Seawolf End Game (14 page)

But then he’d watched and listened, quietly shadowing the American boat, as it moved steadily westward into the Strait of Tsushima before entering the Sea of Japan, never submerging. There was nothing in the textbooks that offered a precedent. Normally, American submarines submerged once far enough off shore to do so safely. It was only logical since modern submarines weren’t designed for travelling on the surface, so the
Seawolf’s
activities caught him off guard.

A puzzle to be certain, and he didn’t like it.

His boat was operating deep and in ultra-quiet mode. No unnecessary personnel were up and moving about. Men on duty moved in their stocking feet to eliminate the sound of their boots on the deck. All hatches were closed, and there was no movement between the compartments. He’d taken every possible measure to make his submarine as quiet as possible, knowing the
Seawolf
was—quite probably—the most capable submarine the Americans had ever made.

“What do you think, Captain?” his executive officer whispered quietly.

They’d received an intelligence report about the
Seawolf
having been damaged in an “incident” off the North Korean shore, but while observing the American through his periscope, he’d seen no sign of damage. Konolov shook his head thoughtfully, wishing he knew why the
Seawolf
was still riding on the surface. It made no sense, even if it did make his job easier. Riding on the surface as she was, the
Seawolf
was only too easy to keep track of. “Strange,” he admitted softly, aware that every sound could potentially give his boat’s position away. “Very strange.”

“Maybe she can’t submerge?” his XO asked foolishly. “You know, because of damage, maybe she’s heading home.”

“If she were going home, she wouldn’t be heading into the Sea of Japan,” Konolov answered simply, “Besides, if she were so badly damaged she couldn’t submerge, they never would have let her leave port.” He shook his head thoughtfully.

“Then what?” his XO asked in annoyance. He, too, didn’t like the riddle.

“I don’t know.”

Control Room, USS Seawolf

“L
ieutenant Whitaker down,” Kristen reported as she stepped off the ladder from the bridge. She glanced about self-consciously, expecting everyone to be staring at her and wondering what she and the captain had been doing alone together for so long on the sail. But other than the officer of the deck making an entry in the log indicating she was back inside the pressure hull, no one seemed to notice. She removed her foul weather gear then glanced at the ladder, expecting to see Brodie appear right behind her.

But there was no sign of him. Kristen stowed her gear, but then lingered in the control room, a bit uncomfortable leaving him alone on the bridge by himself.

What if he wanted to talk to you some more, you idiot? What if he thinks you don’t want to be around him?

The thought he might hurt himself never crossed her mind, but she wanted to make certain he made it down safely before going forward.

“Here you go, Miss,” Gibbs said as he delivered a cup of tea. He’d also brought coffee and sandwiches for COB and Graves who’d been in the control room all day. Graves glanced at the ladder leading to the bridge, and she could see he was a bit concerned.

“Thank you, Mister Gibbs,” Kristen told the steward and then asked the XO, “Sir, maybe I should go back up on the bridge until the captain is ready to come down?”

Kristen saw a dark expression of worry on Graves’ face as he looked up toward the sail. For a moment, she thought he would agree with her. But then he shook his head. “No, he’ll be down soon enough.”

Kristen and Gibbs lingered nearly a full hour with no sign of Brodie. She was becoming concerned, but then the sound of the pressure hull being sealed reached the control room and a few moments later, Brodie arrived.

“Captain’s off the bridge,” he said simply as he appeared.

Kristen didn’t know just why he’d stayed at the surface so long, or why he’d remained on the bridge alone for the past hour. He’d violated just about every standard operating procedure since leaving Sasebo. But, as he stepped onto the periscope platform his expression was all business. Kristen saw his cold expression—the deadly serious eyes—and realized whatever part of him she’d been with on the bridge an hour earlier was now gone. He was once more the steady sea captain.

Brodie looked through the Rig for Dive Status book to make certain all compartments had been checked and reported their readiness to submerge. Brodie then glanced at Ryan Walcott. “Ryan, do you have a solid position fix?”

“Aye, Captain,” the navigation officer replied. “We’ve passed through the Tsushima Straits and are entering the Sea of Japan.”

Brodie turned back toward the control center where COB was standing by expecting to dive the boat at any moment as he’d been for several hours. Brodie pulled down a microphone. “Sonar this is Brodie, any contacts?”

Kristen watched, sensing there was a reason for Brodie’s sudden seriousness. Certainly he was not concerned about being attacked. The
Seawolf
had been on the surface for half the day and would have been photographed by several spy satellites, plus numerous small boats including what Chief Miller reported as a Russian surveillance ship in the area. All would have seen the submarine riding on the surface.

“
A Russkie picked us up when we came out of Sasebo and has been keeping us in radar range ever since,”
Miller reported.

“What’s a Russian doing out here?” Graves asked Brodie.

Brodie hung up the microphone and whispered to his friend with an amused smile, “I guess the news that the Cold War was over was a bit premature.” Brodie raised the scope and did a quick turn in preparation for submerging the ship, then snapped the handles up and spoke to Terry, who was on duty in the control room, “Officer of the deck, submerge the ship.”

Terry responded as he turned to COB, “Submerge the ship, aye, sir.” Terry then addressed COB, “Diving officer, submerge the ship.”

COB depressed the microphone button on the 1MC. “Dive, dive, dive,” he announced and then sounded the dive alarm, followed by another announcement, “Dive, dive.” COB’s hands were already running over the ballast control panel and Kristen heard the ballast tanks opening forward and knew they were also opening aft as well.

