Red Shark

“Match generated bearings and fire one!”

Kramer hit the trigger and rolled his eyes to the overhead. “Tube fired electrically. Fish is on its way!”

The Mark-48 slammed out of its tube like a bolt of lightning and accelerated to fifty knots. Two thousand yards out, on commands transmitted down its guidance wire, it jinked right and, like a jet fighter, homed in on the Red Shark.

“Fish has acquired its target,” Kramer said with forced nonchalance and a genuine look of satisfaction on his face. He held up an old-fashioned stopwatch, finger poised over the stem, timing the runs. It was his grandfather’s, everyone knew, from his sub service in World War II, when they timed the runs of cranky Mark-14 torpedoes by hand.

“Conn, Sonar. Fish is pingin’ on its target…. He hears it, he’s turnin’ right, makin’ a dash for it. Ain’t gonna make it.”

No, Scott told himself, he ain’t gonna make it, the son of a bitch. Neither will the nuclear warheads. He leaned against a periscope, exhausted, remembering the hours, the days spent on the run, trying to save himself, his crew, and a good part of the U.S. from oblivion. What happened after this was over wasn’t up to him but to the men who controlled that world from centers of power in the East and West. No one would ever know how close the world had come to nuclear war. Better, Scott thought, not to think about things he couldn’t control.

“Conn, Sonar. Skipper, I just heard something strange… a thud, an explosion, not a warhead.”

“In the water?”

“No, sir, aboard the Red Shark.”

* * *

Park heard and felt it too. And he saw something the chief couldn’t see: A solid wall of blue flame from exploding hydrogen bursting into the control room at the same instant an exploding Mark-48 torpedo warhead tore the Red Shark into a million white-hot fragments that erupted from the sea, trailing angry plumes of steam until, energy spent, they fell like rain into the thousand-fathom abyss.

Epilogue

The Pacific, South of Japan

Scott and Fumiko looked into each others’ eyes on the monitor.

“You can put my picture on the piano and mix the drinks,” Scott said. “We’re heading in.”

“Put your picture on the piano? I don’t understand.”

“It has a special meaning for submariners. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

“General Radford is on his way here from Washington. He’s met with the president, and now he’s anxious to meet with you.”

“I’ll bet he is.”

“Jake, it’s over. Colonel Jefferson and the special-ops team captured the terrorist base and killed over a hundred terrorists. The North Koreans are asking for a meeting with us at the UN. General Radford and the president are very impressed with what you and your crew have accomplished.”

“Are they? What about you? We couldn’t have done it without your help.”

“Jake, it was you who took all the risks.”

“What about your former employer? What have they said?”

“Nothing. They’re keeping very quiet.”

“And the Chinese?”

“The same.”

“How about dinner?”

“What?”

“In Tokyo. Something expensive.”

“Everything in Tokyo is expensive. We’ll see…”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’ll see.”

“No it doesn’t, it means something else. What?”

Fumiko looked away, then back. “Your wife, she called General Radford.”

“Ah.”

“Jake, she didn’t hear from you. General Radford told her you were scheduled for arrival in Yokosuka. I think she plans to meet the Reno.”

Scott said nothing.

“Of course it is understandable that you would want to see her,” Fumiko said frostily.

“If you think that, Fumiko Kida, you don’t understand anything.”

Fumiko’s eyes glittered. She looked around, then quickly kissed her fingers and planted them on the camera lens.

Pyongyang