The giant bubble of highly radioactive water vapor continued to expand, pushing above it a waterspout that rose one hundred feet into the air. The bubble rose swiftly to the surface, where it erupted over an area the size of a football field. A large wave radiated over the surface, and the steam was slowly diluted and dispersed in the atmosphere. When the waterspout fell back into the sea after a few seconds, all visible traces of a nuclear explosion vanished. All that remained was the sonic record heard by SOSUS and the sonar operators on Dherzinski twenty miles away.
Sorensen and Fogarty heard the explosion at the same time that the shock wave rolled through Barracuda.
Sorensen said only, "He didn't move after he shot his wad. He thought he was too deep to get hurt."
Fogarty sat perfectly still, his mind numbed, seeing only a picture of his toy submarine diving into Lake Minnetonka.
The Russian torpedo did not function perfectly. It struck Barracuda twenty feet forward of the reactor.
Exploding on impact, the warhead punched a hole six feet in diameter in the pressure hull, directly into the control room. The full, lethal force of the explosion struck Springfield, Pisaro, Hoek, Cakes and the others in the control room. Cracks radiating from the rupture opened around the circumference of the hull.
Barracuda broke in half.
The blast expended itself against the, forward bulkhead, which caved into the officers' quarters and galley. The aft bulkhead resisted the blast, and the stern broke away and began to sink.
Eight thousandths of a second after the explosion ripped Barracuda in two, the sea and the laws of physics finished her.
In the bow, only the new steel installed at Rota failed to shatter in the succession of implosions. Lopez, the torpedo gang and the damage-control team of Davic and Willie Joe died in the last implosion.
In the stern, water poured into the reactor compartment, instantly cooling the reactor vessel, which became brittle and split open. The primary coolant water, saturated with radioactive isotopes and pressurized to sixteen hundred pounds per square inch, exploded into the flooding compartment and became mingled with the sea.
Water poured into the engineering spaces, squeezing the atmosphere in the compartment into a smaller and smaller pocket until the air itself exploded, destroying the turbines and reduction gears.
An electrical fire ignited a tank of light lubrication oil that exploded and destroyed Sorensen's Beach. Fogarty burned up.
As Barracuda sank to the bottom, twelve thousand feet below, Sorensen lived long enough to drown.
30
A plain, unmarked Mercedes was waiting for Netts when he stepped off the plane at the airstrip near Hamburg. Three days had passed since Barracuda and Potemkin had destroyed one another.
A young lieutenant stood on the tarmac, holding open the rear door. The admiral waved the lieutenant aside, slid into the driver's seat and drove south along the west bank of the Elbe.
It was a fine spring morning and the river was wide and beautiful. In that part of central Germany the Elbe is the border between East and West. Thirty miles east of Hamburg fields of rye stretched ripe and green, and on both sides of the river farmers on their tractors looked busy, but there was one difference. In the East, a hundred yards from the river, a chain of high guardtowers marched along the Elbe, guns trained on the open fields.
Netts drove through Lauenberg an der Elbe, an ancient town of long slate roofs, and stopped when he reached a single-lane bridge that crossed the river. Two West German border patrolmen, whose usual station was at the foot of the bridge, sat in a jeep a discreet distance away.
On the other side of the river another Mercedes was parked behind a lowered crossing gate. In the middle of the bridge, alone, stood Sergei Gorshkov, admiral of the fleet of the Soviet Union.
They had never met before. Netts looked at him, not trusting himself to speak. He waited for the Russian to start it.
Gorshkov was a tall, heavy man dressed in a dark well-made suit. His face was bland. He watched the river barges for several minutes, as though admiring the hard-working rivermen. Finally he spoke in heavily accented but otherwise good English. "I am pleased you agreed to meet."
"I thought it prudent. Tell me what you have to say."
"You will not inform your press agencies of what has happened?"
"Of course not." No need to get such an assurance in return. Everything Potemkin had done was to keep the secret of its existence and of Dherzinski's presence in the Caribbean.
"Dherzinski is returning to Murmansk. She is no longer in position to—"
"We know. She passed through the Iceland gap this morning… Admiral, your captain sank my ship."
"He died for it."
"He committed an unprovoked act of war. You are responsible—"
"It was not unprovoked. Your ship came within a kilometer of Dherzinski—"
"Dherzinski was in our waters." Like medieval popes, the two admirals were dividing up the world… "Admiral, I don't think you were so concerned about Dherzinski. In any case, you now know your attempt to violate our Cuban agreement is ended. Your patrols in the Caribbean have been terminated. But you were trying to protect your new class of attack submarines. What was the name of the ship that sank Barracuda?"
"Potemkin."
"How apt. Named for a czarist prince. You Russians never forget who you are. Why are you so anxious to protect Potemkin?"
Gorshkov smiled. "Admiral Netts, I am sure you would not ask such a question unless you knew the answer. Your technicians have spectroscopes. By now they will have examined the sections of the bow removed from Barracuda in Rota after the collision and found traces of titanium." Gorshkov added, "We do not want to sink your ships. We want to put a stop to this before it gets out of control."
"You're buying time, Admiral. You want to delay until you have a fleet of deep-diving titanium subs."
Gorshkov's face was still bland, almost affable. "You're a gambler, Admiral Netts. I would enjoy playing poker with you. But, as it is, we have each lost a submarine, and neither of us wishes to lose another. Or be provoked into a war."
They both turned to the river. Gorshkov said, "And so, once again, it is agreed neither of us will speak of what has happened, or of this meeting."
Netts nodded curtly. "I have already said so. Barracuda disappeared, causes unknown."
"For us, it is simple. Potemkin never existed."
They did not shake hands on the bargain. Self-interest sealed it. For now. They would have no war today.
Below them a barge whistle shrilled. They faced each other for a moment, then turned and walked off in opposite directions.
The game was over.
The game had just begun.
About the Author
MARK JOSEPH attributes his lifelong interest in nuclear submarines to a childhood spent wandering the Mare Island Naval Shipyard in Vallejo, California. Currently, he makes his home in San Francisco. This is his first novel.