Red Shark

This time there would be no gamesmanship, no firing of decoys to send a message. This time, the American, steaming in dangerous waters, was fair game. And though his presence complicated matters, Zemin still had to prevent the North Korean submarine’s escape from Chinese territorial waters. And if the American got in the way or was spoiling for another fight, he’d give him one.

“Contacts?”

“Only U.S. Navy One. Steady bearing and speed.”

“Maintain primary search mode for DPRK One, use secondary mode for U.S. Navy One.”

“Aye, sir.”

Zemin strode into the control room. “First Officer.”

“Sir?”

“Put us on a reciprocal course with the 688I. You may make turns for ten knots on mains.”

The first officer hesitated. “Bows on, sir?”

“Exactly. We will close the range in a fraction of the time it would take if we were to cut back from outside his track. He’ll either turn and run or face us down. I think he’ll run.”

Zemin’s gaze drifted over the fire-control panel, its firing point analysis of DPRK One no longer valid. “Initiate constant tracking of U.S. Navy One and update to torpedoes. Make preparations to engage new target and to launch weapons.”

Park felt his chest tighten. He heard the familiar but faint sound of reactor circulating pumps, saw their tonals on the monitor: a U.S. Navy 688I. In Chinese waters. Possibilities raced through his mind. Was the American hunting for them, the Chinese Kilo, or was he simply on a recon mission? No matter what the answer, now he had to avoid not one but two submarines.

“Captain, sir, the Chinese boat has turned toward the 688I.” The startled sonarman twisted around in his seat and looked to Park for an answer.

Park, too, saw it displayed on the monitor: The tracker stylus labeled KILO had turned left and was moving jerkily across the screen toward the stylus labeled 688I.

“Sir, perhaps he has confused the American for us,” the sonarman said.

“I don’t think so. He knows as well as we do that his target is a 688I. No, I think this Chinese captain wants to show the American he will not be intimidated, that he will not tolerate their intrusion into Chinese territorial waters. The question is, how far is he prepared to go to prevent it? And if he shoots, will the American shoot back?”

Park watched the two points of light on the monitor move closer, into torpedo-firing range. All at once he tore himself away from the spectacle and lurched into the control room, commanding, “Both motors ahead half speed. Steady on course one-six-

zero.” He sought the first officer and said, “We will let those two fight it out, and while they do, we will slip out the side door and clear the area. Regardless of who wins, we will be long gone.”

“Man battle stations! Man battle stations!” sounded through the Reno’s compartments over the 1MC.

“Conn, Sonar, target Master One is making turns for twenty knots. Range twelve thousand yards and closing fast.”

“I guess we pissed him off and now he’s playing Chinese chicken with us.”

Scott knew that the Kilo was coming at them at high speed. The Reno was suddenly within range of the Kilo’s Test-71 ME wire-guided torpedoes. He had no way of knowing if the Chinese skipper intended to shoot or was bluffing. Regardless, Scott had little room to maneuver and didn’t have much time left to react. The Red Shark flashed through his mind: Tangling with the Kilo would open an avenue of escape for the North Korean sub. Scott knew he had to neutralize the Kilo before the Red Shark vanished for good.

“Torpedo room, Fire-control, make ready tubes one and two,” Scott commanded. “Open outer doors.”

“Tubes one and two, open outer doors, aye,” Kramer repeated.

“Anything from Master Two?”

“Captain, I have no contact on Master Two.”

“Range and bearing to Master One?”

“Sir, range is now ten-thousand six hundred yards; bearing,” a hesitation, then, “sir, dead ahead and comin’ at us!”

Scott had to make a decision now—

“Conn, Sonar, single active ping from Master One!”