Seawater rushed into the main ballast tanks, making the boat heavier at the same time Brodie fed instructions to Terry, “Ten degrees down angle on all planes. Diving officer make your depth six-zero feet.” His commands were immediately echoed as he again pulled the microphone down from the overhead. “Sonar, this is Brodie, report all new contacts.”

There was a short pause before Miller reported three more submerged contacts,
“They are all at a pretty good distance, Captain. We should be able to lose them no sweat.”

Brodie returned the microphone to the overhead and thus far he’d not even glanced her way once. But she felt she was clearly missing something. They’d stayed on the surface long enough to be noticed by anyone with even a passing interest in where they were heading, and he hadn’t seemed to care in the least. But now, the possibility they were being followed had become his main concern.

None of it really made sense to her, but she trusted him implicitly and knew he had a reason. Their lengthy stay on the surface had not been so the two of them could watch the sun go down, she was sure of it. He’d kept the
Seawolf
exposed on the surface with a specific purpose in mind. Brodie checked with the radio room who reported multiple search radars on the surface.

“How many?” Brodie asked. “What’s their bearing and wavelength.”

The information was reported and Kristen watched Brodie and Ryan Walcott plot the bearings on a chart. Meanwhile, COB made some fine adjustments to the trim tanks, making the boat perfectly level prior to diving any further. At the same time, Graves focused on having each compartment checked for any unexpected trouble before they risked going deeper.

Kristen waited calmly out of the way, watching, learning, and admiring the way Brodie managed everything in the control room with apparent ease, processing the mass of information coming from the boat’s sensors and his officers. Again he called the sound room, “Sonar, this is Brodie. I need an oceanographic report.” Kristen knew this meant he wanted a report on the water around the boat including thermoclines, increasing or decreasing salinity levels, and ocean currents at various depths.

“Skipper, we’ve got a thermocline at four hundred feet and another at six hundred, over,”
Miller reported.

Kristen could feel the unease growing in the control room. Just a few minutes earlier everyone had simply been puzzled about the reason for staying on the surface for so long. Now everyone realized their captain knew something none of them were yet privy to.

Brodie finally glanced at Kristen, his expression hard; the same uncompromising mask he always wore in the control center. He tapped his right ear with his hand and then pointed her toward the sonar shack. Kristen understood what he wanted and moved forward. As she did so, Brodie ordered the towed array reeled out.

Throughout the boat, men were going on about their daily routine, unaware that something ominous was at hand. She reached the sound room and quietly entered.

“Good evening, Lieutenant,” Miller welcomed her curiously. “What can I do for you?” He mopped his sweaty brow, his skin clammy and perhaps a little paler than usual.

“The captain would like me to have a listen, Senior Chief,” she answered easily, aware that the sonar shack was still an enlisted man’s domain, and she would always be an interloper. But to her surprise, Miller didn’t offer any sign of displeasure at having her arrive in his kingdom. Instead, he winced slightly at some indigestion then snapped his fingers at the sailor manning the spectrum analyzer.

“Step aside, Anderson,” he ordered. “Let the lady have a seat.”

Kristen slipped past the Chief, noticing the food stains on his belly and smelling the chilidog-flavored belch he let out. She wrinkled her nose slightly as she took a seat at the spectrum analyzer. She made some adjustments to the equipment, having no idea what Brodie was looking for or expected her to hear. She then heard his voice over the 1MC,
“Rig the ship for ultra-quiet.”

The current sonar watch team hadn’t worked with her before, but they were just as curious about what was going on as she was. Then the submarine began to dive slowly as they reduced speed. Normally the boat’s quiet speed was twenty knots, but Brodie ordered a speed reduction to five knots. At such a speed the
Seawolf
was quieter than the natural ocean sounds around her. But it also caused the towed sonar array to angle down sharply, sinking significantly lower than the
Seawolf.

They leveled off at three hundred and fifty feet. At that depth, the lengthy towed array actually dipped below the thermocline at four hundred feet, and she realized this was his plan all along. He wanted to know what was happening beneath them. The thermocline below reflected noise energy and could potentially hide a submarine trailing them. Of course, why Brodie suspected a submarine might be following them she had no idea.

Kristen refined her search, focusing her entire system on the towed array as the
Seawolf
leveled off. She had to wait a few minutes for the lengthy towed array, now trailing them by nearly a mile, to sink below the thermocline. Kristen closed her eyes, concentrating, clearing her mind of every distraction and focused all of her significant mental energy on the sound in her headphones.

Chief Miller grimaced slightly and pounded his chest lightly to get out another burp. Kristen glanced over her shoulder and held a finger to her lips, “Shh!”

Several other sonarmen cringed, expecting Miller to reply with an angry retort to the “Nub.” Instead, he offered an apologetic hand wave. “Sorry,” he whispered.

Kristen listened intently, her fingertips gently moving the joystick to focus on a different bearing, sweeping ever so gently back and forth across the
Seawolf’s
baffles. Kristen felt the eyes of Miller on her, and she could sense his bulk standing just behind her. She ignored him, focusing her attention on her scan.

“Submerged contact, bearing one-eight-seven,” she announced abruptly as she heard what she took to be cooling pump noises. She glanced at Miller, half expecting him to argue, but instead, he immediately reported the contact to the bridge.

“Con, sonar. Submerged contact on the towed array, bearing one-eight-seven. Designate contact as
Sierra Nine
, over.”

The other sonar operators turned their attention to the bearing she’d reported. Kristen made a few fine adjustments and reported, “He’s below the thermocline. Faint plant noises…”

Miller checked the printer, expecting it to spit out a contact report at any moment, but it stayed silent as the other operators searched. One of the other operators nodded his head, hearing the noise. “I got something on the same bearing, definitely a submerged contact in our baffles, Chief.”