The Sum of All Fears.pdf - Delta Force

'I wish him luck.'
***
The tactical problem was complex. Dubinin had an anti-submarine aircraft
overhead and could not afford to make a single mistake. Somewhere ahead was an
American missile submarine that he fully intended to destroy. He had ordered it
to protect himself, the captain reasoned. He had been fired upon with a live
weapon. That changed matters greatly. He really should radio fleet command for
instructions, or at least to announce his intentions, but with an aircraft
overhead that was suicide, and he'd brushed close enough to death for one day.
The attack on Admiral Lunin could only mean that the Americans were planning an
attack on his country. They'd violated their favorite international hobbyhorse –
the seas were free for the passage of all. They'd attacked him in international
waters before he was close enough to commit a hostile act. Someone, therefore,
thought there was a state of war. Fine, Dubinin thought. So be it.
The submarine's towed-array sonar was drooping well below the level of the boat,
and the sonar crewmen were now concentrating as they never had.
'Contact,' Lieutenant Rykov called. 'Sonar contact, bearing one-one-three,
single screw . . . noisy, sounds like a damaged submarine . . .'
'You're certain it's not a surface contact?'
'Positive . . . surface traffic is well south of this track because of the
storms. The sound is definitely characteristic of a submarine power plant . . .
noisy, as though from some damage . . . southerly drift . . . bearing
one-one-five now.'
Valentin Borissovich turned to shout into the control room: 'Estimated distance
to target's reported position?'
'Seven thousand meters!'
'Long, long shot . . . southerly drift . . . speed?'
'Difficult to tell . . . less than six knots, certainly . . . there's a
blade-rate there, but it's faint, and I can't read it.'
'We may not get more than one shot . . .' Dubinin whispered to himself. He went
back to control. 'Weapons! Set up a torpedo on a course of one-one-five, initial
search depth seventy meters, activation point . . . four thousand meters.'
'Very well.' The lieutenant made the proper adjustment to his board. 'Set, for
tube one . . . weapon is hot, ready! Outer door is closed, Captain.'
Dubinin turned to look at-the executive officer. Ordinarily a very sober man –
he scarcely drank even at ceremonial dinners – the Starpom nodded approval. The
captain didn't need it, but was grateful for it even so.
'Open outer door.'
'Outer door is open.' The weapons officer flipped the plastic cover off the
firing switch.
'Fire.'
The lieutenant stabbed the button home. 'Weapon is free.'
***
'Conn, sonar! Transient, transient, bearing one-seven-five – torpedo in the
water bearing one-nine-five!'
'All ahead full!' Ricks shouted to the helm.
'Captain!' Claggett screamed. 'Belay that order!'