To Kill the Potemkin (17 page)

Staring
at the
screen, Netts was trying to
digest the fact that he had lost a submarine. Having arrived at the
same
conclusion as Horning, that the sunken sub was either
Dragonfish
or
Stingray
, he was
thinking
of neither the war game nor his career. His thoughts were with the men
who had
just died.
Dragonfish
carried 116 men,
Stingray
112.

A
communications
officer announced,
"Receiving message from
Dragonfish
."

Both
admirals
acknowledged the report of
Dragonfish
with stone faces. That left
Stingray
,
Oakland commanding... Brian Oakland smashed to bits at the bottom of
the sea, three
daughters
left in Charleston and a mistress in Holy Loch. Fred Basana, the XO,
was a
fourth generation naval officer, father killed at Midway. Fried to a
crisp.
George Milliard, Chief of the Boat, crushed, mangled, destroyed—

"Receiving
message from
Stingray
."

Netts
was
stunned. "What the hell is
going on here?" he said to Horning.

"I
think your
Captain Springfield is
going to have some explaining to do."

Fifteen
minutes
after
Barracuda
surfaced, Baker, the injured torpedoman, was in the carrier's sick bay.
The
divers made their report on the damage to the outer hull, and
Springfield was
satisfied with his inspection of the torpedo room. He signaled to the
carrier
that his ship was seaworthy, the damage minor and that he and Commander
Billings wished to board
Kitty Hawk
.

Before
he left
the sub Springfield spoke to
the crew.

"Attention
all
hands, this is the
captain. We are going to remain on the surface for approximately two
hours. All
hands who wish to go up to the bridge for a few minutes will have the
opportunity to do so.

"We
have not
suffered major damage. The
pressure hull is not ruptured. I want to take this opportunity to
congratulate
each of you for an outstanding performance during this action. I am
going to
recommend the ship's company for a unit citation, and there will be
individual
citations as well. In particular I want to mention Chief Lopez and the
entire
torpedo gang who put their lives at risk to
save ours, and
Sonarman Sorensen, whose quick reaction saved the ship from certain
destruction. There will be special rations in the mess. That is all."

The
sonar
room was a shambles. Technical manuals were scattered over the deck.
The
cabinet had fallen over and spilled thousands of tiny electronic parts.
The
ashtrays overflowed with butts. A cup of coffee was splashed over
Fogarty's
console.

Sorensen
felt himself coming unstuck. He collapsed, gasping for breath. The
tension
streamed out of his eyes. The sound of the Soviet submarine—the mystery
sub—plunging straight toward him reverberated in his ears, a sound he
would
never forget. It had seemed as though the suction of the Russian
propeller was
pulling him in. "Left full rudder." He remembered shouting that. The
ship had taken forever to respond.

And
then
the hit.

Gradually
he brought himself under control. He looked at Fogarty, who was pale
and
drenched in sweat. His jumpsuit was ripped down one leg.

"Holy
shit, Fogarty. You look like you've just been in a train wreck."

Fogarty's
hands were trembling as he lit a cigarette. "What did he do? Ram us on
purpose?"

"I
don't think so. Sub drivers generally aren't suicidal. This was just
bad
seamanship."

"How
many..." Fogarty stammered, "how many men do you think were on
that ship?"

"Hard
to say. Eighty, ninety, maybe."

"Christ."

"It
was quick, real quick. When it imploded, it was all over."

"But
the waiting. Sinking, knowing they were going to die..."

Sorensen
understood what Fogarty was feeling.
Inside himself he felt the same thing, but he shut it down. Not
allowed. He
said, "As far as I'm concerned, the fool backed into a blind spot and
sank
himself and his crew. That was one stupid Russian sub jockey. Goddamn
Ivan the
Idiot..."

"It
could've been
us."

"But
it wasn't.
Maybe next time."

"Do
you think the
Russians know?"

"I
don't know, I
don't think so. Not
yet. But the fleet is up there, and right now all their radio people
are
jabbering like crazy at one another. The Russians are picking it up,
and they
know something happened. That sub has to make routine reports, and
after it
misses a few they'll start to wonder why. Sooner or later they'll find
out."

