Red Shark

The mess attendant had a bottle of soju and a ceramic cup waiting for Park at the head of the table. The attendant filled the cup and backed into his tiny galley, shutting the bifold door so Park could ruminate in private.

Park reckoned that their chances of reaching the Philippines on time were less than fifty percent, given their present situation. He knew he was being pessimistic, but he was a realist. Something must have gone terribly wrong in Pyongyang. Perhaps a war had started. It was the only logical answer to why the American and Chinese submarines had fired on each other and why the Red Shark was being hunted.

He drank soju, its fire scorching his gullet. And what of his refusal to answer Admiral Woo’s ZEVS inquiry? Would Woo understand the danger he was facing from both the American sub and the frozen valve in the hydrogen fuel cell? Not likely. The only thing that mattered to Woo was that the cargo be delivered on time.

Park needed time to sort things out, but when he looked at the chronometer on the bulkhead, he saw that it was time to visit the engine room to gauge how the repair had progressed—

“Captain!” the first officer yapped from the intercom as the Captain’s Light began to flash.

Park froze. Instinctively he knew it was bad news.

“Comrade Captain, we have something on the flank sonar array. Possible submarine, but the contact is partially masked by wake turbulence from the merchantman.”

Park felt his heart leap. He saw a faint contact on the monitor, abaft the starboard beam. Low-frequency interference from the Pacific Conveyor’s machinery and tumbling wake made target discrimination difficult but not impossible.

“Range?”

“Under ten thousand yards, sir, and closing. I’ll soon have a turn rate.”

Park considered his options. Was it the American or Chinese submarine? Had it detected the Red Shark? If so, how much time did he have left to decide what to do? Should he call away combat stations and torpedo stations right now or wait to see what developed? As Park watched, the target slowly turned right onto a course parallel to the Pacific Conveyor and Red Shark.

“Captain, turn rate shows target’s speed is fifteen knots.”

Park checked their own speed: eight knots. He also saw that as the target slowly drew closer, the earlier unidentified tone line displayed on the monitor got sharper, more precise. In another minute the signal processor would have a match. He wicked sweat from his face onto a sleeve and said, “How could he have heard us? How?”

The worried sonarman looked helplessly at Park. Park’s gaze snapped to the secondary set of monitors, and he saw nine well-defined tonals radiating from the PLAN warships to the west. His gaze went back to the monitor tracking the submarine closing in: Its white tone line was thin and very sharp.

“Captain, I have positive identification on a U.S. 688I.”

The Red Shark’s combat system had proven far more sensitive and accurate than Park had thought possible. U.S. Navy SSNs were virtually undetectable, yet the system had plucked this one out of the water as surely as if the sea had parted around it.