tc.redstormrising-第29章

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〃Plus　or　minus　two　hundred　yards。〃　The　navigator　didn't　even　look　up。
The　captain　grunted；　knowing　what　the　navigator　was　thinking。　They　should　have　gotten　a　NAVSTAR　satellite　fix　a　few　hours　ago；　but　the　risk　of　detection　was　too　high　in　an　area　crawling　with　Soviet　surface　craft。　Two　hundred　yards；　plus　or　minus；　was　fine　accuracy　by　any　rational　standard…but　not　while　submerged　in　shallow　water　off　a　hostile　coast。　How　accurate　were　his　charts？　Were　there　unmarked　wrecks　out　there？　Even　if　his　navigational　data　were　pletely　accurate；　quarters　would　be　so　tight　in　another　few　miles　that　a　goof　of　two　hundred　yards　could　ground　them；　damaging　the　submarine　。　。　。　and　making　noise。　The　captain　shrugged　to　himself。　The　Chicago　was　the　best　platform　in　the　world　for　this　mission。　He'd　done　this　sort　of　thing　before；　and　he　couldn't　worry　about　everything　at　the　same　time。　McCafferty　took　a　few　steps　forward　and　leaned　into　the　sonar　partment。
〃How's　our　friend　doing？〃
〃Continuing　as　before；　skipper。　No　changes　at　all　in　the　target's　radiated　noise　level。　Just　toolin'　right　along　at　fifteen　knots；　dead　ahead；　no　more　than　two　thousand　yards　off。　Pleasure　cruise；　like；〃　the　sonar　chief　concluded　with　no　small　irony。
Pleasure　cruise。　The　Soviets　were　sortieing　their　ballistic　missile　submarines　at　intervals　of　one　sub　every　four　hours。　Already　a　majority　of　them　were　at　sea。　They　had　never　done　that　before。　And　all　seemed　to　be　heading　east…not　north　and　northeast　as　they　usually　did　to　cruise　in　the　Barents　or　Kara　seas；　or　most　recently　under　the　arctic　ice　cap　itself。　SACLANT　had　learned　that　piece　of　information　from　Norwegian　P…3　aircraft　patrolling　Checkpoint　Charlie；　the　spot　fifty　miles　offshore　where　Soviet　submarines　always　submerged。　Chicago；　the　nearest　sub　to　the　area；　had　been　sent　to　investigate。
They'd　soon　detected　and　gotten　into　trail　position　behind　a　Delta…III；　a　modem　Soviet　〃boomer；〃　as　missile　subs　were　known。　Trailing　her；　they'd　stayed　within　the　hundred…fathom　curve　the　whole　way　。　。　。　until　the　target　had　turned　southeast　into　shallow　water　toward　Mys　Svyatoy　Nos；　which　led　to　the　entrance　to　the　White　Sea…all　of　which　was　Soviet　territorial　water。
How　far　did　they　dare　follow？　And　what　was　going　on？　McCafferty　returned　to　control　and　went　to　the　periscope　pedestal。
〃Look　around；〃　he　said。　〃Up　scope。〃　A　petty　officer　turned　the　hydraulic　ring　control　and　the　portside　search　periscope　slid　upward　from　its　well。　〃Hold！〃　McCafferty　stooped　at　the　conning　station；　catching　the　instrument　as　the　quartermaster　stopped　it　below　the　surface。　From　a　position　that　was　murderously　unfortable；　the　skipper　duck…walked　the　scope　in　a　full　circle。　On　the　forward　bulkhead　was　a　television　monitor　which　worked　off　a　camera　built　into　the　scope。　It　was　watched　by　the　executive　officer　and　a　senior　petty　officer。
〃No　shadows；〃　McCafferty　said。　Nothing　to　make　him　suspect　that　something　was　there。
〃Concur；　skipper；〃　the　XO　agreed。
〃Check　with　sonar。〃
Forward；　the　sonar　watch　listened　carefully。　Circling　aircraft　made　noise；　and　there　was　about　an　even　chance　that　they'd　heard　it。　But　now　they　heard　nothing…which　didn't　mean　that　nothing　was　there；　like　maybe　a　high…flying　chopper　or　another　Grisha　laying　to；　her　diesels　shut　down　as　she　drifted；　listening　for　someone　like　Chicago。
〃Sonar　says　they　don't　have　anything；　skipper；〃　the　XO　reported。
〃Two　more　feet；〃　McCafferty　ordered。
The　quartermaster　worked　the　lever　again；　bringing　the　periscope　up　by　twenty…three　inches；　just　barely　out　of　the　water　in　the　troughs　of　the　waves。
