Silent Hunter

by Charles D. Taylor

  “Admiral, the Americans have succeeded in opening up one side of the box. There’s no doubt that Imperator could escape now—”

  “Sergoff,” the admiral interrupted, his eyes opening slightly to irritated slits, “where is Imperator now?”

  “She has turned toward Tambov and Orel.”

  Danilov’s head nodded imperceptibly as he murmured, more to himself, “They are fast and tough. Let’s see what this Imperator can do in such a situation.” To Lozak he said sincerely, “I understand your enthusiasm, Captain. It’s not time yet for us to interfere. Be patient . . . please be patient and you will learn.”

  Snow was perched like a vulture on the edge of a stool, elbows on his knees, hands dangling as he studied the motion of the little submarines on the imager. It was a projection of what existed according to Caesar’s analysis of sonar rather than an exact picture. It could not depict the destruction of the Russian submarine by Houston. The image of that Alfa simply winked out soon after the computer indicated that it had been destroyed. And then there were seven, Snow mused. Although that was correct according to the imager, it was also incorrect. There were four Russians—he was closing two and there were two others on his starboard quarter. Then there were Houston, Olympia, and Imperator. But there was one more—Seratov! Once she’d gone silent, there was no way Caesar could account for that one. So the man, not the computer, knew there were eight.

  The two ahead of him began to split to either side. That was normal. He would have done the same. It seemed like an out-of-body experience to see the larger craft within the image approaching the Sierra and Akula as they spread out on either bow. Imperator dominated that three-dimensional image and Snow could almost pinpoint where he now sat, staring into this holographic world. He knew that if he could open the hatch in the sail and look straight up through the frigid water, he would see the exact ice formation above that now appeared in the imager over Imperator.

  The Akula appeared to be closing more rapidly. Snow surprised some of those near him as he thought out loud, “We’ll take the one to port first. I’ll use Caesar for the attack, but”—he grinned, biting his lower lip—“I can’t imagine how that goddamn computer can do every last little thing.” Then, unaware his inner thoughts had been heard through the control room, he said to the XO, “I want the torpedomen to recheck all the tubes and all the loads. Can you imagine what Andy Reed would say if I told him I missed a shot because the torpedo that Caesar said was in perfect order was a dud?”

  “All tubes, Captain?” It seemed so unnecessary. They’d been tested less than twelve hours before.

  “Right . . . just one more time. And make sure they check those reserve fish. We may have to use everything we’ve got.”

  The XO peered at the imager, as fascinated with the reality of the picture as Snow. He pointed at the closer submarine, his finger seeming to touch the image. “Are you planning to back up with the battle stations party?” he asked diplomatically.

  “No doubt about it. They’re going to run exactly the same sequence . . . just in case.”

  Snow remained lost in his own thoughts until sonar reported, “The Akula was pinging, Captain . . . three of .them . . . he’s reaching for us.”

  “Has he got a range on us?”

  “Absolutely . . . found us on the first. The second and third were just to make sure he wasn’t fooling himself . . . and to get a firm aspect on us.”

  “Since he knows that we’ve got him, too, he’s going to start on the decoys, and keep up with them until he improves his range.” Let him get as close as he wants, Snow reminded himself. Don’t play games.

  He straightened his back and stretched before he was aware of someone behind him. “Just kibitzing.” Carol Petersen smiled as he turned nervously. “Before they complete another one of these monsters, we ought to point out that a terminal should be right next to the imager.”

  “You’re within shouting distance over there,” Snow remarked irritably.

  “Fine for you. You can see and give orders. I can’t see and I have to take them.”

  “Drag a stool over if you want.”

  “I will, right after Caesar goes through the precheck—”

  “I’m having it done now.”

  “I know. It came up on the screen. If you think it’s a good idea to back up the computer, I guess it’s just as good an exercise for the torpedomen.”

  “I can go along with that.” Snow’s mouth spread in a smile, but the expression in his eyes never changed. “What kind of range do we have now?”

