“Eight miles away, bearing zero-five-two,” the trainer said.
“Can you have them sprint home?”
The trainer furrowed his brow in thought.
“No, that’s too far to sprint. They could average, I’d say, fourteen knots over the distance.”
“Can you command them to swim at fourteen knots?”
“Nature equipped them to know their optimum speeds to intercept submerged objects. I’ll tell them to come back, and they’ll know. If they swim too fast or too slow, I can send them commands to accelerate or decelerate. They’ll also send me a distress call if they fear they’re fatiguing and incapable of catching us.”
“Really?
“I trained them to be safe and to come back to me.”
“Then I’ll slow the ship, and they’ll be home in an hour.”
As the trainer’s lithe body relaxed in relief, Volkov looked to the gray beard.
“Slow us to six knots.”
With the Wraith’s speed halved and its self-generated flow noise reduced, Volkov walked to the conning platform and studied the enhanced crispness of the sea’s sounds on the sonar display.
Everything looked like natural sounds, but an elder sonar technician seated to Anatoly’s side became animated and pointed to his screen. The younger guru leaned and studied the elder’s display before glancing at Volkov.
“Helicopter.”
“This far from the Yemeni coast?”
“They must be getting flight operations support from a combatant like last time.”
“Agreed. How far away?”
“Far enough,” Anatoly said. “At best a ten percent chance of detection. I believe anyone who’s pursuing us assumed that we stuck around to guide our weapon in like last time. Firing and cutting the wire instead of waiting to guide the weapon has given us a five-mile head start against their assumptions.”
“We’ll need to snorkel soon, and they know it.”
“We can maintain six knots for a long time with the MESMA system.”
Volkov considered the French Module d'Energie Sous-Marine Autonome air-independent propulsion system inferior to that which he’d known in his Russian Kilo submarine, but it provided him a crucial long-lasting energy source while submerged.
“I prefer not to conduct the remainder of this evasion at six knots,” he said. “Or at five or four knots as our battery empties. Once you can assure me I’m safe from nearby listeners, I’ll come shallow to snorkel.”
“I’ve been listening for that Iranian Kilo submarine, and there’s nothing,” Anatoly said. “I hear nothing out there. Even that helicopter is gone now.”
Volkov looked to the gray beard.
“Bring us to snorkel depth and prepare to snorkel.”
The deck rose, leveled, and rocked in the shallows.
“Take three minutes to search for threats, Anatoly.”
While his sonar expert listened, Volkov sought visual information. He announced his intentions as he tapped an icon.
“Raising the periscope for a full panoramic sweep.”
Above him, hydraulic valves clicked. When the optics broke the surface, they sent daylight images to his screen, and then the valves clicked again to lower the periscope. The three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the waves showed emptiness.
After his sonar expert claimed silent waters, Volkov risked concluding his relative solitude and keeping a piece of the Wraith exposed above the water.
“Raise the induction mast,” he said.
Hydraulic valves clicked.
“The induction mast is raised,” the gray beard said.
“Commence snorkeling.”
A gentle rumble filled the compartment.
“Let’s risk a transmission to Pierre,” Volkov said.
“What message to send?” the gray beard asked.
“Text only. Give him our coordinates, tell him we’re retrieving the dolphins, and the dolphins have been tracking a submerged contact, which I believe is an Iranian Kilo, at long range behind us. The Kilo has been following us for at least six hours.”
A technician verified the message and entered it into the system.
“Raise the radio mast and synchronize with the satellite.”
Valves clicked.
“The radio mast is raised,” the gray beard said. “Seeking the satellite, and linked.”
“Send the message.”
“The message is sent, receipt by the satellite is confirmed.”
“Very well,” Volkov said. “Lower the radio mast.”
A low-frequency update from Renard confirmed receipt of Volkov’s message and updated the location of threats with respect to his precise location. The nearest helicopter flew twenty-five miles behind him, and except for the undersea world that eluded Renard’s borrowed reconnaissance tools, the Frenchman’s perspective concluded Volkov was alone.
But the report indicated that one of the remaining two Iranian Kilo-class submarines had deployed, hidden itself within the sea, and joined its twin in hunting the Wraith.
Volkov noted the irony of his homeland having built the submarines that chased him. He also decided his ship was superior to the older vessels and his skills outpaced those of his pursuers.
But he diverted himself from hubris by thinking about tactics. His secret weapons came to mind, and he aimed his voice at his sonar expert.
“Remember to keep our active sonar silent to prevent hurting the dolphins. Inform the torpedo room immediately when they request entry.”
In the torpedo room, Volkov watched the trainer return a sound-powered phone to a torpedo technician.
“The dolphins are requesting entry,” the trainer said.
“You’re sure they can do this at six knots?”
“Yes, Dmitry. They’re quite quick and agile. They’re just waiting for you to open the door.”
“Very well. Open it.”
A technician verified shut the breech door and then opened the muzzle. A green light indicated that the tube opened to the sea.
“How can you tell if they’re in there?” Volkov asked.
“You can’t, but I can,” the trainer said.
“How?
“A mother just knows.”
“Aren’t you scared about their flukes getting caught in the door?”
“Yes, I was when I trained them in this maneuver. So I taught them to swim all the way in.”
“Very well,” Volkov said. “Are they in yet?”
“Yes. I think so. You can close the muzzle door now and drain the tube.”
Volkov looked to a technician.
“Well, you heard him. A mother knows. Close the muzzle door and drain the tube.”
With the tube drained, Volkov ordered the breech door opened and was greeted by a pair of chirping cetaceans.
“There your babies are,” he said.
The trainer stepped in front of him and aimed a flashlight into the open circle.
“Ah, yes. Andrei entered first. He’s the brave one. Mikhail always follows. Get that cradle underneath him. He looks exhausted. Get their dinner ready. They need to eat quickly and then sleep.”
“How long do they need?” Volkov asked.
“Six hours, please, Dmitry.”
“Very well. Six hours.”
Volkov climbed over the edge of the makeshift aquarium and walked away. As he reached the end of the compartment, the pungent odor of an opened tub of mackerel turned his head, and he saw the first dolphin being lowered into its tank.
He reached the control room and looked to the gray beard.
“Secure snorkeling. Take us to fifty meters. Make turns for ten knots.”
The rumble stopped, hydraulic valves clicked, and the deck plates tilted downward.