"Then
what?"

"Then
maybe we
have sub wars. Who
knows?"

Hoek
came in,
took one look at the mess and
left without a word. Sorensen began to run checks on all the equipment.
Several
of the hydrophones arrayed along the starboard side of the hull were
not
functioning, and he had to log a damage report. Fogarty got down on
hands and
knees and began sorting through the spilled diodes and transistors.

The
ship rolled
on the surface but nobody
minded. Being a little seasick was better than being dead.

Ten
minutes later Davic and Willie Joe came
in to relieve Sorensen and Fogarty. Davic's dream had come true.
Barracuda
had sunk a Russian sub.

"My
God,
Sorensen, what happened?"

"If
you were
thinking about reading the
log, Davic, forget it. It's sealed. Captain's orders. It's coded red
into the
computer. Even I can't get it out."

"I
don't need to
know the details. Just
tell me, it is true? It was the Viktor? Did it sink?"

"You
know how it
is. The silent
service."

Davic could
see
in Sorensen's eyes that it
was true, and that was good enough. On the profile sheet of Soviet subs
he
scrawled an X over the drawing of the Viktor. He beamed at Fogarty, who
looked
away in disgust.

Willie
Joe shook
Sorensen's hand.
"Congratulations."

"For
what?"

"Didn't
you
listen to the skipper?
They're going to give you a medal. You're a hero."

"Well,
ain't that
just dandy. You hear
that, Fogarty? I'm a hero."

"Yeah,"
Fogarty
said, "the
first hero of World War Three."

"Go
on," said
Willie Joe.
"You're outta here."

Sorensen
had
heard the ultimate sound effect.
The collision and the implosion of the Russian sub were engraved in his
brain,
a far more accurate recording device than anything made by Sony. Just
to make
sure, however, he had recorded the entire sequence of events on his own
machine, even though he knew possession of that tape was a felony.

In
the seclusion
of Sorensen's Beach he
played the tape over and over, backward and forward, fast and slow.
Several
questions about the sinking began to nag at him. Why did the Russians
fire a
torpedo? Were they trying to sink
Barracuda
or
Kitty Hawk?
The
sub imploded below three thousand feet, an incredible depth. The
Thresher
had imploded at a depth of just over two thousand feet. How could the
Russians
go so deep? Was the collision an accident, or did the Russians ram them
intentionally? No sane captain would do that, but no sane captain would
fire a torpedo either.

It
was a puzzle
that was missing an
undetermined number of pieces. The torpedo bothered him the most. Had
the
Russian torpedomen actually fired a shot without orders? Could they do
that?
Why would they? The torpedo had been wire-guided; he had seen the wire
on his
screen. When the sub imploded, the wire was severed and the torpedo's
motor
apparently had stopped. It did not explode. During the massive
acoustical
barrage of the implosions it had disappeared. Presumably it sank. What
kind of
warhead did it carry? Just the notion that it might have been a nuke
was
terrible to contemplate.

He
tried to
imagine the wreck of the Russian
sub. Eight thousand feet down, he knew, there was no light, no
perceptible
movement in the water, nothing but pressure beyond imagination. In the
cold black
desert of the ocean bottom pieces of the shattered sub had by now
settled over
a debris field many miles square. The reactor and heat exchangers,
weapons,
electronics, enciphering machines and ninety men, smashed to bits,
reduced to
junk. It chilled his heart.

Davic and
Willie
Joe had to clean up the
sonar room. As members of the damage-control team they had been too
busy
immediately after the collision to be scared. In asbestos suits,
breathing
bottled air, they had charged into the torpedo room, fire extinguishers
at the
ready. Now that it was over and they had a moment to reflect on what
had
happened, and what almost had happened, they began to react.

Davic,
who rarely
spoke to Willie Joe, began
to babble about his future in the CIA. Willie Joe wasn't paying
attention. As
he sorted through a pile of diodes, those bits of plastic with tiny
wires
sticking out of them, he developed a case of the jitters. His hands
shook.
Ignoring Davic, he said, "My wife, she sure loves that Navy Exchange
they
got there in Norfolk... She's been looking at this color TV they got
there
and I figure if I make first class at the end of this cruise, well,
hells
bells, I'll watch the World Series in color, oh shit.."

