The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [439]
"How badly?"
"Sir, it makes one hell of a hole in our war plan. Maine carries the D-5 missile, and they are tasked counter-force. They're supposed to attack missile fields and selected command-and-control assets. If something happens to her, it would take literally hours to patch up that hole in the plan."
"Captain Rosselli, you're Navy, right?"
"Yes, Mr President - sir, I have to tell you that I was CO of Maines Gold Crew until a few months ago."
"How soon before we have to make a decision?"
"Sir, the Akula is inbound at twenty-five knots, currently about twenty thousand yards from our boat. Technically speaking, they're within torpedo range right now."
"What are my options?"
"You can order an attack or not order an attack," Rosselli replied.
"General Fremont?"
"Mr President - no, Captain Rosselli?"
"Yes, General?"
"How sure are you that the Russians are boring straight in on our boat?"
"The signal is quite positive on that, sir."
"Mr President, I think we have to protect our assets. The Russians won't be real pleased with an attack on one of their boats, but it's an attack boat, not a strategic asset. If they challenge us on this, we can explain it. What I want to know is why they ordered the boat in this way. They must know that it would alarm us."
"Captain Rosselli, you have my authorization for the aircraft to engage and destroy the submarine."
"Aye aye, sir." Rosselli lifted the other phone. "GRAY BEAR, this is MARBLEHEAD -" the current codename for the NMCC "- National Command Authority approves I repeat approves your request. Acknowledge."
"MARBLEHEAD, this is GRAY BEAR, we copy request to engage is approved."
"That's affirmative."
"Roger. Out."
The Orion turned in. Even the pilots were feeling the effects of the weather now. Technically, it was still light, but the low ceiling and heavy seas made it seem that they were flying down an immense and bumpy corridor. That was the bad news. The good news was that their contact was acting dumb, running very fast, below the layer, and almost impossible to miss. The Tacco in back coached him in along the Akula's course. Sticking out the tail of the converted Lockheed Electra airliner was a sensitive device called a magnetic anomaly detector. It reported on variations in the earth's magnetic field, such as those caused by the metallic mass of a submarine.
"Madman madman madman, smoke away!" the system operator called. He pushed a button to release a smoke float. In front, the pilot immediately turned left to set up another run. This he did, then a third, turning left each time.
"Okay, how's this look back there?" the pilot asked.
"Solid contact, nuclear-powered sub, positive Russian. I say let's do it this time."
"Fair enough," the pilot observed.
"Jesus!" the co-pilot muttered.
"Open the doors."
"Coming open now. Safeties off, release is armed, weapon is hot."
"Okay, I have it set," the Tacco said. "Clear to drop."
It was too easy. The pilot lined up on the smoke floats, which were almost perfectly in a row. He passed over the first, then the second, then the third
"Dropping now-now-now! Torp away!" The pilot added power and climbed a few hundred feet.
The Mark 50 ASW torpedo dropped clear, retarded by a small parachute that automatically released when the fish hit the water. The new and very sophisticated weapon was powered by an almost noiseless propulsor instead of a propeller, and had been programmed to stay covert until it reached the target depth of five hundred feet.
It was just about time to slow down, Dubinin thought, another few thousand meters. His gamble, he felt, had been a good one. It seemed a wholly reasonable supposition that the American missile submarine would stay near the surface. If he'd guessed right, then by racing in just below the layer - he was running on one hundred ten meters - then surface noise would keep the Americans from hearing him, and he could conduct the remainder of the search more covertly.