  “About forty thousand . . . closing. He’s not going to fire for a while and he’s probably going to try to get lost in the ice . . . confuse your torpedoes.”

  “That’ll be interesting.”

  “You’ve got longer range in your fish . . . lots faster . . . definite advantage.”

  “As far as I’m concerned.” Snow answered dryly, “I’ve got all the advantage. I’m going to let him fire first unless he’s still holding at twenty thousand.”

  Aboard Orel, a fast, sophisticated Akula-class, the captain was ill at ease. No one had ever run an attack on this monster before. He had no intention of taking any chances. He would use two tubes and had two more ready. He’d checked and rechecked his equipment relentlessly . . . until his own crew was as nervous as he.

  Orel didn’t possess all of the advantages of her quarry, though she was one of the most advanced Soviet attack submarines. Her listening gear was more sophisticated and her speed and maneuverability were superb. Even the creature comforts, of little concern in Soviet ships of the past, had been improved. But her listening devices lacked the range and efficiency of the Americans, and her torpedoes were just a bit slower and less reliable. The Russians had sacrificed silence for speed and a defensive double hull, so it was no surprise when Orel was forced to activate her sonar to locate a quarry that had been silently tracking her for quite some time.

  Her pinging had been tentative, and Orel’s captain knew Imperator would alter course and depth immediately, but at least he knew where she had been. Presets were entered in the torpedoes. Each process was approved by the captain before it was carried out, then reported back to him when it was completed.

  At a predetermined time, he estimated where Imperator might now be in relation to his own position, conned his submarine to the estimated angle for firing, and activated his sonar again.

  Snow heard the ping through the speaker in sonar before the report could be made verbally. “Range?” he called out.

  “Ping steal range—nineteen thousand.”

  Orel’s captain had guessed incorrectly. He was turning slightly to improve his angle of attack.

  “Give Caesar control of the attack,” Snow ordered.

  The Akula in the imager was still altering course. Snow studied the movement of the two submarines, the Russian as her captain sought the proper alignment, Imperator as the computer aligned for a technically perfect shot.

  There was no sensation as two torpedoes departed Imperator, nothing other than the acknowledgment from Carol Petersen that Caesar had fired. Then they appeared minutely in the imager as they were tracked by sonar. Two torpedoes appeared simultaneously moving through space toward Imperator, followed by two more thirty seconds later.

  The similarity in attacks ceased at that point, for the Russian had overreacted. Realizing that it had also been fired upon, the Soviet submarine had snapped off the second two torpedoes, then broken all four wires as she automatically altered course, speed, and depth, and discharged decoys. Imperator did nothing of the sort. Rather than evade, she adjusted her direction toward the Akula, commencing a stern chase that would soon astound the Russian. Imperator’s speed increased to compensate for the rapid acceleration of the Russian.

  “Well, if Caesar picks now for a casualty, we are in deep, deep shit I would say.” Snow’s attempt at humor failed. His voice was as serious as before.

  Imperator’s noisemakers traveled at a highe
r speed than any known previously. One of the Soviet torpedoes was drawn away by a perfect imitation of Imperator’s signature, but the other three bore down on their target. The tiny underwater missiles (ATMs) that Caesar discharged next were invisible on the imager but there was no doubt among the sonarmen that they were underway. Their tiny, high-speed propellers emitted an ear-piercing screech as they raced out at a tremendous speed. Homing rapidly, they impacted two of the Soviet torpedoes, detonating the warheads harmlessly at four thousand yards.

  The final Russian torpedo was now bearing down on Imperator. Although sonar reported it now in the final homing mode, Caesar relentlessly drove Imperator closer to the fleeing Orel.

  One of Snow’s torpedoes was drawn away by a noise-maker, exploding well away from the Akula. The second continued to close, but the race seemed to benefit the Russian. On the imager, it appeared as if Imperator were actually moving as fast as its own torpedo.

