Echo Class (41 page)

“Do you know who he is?” Dolinski interrupted, pointing at the
zampolit
.

The sailor nodded. “He is Lieutenant Golovastov.”

“Right. And now we are doing the work of the Party.”

The other starshina stepped forward. “Sir, if you are going to deploy the antenna, our orders are to notify conn so they are aware the wire is out.”

“The
zampolit
is taking over the communications room for now,” Golovastov stated, straightening visibly. After all, he was the
zampolit
, and had the
zampolit
's duties, which included protecting the interests of Moscow—the Communist Party. Under his orders, he could commandeer the boat if he thought it prudent in the interest of the Party and the Soviet Union.

Dolinski hit the switch. A red light came on, accompanied by the slight hum of the small hydraulic motor that controlled the antenna. The wire was one hundred meters long and was used for both receiving and sending long-range messages when submerged. Most of the Soviet Fleet broadcast could be received by the small antenna that was part of the periscope system.

The senior starshina hit the
Boyevaya Chast
' channel 5 switch and quickly asked for Lieutenant Vyshinsky to return to Communications.

 

 

“GOT
a new sound in the water,” Oliver said, his eyes going from Lieutenant Burkeet to Chief Stalzer.

“They're trailing wire, sir. They're reeling out their antenna!” Stalzer added, his fingers white from pressing the earpieces against his head. “Damn.”

Burkeet glanced at MacDonald and Green, whose heads filled the open doorway.

“Why would they do that?” MacDonald asked.

Stalzer was leaning over Oliver, tweaking the directional beam.

“Bearing two-zero-zero,” Oliver reported.

“That will affect his maneuvering ability,” Green added.

MacDonald nodded. “Might be true what they say about the Soviets.”

“You mean they can't take a shit without Moscow's permission.”

MacDonald gave a slight nod to the admiral. “I was thinking something along the lines of getting off a situation report to Moscow. They could do the same thing through their conning tower antennas. Why would they trail a wire that is probably a hundred meters long . . . Damn!”

MacDonald's head disappeared.

“What?” Admiral Green asked, following the skipper.

MacDonald grabbed the sound-powered telephone talker standing near Sonar. “Tell the bridge to come to course two-seven-zero, ten knots for two minutes!”

“What's going on, Danny?” Green asked, his bushy eyebrows furrowed into a deep “V.”

“They are trailing a wire that is going to come directly back to us. If it goes near the shafts, it's going to wrap around our propellers, sir. I need to move the
Dale
west of the contact.”

The destroyer leaned to starboard as the steam plants kicked in and the
Dale
began to pick up speed.

The sound-powered talker acknowledged an unheard voice and looked at MacDonald.

“Coming to course two-seven-zero, speed ten knots!” Burnham shouted from the front of Combat.

“Sir!” the sailor shouted.

MacDonald and Green looked at him.

The sailor looked toward Burnham and then back at MacDonald and Green. “I meant that sir, sir” the sailor said, pointing at the combat information center watch officer. “Mr. Goldstein sends his respects and reports ship turning to two-seven-zero, speed ten knots.”

MacDonald looked at the clock on the bulkhead.

“Smarter captain than we give our adversary credit for,” Green said.

“Yes, sir,” MacDonald mumbled, his eyes on the clock, his mind calculating how much space the ship would open to the west of the contact. He looked at the sailor. “Tell the bridge I want to come to course two-two-zero at zero four fifteen and at that time reduce speed to four knots.”

Green nodded when MacDonald turned to him. “Glad I came along for the ride, Danny.” He sighed. “I think I'm going to go to the bridge for a while and view the sunrise. You shout if you need me.”

MacDonald was surprised at the relief he felt when he watched the back of the admiral amble toward the hatch separating the bridge from Combat. He wondered for a moment if he would have been able to exhibit the self-discipline needed to clear the way so his subordinates could do their job.

“Sir, we hold passive contact on the submarine,” Burkeet said.

“Range and bearing?”

