Silent Hunter

by Charles D. Taylor

  The watch officer flipped the switch for radio central. “Chief, would you please patch that communicator into sonar for the captain.” Then he turned to Snow. “It’ll be touch and go, but let’s give it a try.”

  Snow keyed the radiophone as soon as the red patch light lit up. The range for voice communications was short. It would be by chance alone that he could contact Reed. Once they were below solid ice, the only communications would be at specified hours—and that was only if a polynya was located at the appointed hour. Otherwise, they’d be out of touch until the next scheduled time. If he couldn’t raise Houston now, whatever might happen to Helena would come as a complete shock to Andy Reed.

  Snow repeated Houston’s call sign until he was rewarded with a faint response. “It is urgent . . . repeat urgent . . . I speak to Admiral Reed.”

  The wait seemed interminable until a weak voice came back, “This is Admiral Reed.”

  There was little time to think. Their signal was increasingly faint. “Andy, we’ve got a problem on Helena . . . our sonar located a high-frequency emission on her bearing . . . probably something external on the prop . . . it’s broken through your noisemakers . . . if there’s anyone out there near her, they’re going to pick it up . . . over.” Reed’s response was broken. “Understand Helena will attract attention . . . is that . . .” His voice faded.

  “That is correct. Can we contact? Over.”

  “Negative . . . ordered to go deep . . . nothing further until . . .” His voice became so garbled that Snow could only assume the admiral was indicating there would be no communications beyond the schedule Reed had ordered earlier.

  Snow tried three more times to raise Houston. He could hear the static and the other station keying in the background, Reed was trying to respond, but there was no point in continuing. And there was no solution to Helena’s problem. All they could do was wait and listen intensely in an arc where the Soviet forces were anticipated. There would be no doubt in Caesar’s electronic mind if a rocket or torpedo was fired. It would be a momentary indication of where enemy forces lurked, but similar to locating a needle in a haystack. Somewhere beyond Houston, perhaps as many as a hundred miles to the north, a Soviet submarine could be preparing to fire at Helena. A full torpedo run would take minutes, but at that range it would merge with Helena’s signature anyway. If the Russian used a rocket-propelled torpedo, the sound of firing would be brief, and then once again there would be silence on that bearing. Snow knew it was much like trying to catch a bullet.

  8

  THE CHANGE IN strategy that day was Sergoff’s idea, though the decision was up to the admiral. Abe Danilov took advantage of a few quiet moments to nap while Seratov’s attack team plotted the approach of their noisy target. The weapon, a missile carrying a homing torpedo, was taken through prefiring checks by Captain Lozak. Though Seratov’s captain was not a bloodthirsty individual, he had a major responsibility in developing this weapons system and now possessed an insatiable desire to prove its effectiveness on a real target. In the Soviet Navy, a great deal of emphasis was based on proving a system and this was a moment that could have significant influence on his career. He knew Abe Danilov would always stand behind him, but successfully dispatching an enemy submarine would also mean a great deal.

  Captain Sergoff knew enough not to suggest a change in strategy to Lozak. That decision was up to Danilov. Sergoff was almost certain Lozak would make every effort to get Danilov to support his own contentions. But Sergoff felt his first duty was Danilov’s safety. So when the admiral appeared in control yawning and refreshed, Sergoff immediately offered his opinion. “Admiral, it would seem to me that Seratov is as important to us, or at least your presence is, as Imperator’s is to the Americans. That’s why they have a protective screen in front of her.”

  Lozak glanced at Danilov, realizing quickly that Sergoff’s desire not to draw attention to the Admiral’s flagship would likely meet with approval.

  “What I mean,” Sergoff continued, “is that the minute the water slug ejects the missile from the tube, the Americans will have a solid bearing on this submarine. And they know enough about our weapons to know our range within reason—”

  “And,” Danilov concluded for him, “if you were in one of those American submarines, you’d fire instantly in retaliation.” He knew implicitly that American orders were not to fire until fired upon.

  Sergoff nodded.

