said, leave my control room. Now!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Bocharkov saw Ignatova smile for a moment before turning back to look over the shoulder of Tverdokhleb.
Vyshinsky turned and hurried away immediately. The zampolit stood in front of Bocharkov for a couple of seconds before angrily turning and following the communications officer.
“Turn?” Orlov shouted.
Bocharkov’s attention returned to the boat. He shook his head. “Not yet.” He looked at Ignatova. “Did you get the time?” He had no doubt that Golovastov would go directly to the political officer’s private stateroom and start writing his superiors about how Bocharkov disobeyed orders from Moscow. His argument would be that he wasn’t disobeying them. He was executing them. A deep sigh escaped.
“Fifteen seconds, sir.”
“Fifteen seconds?”
“Yes, sir, from ping to fade.”
Fifteen seconds from the time the ping hit the K-122 until the echo faded. Fifteen seconds he had in which to create a knuckle and start his sprint to the open ocean. He might have a whole minute of confusion once he started maneuvering, before the Americans reestablished contact. If they lost contact as he hoped.
“Bearing to the American warship?”
“Which one, sir?”
“Both!” he snapped.
“Contact One bears zero-two-zero true, estimated range one kilometer. Contact Two bears two-seven-zero true, estimated range five to seven kilometers. Contact One is constant bearing; noise shows it seems to be maintaining constant range. Contact Two has a distinct left-bearing drift, high rotation on its shaft. It seems to be opening distance from us.”
Bocharkov grunted. He looked at Ignatova. “Your thoughts, XO?”
“They are attempting to box us in as you have noted, Captain. This seems to remain the most likely scenario. The course change of Contact One can only mean one of two things. Either he is repositioning to help box us in, or he is clearing his torpedo weapon systems so he can launch. I think I would prefer the first alternative, but…”
“But we both know he is positioning to launch torpedoes. The question for us is whether this means he intends to launch or is more likely a defensive maneuver.”
“They could also be positioning themselves so the one nearest us can launch torpedoes at short range while Contact Two is preparing to launch its rocket-propelled torpedoes.”
“You think they are going to attack?” Bocharkov asked with disbelief. “I don’t.”
Ignatova shook his head. “Neither do I, sir. But it is an option the Americans are giving themselves.”
Bocharkov grunted. “We are playing the usual cat-and-mouse game; only we are playing it in shallow waters.” He slapped the handles of the periscope. “We have got to get to deep water.”
“Aye, Captain,” Ignatova said.
“Officer of the Deck, get ready. When I give the order, I want a right full rudder, all ahead full. My next order will be for a left full rudder, maintaining all ahead full. The orders will come almost back-to-back.” Bocharkov looked at the anxious faces in the control room. “Periscope down.”
Bocharkov stepped back as the hydraulics lowered the periscope.
“Bridge, Combat! We got him, sir. Dead ahead six hundred fifty yards.”
“Any course or speed change?”
“Negative, sir. Contact remains on course two-two-zero, heading toward the open ocean.”
The clock read five minutes until four.
“Give him one minute, Lieutenant Burnham, then one more ping. A single ping and no more.”
“Aye, sir. Captain, port and starboard over-the-sides are ready. Six tubes loaded. Port SVTT is choice of weapon, sir. With your permission, am having them set for short range. That way they’ll go active as soon as they hit the water.”
MacDonald’s eyebrows lifted. “Belay that order, Lieutenant. Set them for two hundred yards run before they go active.” Good initiative, but wrong decision. A launched torpedo became its own boss, subject to finding a target — any target. It had no way of telling if what it locked onto was a friendly or hostile.
“Yes, sir. Will do.”
“And make sure it is destroyed if it goes farther than a mile. Don’t want to accidentally sink the Coghlan.” He paused. “Also, make sure that Coghlan knows our intention and that they are to wait for our order before they fire.”
“Aye, sir.”
A few seconds passed before Burnham added, “Sir, time to next ping is zero four hundred.”
He nearly asked why the wait, but knew it was either because of Green or Subic Operations Center. Either way, three more minutes meant three more minutes for the contact to wonder what was going to happen next. “Very well, make it so.”
Bocharkov looked at the clock. “It’s been nearly three minutes since the last pulse.”
Ignatova walked up. “The navigation picture looks as accurate as the charts permit, Captain.”
“Three minutes since last pulse.”
“I know. I wonder what it means. Continuous pulses would keep the boat roiling in reverberations.”
“I think it means they just wanted us to know they know we are here.”
“I think they already knew that we knew.”
“Probably, but with a single pulse, I think they are also telling us they don’t intend to attack. They are playing the cat-and-mouse game as we are.” Bocharkov smiled.
“Or they have the information they need for a two-prong attack.”
Bocharkov grunted. “They have had that information for over half an hour.” He shook his head. “No, they may want us to surface, if they can make us. The delay in sending out another pulse tells me they no more want a hot event than we do.”
“You may be right.”
“XO, when we start the turn, I want you over at the firing panel. I want the torpedo doors opened. Do it while the ping is still echoing.” Then he added in a loud voice, getting everyone’s attention, “Maybe the Americans will miss the opening of the torpedo doors in their euphoria.”
“Euphoria?”
“They are probably as happy as we are. We have detected the entire U.S. Asian Fleet in port and they have managed to find themselves an unknown submarine inside their harbor. Now, which side has the best tactical advantage?”