“Flood the aft ballast tanks!” he shouted into the tube.
He turned and looked aft. The deck tilted as the stern went down again. This time when it hit the bottom, the shock was less. Anton turned back to the forward portion of the half-sunken submarine. He watched, waited the seconds out, while mentally crossing his fingers that the Whale would hold position. The bow shifted backward. The crew members forward spread their legs but stayed upright. Anton gritted his teeth as he watch the bow slide backward.
Another shell passed over the Squallfish, exploding forward off the bow. If the submarine had been going a knot faster, the shell would have hit the bow. This destroyer was getting too accurate.
“Sir!” Weaver shouted up through the hatch. “Sound reports enemy target shifting port, now bearing one eight five.”
Shipley smiled. “Amazing what the sound of torpedo tube doors opening can do for a warship bearing down on you,” he said.
“Sir?” one of the topside watches asked.
“What?”
“Did you say something, sir?”
Shipley shook his head. “Just thinking out loud.”
Arneau’s head appeared. “My turn, Skipper.”
“We’re nearly through the narrows; then you can take it.” Arneau shook his head. “Sir, we are through the narrows.” He reached over, and before Shipley could stop him, the XO lifted the ends of his face mask. “You are getting frostbitten, Captain. If you want cheeks for your wife to kiss, then you need to let me have the bridge.”
Shipley pulled the mask back down, aware that he felt neither the motion of the cloth when Arneau lifted it nor the brush of the cloth as he pulled it down. He sighed. He did not want to leave the bridge. This was where the captain should be.
“Sir, you are needed in the conning tower. There is hot chocolate there.”
Shipley nodded. Crocky was at it again. “We are on course—”
“Zero three five at eighteen knots.”
“Zero three five at eighteen knots.”
“Please go, sir.”
Shipley nodded and climbed down the ladder into the conning tower. He lifted the mask and hung it on an aft hook. Around the periscope, members of Bleecker’s repair party were finishing repairs of the leaks.
“Is the destroyer closing?”
“Destroyer?” Weaver asked.
Shipley explained his reasoning as to the class of the ship. “No, sir,” sound answered. “It seems to have slowed, and it is zigzagging.”
Through the hatch the sound of another shell hitting near the Squallfish caught his attention. “Quick: give me a single depth ping.”
The sonar technician hit the depth measurer, and the sound of a single ping filled the boat. “Two hundred feet, sir.”
“We are through the narrows. What is the status of our repairs?”
“Lieutenant Bleecker reports the snorkel will have to be sealed once we decide to submerge. We will be without the snorkel until we return to Holy Loch.” Shipley nodded at the periscope. “And the scope?”
“We may have to sail submerged with it extended, sir. Otherwise, we will run the risk of breaking the damage control repairs to the seals.”
“Depth restrictions?”
Weaver shook his head. “Don’t know, sir.”
Another shell whistled by overhead.
“Lieutenant, once we switch to battery power, our speed is going to come down from the eighteen knots to about five knots maximum. Five minutes at five knots, that Soviet destroyer is going to have us for cake.”
“Orders, sir?”
“Tell Lieutenant Bleecker I want the maximum speed he can give me on diesel.”
A minute later, the Squallfish increased speed to twenty-two knots.
Sound took off his headset. “Sir, I can’t hear the enemy at this speed.”
“Then we will pretend he has stopped chasing us.”
“Without sonar, Skipper, we won’t know his bearing.”
“He’s behind us, Lieutenant. And behind us he’ll stay. He knows we have our torpedo tubes open, and most likely he’s never been in combat. Most likely he would like for us to disappear before we shoot at him.”
Weaver opened his mouth to offer counteradvice but then stopped. “Aye, sir.” After all, here was a skipper who wore the submarine combat pin. Only the skipper, Bleecker, and Crocky wore the devices awarded to submariners who had been in combat. Many who earned them rested forever on the bottom of Earth’s oceans.
The boats from the Soznatelnyy tossed their lines to the sailors on the forward deck of the Whale. Someone stepped from the boat onto the deck of the Whale and looked up at Anton. It was Zotkin. Anton felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. The last thing he needed right now was a civilian.
Zotkin raised his hand and waved.
“What’s wrong with him?” he asked Gesny.
“He’s smiling, so someone close to him has died.”
Zotkin spoke to one of the sailors, who guided the scientist to the rungs leading up to the bridge. A moment later the scientist crawled over the railing of the bridge.
“Congratulations, Captain.”
“Congratulations?”
“Oh, yes; I was not sure at first, but then Admiral Katshora told me how this proved the success of atomic power.” Zotkin reached over and put his gloved hand over the small light mounted on the conning tower railing. He looked at Anton and Gesny. “The reactor is still working?”
Zotkin laughed. “Flooded and it is still putting out power.”
“The reactor room is not flooded, but the compartments around it are.”
Zotkin shook his head as he stood. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is we have shown that atomic power not only gives us extreme maneuverability, but also without atomic power the K-2—nyet, the Whale—would be sitting on the bottom of Kola Bay and every one of you would be dead.”
Anton nodded. His eyes widened. Doctor Zotkin was right. The Whale had proven the value of atomic power. It also had sounded the death knell of diesel engines.
“But we are sunk,” Gesny said.
Zotkin looked forward and aft; he laughed. Then he clapped his hands together and looked at both men. “No, we are not sunk. This is minor. Admiral Katshora says he can have it refloated within a week. And with atomic power still operating on board the Whale, we will have the ship—”
“Boat,” Gesny corrected.
“The boat afloat and ready to continue. We have been successful. The Kremlin will be ecstatic.”
“Ecstatic” is not the word I would use when Admiral Gorshkov hears how we were sunk, thought Anton.
“No, gentlemen. We are witnessing the emergence of the atomic-powered Soviet Navy. And, you helped me to do it.”
Arneau stuck his head into the wardroom. “Can’t get enough of that hot chocolate, can you, Skipper?”
“I believe I am beginning to dethaw,” Shipley replied, reaching up and touching the two bits of gauze Doc had slapped on his cheeks. “Doc says they should be all right.”
“Got a message for you here from CINCNELM.” Arneau slid onto the bench beside Shipley.
“Hope it’s good news.”
“Read it.”
Shipley read it to himself. When he finished he looked at Arneau. “Never thought I would get a ‘well done’ for nearly getting sunk and bringing home a damaged boat.”
“Lieutenant Logan will be by later.”
“I think he’s been avoiding me.”
“I can’t imagine why you would think that. You only bite his head off every time you see him.”