Several more blasts followed, and Sumiko found it hard to hide his annoyance. A fellow needed a sound night’s sleep if he was expected to rise at dawn and put in a full day’s work. He was so upset that he was even thinking about calling in a complaint. But such an act would only serve to call attention to himself, and this was something that wasn’t the least bit desirable.
Sumiko had determined to make the best of this noisy business when four successive blasts were followed by a thunderous explosion that actually threw him off his mattress. He landed on the floor with a rough jolt, and it took him several painful minutes to stand fully upright once again. Well aware that the blast he had just heard was strong enough to bringdown half a mountain, Sumiko stiffly made his way outdoors. He couldn’t believe the scene that awaited him.
It seemed the entire northern horizon was filled with towering flames and billowing smoke. The majority of this inferno appeared to be centered in the very heart of the complex. This surely meant the tragedy would be most costly both in property and human lives.
As Sumiko watched the spreading flames turn the night sky into a hellish panorama, he heard his telephone ringing. In the hope that the caller would be able to explain what had precipitated this disaster, he returned indoors.
The phone was mounted beside the sensor console, and Sumiko picked up the receiver and put it to his car. Once more, he was greeted by the stern voice of the assistant director. Without giving Sumiko a chance to ask about the fire, his superior relayed a series of strict instructions. Sumiko was to open the net immediately to allow the Katana access to the open sea. Once the submarine had safely transitted the inlet, he was then to instantly reseal the bay and arm its CAPTOR mines so that they would respond to contact detonation only. Sumiko was asked to repeat these orders, and after he did so, the line went dead.
Realizing he still didn’t know the cause of the fire, the old-timer got on with his duty. He pulled out a chair, sat down before the console, and, after rubbing his arthritic hands together, slowly began to address his keyboard.
Aboard the Bokken, Jaffers was the first to hear the sounds of the opening of the sub net. Since he had also been tasked to carefully monitor the position of the other Romeoclass submarine, he hastily rechecked his data before sharing it with his superiors.
“Mechanical sounds dead ahead indicate the sub net is in the process of opening,” reported the senior sonar technician.
“As it looks now, our twin is going to beat us through by agood couple of minutes.”
“Let’s just pray that the net keeper takes his sweet time resealing the bay,” said Bill Brown, whose glance shot to the control room’s ceiling as a shrill, metallic screech suddenly filled the compartment.
“Sounds like we could be rubbing up against amine’s mooring cable!” warned Jaffers.
Both Bill Brown and Chris Slaughter hurried over to sonar, where Jaffers readjusted his sensors to get a definite identity on this unexpected disturbance. By isolating several of their hullmounted hydrophones, he was able to determine that the sound was coming from the port side.
As the sickening screech intensified, Benjamin Kram rushed over to join them.
“Shouldn’t we stop and reverse course, Captain?” he questioned.
“We can’t, Ben,” replied Slaughter.
“If that net closes with us on the wrong side, we’ll be stuck in this bay for all eternity.”
“But what about that mine out there?” asked Kram.
“Don’t forget that as far as the CAPTOR is concerned, we’re still a friendly,” reminded Bill Brown.
“As long as we don’t snag it, and it’s not set to detonate on contact, we’ve got more important things to focus on, like getting a couple of more knots out of this rust bucket.”
The screech seemed to begetting even louder, and the veteran’s worst fears were realized when Jaffers excitedly called out.
“The cable appears to be stuck in the crease of our port hydroplane!
We’re currently pulling down whatever it’s attached to.”
“Captain, you’ve got to stop this submarine!” insisted Benjamin Kram.
Chris Slaughter struggled to hold firm to his decision as Jaffers added.
“The sub net’s closing, sir! That other Romeo must be through.”
Slaughter looked at Bill Brown and expressed his deepest fears.
“I hope to God you’re right, Bill, and if it’s really amine we’re dragging down on us, it hasn’t been reprogrammed to explode on contact.”
Since he really didn’t know how the mine was programmed. Bill Brown realized this was a gamble that couldn’t betaken as long as there was an alternative, even though this alternative was untested.
He turned to the helm and forcefully shouted out.
“Mr. Foard, engage that stern hydroplane, full rise!”
“But at this depth we could breech,” countered the helmsman, who was used to taking orders only from his OOD.
Brown looked to Slaughter for support, and without bothering to even question the veteran’s motives, Chris Slaughter firmly called out.
“Just do it, Mr. Foard!”
This was all the helmsman had to hear. He yanked back on his control column. In response, a surge of hydraulic fluid caused the stern hydroplane to angle sharply upward, and the rusted mooring cable that had been caught between the hydroplane and the hull snapped. This sent the now rearmed contact mine, which had been only inches from the Bokken’s upper deck, bobbing harmlessly to the surface.
“We’ve cleared the snag!” observed Jaffers, who wasted no time in turning his attention to the waters directly in front of them.
Though still concerned about the race with the closing net, Chris Slaughter took the time to express his gratitude to the veteran who stood beside him.
“That was a hell of an idea to clear that snag. Bill. Since it’s not in any manual I ever read, how did you think of it?”