  “But this submarine is fast enough to outrun their torpedoes,” Lozak responded. “As soon as we fire. I’ll go deeper and go to full speed on a reciprocal course.”

  “Smolensk is the same class and she can do that also.” Sergoff smiled. “Only, she doesn’t have Admiral Danilov aboard.” He turned back to Danilov, adding quite seriously, “We are not yet trying to stop Imperator. We’re attempting to take away her guard dogs. I believe, Admiral, that your seniors would consider it impetuous if you were to endanger yourself even before we have the opportunity to face the real objective. Prudence at this stage is a necessity.”

  Lozak recognized opportunity fading quickly. Sergoff made too much sense. Lozak’s desire to make the first kill was counterbalanced by the argument that the most important man in the operation was standing next to him. While Lozak had no doubt that he could outrun any American torpedo yet to be made, a simple engineering casualty—even one that could be quickly repaired—might be the difference between Danilov’s demise and a successful conclusion to the operation.

  “Captain Sergoff is right,” Lozak concluded unhappily.

  “The Americans are still out of range. I’m sure Smolensk is doing the same as we are right now. I agree that we should give her the opportunity, sir.”

  The decision, as rational as it was, bothered Danilov also. He felt briefly like a hunter lowering his gun so that the man next to him could have the first shot. “Permission granted. Send the signal.”

  The preplanned signal consisted of coded sonar pings directed on the bearing of the adjacent submarine. Three shorts, two seconds apart, indicated that the senior submarine was giving the target to the junior.

  “All stop!”

  “All engines are stopped, Captain.”

  “Very well.” Helena’s captain nodded to the chief of the watch. “We’ll drift for the time being, Chief. Hold your depth.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.” The chief rested his forearms on the back of the helmsman’s chair, eyeing the ship’s trim as speed began to drop.

  “Put some extra men on if you need to, Ed,” the captain said, turning to his engineering officer. “Since we’ve become such a hell of a target, we may have to play scared rabbit for some damn Russian torpedo.”

  The OOD’s expression displayed his anxiety. “Should I attempt to contact Admiral Reed, sir . . . let him know we’ve stopped?”

  “Not yet, Ben.” The captain was already following the engineering officer aft to the watertight door leading to the reactor area. “Ed’s got fifteen minutes to figure what the glitch is. After that, we’ll either try to make contact or just continue on again, sounding like the Fourth of July, I guess,” he added over his shoulder.

  “Range to target?” Smolensk’s captain called out. “Approximately forty-five kilometers, sir.”

  “Actual range,” the captain barked.

  The fire control officer looked cautiously toward the captain after first checking the dials. “The computer doesn’t have a solution as yet, sir. Another sixty seconds . . .” he added, his voice trailing off.

  “You’ve been tracking the target.” The captain’s voice was rising. “Give me your range!”

  “It’s hard to be precise . . . I’d say forty-four now, sir,” he guessed, feeling most uncomfortable with the captain peering over his shoulder. Then his face blanched. He wheeled, almost bumping the captain, to confirm what had just happened with the sonar operator.

  “Lost contact with the target.” The technician frantically rotated the dials in front of him, expanding his search arc a co
uple of degrees to either side.

  “Impossible!” The captain snatched the headphones from his fire control officer, clamping them over his ears with both fists. He listened, his eyes fixed on a spot on the overhead, while those around him waited fearfully for another outburst. The captain’s eyes finally settled on the sonarman, and he shook his head in wonder. The technician shrugged his shoulders to answer, turning back to the sonar console to again widen their listening arc. Removing the headphones, the captain added silently, “There’s nothing out there now.”

  “We have a general solution, sir.” The fire control officer turned brightly. “It should be accurate enough to drop the torpedo within range.”

  “Still too far. We’ll wait,” Smolensk’s captain decided.

  “Admiral, the target has gone silent,” Stevan Lozak reported to Danilov. “She was at about forty kilometers.” Danilov’s face remained expressionless. “Did you have a solution?”

