For three hours, Volkov monitored his tactical team monitoring the seas for solitude. Accepting his safety, he allowed himself to rest his cheek in his hand, and he drifted to sleep.
“Dmitry!”
He stirred and opened his eyes. The tense, silent bodies in the control room verified his lucid nightmare had been real.
“Say that again,” he said.
“Torpedo in the water,” Anatoly said.
“Bearing and bearing rate?”
“I don’t have a bearing rate yet. Bearing three-five-two.”
“Bearing drift?”
“Perhaps slight right, but not much. It’s almost coming straight at us, but with a slight leading trajectory. I’m hearing the active seeker at low signal strength.”
Volkov’s movement and adrenaline stretched his legs as he stood and placed his hands on the polished rail.
“What should we do?” the gray beard asked.
“Slow to three knots,” Volkov said.
“Slow? With a torpedo coming for us?”
“Yes. And Anatoly will watch the bearing rate as if his life depends upon it.”
The speed display ticked down to three knots.
“What do you have, Anatoly?”
“You’re right. The torpedo is drawing ahead of us. The bearing rate is now half a degree per minute to the right.”
“Can you hear the shooting platform?”
“No. I’m unable to get even a sniff. But I have confirmed that the torpedo is a USET-80, most likely from an Iranian Kilo.”
“It’s a second Kilo,” Volkov said. “The first one the dolphins were tracking couldn’t have moved to our flank so quickly from so far behind us.”
“Unless the dolphins were wrong,” Anatoly said.
Volkov assessed his options. If he commanded the hostile launch platform, he would have turned into the Wraith’s baffled sector to make a possible counter-fire weapon inaccurate. Any counterstrike with his submarine’s torpedoes would be foolish.
But he had another option.
“I imagine it’s possible they’re wrong,” he said. “But let’s see what they have to say about it.”
He reached for a sound-powered phone, rang the torpedo room, and called upon the trainer.
“Dmitry?”
“Can you get them into the water in ten minutes?”
“They haven’t had their full rest.”
“It will be a quick strike. A second Iranian Kilo just launched a weapon at us. Thankfully, Anatoly heard it from far enough away that I could avoid the intercept course, but I think your babies can catch them.”
“How far is the swim?”
“Probably five miles. We can’t hear them, but they were close enough to hear us when I was snorkeling and going faster. My guess is they’re in our baffles now, crossing to our right side very slowly.”
“I don’t know, Dmitry.”
“I’ll be right down there.”
Volkov looked at the dolphin that faced him. One eye froze in an enduring wink as the mammal rested half its brain while keeping the other half alert. The soft, bright blue harness stretched around the torso forward of the dorsal fin, holding a camera, its communication transceiver, and a small shaped charge.
“It sounds to me like you could shoot a torpedo at them,” the trainer said.
“I could. It would be a mediocre shot with much guesswork, but it might hit. However, it might miss and give the adversary a better idea of our position. At the moment, I believe they’ve lost track of us.”
“How could you know?”
“Because when I slowed, they didn’t steer their torpedo at us. It’s drifting safely ahead.”
“Maybe the wire broke and they can’t steer it.”
“On Russian-built military hardware? We have good enough quality on our military weapons. And also keep in mind we are on a mission where money matters. Why waste a torpedo when I can use inexpensive explosives from your little assassins?”
The trainer smiled and caressed his nearest child.
“My little assassins,” he said. “What a morbid title for my little angels.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s their job.”
“Yes, yes, it is. I think you should pet them.”
“Me? Why?”
“They can sense human emotions, and they can tell you’re the one feeling the stress of making decisions. You would calm them if you petted them and reassured them.”
“Very well.”
Volkov lowered his hand to the watery, reflective sheen of the closest dolphin’s head. His fingertips made contact, and the sensation reminded him of wet rubber. He then reached and extended his fingers to the second animal.
He spoke in the most soothing voice he could muster.
“I hope that makes your little angels feel a little better.”
“My little angels. My little assassins. I’ll send them immediately.”
In the control room, Volkov verified the Iranian torpedo vectored into oblivion and then hovered over his sonar expert.
“Still nothing?” he asked.
“It’s quiet. It’s a good Russian-built submarine, and the crew is showing discipline in its operation. We were lucky… well, everyone else here was lucky that my ears are so good and I heard the torpedo’s seeker wake up from so far away.”
“If you’re so good, why can’t you hear any Iranian submarines? At last count, there were two out there.”
“If I can’t hear them, they can’t be heard.”
“I’ll bet you a bottle of top-shelf vodka of the winner’s choice that I’ll detonate the dolphins’ charges on the Iranian hull before you even hear the submarine.”
“I have expensive tastes,” Anatoly said.
“I have battle-tested dolphins.”
The trainer entered the compartment and told Volkov his dolphins were deployed. Without concern for his shipmate’s rights, the trainer bumped shoulders with the sonar technician seated beside Anatoly and nudged him from the seat.
Seemingly aware of the trainer’s crude habits, the technician moved to a new console and let the dolphins’ master sit.
“May I transmit the acknowledgment message?” the trainer asked.
“Very well, transmit.”
Volkov twisted a knob above his head to increase the volume of sound passing through the compartment’s loudspeakers. He listened as the Wraith simulated an aquatic animal by broadcasting a recorded dolphin’s message.
The series of whistles meant nothing to him, but the relaxed features on the trainer’s face affirmed their intended significance.
“It always calms them to know we’re in communication,” the trainer said.
The natural incoming chirps and whistles filled the compartment.
“They already see a new submerged contact,” the trainer said. “I recognize the signal.”
“Excellent,” Volkov said. “Now I want information. Bearing and range to the contact.”
The trainer tapped his screen, and a new series of recorded whistles from the Wraith’s hydrophones filled the room. Moments later, Volkov heard a dolphin’s high-pitched response.
“They’ve echolocated the contact,” the trainer said. “I’ll query for the bearing.”
Volkov forced himself to incorporate the bottlenose dolphins’ perspectives into his mind. He accepted their view of the undersea world as a sonic painting that would elude his understanding. Though useful, the data they could provide him frustrated him with its limits.
“Go ahead,” he said.
Another exchange of chirps and whistles.
“Andrei says the submerged contact is at six o’clock.”
“Very well,” Volkov said. “Passing through our baffles almost exactly, if not exactly. Now get the range”
More chirps.
“In between,” the trainer said. “Not near, not far.”