He smiled wider. “More importantly, I have found a hole in his screen. See this Knox-class frigate? It is not moving randomly. It always moves in the same pattern within its zone. Never become predictable, Comrade Koloskov.”
Almost smashing his fist on the plotting table, Markov said, “That’s where we will penetrate their screen. Once inside it, they’ll never find us, not until it is too late.”
The admiral checked the plot with the ASW coordinator. “Anything shaking out there, Tim?”
“No sir, nothing right now. Not even a trace.”
Brown wished that was reassuring. “That doesn’t mean there’s nobody out there.” He raised his voice, addressing the whole room. “Let’s stay sharp, people. I doubt the NKs are going to let us have anything for free.”
The boat had been at battle stations for three hours now. The abysmal air circulation had become even worse with all the fans turned off. Water vapor from the thickening air condensed on Dribinov’s ice-cold hull and dribbled down bulkheads.
The strictest silent routine was in effect. Every piece of nonessential equipment had been turned off, both to reduce noise and to conserve electricity. Every crewmember not actively manning a post was in his bunk.
Quieter than a school of fish, quieter than the water around it, the Dribinov swam to intercept a moving spot in the ocean. Gliding just above the ocean bottom, the sub kept its bow toward the enemy ships, reducing the area available for sound impulses to bounce off.
Above it, the American task force was steaming northward toward its objective at about eight knots. At this distance the thrashing propellers of its nearly sixty ships could be heard clearly through the sub’s hull as a dull, rumbling roar.
Markov ignored the faint noise and kept his eyes focused on the plot. It showed each of the amphibious group’s escorts patrolling within its own moving box. He’d timed the Knox-class frigate’s cycle and was heading for a time and a place when the American ship would turn toward the inside of its zone. That single turn to starboard would expose a blind zone in its sonar coverage for a few minutes. And the Dribinov would be there, ready to slip in and follow that blind zone around.
Only long preparation allowed the tracking officer to stay calm. “Contact is two minutes ahead of its projected position, Comrade Captain. We do not recommend a speed change.”
Markov was really only concerned about the three nearest, American escorts. The others were too far out of position to pose much of a danger to his submarine. Ahead and to Dribinov’s left was a Spruance-class destroyer — normally a serious threat. But its powerful low-frequency sonar and towed array were close to useless in these shallow waters.
The Knox-class directly ahead also had a low-frequency sonar and towed array, but not as effective as the Spruance’s equipment. And its predictable movements were what made this approach feasible.
Behind and to the right of the Knox was a newer Perry-class frigate. That was the American ship that most worried Markov. It mounted a medium-frequency sonar that was more effective in shallow water, and its commander was driving it in an extremely aggressive, unpredictable manner. If the Perry moved too far forward in its zone, there was a chance its sonar would pick up Dribinov’s hull, which had be broadside to that American ship while the sub crept in, and was thus easier to detect.
That unpredictable frigate had already cost Markov two precious hours and even more precious battery charge. He’d made a last loop past the task force hoping to find a pattern or at least some system behind the American frigate’s movements. He had failed. The Soviet captain smiled wryly to himself. The American captain’s constantly changing helm orders must be driving the ship’s crew half-mad. He studied the Perry’s jagged track and smiled again. The American ship’s size and behavior reminded him of a small dog, snarling and prowling in its owner’s yard to warn off intruders.
Well, little dog, Markov thought, this intruder has teeth of its own. If it looked as if Dribinov had been detected, he intended to fire a pair of torpedoes at each nearby escort — relying on the ensuing confusion to help him break in toward the more valuable ships inside the ASW screen. He would prefer to save all his weapons for use on his primary targets, but preferences were often meaningless in battle. At any rate, they all saluted the same flag.
The tracking officer measured their progress. “Approaching extreme detection range for Contact Two’s active sonar.” Contact Two was the Knox-class frigate in front of them.
One of the plotters listened to his headphones for a minute and made a new mark. “Contact Three may be changing course.”
Markov resisted the urge to pace. Contact Three was that damned Perry. “How long until Contact Two turns?”
“Four minutes, sir.”
The Knox frigate was moving generally north. According to the pattern they’d observed, it would turn east, and then south. Dribinov was moving east now, just outside hostile sonar range. When the Knox turned east, the gap they’d been waiting for would appear.
“Comrade Captain, the bearing rate on Contact Two is changing, slowing down.”
Markov was ready. “They’ve started their turn! Increase speed to fifteen knots.” They would move this fast just long enough to penetrate the screen, then slow to a more reasonable pace.
The plotter made another report. “Comrade Captain! Contact Three’s sonar strength is increasing.”
“Is he in detection range yet?”
The plotter talked into his microphone briefly. “No sir, but sonar estimates a speed of twelve knots.” The man fell silent again as another report came through his headphones. “Three is now at extreme detection range, but there is no indication that they’ve found us yet.”
“Plot, is Contact Two still on course?”
“Yes sir, we should be in position north of her in seven more minutes.”
Not enough time, Markov thought. If he could get close to and behind the Knox, there was a good chance his sub’s echoes would merge with those bouncing off the hull of the enemy ship. And even if that didn’t work, Dribinov could be through the screen and gone long before the Americans sorted out just what had happened.
But the blasted Perry frigate was coming up too fast, closing the sonar gap he’d needed to slip through. Markov made a quick decision. The game that had been so leisurely for so long was now accelerating into one that could be won or lost in seconds. “Open outer doors. Fire control party. We will launch tubes one and six at Contact Three, two and five at Contact One, and three and four at Contact Two.”
Markov felt a shiver of anticipation. He was about to make his first real attack on enemies of the Soviet Union. His first real attack in over twenty years of service. Every man in the Control Room watched with wide eyes as the settings for the three targets were entered. The ranges were so close that there would be little warning time. With luck, one or two ships would be crippled or sunk, and the Dribinov would get the break it needed.