“Bearing is one-seven-zero, sir. No range, but the bearing appears to be constant. He has to be close.”

“Then he has either returned to his original course of two-two-zero and we are paralleling him, or worst case is we could be on a collision course with him. That is his true bearing, right?”

Burkeet nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

 

“WHAT
is going on?” Bocharkov shouted.

“We have the wire going out, sir!” Ignatova shouted from the Christmas tree panel near the firing control.

“Orlov! What the hell—”

“I have given no order, Captain!”

“XO, Chief Ship Starshina Uvarova! Lay forward and tell the communicator to reel in that wire. If I have to make quick turns to avoid the Americans, we are going to wrap that wire around our shaft and blades!”

Ignatova was right behind Uvarova at the hatch as the two men raced toward the communications compartment.

“What is he thinking?” Bocharkov muttered, referring to Vyshinsky, his young—and now dumb—communicator. “Commander Orlov! Keep us steady on this course and speed.”

“Sir,” Tverdokhleb said. “We are approaching the seventy-five-meter depth.”

“You sure?” Orlov asked.

“How can I be sure?” Tverdokhleb snapped. “We have been shifting and speeding up and speeding down.” Then with a sigh, he continued, “Captain, I think we are over the seventy-five-meter depth, but I would give it another couple of minutes at four knots to be sure.”

“Lieutenant Commander Orlov, make your depth fifty meters.” He didn't have time to wait. “Take her down easy and keep us on this course.”

“Make my depth fifty meters, aye. Take her down easy. Planes ten degrees!”

The planesman pulled the hydraulics control handles back. The sound of water filling the surrounding ballasts barely registered through the thick double hull of the Echo submarine. Bocharkov knew the Americans would hear the noise, but if they missed the sounds of trailing the communications wire, then they sure as hell wouldn't hear the ballast tanks. He had to get water over them. He had to escape.

 

 

“WHAT
are you doing out here?” Ignatova demanded when he saw Lieutenant Vyshinsky standing in the passageway outside of Communications. And why in the hell were the two communications starshinas out here with him?

“Sir, the
zampolits
ordered us out.” Vyshinsky and the two sailors were standing at attention, their backs pressed against the far bulkhead across from the communications compartment.

“
Zampolits
? You mean Mr. Golovastov?”

“Yes, sir. He was with the other
zampolit
, Lieutenant Dolinski. They said they had Party business and we were to leave while they answered Moscow.”

Ignatova wanted to slap the officer. He turned toward the hatch. “Are they the ones reeling out the wire or did you—”

“No, sir! I told them not to,” the senior starshina answered sharply. “I was ordered not to inform the conn.”

Ignatova spun the handle, opening the hatch to the communications compartment. He stepped inside, Uvarova immediately behind him. Vyshinsky followed. The two sailors stayed in the passageway, peering inside.

“What are you doing?” Ignatova shouted.

Dolinski calmly turned. Golovastov stepped to the left of the GRU Spetsnaz, his eyes switching between Ignatova and Dolinski.

“Captain Second Rank Ignatova,” Dolinski said. “We have a message from Moscow that must be replied to—”

“And it will be, Lieutenant!” Ignatova looked at the two men. “Why did you order the communicator away from his battle station? And who decided to reel out the wire without orders from the captain?” Without waiting for a reply, he stepped between the two officers and switched off the system. The whine of the hydraulics tapered off.

“Don't do that, comrade,” Dolinski said, his voice threatening.

“Don't tell me what to do,” Ignatova said, not deigning to look at the junior officer. “You two have endangered the boat when we are engaged in hostile actions. When we return to Kamchatka, you will be charged—”

“We will be charged with upholding the power of the Party by recognizing you and Bocharkov as counterrevolutionists!” Dolinski interrupted.

Ignatova flipped the switch the other way. The small engine whined into life. The gauge above the switch showed that the wire was rewinding. “When we get there, we will let the navy determine who has done the most damage.”