  “Yes, sir.” Lozak smiled at the chief of staff for the first time that day. “Captain Sergoff insisted we continue our solution, just in case there was a casualty on Smolensk Lozak wondered silently if there really was a special talent in being an admiral’s chief of staff. So far. Sergoff hadn’t missed a trick. He’d covered every angle. Perhaps he wasn’t a threat to Lozak’s ambition after all.

  “She’s dead in the water,” Danilov remarked.

  “Make that correction to your solution,” Lozak ordered. “Hold your target at last known position.” He looked up at Danilov expectantly.

  “Smolensk may not have completed their solution. We will wait fifteen minutes for the American to make repairs, or whatever they are doing. Then we shoot at him ourselves. If there’s no noise, they’re holding position.”

  Hal Snow was sniffing with distaste at a cool cup of coffee in the control room when the report came from sonar. “Helena’s stopped, sir.”

  “Stopped?” Why? It didn’t make sense—not without contacting him or Reed.

  “No screw noises on her bearing, sir. I’ve still got reactor and steam system-related noises, so they’re expecting to resume speed pretty soon.”

  “Christ,” Snow muttered. “I wasn’t planning to travel with a dinner bell in front of me.” He called to the OOD as he left the control room, “Cut your speed for a while. No reason to run up her back. And tell sonar to keep an ear open for anything Russian out front of us. If I was them, I’d take out Helena first thing and worry about the rest of us later.” He paused for a moment and looked over his shoulder. “Better yet, man battle stations. They’d be crazy not to if they’re nearby. If we hear them fire at Helena, we ought to be able to squeeze off a couple of shots ourselves. We’ve got longer range than Houston.”

  When a submarine is prepared for sea, a base-line survey identifies every sound emitted by the boat. Computers can identify those not in the survey so that corrective action can be taken. When necessary, extraneous noise can normally be isolated by use of a stethoscope.

  Helena’s captain, engineer, and senior chief machinist mate were in the engine room near the shaft alley. The unidentified noise was directly astern, the only part of the submarine that sonar could not pinpoint. It was necessary for the engineers to isolate the source themselves.

  “Turn the shaft,” the chief engineer ordered over the sound-powered phone.

  Very slowly, the shaft began rotating the propeller. The chief, stethoscope against the bulkhead, shook his head.

  “Add more turns.”

  Vibration increased in conjunction with the shaft revolutions. Still there was nothing.

  The chief looked up at the captain. “It’s nothing to do with the fittings on the shaft, captain. They’re secure. Got to be outside on the prop.”

  “Add more turns.”

  The submarine was increasing speed with still no extraneous sounds noticeable through the stethoscope until they reached eleven knots.

  The chief’s hand rose slowly. “Got something here, Captain. Nothing sonar could pick up yet.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure, sir.” The chief looked up with a grin. “I listened to it in sonar before we stopped. It’s got to radiate with more strength before we can pick it up ourselves.”

  There was little the captain could say. At times like this, he was at the mercy of his experts. There was nothing to do but wait.

  At seventeen knots, sonar reported the sound radiating from astern, and that it increased with the shaft revolutions. Once it dispersed beyond the dead area, there was no doubt that it could be picked up by any good piece of equipment. It was on the propeller. There was no way they could repair anything until they were either alongside a tender or in dry dock. There had been no damage they could determine. It had to be an imperfection in the metal that became evident only after thousands of hours of operation. There would have been no way to anticipate such a casualty.

  When the captain returned to control, he called his operations officer. “We have to get out of here. We’re a hazard. Contact Imperator. She’ll relay to Houston.”

  “Roger your last. You’re still faint, Helena, but we copy.

  Understand noise problem is external. Over.” While Imperator was able to receive messages over vast distances on her refined underwater telephone, “Gertrude,” other submarines remained unable to hear her transmissions. The sonarman aboard the giant submarine waited for a response. There was only silence.

  He called Snow in the control room. “Captain, I have a voice transmission from Helena—about her noise problems. No way I could get back to her. I’ll bet she’ll repeat in a minute.”