Brown grinned.
“I guess you can indirectly thank the Naval Submarine League for that one, Chris. I was atone of their symposiums when I overheard a World War II vet discuss amine incident much like the one we were just involved in. Though it was never officially chronicled, he used his sub’s hydroplane to cut a snagged mooring cable.”
“We’re less than fifty yards away from the net, Captain,” interrupted Jaffers.
“Mechanical sounds indicate that it’s still continuing to close on us.”
Both Brown and Slaughter looked to the bulkhead-mounted speed indicator. The arrow showed that they were traveling at nearly thirteen knots, which was about the best submerged speed they could hope to attain. Unless they were somehow able to increase it, it appeared they would be caught short.
Realizing this, Slaughter reached out for the intercom handset, to personally ask Chief Roth to see what he could do about squeezing out another knot or two. Meanwhile, his gray-haired companion continued staring at the speed indicator.
“Come on, Bokken. You can make it,” urged Brown.
“Move!”
* * *
Stanley Roth patiently listened to the concerned voice on the other end of the line. Even though the young officer was asking for the impossible, Stanley replied, “I’ll do my best. Commander. Just hold on and pray that it’s good enough.”
Stanley hung up the handset and scanned the adjoining console. The majority of the gauges that monitored the internal condition of the sub’s engines were well into the red danger zone. This included the allimportant tachometer.
With the steady grinding hum of the vessel’s twin shafts in the background. Roth solemnly reached for the throttle mechanism. The way he saw it, it was now a choice between two evils.
They could cither continue at their current speed, and lose the race with the closing net, or risk overloading the engines by opening the throttle wide.
Stanley Roth had never been a truly religious man. Nevertheless, he silently mouthed a prayer to the god he was just now
rediscovering ashe put his hand on the throttle and pushed it all the way forward. In response, the tach jumped far into the red, the needle all but touching the extreme right side of the dial.
Bill Brown was also saying a desperate silent prayer as the speed indicator his gaze was locked on gradually moved to the right. He could hardly believe his startled eyes when it increased by a full half-knot, and still continued edging upward.
“We can’t be more than fifteen yards from the opening,” observed the strained voice of Jaffers.
“Damn, this one is going to be right down to the wire!”
Chris Slaughter also saw the increase in their forward speed, yet he didn’t express himself until they’d passed fourteen knots.
“We’re going to make it, gentlemen. I just know we’re going to make it!”
His words of encouragement were tempered by the next update from sonar.
“Mechanical sounds continue,” reported Jaffers.
“I believe our bow should be just about crossing the line.”
Bill Brown visualized the net closing, the Bokken sandwiched in between. Even if it did close on them, they could still make it as long as the net didn’t snag on their stern hydroplanes like the mine’s mooring cable had.
The next thirty seconds would be critical, so Brown returned to his prayers. Most of his shipmates in the hushed control room did likewise.
And when the half-minute had finally passed, and the Bokken continued on unhampered, the veteran knew his divine petition had been answered.
“We’re through!” cried Jaffers triumphantly.
“Wow, talk about your heart-stopping photo finishes!”
The control-room crew celebrated with a muffled cheer, and Brown exchanged handshakes with both Chris Slaughter and Benjamin Kram.
“I’m getting too old for all this excitement, gentlemen,” the relieved veteran admitted.
“My ticker’s still beating away in double time.”
“Join the crowd. Bill,” replied Slaughter, who addressed his next remark to his XO.
“Ben, you’d better inform Chief Roth to case off on that throttle.
And please pass on my compliments on a job well done.”
“Aye, aye. Skipper,” returned Kram, ashe left them to pick up the nearest intercom handset.
“Old Stanley and his boys really came through,” said Brown.
“It would have been hell to pay if we’d gotten tangled up in that net. Now what’s on the agenda?”
Slaughter looked over toward sonar.
“I guess that depends on what Jaffers has to say concerning that other Romeo. Though I’d like nothing better than to head back home, as long as that vessel’s on the loose, our mission’s not over.”
“Does that mean you’re thinking about taking them out?” asked Brown softly.
Slaughter hesitated a moment before answering.
“I don’t know. Bill. But if there’s the slightest possibility they might be carrying biologicals on board, we’ve got to stay on their tail until they show their cards.”
Brown nodded in agreement.
“I hear you, Chris.
Just too bad we can’t contact Admiral Walker and get some help out here. Though your men have done a hell of a fine job getting the most out of this antique, now we really need the hightech ASW capabilities of a vessel like the Hawkbill. I don’t even think Pete Frystak could figure out how to take out a submerged sub with the outdated fish we’re carrying.”
“I don’t know about that,” countered Chris Slaughter.
“From what your weapons officer showed me back in the bay, I’d say he’s capable of doing just about anything. Brother, did we ever surprise the hell out of the crew on that patrol boat!”
“That sure must have been some hellish sight,” reflected Bill Brown, following Slaughter over to sonar.
Jaffers was monitoring the sub’s forward hydrophones, and Slaughter questioned him while gently massaging the tight muscles of the senior sonar technician’s neck.
