The Final Storm - Jeff Shaara [13]
The green light reflected through the small space, and he saw clearly a single blip.
“Dammit. Secure radar. What the hell, son, there’s one blip. They riding piggyback?”
“Sorry, sir. But it sounded pretty distinct …”
“You sure it’s not wax in your ears, Gifford? Radar shows one ship.”
Gifford was sweating in the musty heat, and the captain could see the frustration, uncertainty. The Japanese ships had a variety of rhythms and varying pitches depending on their speed and the size of their engines, but the captain knew that his instruments weren’t perfect, that often the best instrument they had was the sharp ear of the sonar man. It wasn’t something you could train, not completely anyway. There was a peculiar talent that every sub captain valued, the keen ear that could separate the blend of sounds, especially when there were several approaching ships. But Gifford was only nineteen, had come aboard the sub on this most recent patrol, replacing a man the captain was sorry to lose. Gifford might have the skills, but the captain knew he had not yet been under fire. He felt growing frustration, glanced up toward the hatch. They’ll be able to see something pretty soon. And we’ll get spotted ourselves if someone’s paying attention out there. Gifford had his hands clamped on the earphones, eyes closed again, shook his head. The captain watched him, thought, be certain, son. It matters. Gifford looked up at him again, a hint of fear, the telltale lack of confidence.
“I swear … there are two ships, sir.”
The captain slapped him on the shoulder, said, “All right, we’ll look for two ships. We’ll figure this out pretty quick.”
He climbed the ladder to the open bridge, emerged out of the smoky heat into the soft warmth of the breeze, the exec, Gordon, making space for him.
“Nothing to see yet, Skipper.”
“Patience, Lieutenant.”
To one side, Fallon had his hands clamped on the TBT binoculars, anxious, frozen in place, knowing his part in this elaborate operation. He was, after all, the eyes, would be the first man to actually see whatever it was that would soon come into visual range.
The captain turned east, a hint of gray on the horizon, thought, all right. Time for some light on this show. He said to Gordon, “Go below, Lieutenant. Prepare to dive on my order. Sonar could be wrong about that thing being a freighter, and I sure as hell don’t want a surface fight with a destroyer. Maintain this course until we get a good look at whatever’s coming. We should intersect at about two thousand yards, but we’ll see him way before then. And sure as hell, they’ll see us.”
Gordon moved to the hatch, descended, a clipped response.
“Aye, sir. Preparing to dive.”
Beside him, the young seaman seemed to jump, leaning into the mounted binoculars.
“Got her, sir!”
The young man knew the drill, immediately stepped aside. The captain leaned close, stared into the TBT binoculars, saw it for himself now, the low gray silhouette. He felt his heart beginning to thump, sharing the young seaman’s excitement. There was never a thrill quite like that first glimpse, when a target first appeared. The fox and the hound, he thought. Or better, the mountain lion and the deer. Yep, like that one better. Going for the throat. He kept his eye on the distant ship, reached for the microphone, said in a low voice, “Activate radar, but just for range. Make it quick.”
He waited, then heard the words.
“Four thousand, sir. Closing at ten knots.”
There was a small tug in his brain, a hint of warning. Why so damn slow? A Jap merchant can make eighteen to twenty, most of ’em anyway. He could see the silhouette more clearly now, definitely a merchant ship. This is too easy. Okay, fine. Give us a gift. I’ll take it.
He knew the calculations in his head, had been through this too many times before. The sub had approached east of the merchant ship, the light of the dawn at his back, the breaking sunlight acting as camouflage. Even on the surface, with the sub positioned straight at the merchant, it made almost no silhouette at