〃Skipper！〃　It　was　the　senior　ESM　technician。　The　highest　item　on　Chicago's　periscope　was　a　miniature　antenna　array　which　fed　signals　to　a　broadband　receiver。　The　instant　it　projected　above　the　surface；　three　lights　flickered　on　the　ESM　tactical　warning　board。　〃I　read　three…five；　maybe　six　India…band　search　radars。　Signature　characteristics　say　ship　and　land…based　search　radars；　sir；　not；　repeat　not；　aircraft　sets。　Nothing　in　the　Juliet…band。〃　The　technician　started　reading　off　the　bearings。
McCafferty　allowed　himself　to　relax。　There　was　no　way　a　radar　could　detect　so　small　a　target　as　his　periscope　in　these　waves。　He　turned　the　periscope　in　a　plete　circle。　〃I　see　no　surface　ships。　No　aircraft。　Seas　about　five　feet。　Estimate　the　surface　wind　from　the　northwest　at；　oh；　about　twenty；　twenty…five　knots。〃　He　snapped　up　the　handles　and　stepped　back。　〃Down　scope。〃　The　oiled　steel　tube　was　heading　down　before　he'd　spoken　the　second　word。　The　captain　nodded　approval　at　his　quartermaster；　who　held　out　a　stopwatch。　The　scope　had　been　up　above　the　surface　for　a　total　of　5。9　seconds。　After　fifteen　years　in　submarines；　it　still　amazed　him　how　so　many　people　could　do　so　much　in　six　seconds。　When　he'd　gone　through　submarine　school；　the　criterion　had　been　a　seven…second　exposure。
The　navigator　examined　his　chart　quickly；　a　quartermaster　assisting　him　to　plot　the　bearings　to　the　signal　sources。
〃Captain。〃　The　navigator　looked　up。　〃Bearings　are　consistent　with　two　known　shore　radar　transmitters；　and　three　Don…2　sets　match　the　bearings　of　Sierra…2；　…3；　and　…4。〃　He　referred　to　the　plotted　positions　of　the　three　Soviet　surface　ships。　〃We　got　one　unknown；　bearing　zero…fourseven。　What's　that　one　look　like；　Harkins？〃
〃A　land…based　India…band　surface　search；　one　of　those　new　'Shore　Cans；〃'　the　technician　responded；　reading　off　frequency　and　pulse…width　numbers。　〃Weak　signal　and　kinda　fuzzy；　sir。　Lots　of　activity；　though；　and　all　the　transmitters　are　dialed　into　different　frequencies。〃　The　technician　meant　that　the　radar　searches　were　well　coordinated；　so　that　the　radar　transmitters　would　not　interfere　with　one　another。
An　electrician　rewound　the　videotape；　allowing　McCafferty　to　reexamine　what　he'd　seen　through　the　periscope。　The　only　difference　was　that　the　periscope　TV　camera　was　black　and　white。　The　tape　had　to　be　run　at　slow　speed　to　avoid　blurring；　so　rapidly　had　the　captain　made　his　visual　search。
〃Amazing　how　good　nothing　can　look；　eh；　Joe？〃　he　asked　his　executive　officer。　The　cloud　ceiling　was　well　below　a　thousand　feet；　and　the　wave　action　had　rapidly　coated　the　periscope　lens　with　water　droplets。　No　one　had　ever　invented　an　efficient　gadget　for　keeping　that　lens　clear；　McCafferty　reflected；　you'd　think　that　after　eighty…some　years　。　。　。
〃Water　looks　a　little　murky；　too；〃　Joe　answered　hopefully。　A　visual　sighting　by　antisubmarine　warfare　aircraft　is　one　of　the　nightmares　all　submariners　share。
〃Doesn't　look　like　a　nice　day　to　fly；　does　it？　I　don't　think　we　have　to　worry　about　somebody　getting　an　eyeball　sight　on　us。〃　The　captain　spoke　loudly　enough　for　the　control　room　crew　to　hear。
〃The　water　deepens　out　some　for　the　next　two　miles；〃　the　navigator　reported。
〃How　much？〃
〃Five　fathoms；　skipper。
McCafferty　looked　over　at　the　XO；　who　was　conning　the　boat　at　the　moment。　〃Use　it。〃　On　the　other　hand；　some　helicopter　jockey　might　get　lucky　。　。　。
〃Aye。　Diving　officer；　take　her　down　another　twenty　feet。　Gently。〃
〃Aye。〃　The　chief　gave　the　necessary　orders　to　the　planesmen　and　you　could　feel　the　sighs　through　the　attack　center。
McCafferty　shook　his　head。　When　was　the　last　time　you　saw　your　men　look　relieved　over　a　twenty…foot　change　in　depth？　he　asked　himself。　He　went　forward　to　sonar。　He　did　not　remember　being　there　only　four　minutes　earlier。
〃How　are　our　friends　doing；　chief？〃