  Sonar was just off the control room. In seconds, Snow was seated next to the sonarman, headphones in place. It was less than a moment before the message was repeated. This time, it was more extensive.

  “Helena is dropping out of formation to the south. Severe external noise problem diagnosed as propeller casualty. Noise increasing. Consider myself a hazard to your transit. Request you forward status to Houston at best opportunity. I am unable to receive from you at this range. This is my last transmission. Out.”

  The voice transmission from Helena could not be heard by the Russians well to the north, but there was no doubt concerning the source when the same propeller noise began on the exact bearing as before. Aboard both Smolensk and Seratov, the tubes had been flooded, pressure equalized, and the outer tube doors opened in anticipation that their target would turn away from the formation.

  “Solution?” Smolensk’s captain bellowed anxiously.

  “Thirty seconds, Captain. There was slight drift after they went dead in the water. Perhaps they are in a turn now . . .” His voice faded away as he attempted to concentrate on the reports from his attack team. The initial solution appeared accurate. It was a matter of rechecking, insuring the solution was in the torpedo’s memory, and ejecting the missile from the tube. Fifteen seconds . . .

  “Will we wait until he’s out of range?” The captain’s anger was rising.

  “Ten seconds, Captain.”

  Smolensk’s captain began counting on his fingers. His breath was now unpleasantly warm on the fire control officer’s cheek as he studied the maze of dials before them.

  “Standby.”

  The captain’s arm was involuntarily in the air and it dropped as he was told. “Ready to fire, Captain.”

  “Shoot.” His fist hit the chart table resoundingly.

  Every man aboard Smolensk felt the ship shudder against the ejection of the missile from the tube. “Come about to course zero, zero, zero—speed two zero,” the captain ordered joyfully.

  “Nothing from Smolensk?” Danilov inquired calmly.

  “Perhaps their solution wasn’t complete,” Captain Lozak answered.

  “Have they reversed course?”

  “Can’t tell yet, Admiral. They’re too far away.”

  “Do you have an accurate solution?” Danilov asked. “Almost perfect, Admiral,” Lozak answered.

  Danil
ov looked toward Sergoff. “We don’t want to lose him, do we?” He grinned.

  Sergoff smiled first at Danilov, then at Lozak. “You may shoot, Captain.”

  “Shoot.” Seratov’s deck trembled as the missile burst from the tube, then all was quiet.

  A voice from the sonarman broke the stillness. “I have something on Smolensk’s bearing . . . identified as . . .” There was a pause. “. . . missile fired. . . I’m sure they also fired, sir.”

  “So,” Danilov replied to the silence in the control room, “we have two birds in the air. That makes it even more unlikely our quarry will get away from us.”

  “Admiral, I would suggest we take evasive action.” Sergoff could be the master of understatement. “I doubt their Los Angeles-class boats can touch us right now, but Imperator’s seems to have advanced capabilities. There’s no harm now in being safe.”

  Danilov nodded and turned to Lozak. “Captain, select a course to the north and increase your depth, but do it as quietly as possible—no more than four knots. I don’t think they will be able to track us at that speed. We have given away one position, but I don’t intend to inform them of the next.”

  Snow was still eavesdropping in sonar when the missiles were fired to the north. To the untrained ear, the sound of a missile ejected from a torpedo tube was indistinguishable from the other noises in the ocean.

  “Did you hear that, Captain?”

  Snow looked curiously at the sonarman and shook his head.

  “Let me replay it. I’d swear someone was firing.” He reversed the tape recorder until he was ahead of the sound he’d identified. “Now listen to this, Captain. There’ll be sort of a thumping sound, like slapping your hands underwater, then a rushing noise. That’s the bubbles created by the missile bursting out toward the surface.” He punched the replay button.

  Snow vaguely heard what the man was talking about, but only because he had been instructed to listen for something specific. They came one on top of the other, at such a close interval that they could barely be distinguished even then. “Both from the same boat?”