Voyage of the Devilfish

A slight sound was perceptible above the roar of the fans, the sound of air blowing into a tank. The digital depth gage clicked. The ascent had begun.

“Aux 2 empty, sir. Securing the blow,” Robertson intoned. Pacino snapped up the periscope grips and adjusted the control ring to lower the periscope so it would not be smashed by the ascent.

“Six hundred feet, sir,” Diving Officer Lanscomb called from his seat between the planesmen. “Ascent rate five feet per second… seven… ten… fifteen…” On the ship-control console in front of the Diving Officer the numbers on the depth gage began to spin rapidly. The deck now tilted to the port side. Pacino, behind Stokes at the forward end of the Conn, looked up at the bubble inclinometer, which showed a list of ten degrees. The sail must be dragging them into this tilted ascent. As the water flowed at great speed over the hull, the sail acted as a brake, heeling them over. Pacino grabbed a handrail set into the side of the Conn sonar console. Now five hundred feet below the OMEGA submarine, Devilfish continued upward at terminal velocity, her hull level fore and aft but heeled over, her sail tilted to a fifteendegree angle. She was a 4500-ton express elevator, roaring through the dark arctic depths toward the most advanced attack submarine in the world. arctic ocean polynya surface Admiral Novskoyy checked the bulkhead chronometer, set as usual to Greenwich Mean Time. As he waited for the seconds to click away till 0900, he again read his message. Brief and official, Novskoyy thought. He typed in the next words in the sequence: TRANSMIT SEQUENCE STATUS? And the computer said: READY… It was time. Novskoyy typed in: TRANSMIT And the computer replied: TRANSMITTING…

There were now only ten minutes, until 0910, to decide whether to send the execution message for missile launch to his fleet. Novskoyy had told Dretzski at the Severomorsk shipyards that this deployment was to force U.S. compliance with his demands for total destruction of their nuclear weapons. And he had believed it, at least up to a point. He had also acknowledged to himself that if necessary he would take the next step, as he had done all those years ago against the USS Stingray. Well, his ships were deployed; the mole. General Tyler, had already gone to lengths to convince the U.S. authorities that this was merely another exercise. Would they seriously believe a sudden reversal, believe that the threat was real? Certainly not from Tyler. And certainly not from a Russian admiral. Never again would he and his forces have such an opportunity. Had he ever, in fact, really believed it would not come to more than a deployment? As the Kaliningrad’s multifrequency antenna began transmitting the standby order to the COSMOS 21 communications satellite, Novskoyy doubted he would need the ten minutes to decide whether to follow up with the execution message for missile launch. The decision was made.

ARCTIC OCEAN

BENEATH THE POLAR ICECAP

The aux tank remained full of air, acting like a hot-air balloon, driving Devilfish screaming up to the surface toward the OMEGA.

“Four hundred feet, Cap’n.” Chief Lanscomb said from the Diving Officer seat. “Ascent rate 20 feet per second and steady.” Less than 20 seconds, Pacino thought. Twenty seconds to what?

“Two five zero feet, sir,” Lanscomb called out. “Depth rate twenty-two feet per second ascent rate. Two hundred feet, twenty-three feet per second…”

“One five zero feet sir, twenty-three feet per second.” Lanscomb said.

It was the last thing Pacino heard before the collision.

WESTERN ATLANTIC

F.S. VLADIVOSTOK

The Communications Officer at the radio console caught Captain Krakov’s eye. Something was coming over the periscope antennae. The flashing red light on the console meant it was coming in on the emergency frequency.

A shot of adrenaline overcame the nausea Krakov had been feeling. The Communications Officer pulled the printout from the discharge slot and handed the message to the captain.

“Deck Officer,” Krakov said after reading it, “spin up the SSN-X-27 cruise missile. Keep the periscope up for communication reception, and alert me to any incoming molniya. The First Officer and I will retrieve the attack plan and authenticator package from the war safe.”

“Sir”—the Deck Officer could barely get out the words—“is this a drill or…?” Krakov looked at his First Officer Anatoly Tupov, holding up a hand before he could speak.