  As the last Soviet torpedo bore down on the huge submarine, a tiny light flared in Imperator’s bow. It winked once . . . then again . . . then one more time. While the power of a laser was severely attenuated underwater, the beam controlled by the computer was aimed directly into the intricate guidance mechanism in the warhead. It was a last-ditch defense, one that had been designed to destroy a torpedo far enough from the submarine to avoid any damage. The warhead, thinking it had impacted a target, detonated harmlessly ahead of them. Imperator raced through the roiling water of the blast.

  Orel’s captain reacted with astonishment when sonar insisted the American sub was bearing down on them. The blasts from their torpedoes had been heard in the control room—yet there was no change in sonar’s reports. The unmistakable whoosh of Imperator’s propulsor was clear. There had been no change in pitch. She had been unaffected by the three torpedoes that appeared to have been homing directly on her. Perhaps two of them, the captain admitted, could have been destroyed by some kind of new weapon. A shrill squeal had come through clearly. But the fourth—there had been no indication whatsoever that it had been fooled by a decoy, nor that it had done anything other than impact the target. Yet Imperator was closing the distance between them.

  As his eyes met those of his other officers, he recognized the same fear that was surging through his own body. This wasn’t submarine warfare—it was a dogfight! It was as if they were two fighter planes screaming high above the earth, jockeying for that one shot to destroy the other. Yet Orel was not jockeying for anything. She was racing away as fast as her engines would take her—and this monster was closing the gap.

  The captain was no longer concerned with Imperator’s second torpedo. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew that his weapons officer had discharged additional decoys, and he was positive sonar reported that the torpedo had detonated behind them. Had he recognized the explosion? Or had it been his imagination?

  Orel continued on without interruption and he acknowledged to himself that she was still unhurt . . . but a voice also nagged at him that his time on this earth was fast coming to a close. He was momentarily blinded by a deep sense of impending doom before he was aware of the political officer shaking him roughly. The captain stared about his control room. Every eye was on him, fear replacing the trust that had been there since the day he took command.

  The captain heard himself shouting orders instinctively—the same he would give if he was evading a torpedo. Yet there were none in the water. He was running from a great monster intent on swallowing Orel. They dived steeply. Any change of the planes at that speed brought an instant reaction from the submarine. His rudder was over sharply. The Akula banked at a steep angle.

  “The planes . . . the planes . . .“the voice came from the political officer. “You’re going too fast for a full dive.” Then he lost his footing, dragging the captain down with him.

  “Up angle . . . up . . .” His words were drowned out by the shouts of the diving officer, frantically yanking at the controls. As the planes eased back, he wheeled about to open the valves that would blow his ballast. Orel continued to careen downward, speed and gravity pulling against the up angle of the planes.

  “Rudder amidships.” The captain’s mind was strangely rational once he accepted the fate they were nearing. The ship was his responsibility . . . he had to save the ship. His eyes searched out the depth gauge—almost seven hundred meters! They were beyond test depth and still going down.

  “Torpedoes!” A voice from sonar repeated over and over, but the words seemed to blend into one with a new awareness—they had yet to control their own ship while this Imperator chasing them had fired more torpedoes!

  With the roar of high-pressure air entering the ballast tanks and the shrill voice of the diving officer repeating depths in a frenzied cadence, they plummeted toward the bottom.

  What was that other noise? the captain wondered. Recognition came slowly—it was Orel’s engines backing. Someone had ordered the engines reversed to stop their dive. Had he done that? He didn’t remember.

  The last fact that registered in his mind was the depth gauge—the dial was well into the red at eight hundred meters. Screams of terror were the last sounds that came to him as the torpedo struck Orel just outside the control room. The blast, magnified by the tremendous pressure, crushed Orel like an egg. Exploding inward, she rolled end over end toward the bottom of the Arctic Ocean.

  Snow held Imperator at twenty-one hundred feet as he listened to the death throes of the Akula. Her shell had fractured with a sickening tearing and crunching. The silence that had followed, punctuated only by the bubbles rising to the surface, was as shocking as the rending of Orel’s hull.

  He looked over to the imager out of curiosity, noting that the Akula had already disappeared. Whether or not she had yet reached the bottom, Caesar’s efficient brain had removed her as an entity.

