Red Shark

The sonarman began inputting more data to the Rubikon’s target analysis program, while the first officer backed it up on his electronic data pad. Moments later the system recycled again; this time DPRK ONE flashed in the message slot at the bottom of the monitor.

“Very well,” said a satisfied Zemin. “First Officer, prepare firing point analysis on DPRK One. Initiate constant tracking and update to torpedoes. Make preparations to engage target and launch weapons.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Maintain silence in the boat. Engage creep motor. Come to new course three-three-zero.”

The first officer repeated Zemin’s orders, and a moment later, the Kilo, her bow pointed toward the target, slowed to less than walking speed. “Orders confirmed, Captain.”

Zemin climbed into the captain’s conning chair in the Kilo’s deathly silent attack center. “Now, if we can slip in on cat’s feet, we may have a prize to present to Admiral Chou.”

Captain Park ran a gloved hand over the bulge around the welded joint upstream from the frozen main fuel cell bleeder valve and hydrogen burner. The bulge, larger now, had caused the two-inch-diameter stainless steel line to skew in its hangers. A thermal wrap had not thawed the valve, and engineering officer Kang’s face mirrored his concern.

“Can this valve be replaced?” Park asked.

“Captain, not in the prescribed way. The liquid hydrogen is under great pressure, and any unchecked opening of the system will cause a blow-down. The hydrogen will gasify and flood the compartment. The mixture will be explosive and—”

“What will happen if the welded joint bursts under pressure of the ice buildup? Will it not cause a blow-down?”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Can the valve and line be bypassed?”

“Not with the materials and tools we have onboard. And not in the position we are currently in…”

“Hunted by a Chinese boat.” Park ran his hand over the weld and around the pipe like a doctor diagnosing a sick patient’s chance of surviving major surgery. The bulge felt even fatter than it had moments ago. “Can you apply more heat to the valve to melt the ice so we can purge the seat? If we can close the valve and tap into the feed line, we can possibly rig a diverter to the hydrogen burner.”

Kang said, “Captain, I can try…”

Park looked up, distracted by the flashing Captain’s Light that shouted he was needed in the control room.

Park’s attention was back on Kang. “Well?”

“Sir, we have a gas cutting torch, but using it to heat the valve is out of the question, it’s… it’s too dangerous…”

“More dangerous than having the line split and cause a blow-down?”

Kang swallowed hard.

“Do it.”

Park threw down his work gloves and went forward.

The first officer directed Park’s attention to the sonar monitor. “Contact, sir,” he said. “Submerged target. Speed appears to be near zero. Turn count almost inaudible. Sonar heard a transient, perhaps water flow over a hull appendage.”

The Red Shark’s ultra-sensitive spherical bow array, aimed directly at the target, had missed nothing, not even the ruffle of seawater around a hull fitting.

“What is our present speed?”

“Four knots, Captain.”

“Sounding?”

“Twelve fathoms.”

“Stop and secure main propulsion and trim pumps.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Park watched the needle on the pit log at the diving station swing left and come to rest, pegged on zero. He knew they could coast for a while on momentum. But with both sound-mounted trim pumps secured to reduce noise levels, they would not be able to hover. In time the boat would require an ever steeper up-angle to prevent her sinking stern-first into the littoral shallows. Yet Park was willing to gamble that by running ultra-quiet, sonar would positively identify the target and its position, which would then allow for evasive action.

Park waited, his stress building to a climax, like a bomb with a sputtering fuse. He watched the combat system cycle through its target identification programs, various program keys flashing brightly on the monitors like heat lightning.

Park gripped a stanchion and held on as the deck under his feet tilted ever steeper upward. He eyed the silent laser Fathometer display and saw it tick down to ten fathoms: only sixty feet of water separated the Red Shark’s rudder bottom from the seabed.

Something caught his eye: The words KILO 636-CLASS TONAL appeared on the upper sonar monitor. Below it was a side-by-side comparison of the old and new tonals, which Park saw at once were identical.

“Our friend,” Park said, “is back.” He gave the Fathometer a look. Nine fathoms.