“What’s the latest on our fellow Romeo?”
Jaffers cocked his neck backward to get the most out of this greatly appreciated massage, then answered.
“We’re smack in their baffles, Captain.
They continue to head due south, though as we approach the one-hundred-fathom line, I wouldn’t be surprised if they soon initiate a course change.”
“You did some fine work back there in the bay, Jaffers,” complimented Slaughter.
“We couldn’t have made it without you.”
“I was only doin’ my job. Captain,” replied the humble sonarman, who tried his best to stifle a yawn.
“When was the last time you were relieved?”
asked his CO.
Jaffers shook his head.
“I really couldn’t say, sir.”
“Well, I’ll call someone in to watch this console while you go and stretch those long legs of yours,” Slaughter promised.
“Grab a cup of coffee and some chow while you’re at it. And don’t even think about coming back until you’ve gotten some welldeserved rest. You’re going to be doing me no good if you pass out from exhaustion.”
Jaffers readily replied.
“I believe I can handle that. Captain.”
Slaughter looked over to Bill Brown and smiled.
The veteran winked in response, knowing full well that the quality of men who served in today’s Navy easily equaled that of those who’d seen active service in his time.
Twenty-one
Unbeknownst to the crews of the two Romeoclass submarines another submerged warship was present in the open waters due south of Takara Bay. Silently loitering at a depth of seven hundred and fifty feet, she was approximately the same length as the Romeos but with double their displacement and a vastly more modern design.
The Nadashio was the latest Yuushio-class submarine belonging to the Japanese Maritime SelfDefense Force. It sported a sleek, rounded, teardrop-style hull in the manner of the newest US Navy attack boats, on which it was patterned. Unlike its American counterparts, however, the Nadashio was of double-hull construction, its externally framed pressure hull formed from hightensile NS-90 steel. This gave the ships of the Yuushio class an unprecedented diving depth of over 1,000 feet.
Packed within the Nadashio’s inner hull was the very best Japanese technology. The powerful electric motor, designed by Fuji, could produce underwater speeds of up to twenty knots. The ZQQ-4 passive sonar array occupied the entire bow, with three circular transducers stacked one above the other. This served to reduce the vertical beam of the sonar and to drastically reduce the signal-tonoise ratio, allowing for unparalleled detection capabilities.
Directly tied into this array was an advanced weapons-control system designed by Hitachi.
Nowhere was the level of the Nadashio’s hightech design more apparent than in its combined control-and-attack center. Set immediately abaft the six forward torpedo tubes, this allimportant compartment was filled with flashing digital readouts and glowing computer screens. Highly automated, the attack center was manned by only three sailors and a single officer. Two of these highly trained enlisted men now sat before a large attack screen on which was projected a complete readout of the sub’s vital engineering functions, along with a constantly updated, three-dimensional bathymetric chart of the surrounding waters. In place of the standard hydraulically powered control columns, each technician had a heavy plastic joystick mounted into the console before him. As was the case on the latest generation of fly-by-wire jet fighters, the slightest movement of this device controlled the sub’s depth, bearing, and speed, and could launch its weapons.
Seated between these hightech helmsmen, securely harnessed into a high-backed leather command chair of his own, was the Nadashio’s present CO, Captain Osami Nagano. The thirty-seven-year-old Annapolis graduate had his gaze centered on the attack screen, which showed their position and that of their two targets. The Nadashio was repre sented as a
flashing blue star, lying motionless in the chart’s southeastern quadrant, while the arrows corresponding to the two Romeos were red, one closely following the other, both headed due south.
“So that appears to bethe extent of the underwater flotilla we’ve been tasked to eliminate,” Nagano observed almost nonchalantly.
“Very well, target them both, and let’s be done with it.”
As the technicians he sat between went to work on their keyboards, Nagano sat back, his eyes still locked on the attack screen. By merely shifting his line of sight to the left-hand portion of the screen, he could read their exact depth, and determine precisely how much charge they had left in the batteries.
This was certainly more convenient than the latest American subs he had sailed on. They still relied on outdated monitoring systems whose level of technology was more suited to the 1970’s.
Nagano often found himself wishing he could show off his current command to his contemporaries in the US Navy. How very proud he was of the advanced hardware that surrounded him! His schoolmates back at Annapolis would be amazed by the Nadashio’s futuristic design; it was years ahead of any comparable American vessel, Though rich in tradition, the US Navy put too much emphasis on wasteful backup systems and old-fashioned, manually powered valves and switches. Not only did their cluttered bureaucracy keep new equipment from being introduced, their leaders lacked the foresight to break from the past and try something radically different.
Yuushio-class warships were designed totally around the computer. Whereas Americans were reluctant to put their complete trust in a machine, the Japanese had long ago learned to rely on and value automation. The Nadashio was living proof of the superiority of the Japanese way of life.
“We have a solution for both targets. Captain,” the senior technician seated to his right reported.
Nagano hastily surveyed the attack screen to recheck the positions of both Romeoclass submarines before delivering his next instructions.
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