Operation Arctic Sting, page 26
“So, what’s the mystery—the one you couldn’t divulge to the XO over the Secure Gertrude?” His tone was friendly, but I sensed that he did not entirely approve.
“It’s about the Vega, Sir. We know about her electronics and think we know about her sonar. She doesn’t have a sonar dome, so we have to assume she carries some kind of dipping sonar. That would be primarily active.” I paused.
“I have no quarrel with your comments thus far, but where are you taking this?”
“Why does any surface vessel have active sonar?” I asked. “The only reason I can think of is to target a submarine.” I paused again. The skipper nodded his head. “When a ship operates alone, her only reason to target a sub is to take the sub out.”
“So, you’re assuming that Vega carries one or more torpedoes.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’ve studied photos of Vega carefully, Sir. She has no mechanism for launching torpedoes over the side. That means she launches them underwater.” Again, the skipper nodded. “There’s not a lot of below-deck room, so I’m assuming Vega has a moonpool of sorts. She can launch a torpedo by lowering it through the opening, probably the same one she uses to lower her dipping sonar for range info.”
“You make an excellent argument, Mac. Where are you taking this?”
“Vega is on station. She is expecting us to show up with the Alfa. Skipper, I think Vega’s job this time around is to detect and destroy the Alfa.”
The skipper’s eyes widened at this, but before he could respond, I continued. “Remember the strange transmission Shchuka transmitted? That was a modulated signal laid over the underlying sonic carrier. No way it could have been meant for us. I propose it was sent in the blind to Lyre. To me, that means Lyre has some kind of self-destruct mechanism that can be activated by that signal.” I paused to take a sip of my cooling coffee. “Obviously, Shchuka’s signal didn’t reach Lyre. I think the ridge and Teuthis blocked it or attenuated it sufficiently that Lyre didn’t respond.” I took another sip. The coffee really was getting cold. “If Vega sends that signal here, whatever it is supposed to trigger will happen!” I leaned back against the red Naugahyde. I had spoken long enough.
The skipper refreshed our coffees from the thermos pot and sat silently, sipping his coffee while thinking. Finally, he leaned forward and looked earnestly at me. “I can’t find a flaw in your argument. I presume you’ve worked out a counter for this.”
“Sort of, Sir. You bring Teuthis close enough so the Basketball can examine Vega’s underside. What we do depends on what we see.” I paused, thinking about it. “Worst case, Vega has deployed both the sonar and a torpedo. If whatever the signal triggers doesn’t work, she launches the torpedo. If Lyre blows herself up, or whatever she’s supposed to do, Vega retracts the torpedo and reports a successful mission to Moscow.” I shrugged. “Otherwise, she launches the torpedo to do the job.”
The skipper stood up, and I joined him. “First things first. Let’s check Vega out.”
“Skipper, ever since I thought my way through this, my guys have been scouring Lyre for any explosives. The only thing we found, and I mean the only thing, is a double rack of torpedoes in the forward room. We have disconnected every wire, fitting plug—anything at all that could possibly lead to a detonation. Right now, you couldn’t fire a torpedo from Lyre if your life depended on it.” I took a deep breath. “I am confident that if the signal is designed to trigger an explosion on Lyre, it is now ineffective.”
As it turned out, I was right…but only partly so.
The skipper called Barry and Franklin in conference mode. “Barry, assume Waverly’s watch and bring Teuthis beneath Vega with sufficient clearance so Franklin can scan the bottom with the Basketball. Franklin, you be ready to get me a clean picture of Vega’s underside. Do not allow us to be detected!”
Then he called the XO and Waverly to his cabin. The skipper retained his desk chair, Waverly joined me on the couch, and the XO took the lounge chair. The skipper looked at me.
“Take them through what we just discussed, Mac.”
I walked them through the argument, step-by-step. When I finished, they greeted me with quiet astonishment.
“You’re certain Lyre is clean?” Waverly asked.
“Absolutely!”
We sat quietly while Cmdr. Roken put his considerable intellect to the problem.
“If you are wrong, Mac,” he said slowly, “and I really hope you are, we fade away and carry on with our planned parade through New London Harbor. If you’re right, he will send the signal, it will fail, and he will go to Plan B. The big unknown is how long will the Vega captain wait before launching his torpedo?” He turned to Waverly. “What are your thoughts?”
“We know nothing about that fish. Don’t know how it’s armed, how it’s steered. We know that a torpedo can explode if triggered by another explosion or if subjected to a large electric charge.” He reached for the phone. “With your permission, Captain.”