Dolinski guffawed. “You and your comrade captain have done the damage. And it will not be the navy who will determine it. Now, step away from the antenna, comrade, or I will be forced to hurt you.”

Ignatova turned. Dolinski was less that a foot from him, causing the XO to step back, his back coming up against the panel behind him. “Do not threaten me, Lieutenant. That is mutiny.” The fact that he was facing a Spetsnaz-trained killer was not lost on Ignatova.

“No, Comrade Captain Second Rank. This is not mutiny. It is reclaiming the boat for the Soviet Union.”

“Who gave you the idea that you could determine what is good for the Party and what is good for the Soviet Union?”

Dolinski looked at Golovastov. “We did. We two
zampolits
have decided that what is happening on board the K-122 is anticommunism. That is our job. To do the Party-political training and guide fellow comrades toward the values of communism and the importance of the Party.”

“And this is going to allow the K-122 to escape from the Americans? You are—”

Dolinski reached forward and grabbed Ignatova.

Dolinski never saw the blow coming. The fire extinguisher hit him on the back of the head. The GRU Spetsnaz collapsed in a heap on the deck. Uvarova stood over the lieutenant.

Ignatova and Uvarova looked at each other. Golovastov fell back several steps until the bulkhead stopped him.

“My apologies, XO,” Uvarova said. “I did not mean to hit the good officer. In the Party-political training provided this voyage by Lieutenant Golovastov, he cautioned us that we should always be alert for those who espoused the Party's ideals for their own ambition.” He looked at Golovastov. “Thank you, comrade, for your tutelage.”

The equivalent to a United States Navy master chief, Uvarova hefted the fire extinguisher and chuckled. “Must have slipped.”

“Get the master of arms down here, Chief Ship Starshina Uvarova.” Ignatova turned back to the panel. “Lieutenant Vyshinsky, get your ass back in here and re-man your battle stations.”

Then, as an afterthought, Ignatova added, “And contact the doctor to hasten to Communications if he is not busy.”

“Lieutenant Golovastov, you are confined to your stateroom until further notice. Do you understand?”

Golovastov nodded quickly. “Yes, Comrade XO.” He looked down at Dolinski. “And the lieutenant?”

“From the looks of the chief of the boat's following of your orders, Dolinski will be in the hospital for a while. I will point out that he acted under your orders.”

“But, sir . . .”

“Get your ass out of here, Lieutenant!”

On the gray deck of Communications, a small of pool of blood was growing beneath the GRU Spetsnaz's head. The man's chest moved, so he was not dead, which was good.

“HE
was making a lot of noise,” Stalzer said from beneath his earphones.

Oliver looked up at the chief. “I think they shut down the wire for a moment. The noise dropped off, but it's back now.”

Stalzer shrugged. “Could just be environmentals, Oliver.” The chief looked at Burkeet. “They could be still reeling it out, or have decided that when we shifted our position beam to them instead of dead astern it meant they couldn't attack us with their radio antenna, so they are reeling it back in.” He smiled.

“Bearing?” MacDonald asked.

“Bearing one-six-zero from us, sir,” Stalzer answered.

MacDonald drew back. “Course and speed?” he asked the sound-powered phone talker.

A couple of seconds passed as the sailor quizzed the bridge. “We are steady on two-two-zero, speed four knots.”

“Give the admiral my respects and inform him that unless otherwise directed, I intend to pulse the target again.”

The sailor nodded, pressed the “push to talk” button, and relayed the information to the bridge. A second or two passed before he relayed the admiral's acknowledgment.

Maybe Green had stepped out of the decision-making process for a while and the prosecution of the target was truly his. Then again, he knew the admiral too well.

“Sir,” Burkeet said. “The chief and Petty Officer Oliver believe the contact has increased its speed. It is hitting at least ten knots and drawing away from us.”

MacDonald looked at the sailor. “Tell the bridge to increase speed to ten knots.” He saw Burnham watching from twenty feet away, in the center of Combat. MacDonald looked at the Combat watch officer. “Tell
Coghlan
we are going to pulse the contact again.”