〃The　patrol　boats　are　still　faint；　sir。　They　seem　to　be　circling…the　bearings　are　changing　back　and　forth　like　they　been　doin'。　The　boomer's　blade　count　is　also　constant；　sir；　he's　just　toolin'　right　along　at　fifteen　knots。　Not　especially　quiet；　either。　I　mean；　we　still　got　plenty　of　mechanical　transients；　y'know？　There's　maintenance　work…lot　of　it…going　on　in　there；　by　the　sound　he's　making。　Want　to　listen　in；　skipper？〃　The　chief　held　up　a　pair　of　earphones。　Most　sonar　scanning　was　done　visually…the　on…board　puters　converted　acoustical　signals　into　a　display　on　TV　type　tubes　that　looked　most　of　all　like　some　sort　of　arcade　game。　But　there　was　still　no　real　substitute　for　listening　in。　McCafferty　took　the　phones。
First　he　heard　the　Delta's　whirring　reactor　pumps。　They　were　running　at　medium　speed；　driving　water　out　of　the　reactor　vessel　into　the　steam　generator。　Next　he　concentrated　on　the　screw　sounds。　The　Russian　boomer　had　a　pair　of　five…bladed　screws；　and　he　tried　to　make　his　own　count　of　the　chuga…chuga　noise　made　as　each　blade　made　its　circuit。　No　good；　he'd　have　to　take　the　chief's　word；　as　he　usually　did。　。　。　klang！
〃What　was　that？〃
The　chief　turned　to　another　senior　operator。　〃Hatch　slammin'？''
The　first…class　sonarman　shook　his　head　judiciously。　〃More　like　somebody　dropped　a　wrench。　Close；　though；　pretty　close。〃
The　captain　had　to　smile。　Everybody　aboard　was　trying　to　affect　a　casual　manner　that　had　to　be　outrageously　faked。　Certainly　everyone　was　as　tense　as　he　was；　and　McCafferty　wanted　nothing　more　than　to　get　the　hell　out　of　this　miserable　lake。　Of　course　he　couldn't　act　in　such　a　way　as　to　allow　his　crew　to　bee　overly　concerned；　the　captain　must　be　in　total　control　at　all　times…what　fucking　games　we　play！　he　told　himself。　What　are　we　doing　here？　What　is　going　on　in　this　crazy　world？　I　don't　want　to　fight　a　fucking　war！
He　leaned　against　the　doorframe；　just　forward　of　the　control　room；　only　a　few　feet　from　his　own　stateroom；　wanting　to　go　in；　just　to　lie　down　for　a　minute　or　two；　to　take　a　few　deep　breaths；　maybe　go　to　his　sink　and　splash　a　little　cold　water　。　。　。　but　then　he　might　accidentally　look　in　the　mirror。　None　of　that；　he　knew。　mand　of　a　submarine　was　one　of　the　last　truly　godlike　jobs　left　in　the　world；　and　at　times　it　required　a　truly　godlike　demeanor。　Like　now。　Play　the　game；　Danny；　he　told　himself。　The　captain　withdrew　a　handkerchief　from　his　back　pocket　and　rubbed　his　nose　with　it；　his　face　locked　into　a　neutral；　almost　bored　expression　as　his　eyes　traced　over　the　sonar　displays。　The　cool　captain　。　。　。
McCafferty　returned　to　the　attack　center　a　moment　later；　telling　himself　that　he'd　spent　just　enough　time　to　inspire　his　sonar　crewmen　without　pressuring　them　with　too　much　attention　from　the　CO。　A　fine　balance。　He　looked　around　casually。　The　room　was　as　crowded　as　an　Irish　bar　on　St。　Patrick's　Day。　His　men's　outwardly　cool　faces　were　sweating；　despite　the　nuclear…powered　air　conditioning。　The　planesmen　especially　were　concentrating　on　their　instruments；　guiding　the　submarine　down　an　electronically　defined　display；　with　the　diving　officer…Chicago's　most　senior　chief…right　behind　them。
In　the　center　of　the　control　room；　the　two　side…by…side　attack　periscopes　were　fully　retracted；　with　a　quartermaster's　mate　poised　to　raise　them。　The　XO　paced　as　much　as　he　could；　looking　at　the　chart　every　twenty　seconds　or　so　as　he　turned　at　the　rear　of　the　partment。　Not　much　here　to　plain　about。　Everybody　was　tense；　but　all　the　work　was　getting　done。
〃All　things　considered；〃　McCafferty　said　for　all　to　hear；　〃things　are　going　pretty　good。　Surface　conditions　are　working　against　them　detecting　us。〃
〃Conn；　sonar。〃
〃Conn；　aye。〃　The　captain　took　the　phone。
〃Hull…popping　noises。　He　seems　blowing　tanks；　skipper。〃
〃Understood。　Keep　us　posted；　chief　〃　McCafferty　put　the　phone　back。　He　took　three　steps　back　to　the　chart　table。　〃Why