The skipper nodded. Shortly, Chief Torpedoman Jasper Cedrik knocked on the cabin door.
“Tubes, can you rig a large capacitor that can deliver a delayed high-voltage charge to a torpedo suspended in the water?”
Cedrik looked at Waverly in astonishment as the phone warbled.
“Thank you,” the skipper said into the handset. He looked at us. “Barry reports Vega has an open moonpool with a suspended six-foot torpedo and a dipping sonar device. Vega is moving at bare steerageway.” He turned to Waverly. “Well?”
Waverly raised his eyebrows at Tubes, who stammered, “Y…yes, Sir, I got something that’ll work. I need to get with the ETs for the delay circuit.”
“How long?” Waverly asked.
“Half-hour…maybe a bit more.”
“See to it!” the skipper said as Tubes left the cabin.
“I need to return to Lyre…”
“You do,” the skipper interrupted.
“But I need to speak with Ham first…make sure the divers know what is at risk.”
Mystic launched in mid-column while Teuthis maintained station beneath Vega. I took Sergyi with me so I would have another Russian speaker. Since we were preparing to run on the surface into the Thames River, I had Bob set Mystic on the hatch aligned with Lyre’s axis.
“Do you and your crew want to hang out down here?” I asked.
Taggert told me that either he or Jim and one of the crew would remain in Mystic all the time—just in case, he said.
We settled down to wait out whatever sequence would take place.
On Teuthis, Waverly and Tubes handed Harry and Whitey a package half the size of a briefcase—about twelve inches square by three inches thick. One side was marked with a bright “X.” A stainless wire with a grip handle large enough to accommodate a diver’s gloved hand extended out one end.
Tubes addressed them. “Place the case with the ‘X’ against the torpedo with the wire unobstructed. Duct-tape the case around the torpedo about ten times. The number of turns isn’t critical. Just make sure it is snug as possible.”
“Then stand by,” Waverly said. “Do you both have ear protection?”
The divers nodded.
“Stand-by near the torpedo…we don’t know how long…until the sonar sends a ping. Then wait exactly two minutes, pull the handle, and hustle back to Teuthis. Try to get under her hull ASAP, and then get inside soonest.” He turned to Wally Dubbs. “Follow the divers back to Teuthis, but stow the Basketball right away.” He turned to Ham. “Let the OOD know the moment the divers are secure.”
We caught most of it on tape through the Basketball. Harry and Whitey mounted the case against the torpedo like they had been doing this all their lives. The worst part was the wait. They hung near the torpedo, keeping pace with the barely moving Vega, for a full hour and ten minutes. When the sonar finally pinged, they both slapped their hands to their ears. Two minutes later, Harry pulled the handle sharply, and they dropped like rocks to Teuthis a hundred feet below. Wally followed with the Basketball barely able to keep up with them.
Five seconds after Ham reported the divers secured, Barry dropped Teuthis to within a few feet of the bottom and ordered a few seconds of flank speed to get the hell out of there.
Five minutes later, the kludged delay circuit inside the waterproof case fired, releasing the megavolt charge across the massive capacitor, transferring the charge directly into the torpedo’s steel body. A microsecond later, the PBX warhead exploded, breaking Vega’s keel, sending her to the bottom.
On Lyre, Okean picked up the modulated ping from Vega. At first, nothing seemed to happen. After a couple of minutes, the Sozh display shifted to a larger scale. Spook had the watch, but I jumped in to monitor the Sozh more closely. I called Sergyi, Wyatt, and Matt to Control.
As they arrived, the Ritm machinery control console lit up, and the main screw started turning. Then Boxit, the course control system, went into action. Lyre lifted off the bottom and came to heading 180 degrees.
I got on the Secure Gertrude. “Teuthis, this is Lyre. We figured that modulated signal out. Something has taken control of Lyre’s systems. They are completely non-responsive to us. Lyre is picking up speed and driving straight toward the Continental Break, course one-eight-zero. We are doing everything we can to slow her down, drive her into the bottom—whatever it takes to stop her.
“I think she is headed to deep water where she will drop to crush depth. We will stop her if we can.”
Swordfish and Drum picked up my transmission and altered course to intersect Lyre. Without a DSRV to slow her down, Teuthis chased us at flank speed. When she caught up, she paced us a hundred yards off our starboard beam.
