“Let’s swing her around quickly,” Anton said, “and steady up on course one zero zero. Increase speed to ten knots.” He felt the vibration of the shafts as the submarine picked up speed in its turn. Knowing that the water and the destroyer were masking his noise from the other destroyer, he felt confident they would not hear the Whale sliding into position behind Bravo’s baffles. Eventually he would have to break away. Anton started thinking of his next moves. Heading westward would be his next maneuver, once he had the other destroyer’s screws behind him.
They had been there an hour and were on their southerly heading again.
“We’re directly off the entrance to the covered docking area again,” Shipley announced. He scanned the inside of the area, still unable to make out much in the dark. He was sure there was one huge docking area and that it was empty. Whatever had been there was no longer. If the Soviets were developing a nuclear-powered submarine, where was it? He quickly spun to the seaward side, searching for the Soviet warships picked up earlier. Maybe it was out there in the fog with the other warships? “Where are the warships?” he asked through the hatch.
A couple of seconds passed before Weaver relayed sound’s bearings to the two warships.
He had barely raised his binoculars again when Weaver shouted from below, “Captain, we have a problem!”
Shipley squatted beside the hatch. “Say again.”
“Skipper, sonar has picked up a submarine — a Soviet submarine. Sound has screw turns and pump noises in the water. Both together equate to a Soviet diesel class.”
That answered his question. “Bearing and range?” He saw Logan at the periscope, bent over, and taking photographs.
“Bearing zero seven zero, sir. Noise constant. Slight left-bearing drift.”
Shipley sighed. “Lieutenant Logan, how much longer?”
“Sir, I am about halfway through the frames,” Logan answered, leaning back to look up at Shipley.
Logan’s face was red — too red. “Pull your watch cap down, Lieutenant, before you lose that pretty face.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And the air sampler?”
There was a moment of awkward silence that Shipley filled. “Lieutenant, are you talking with your men in the engine room?”
“Yes, sir. They are still circulating the air through the samplers, sir. According to the specs for the system, we need a minimum of another thirty minutes.”
“We may not have thirty minutes. Lieutenant Weaver! You listening?”
“Aye, sir.”
“Be prepared for an emergency hard to port turn and a dive to one hundred feet.” Then he thought about it. “We do have a hundred feet under us, don’t we?”
A couple of seconds passed. “Sir, we would need to do a depth ping.”
“No!” Shipley snapped. “No pinging of any kind.” One ping would alert Soviet warships, and they’d pounce all over the Squallfish before they could reach deep water. He started to stand up again, but instead an idea came to him. “Lieutenant Weaver, have the damage control assistant break out the Geiger counter and bring it up here.”
“Aye, sir,” Weaver answered.
“And have it brought up to the bridge.” He stood and looked to starboard. They were around the piece of land that jutted out into Kola Bay. It looked to him as if the Soviet engineers who built this covert docking area had dumped the rocks, soil, and debris along the edges of the channel leading into it.
“Come to course one seven zero, slow to three knots.”
He saw the wake behind them bend to the right as the bow turned toward the covered facility and felt the vibration of the hull ease as the speed slowed. He waited a few minutes before telling the officer of the deck that his intention was to turn the Squallfish as soon as they made one pass by their objective.
Shipley took a deep breath, his lungs now used to the below-zero temperature. While it might mean little, if he could have the bow pointed north toward the exit of Kola Bay, he would feel better.
“I have the intruder’s screw noise again, sir.”
Anton nodded. “Guess he changed direction again.”
“And he has slowed his speed.”
Nizovtsev stood. “Captain, he is nearly directly in front of the facility.”
Anton nodded again. “Guess it is the Bolshevik after all. Maybe the good doctor is returning to the facility.”
A few seconds passed before the sonar operator spoke up. “Sir, with all due respect, it is not a torpedo boat. It has passed back and forth in front of the entrance to the facility at least three times.”
“Then if it is not a torpedo boat, what is it?”
The operator scratched his head. “I don’t know, sir. I just lost them again.”
“How did we lose them?” Antipov asked the starshina.
“Sir, they are in our baffles.”
“Then it is either an intruder, or it is the torpedo boat, or it is another participant they did not tell us about. Either way, if the unknown participant is a lost merchant vessel, then Northern Fleet headquarters will take care of it.”
Anton listened to the argument. He did not want the Whale to lose this exercise. A diesel boat in the Great Patriotic War against three surface ships had little chance of survival. This was an opportunity for him to show the advantage of atomic power. He raised his hand, grabbed a pipe running by overhead as a handhold, and smiled. No gloves, no coat, and most of all, warmth, he thought. This alone was enough to convince him.
“I can’t have him in our baffles,” Anton said matter-of-factly, thinking the surface Navy may have added an unidentified participant to the game. Maybe they thought he would sneak back into the facility and leave them searching an empty ocean. Submariners never trusted those who moved in only two dimensions. “Come slowly to course two one zero and let’s clear our baffles.”
“Sir, that will expose our screws to Bravo.”
“And it will put our bow toward Alpha,” Anton offered. “And Bravo should mask us for a few minutes. Steady up on a course that will take us toward Alpha.” What’s a little hopscotch between baffles for an atomic submarine?
On board a diesel he would be running for deep water, attempting to evade the destroyers. Was he experiencing the future tactics of the Soviet submarine force, where submarines would be the ones toying with the surface ships instead of the reverse? Atomic power meant tossing away the tactics of the Great Patriotic War. “Keep us along the edge of the drop so we still have depth beneath us.”
Around him he listened to the command as Antipov changed the course of the Whale without the depth changing. He was impressed.
“I have the intruder again. He is making revolutions for three knots.”
“Bearing?”
“Target bears two four five degrees.”
Nizovtsev put both hands on the chart. “Captain!” he said in a loud voice. “I am telling you that this intruder is off the entrance to the facility. It has been there for at least twenty minutes.”
“I think it might be the torpedo boat going in to drop off or pick up people.”
“Sir,” Lieutenant Nizovtsev said, his voice tight, “BCh-3 has said it is not a torpedo boat. Sir, it is an intruder.” He shrugged. “You are probably right in that it is a wandering merchant. It cannot be a fishing vessel, because BCh-3 says it has two shafts; therefore it has to be a big merchant vessel.” Then, with a mutter, the navigator added, “Either way, it is in forbidden waters.” Anton shook his head. Navigators had too much arrogance for the duties they were assigned. They were the only crew members who had no assigned duties except navigation. They did not even have to do party-political work. Plus Nizovtsev wanted his cigarette, so anything that caused the Whale to surface meant he could have one.