Red Shark

“The Chinese have oil exploration teams in the Yellow Sea,” said Yi. “Did he mention that? Or are you concerned, Dear Leader, that perhaps the explosions are linked to the Red Shark?”

“A reasonable assumption. The Chinese operate submarines in the Yellow Sea and East China Sea. We have had run-ins with them in the past. The Americans also operate there. Anything can happen. There is also the death of Iseda Tokugawa to consider.”

“Then, Dear Leader, I would say that Admiral Woo must radio the Red Shark at once and order her captain to report his status.”

“But if he does, the Americans will pick up his signal.”

“Oh, yes, they will. But picking it up and breaking our code are two different things. To put your concerns to rest, I would advise Woo to send the message regardless of the Americans.”

Yi sensed that Jin, isolated from the outside world, hearing and believing only what fit his preconceptions, was paralyzed almost to inaction by his own plan. Yi waited while Jin debated.

“Have Woo send the message.”

“Got him!” said the chief.

They had the Kilo, and it wasn’t far away. With time, patience, and skill, the sonar watch had stripped the Chinese sub’s tonals out of the background cacophony of broadband noise.

“Master One bears zero-one-zero, Captain,” the sonar chief advised.

“I have the conn,” said Scott, entering the control room. “Rus, stand by tubes one and two. Do not — say again — do not open outer doors.”

Kramer acknowledged and passed Scott’s orders to the torpedo room.

“We’re going to try and work around this guy, see if we can’t give him the slip.”

Kramer and the other officers exchanged surprised looks. “Work around him?” said Kramer.

“If we can. He’s not our main target, the Red Shark is.”

“Sir, with respect, he tried to pick us off.”

“And he won’t get another chance. Helm, come to course two-three-zero. Make turns for eight knots. We’ll work into the littorals off Lianyungang, use them for cover.”

“Those are Chinese territorial waters,” Kramer observed.

Scott paid no attention as he watched the repeaters until he was satisfied that the Reno was moving stealthily away from the Kilo.

“Sonar, Conn. Any sign that he’s heard us?”

“Conn, Sonar. Nothin’ yet, sir.”

A minute passed, then five. Scott, resting quietly at the watch station, gave Kramer a nod and said, “Welcome to China.”

Zemin crashed into the control room. “Both motors full ahead! Energize all tubes!”

At the very instant Zemin had concluded from the first officer’s plot-back that the 688I had to be in the intercept zone marked on the chart, the sonarman had picked up a faint tonal, which was now displayed on the sonar repeater in the control room.

“Prepare to launch weapons one through six!” Zemin barked. “Use staggered timing and internal discriminator blocks!”

“Target lock-on confirmed, Comrade Captain,” said the first officer.

Zemin spun around and bellowed, “Stand by to fire on my mark!”

“He heard us! He’s turning left and closing fast,” Kramer confirmed.

“No sense trying to finesse it anymore,” Scott said. “He’s about to buy it.” He followed this with orders to the helm.

Scott stationed himself in the center of the control room, his gaze commanding the consoles and instruments displaying the information he needed to attack the Kilo. He waited until the Reno had come about, then commanded, “Firing point procedures on Master One, tubes one and two. Open outer doors.”

Kramer confirmed the target data, then prepared to execute Scott’s next order by rotating the torpedo switch triggers to their standby positions.

“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one,” Scott commanded.

Kramer, at the weapons-control panel, repeated Scott’s command and, at the same time, twisted the trigger clockwise to its fire position.

The crew heard and felt the surge of the Reno’s torpedo-ejection air pump and the unmistakable buzz-saw whine of an Mk-48 leaping from its tube.