Cahill took thirty careful minutes to maneuver the Goliath behind and below its mark. The forward scanning sonar placed the Kim three hundred yards away.
“Slowing to three knots,” he said. “Securing the forward scanning sonar. Turning on the exterior lights.”
Lights turned the blackness before him into an ugly pale gray. He looked over his shoulder at the cargo bed to orient his eyes on a tangible target beyond his bridge windows. Illumination from his ship’s port side kept the invisible far hull in darkness.
“This is spooky,” Walker said.
“I spent me entire career underwater, and I can’t argue you with you one whit.”
The surreal surroundings became less unsettling and then familiar in the quiet minutes during which Cahill approached his prize.
“Slowing to one knot,” he said. “Energizing upward scanning sonar.”
He was exhilarated when the tactical system’s integration algorithms transformed the acoustic return from his scanning sonar into the form of the Kim’s stern.
“Slowing to half a knot,” he said.
“It’s left of center, Terry. Its stern is too far to our port side.”
“We’ll compensate with the outboards.”
“Right. Agreed.”
The Kim’s shape grew and walked aft on the sonar display.
“This is a good enough picture,” Cahill said. “It’s only off a few degrees to the right. We can adjust visually once it’s in view. Securing the upward scanning sonar.”
“I’d bump me head on it if I broke through the glass and swam towards it, but I still can’t see a damned thing.”
“Yeah, it’s close. Close enough. Slowing to all stop. Deploy all four outboards.”
“I’m deploying all four outboards. Outboards are deployed. Are you sure you don’t want constant upward scanning sonar?”
“I’m sure. We’re close enough. No sense risking it. Bring us to all stop with the outboards.”
Walker tapped keys, and four small outboard motors with propellers located under each corner of the Goliath nudged the ship’s mass to motionlessness.
“Now twist us six degrees to the left.”
“Twisting left. Two degrees. Now four. Slowing our twist. And, the outboards have twisted us six degrees to the left.”
“Very well. Now mark your depth.”
“Steady at eighty meters.”
“Very well. Mark distance from the bed to the cargo’s keel.”
“System-calculated distance from the bed to the cargo’s keel is eighteen meters.”
“Very well. Shift trim control to automatic loading mode, verify setting of two meters per minute rise rate.”
“Trim control is in automatic loading mode, set at two meters per minute rise rate.”
“Very well. Now keep your eyes glued to the system and make sure it behaves. One false bump and scrape, and we announce our location for miles in every direction.”
Cahill shot periodic glances at the display to double-check Walker’s double-checking. Instead of seeing the errors he feared, he admired the Goliath’s delicate computerized dance of shuffling water fore and aft to keep itself level while shedding water overboard to gain levity.
Much as the screens before him highlighted the automated grace of the transport vessel’s cargo loading routine, Cahill ignored the technical spectacle in favor of the view he sought through his window.
“Depth is seventy meters,” Walker said.
“Slow the system to one meter per minute rise rate.”
Cahill reminded himself of the virtue of patience as he awaited his quarry. Then the sailor in the port weapons bay rewarded him by reporting the first sighting.
“This is the port weapons bay. I have visual on the cargo. I see its screw.”
Before Cahill could respond, the bow came into his view. His heart raced, but something — an indiscernible feeling of incongruity — crept up his spine, dampening his initial elation.
“Do you see it?” Walker asked.
“Yeah.”
“I’ll have to watch the video replay later, unless you want me to take me eye off the loading procedure.”
“Keep your focus. You’ll have to watch the replay later. Get me a secure loading.”
Breathless, he absorbed the illusion of the Kim falling through translucent molasses into the Goliath’s waiting cradle.
“Per protocol, the system is stopping the ascent to allow us to assess the need for manual adjustments,” Walker said.
Mesmerized, Cahill studied his pending cargo. The abnormality that had clawed at his spine took root in the recesses of his mind. Then the thought became a clear recognition of a wrinkle that would require a modification of his plan.
“Terry?”
“No, continue loading.”
“I shall continuing loading. Shall I use the loading sonar to mark the cargo’s final position?”
“No. Do it visually. Use the cameras.”
“Terry? The chance of error goes up.”
“Visually. Trust me.”
Cahill became cold stone as he watched the Goliath’s retracted hydraulic presses climb up the cargo’s side like mechanical fingers.
“We’re askew in azimuth half a degree,” Walker said. “I’m adjusting manually.”
Cahill ignored him.
“Terry, I’m adjusting manually.”
“Very well.”
“Slowing to half a meter per minute.”
“Very well.”
“Contact!”
“Engage the presses!” Cahill said.
“By procedure we’re supposed to wait until we’re sure of complete contact.”
“I don’t care. Engage the presses now.”
“Done. Presses are engaged.”
The presses rotated and pinned down the submarine.
“Bold call, Terry, but we got it. Can we head home now?”
“No. I have control of the ship.”
He tapped icons.
“Emergency surfacing and preparing the cannons for manual targeting.”
“Terry! We’re planning a submerged egress. Why would you surface?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“If you’re planning on sprinting out of here, Jake won’t be able to patrol ahead of us. We’ll be exposed to enemy submarines.”
“I said, I know what I’m doing.”
“But the cannons? Manual? Why?”
He ignored Walker.
“Terry, explain yourself. For God’s sake, you at least owe me that.”
He kept his eyes aimed out the glass, drew in a deep breath, and sighed it out.
“What the hell’s going on? What’s wrong?” Walker asked.
Cahill looked to the deck as he failed to suppress a sardonic smile. He then raised his eyes over his shoulder to Walker and responded with the confidence he believed he needed to convey to his executive officer.
“That’s not the Kim.”
CHAPTER 22
Walker raced across the bridge and became stone beside Cahill.
“Dear God,” he said.
“Stay calm,” Cahill said.
The Goliath began to rock as it approached the stormy surface.
“What is it?”
“It’s a Romeo. Similar dimensions as the Kim. It was an easy mistake.”
“Mistake? How the hell did we load an enemy submarine by mistake? Why the hell didn’t it shoot at us?”
“The crew probably mistook our sonar for an echo sounder or for what it really is — sonar equipment to find fish. They wouldn’t very well reveal their position by shooting at a fishing ship. They had no idea we were coming until we grabbed them.”
“They’re not afraid of death. They’re practically suicidal. Why didn’t they shoot a weapon and have it come back and kill us all? How do we know that’s not what they’re about to do?”