"How much you want to bet it's an old nuc boat?" TAO asked. "Their fire-control systems aren't up to current standards, and they can't run very fast and still stay covert. He just barely made the intercept, and bit off two ships. When they scattered he didn't have the speed to pursue without advertising his position, and he's too smart for that."
"Then what did he do?" ASW asked.
"He was in close when he launched. Ducked inside the convoy and went deep. Used the noise from the thundering herd to mask himself, then motored off clear..."
"North." Morris bent over the display. "Most of the merchies went northeast when the scatter order went out. He probably went north to trail, and maybe hope to get another shot in later. What do you think we're up against?"
"Intel says this area had three Foxtrots and a November, plus maybe another nuc. The one we killed was probably a Fox. Doesn't have the speed to trail the convoy." The ASW officer looked up. "But a November would. We're not up against a new nuc. He'd still be shooting. Call it a November."
"Okay, say he came north at six or seven knots, then turned east hoping to pick us up again tomorrow, say. Where would he be?"
"Right now... here, sir," ASW said. He pointed to a spot fifteen miles aft of the frigate. "We can't go back after him."
"No, but we can listen for him if he tries to play catchup." Morris thought hard. The convoy would be altering base course to one-two-zero on the hour to head farther south, away from the suddenly increased threat of Soviet long-range bombers. More time would be needed for them to re-form and establish proper stations. That would allow the submarine to cut the corner and close the target. With all the zigzagging the merchies were doing, their effective speed of advance was only about sixteen knots, and a November might try to catch up with that. "I want the operators to pay particular attention to this sector. Our friend just might be back."
"Call in a P-3?" TAO wondered.
Morris shook his head. "They want to keep station forward. The main threat is still ahead of us. Us 'cans have to worry about the trailers, until we get a hot contact, anyway. I think this guy will trail, and he might try and get off a contact report."
KIEV, THE UKRAINE
"Good news," the naval officer said. "Our bombers report sinking three aviation ships, two cruisers, and two destroyers."
Alekseyev and his boss exchanged a look: their colleagues in blue would be insufferable now.
"How firm is that evaluation?" CINC-Southwest asked.
"There were four carrier-type ships photographed before the attack. The next satellite pass eight hours after the attack showed only one. Two cruisers and two destroyers were also missing. Finally we have intelligence reports of numerous carrier-type aircraft landing at French naval air bases in Brittany. Our submarines were unable to make contact with the formation-it would seem that one was sunk, unfortunately, but our first naval air battle was a smashing success. We will close the Atlantic for you, Comrades," the captain predicted.
"We may need it closed," Alekseyev said after the captain left.
His boss grunted agreement. Things in Germany were not going well. The Soviet Air Force had been hurt even worse than they had feared, and as a result the land campaign was already far behind schedule. On the second day of the war, the first day's objectives had been met in only one army's zone, and that one was being heavily counterattacked twenty kilometers east of Hamburg. Tank losses had been 50 percent higher than predicted, and control of the air was in jeopardy, with many units reporting heavier-than-expected air attacks. Only half of the Elbe bridges had been replaced as yet, and the floating ribbon bridges could not carry all the load of the highway bridges they replaced. The NATO armies had not yet reached their peak strength. American reinforcements were still arriving by air, mating up with their pre-positioned equipment. The Soviet first echelon was being bled, and the second echelon was still largely trapped behind the Elbe.
ICELAND
"About as dark as it's gonna get," Edwards said. The light level was what meteorologists and sailors called nautical twilight. Visibility was down to five hundred yards with the sun just below the northwest horizon. The lieutenant put on his pack and rose. His Marines did the same, with as much enthusiasm as a child on his way to school.
They headed down the shallow slope towards the Sudura River, more a fair-sized creek, Edwards thought. The lava field provided good cover. The ground was littered with rocks, some as much as three feet high, a landscape that broke up shapes and disguised movement to the casual observer. He hoped there was nothing more than that out there. They had observed a number of Soviet patrols, mainly on military trucks that passed through the area at intervals of about thirty minutes. They saw no fixed positions. Certainly they had garrisoned the hydroelectric power station at Burfell, farther east on Route 1. No one had bombed that yet: the lights were still bright in some of the homes below them.
The rocks got smaller as the land changed to a grassy meadow. There had been sheep here recently-the smell was unmistakable and the grass was short. Instinctively the men walked in a crouch toward a gravel road. The houses and barns here were spread irregularly. They picked a spot where the space between buildings was about five hundred yards, hoping that the dim light and their camouflage uniforms would make them invisible to any observer. No one was about in the open. Edwards halted his group and looked carefully through his binoculars at the nearest houses. Lights burned in some, but no people were visible outside. Perhaps the Russians had imposed a curfew... meaning that anyone seen moving might be shot on sight. Happy thought.
The riverbanks sloped downward sharply about twenty feet to the water, and were covered with rocks smoothed by years of erosion at highwater time. Smith went down first as the others lay with weapons ready at the lip of the south bank. The sergeant moved slowly at first, checking the water depth before hurrying across, rifle held high in the air. Edwards was surprised how quickly he went through it, then up the far bank. The sergeant waved, and the rest of the men followed. Edwards soon found out why the sergeant had crossed the stream quickly. The waist-deep water was icy cold, like most of the streams on Iceland, fed by melting glaciers. He gasped and went across as fast as he could, his rifle and radio held above his head. A minute later he was atop the far bank.
Smith chuckled in the dark. "I guess that woke everybody up."
"Like to froze my balls off, Sarge," Rodgers groused.
"Looks clear ahead," Edwards said. "Beyond this meadow is another creek, then the main road, a secondary road, then up a hill into a lava field. Let's keep moving."
"Right, Lieutenant." Smith got to his feet and moved off. The others trailed behind him at five-yard intervals. The little bastard's in a hurry, isn't he?
The ground here was agreeably flat, the grass as high as their boot tops. They moved rapidly, keeping low, weapons held ready across their chests as they angled slightly east to avoid the village of Holmur. The next stream was shallower than the Sudura, though no less cold. They stopped on crossing it, now only two hundred yards from the highway. Again Smith moved off first, this time with his back bent double, moving in rushes followed by pauses while he knelt to examine the terrain repeatedly. The men behind him matched his movements exactly, and the team got together again in tall grass fifty feet from the road.