Wyatt and Matt were deep into the Russian manuals, looking for clues about how the control worked.
“Look,” Matt said, “Okean gets the enabling signal and sends it to Akkord right here on this line. From somewhere, Akkord conjures up a destination and sends signals to Boxit and Ritm. See…look!” He traced out the signal path with a finger.
I jumped in. “Guys, we got six hours on our present course and speed. If you can find a way to slow us down, we gain more time to solve the problem.”
They both grunted.
In the Engine Room, Sergyi and Gilbert traced out power lines. Power to the electric motor was physically protected. They couldn’t access it without appropriate power tools, which they didn’t have.
“Gilbert,” Sergyi said. “why not disconnect the batteries?”
“Okay, you inform Mac, and I will do it.”
Sergyi came to tell me, and we both returned to the disconnect panel.
“Okay, Gil, throw the switch.”
Nothing happened.
“Their override seems to have cut the disconnect out of the circuit,” Gil said. “Shit!”
After three hours, we had made no progress.
Wyatt and Matt were frantic. “We’ve checked every circuit three times,” Wyatt said.
“Let’s take a different tack,” I suggested. “Wyatt, if you were going to design a system that could surreptitiously take over this nearly autonomous machine, how would you do it?”
Wyatt turned to Matt, and they began brainstorming this concept.
“I would hide it in plain sight,” Matt said.
Two hours left.
“How do you do plain sight without someone seeing it?” Wyatt asked in exasperation.
Matt pointed at an Akkord circuit board. “What’s on the other side?” he asked.
They pulled it out and turned it over.
“That circuit’s not on the schematic,” Wyatt said, excitement coloring his voice.
One hour left. The bottom was 500 feet below us and dropping.
“Look, Wyatt, another one, and another!”
“Mac, come here. Look…there is a complete set of hidden circuitry under all these boards.” I could feel Wyatt’s excitement.
I checked the depth. 1,000 feet and dropping. I looked at Wyatt. “What happens if you simply pull a board, turn it over, and plug it back in?” I asked.
Matt looked at me in astonishment. “Hide it in plain sight…It’ll run that circuit.”
“Everybody…to control!” I shouted.
They were there in five seconds. I glanced at the depth. 2,500 feet!
“Here’s the deal,” I said, pulling and flipping boards as I talked. “Mystic’s test depth is five thousand feet. We’re getting there fast. I want everyone inside Mystic except me and Sergyi. We’re gonna flip boards until the last minute…”
“I’m staying with you, Boss,” Bert said. “You need a couple more hands.”
Others started to protest that they wanted to stay, too.
“Stop it, people! We don’t have time for this. Get your butts into Mystic NOW—That’s an order!” I turned to Taggert. “Lieutenant Taggert, when your depth indicates five thousand feet, you break your seal and move away.”
“But…but…” he stammered.
“That’s an order, Bob. Just do it!”
4,000 feet!
Sergyi flipped a board at the bottom of the Akkord console. The display commenced oscillating between the imposed setting and those we had set before all this started. Quickly, we flipped the remaining boards along the console bottom.
5,000 feet—slowing the descent! Mystic broke seal and pulled away.
I reached for the depth control knob and cranked in 4,000 feet. Lyre assumed a ten-degree up angle but still dropped.
5,500 feet—still slowing the descent—only dropping half as fast!
I tried the rudder control. The rudder responded. I tried the speed control and cranked it up to fifteen knots. Lyre responded, sucking power from the batteries.
6,000 feet—holding, almost!
I came to my feet, and Sergyi threw his arms around me in a bear hug. Draped against the Akkord console, Bert grinned at me.
“What the fuck!” I said. “I thought I told you to get your ass on Mystic.”
“I must not have heard you, Boss,” he said quietly.
5,500 feet—rising.
“Looks like we got damn control back,” Sergyi said.
“You want to drive her?” I asked Sergyi.
“You bet, Boss.”
“Make your depth two hundred feet, speed seven-point-five knots.”
At 1,000 feet, we picked up a Secure Gertrude call from Teuthis.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis.”
“Roger, Teuthis, we hear you.”
“What is your status?” I recognized Franklin’s voice.
“We are okay, coming to two hundred feet. Mystic is independent with most of the crew. Recommend you take her aboard Teuthis until we figure out what to do next.”
“Are you certain?” It was the skipper. “We don’t need any more heroics.”