  Caesar, the computer . . . Caesar, the brain . . . Caesar, the instrument programmed by man to assure Imperator’s survival, had done a thorough job. Like a mad dog, he had chased down his enemy, hounding it until nothing remained. He was a superb killer.

  “The Sierra,” Snow inquired without looking at the imager. “Where’s the Sierra now?”

  “Hiding, I think,” whispered Carol Petersen, still in awe of Caesar’s efficiency.

  “Or waiting for us to come looking for him,” countered the XO. “She’s back near the ice . . . snug in among some pressure ridges.” He indicated a series of ice formations plotted earlier. “Must be a lot of motion on the surface. The ice is moving together, creating a lot of little pockets. It’s a hell of a maze where that Sierra is now.”

  During the period Imperator had been prosecuting the Akula. sonar had remained in constant contact with the other submarine, following its progress until it rose to the protective camouflage of the ice. Never disappearing, it meandered through the ice, seeking a secure location to lie in wait for the American submarine.

  “I’ll take back control,” Snow said, tapping his code out on the console. “Let’s see if I can do as well as a computer on this next one.” A deep insecurity weighed heavily on Snow as he retained control of the submarine for the next phase. The computer could function without error, yet it could not deny control to a human being. Its power was solely in the hands of the operators. Snow denied the little voice in the recesses of his mind that occasionally rose to remind him that he was not as capable as his machine. He was unable to suffer silently with inner voices hinting any weaknesses on his part.

  As he conned Imperator in the direction of the Sierra, he realized there was little reason for a silent approach. The sounds emitted by Imperator and the Akula would have awakened Neptune himself from a drunken stupor. There would be nothing possessing a reasonable listening device within a couple hundred miles that had not heard the short, swift battle that had just taken place.

  Andy Reed understood that Imperator was now bent on destroying the Sierra and he had no doubt she would. That would open two sides to the box that Danilov had e
stablished. Therefore his attention was drawn to the two submarines on the far side, still well off Imperator’s starboard quarter as she headed for the Sierra.

  “What kind of chance do we have of keeping quiet if we move in on those two?” Reed inquired of Houston’s sonar officer.

  “They all know we’re out here after our last kill. I really think the only way you’re going to sneak up on anyone, Admiral, is to stay silent—and there’s no way you can do that and still get within range of them.”

  “What’s their range now?”

  “Maybe seventy miles.” The sonar officer sketched a few short lines on a pad of paper and added, “Maybe fifty to intercept. Sometime along the way, you’re going to have to use some speed, and then maybe you can stay quiet after you’re nearby—”

  Before he could finish, Reed had turned to the captain. “Let’s turn it on now, Ross, and catch up with the show. All Snow needs is one casualty and he’s just like the rest of us . . . with a few major exceptions.”

  A shaken Captain Lozak was obediently taking in every word of Danilov’s explanation of what probably happened to Orel when Sergoff interrupted. “Pardon me, Admiral, but we’ve picked up an American submarine moving fairly rapidly toward the center of the box. It originated from the area of the earlier sinking. Sonar has just about definitely classified it as Admiral Reed’s.”

  Danilov wagged a finger in Lozak’s face. “You see . . . you see.” His features seemed almost cherubic as a smile overspread his face, his eyes squinting out under his heavy brows. “A little silence goes a long way in our business.”

  Lozak nodded his assent, his eyes fixed on the chief of staff. He sensed nothing. Captain Sergoff had seen too many young submarine captains eager to outguess Danilov. He paid little heed to their youthful transgressions, or their negative feelings toward him. Danilov enjoyed his role as a mentor tremendously and it was not Sergoff’s place to interfere.

  “Well, what do you think, Captain?” Danilov inquired of Lozak. “Should we challenge this American now . . . or should we tarry a little longer?” The admiral was enjoying himself immensely at Lozak’s expense. The loss of the other submarines was already a thing of the past as he contemplated the opportunity to destroy his counterpart.