He
had dropped a
handful of tiny electronic
parts onto the cork floor. They bounced. The collision alarm was still
screaming in his head. "Maybe I should just retire. I'm just glad it
didn't happen on my watch." He got down on his hands and knees and
began
picking up the parts.

"Nothing
ever
happens on my watch," Davic said. He pounded his fist into his palm. "I
can't stand this not
knowing what happened. Do you think Fogarty will tell us?"

"No."

"We
can ask."

"I'm
not that
curious, Davic. Why don't
you come down here and help me pick up these things?"

Davic sat
down on
the deck and picked up a
transistor.

"It's
not fair
that Fogarty knows and I
don't. It's just not fair."

Fogarty
lay in
his bunk staring into space,
listening to the elevator music that filtered into the forward crew
quarters.
His tattered copy of
Catch-22
lay across his chest.

"Yo,
Fogarty."

He
opened the
curtain. Davic and Willie Joe
stood in the passageway next to his bunk.

"Yes?"

Davic said,
"Tell
us what happened down
there. Please."

"I
can't do that, Davic. Tell him,
Willie Joe."

"I
did."

Davic grabbed
Fogarty's arm. "We sank
those bastards, didn't we. Sent them cocksuckers to visit to David
Jones."

Fogarty
had to
smile at Davic's convoluted
English, and Davic read the smile as confirmation.

"We
are the first
ship in the U.S. Navy
to put in the bag a Russian. That'll teach them bastards to fuck with
us."

"Davic,
whatever
happened, it was an
accident." He brushed Davic's hands away from his arm.

"Whatever
they
got, they asked for
it," Davic said.

"That's
crazy."

A
dozen sailors
leaned out of their bunks.
Frustrated and angry, Davic was on his toes, thrusting his face into
Fogarty's
bunk.

"What's
the
matter with you, Fogarty? Do
you feel
sorry
for the Russians?"

Fogarty
refused
to be provoked. "Sure.
They were men and this was an accident. We're not at war with them—"

"Well,
shit,
Fogarty, what are we here
for? Why don't we just get rid of the fuckers once and for all? Just
nuke them
all at once."

"Just
like that?"
Fogarty snapped
his fingers.

"Just
like
that.
If we don't do
it to them they'll do it to us."

Fogarty
propped
himself up on one elbow and
faced Davic directly. "When the Russians learn they've lost a sub they
aren't going to like it. They're going to blame us, even if it wasn't
our
fault—"

"So
what? What
can they do to us?"

"Didn't
Admiral
Netts just use
Barracuda
to prove what they can do to us? Where've you been
the last four
days? Get out of here, Davic. You're a vampire. Go fly around in the
dark with
the other bats."

Davic flushed.
Fists clenched, his urge to
punch Fogarty struggled with his training and discipline. He knew a
fight could
land him in the brig.

"Fogarty,
you have no guts. You don't belong on this ship—"

"Fuck
off."

Davic lunged.
Off-balance, Fogarty barely had time to twist around and catch Davic's
leading hand in mid-air and snap back the wrist. Davic screamed and
sank to the
floor. Fogarty let go.

"Touch
me again and I'll break your arm."

Fogarty's
tone left no doubt that he could do it. He looked down the passageway.
The
entire compartment was staring at him.

Davic climbed
to his feet, rubbing his wrist, not quite sure what had
happened except
that his wrist was beginning to swell and that it hurt like hell.

The
sailors in the compartment were leaning out of their bunks, heads going
from Davic to Fogarty and back again.

"Did
you see that?"

"No,
man, it was too fast."

"Right
on, Fogarty."

"Try
it again, Davic."

At
which
point Sorensen stepped through the hatch and froze. From his angle he
couldn't
see Fogarty, but he could see Davic.

Willie
Joe
spoke up. "Hey, Sorensen. We got us a karate expert here."