Imperator continued on its course with no change in speed. Reports from most departments came in an orderly manner indicating no damage. Engineering found minor leakage in compartments nearer to the blast but basically size and honeycomb design prevented the hit from becoming a tragedy. There were no human injuries.
The smile on Hal Snow’s face was widening to one of triumph until the initial indication of a major casualty became evident—“I’ve got trouble here!” It was Carol Petersen, and her voice carried a note of fear Snow had never heard before.
Snow had been studying the imager closely, a triumphant expression growing as the track of their torpedoes neared the Russian submarine. He was waiting for the little narrow images to merge with the larger one when the imager began to flicker. The Soviet submarine vanished, then returned in a slightly different location. Houston, little more than twelve miles distant, jumped out of position, then vanished. The ice pack, for so long a secure roof above, rippled and fluttered, then disappeared altogether.
As Snow stared, speechless, the holographic imager went blank. He moved his hand through it, like a magician proving to his audience that there were no strings attached.
Carol was frantically working at the console, attempting to isolate the casualty. “Caesar’s reporting failures in his equipment room… we’ve got troubles… bad… switching to manual on all systems.” The screen blinked out before her, reflecting a neutral green haze, like the surface of a pool table.
“Damage control,” Snow managed to sputter into the 21MC.
“Automatic,” Carol interrupted. “When the computer identifies a casualty, it appears automatically on Damage Control Central’s Board. They’ll already—”
But Snow had flipped the switch to DC Central before she could finish. “You got anything on the computer yet?” he bellowed.
“I got men on the way, Captain. Give them a minute to hook up a phone. I’ll get back as soon as I have something.” There was a pause with many voices in the background before he added, “We’ve got water down here… don’t know whether it’s salt or fresh yet…”
Snow was momentarily distracted as sonar, still operating normally, reported, “Two torpedoes… two hits, Captain. No way that Russian could have escaped from that… he’s a goner for sure.”
The report registered with Snow — it meant that there were no longer any Soviet contacts to prosecute — but he had more vital problems. The brain that controlled this monster of a submarine had flicked off.
“Captain.” The light on the 21MC speaker indicated it was DC Central. “We got fractured valves down there and flooding. Pressure to the pipes has been secured, but we had to do it manually. The automatic valves failed to function.” Of course — they couldn’t! They were controlled by the computer that was being flooded! “Water hit the electrical conduits, too, and we’re fighting some electrical fires now. Got a lotta smoke spreading down there—”
“Can you control the fires?” Snow interrupted.
“No problem there. Nothing’s going to run away on us, Captain. The problem’s in shorting. A lot of small fires. Lots of smoke, too. We’re going to need to ventilate.”
“How bad’s the smoke?”
“Don’t know for sure. We got men with masks in there now. But that smoke’s gotta go somewhere.”
That was it — one of the most feared hazards in a submarine, smoke! It was near-impossible to fight a submarine efficiently if the crew was wearing breathing devices over their faces. Smoke had to be removed, but there was nowhere for it to go in a submarine. Smoke could be pervasive, trickling from one compartment to the next.
The precipitators could eventually clear it. But the only quick way to get rid of it was to surface and ventilate the spaces.
Andy Reed was analyzing readouts from the navigational sonar with the quartermaster, Gorham. It was a time-consuming process to compare their projected path with their past course, and they both knew it could be futile because of the shifting ice above. They were searching for thin ice or a polynya or lead because Reed wouldn’t allow the use of any active sonar yet. They weren’t in that bad shape, or at least that was the attitude Reed was projecting. They might even navigate all the way home if they had the time and patience. Besides, there was a missing submarine in the vicinity — Danilov’s — and Andy Reed was sure it hadn’t been sunk. The man he had been leery of even before they got underway had become his nemesis once Houston was damaged. He desperately needed Imperator’s protection until they could surface for repairs.
“Anything yet from Imperator?” he asked as he worked at the chart.
When there was no answer to his question, he looked up from the chart table irritably, only to discover Ross standing beside him, his face drawn. “No, Admiral. Nothing from Imperator yet. That’s still a pretty long distance to read voice with all the background noise we’re making, even in these waters. She’s had another tussle… her and that last Russian. I don’t think there’s any doubt that that Alfa’s on the bottom, but we picked up an explosion separate from the other — a torpedo — a few degrees from the Alfa. Imperator could have been hit… we don’t know yet,” he hastened to add. “But she’s dead in the water, all engines stopped for the time being.”
“Keep at it, Ross. I don’t want to have to take this thing to the surface without someone standing guard for us.” Andy Reed was sure that if such a thing as a sixth sense existed, they were being watched now.
Abe Danilov opened his eyes and rose to his feet in a fluid motion. “That’s it. We are the only submarine left.” It often amazed him how advanced a submarine’s sensing devices had become since he first joined the service. The training of the sonarmen, coupled with advanced ranges and the ability of the computer to separate each individual sound in the ocean, had turned sonar into an audio television. It allowed them to “see” for hundreds of square kilometers around them and know exactly what was taking place. They knew how many torpedoes Ryazan had fired in her headlong charge at Imperator and they knew how the American craft had returned the fire. They knew the relative locations of the battling submarines, how long it would take the torpedoes to reach their mark, and they could tell instinctively that Ryazan was ripped apart.
Of equal interest was that Imperator also appeared to have sustained a hit. Though they could only imagine the extent of damage, it was evident she’d experienced some negative results. The American boat had gone dead in the water, either to lick her wounds or to discover whatever damage had occurred. The critical factor — the most vital — was that Imperator was not immune to attack! She could be hurt — and if she could be hurt, Danilov had no doubt she could be sunk!
“Is Houston still trying to establish voice contact?” the admiral inquired.
“Yes, sir.” Sergoff knew exactly what Danilov’s next question might be. “We are not close enough to translate. Even speaking our own language, we are still too far away.”
“Has Houston turned toward her?”
“If I had to interpret her problem, I think one of them would be damage to the steering gear. Her course shows little variation. There could be extensive damage to her exterior surfaces if that propeller is any indication…”
“She needs to surface,” Danilov interrupted, his face brightening.
“Quite possibly…”
“And more likely than not, she wants Imperator to protect her while she makes repairs.” Danilov’s face became animated. “Admiral Reed knows we’re out here. And he knows we’d pounce on a cripple just like he did.” He noticed Lozak listening intently, and added for the captain’s benefit, “We could run right in after him now… but I think Reed would like us to use him… as the decoy, Captain Lozak. While we concentrate on him, Imperator blows us out of the water.”