Red Shark

“Perhaps, sir, you should now respond to Admiral Woo’s signal. Tell him we have been under attack, that we have damaged an American submarine. He will understand your reluctance to reply earlier. He must have good reasons for wanting us to risk sending a message. Perhaps even that he is recalling us.”

Park roused himself. “Recalling us?” he said. “Is that what you hope for, to return to Nam’po?”

“Why, no, Comrade Captain, I’m only suggesting that—”

“We will carry out our mission as ordered.” Park stood and took a deep breath, obviously in control of his emotions again. “When we have cleared the area I will radio Admiral Woo and advise him of our situation. In the meantime you will maintain our present course until we reach Taowang Gang, then turn us southeast. Maintain combat and torpedo stations until further orders. The men can take their meals at their stations.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Park seemed to have found a reserve of strength. He started for the wardroom, then stopped. “Prepare a message for Admiral Woo. Tell him we have been delayed by the presence of an American submarine but will be back on schedule soon. Tell him nothing about our torpedo attack but say that the American is being hunted by the Chinese. I will fill in the details later.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Park stomped into the wardroom. He needed a moment to gather his wits. In hindsight he realized that he’d made a terrible mistake. He should have held position, hidden in the Pacific Conveyor’s wake. Instead he’d panicked, sure that he’d been discovered, when in fact the American sub might have just taken a sniff and gone on by. Instead he’d broken cover and fired, perhaps damaging the 688I but not sinking it. But now he understood: The Chinese were hunting for the American sub that had sunk their Kilo. He’d inadvertently poked a stick into a hornet’s nest, and he had to flee their stings.

The through-ship talker squawked, and Park froze: “Comrade Captain! We have an emergency in the engine room!”

50

North of Taowang Gang

Lieutenant Kang had a look of death. Park examined the sleeve that had been installed around the valve earlier and saw to his horror that it, too, had swelled, a sure sign that the line was about to rupture and release hydrogen into the compartment. Liquefied, it would, if released under high pressure, instantly solidify, then evaporate. Small comfort. No matter how it was released, combined with oxygen, it might explode.

“Evacuate and seal the compartment,” he ordered. “Later we will surface and try to reach the main valve in the line from the fuel cell under the superstructure. We’ll shut it, then bleed off the hydrogen in the compartment and purge it with fresh air.”

Park turned and headed forward, his legs unsteady, his hands balled into fists to hide their shaking.

The Reno picked her way along the coast, where marine life, bars and channels, turbidity, and pollution degraded sonar reception. Scott knew the Reno was too big and ungainly for close littoral combat, her 7,000-ton bulk too hard to maneuver and too easy to detect, unlike the Red Shark. But Scott was sure that’s where the North Korean sub had fled after their encounter, and he had little choice but to track her down there.