“Yes, Sir. We have sufficient power to reach the two-hundred-foot curve on course zero-one-six. We can bottom there, recharge the batteries, and check out any damage to the false sail. We were doing ten knots for longer than I would have wished.”
“Roger. We will watch your six until we arrive at the two-hundred-foot curve.”
The transit took eight hours. The three of us remained in Control the entire time—just in case something else went wrong. Sergyi put us on the bottom at 195 feet with two percent of batteries remaining.
A half-hour later, Teuthis slipped up to our starboard side, and Mystic made a seal to our after-hatch. My entire crew came with her. After the hugs and back-slapping, I sent Sergyi and Bert back to Teuthis to get cleaned up and have a meal.
Outside, the divers hooked up the charge and then inspected every inch of our false sail. To everyone’s surprise, it had withstood the harrowing journey at least as well as those of us inside the Alfa. All the divers did was to cinch up the belly straps again. The divers played with Borysko, who had finally accepted the new 4 x 4 when his old one broke in two.
For most of this, I pulled away from the others. I didn’t need any more praise. It was my job to anticipate the take-over possibility and prepare for it. I fingered Kate’s ivory cylinder, wondering how she would have reacted to learning that I had perished at sea.
One more thing. While Sergyi, Bert, and I were fighting for our lives, as Lyre plunged toward the abyssal deep, Borysko tried to keep up with us, as reported by Bob Taggert from Mystic. According to my sources, Orcas generally remain shallower than 1,000 feet. I think Borysko knew we were in trouble and tried to help. Mystic picked him up at nearly 4,000 feet. Bob said he ended up staying on the surface for several hours following that deep dive. I suspect his massive body was warding off mild decompression sickness.
Bert returned to relieve me so I could freshen up. I expected to see Kate soon and wanted to look my best. My circadian cycle was all screwed up. It was 0930, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I figured Kate would get my rhythms straightened out.
THE LYRE—ELECTRIC BOAT
For a final time, the 1MC blared “Surface! Surface! Surface!” followed by the Klaxon’s three long Aoogahs! I did not hear it because I was aboard Lyre. We simply surfaced and trimmed ourselves to sit low in the water. I was on the Bridge with Bert. Sam and Rusty posed as lookouts on the port and starboard fairwater planes. It was 1400 hours on a bright, sunny winter afternoon outside the channel buoys. Frisco took the lead. We followed 300 yards back, with Mystic sitting proudly on our after-deck. Teuthis was last, behind us by 300 yards. To any observer, we were obviously three nuclear submarines returning to port after DSRV exercises at sea.
The temperature was in the low forties with a slight easterly breeze. Driving Lyre from the Bridge was child’s play. The bridge box was only superficially similar to ours, but I had direct control over everything with appropriate switches and knobs. In the water alongside us, and sometimes ahead or behind, Borysko cruised easily, fully recovered from his deep dive experience. He carried his 4 x 4 like a cigar stump sticking out of his mouth.
We passed the channel buoys and somewhat later Race Rock. Frisco refused the Pilot. So did we and Teuthis. A Navy tug accompanied Frisco upriver to her berth. Two Navy tugs met us. Spook and Wyatt handled the lines down on our foredeck, snugging the tugs against our port and starboard bow. Teuthis lowered her outboards but had a tug stand off her port bow as a precaution.
“It’s about the Vega, Sir. We know about her electronics and think we know about her sonar. She doesn’t have a sonar dome, so we have to assume she carries some kind of dipping sonar. That would be primarily active.” I paused.
“I have no quarrel with your comments thus far, but where are you taking this?”
“Why does any surface vessel have active sonar?” I asked. “The only reason I can think of is to target a submarine.” I paused again. The skipper nodded his head. “When a ship operates alone, her only reason to target a sub is to take the sub out.”
“So, you’re assuming that Vega carries one or more torpedoes.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I’ve studied photos of Vega carefully, Sir. She has no mechanism for launching torpedoes over the side. That means she launches them underwater.” Again, the skipper nodded. “There’s not a lot of below-deck room, so I’m assuming Vega has a moonpool of sorts. She can launch a torpedo by lowering it through the opening, probably the same one she uses to lower her dipping sonar for range info.”
“You make an excellent argument, Mac. Where are you taking this?”
“Vega is on station. She is expecting us to show up with the Alfa. Skipper, I think Vega’s job this time around is to detect and destroy the Alfa.”
The skipper’s eyes widened at this, but before he could respond, I continued. “Remember the strange transmission Shchuka transmitted? That was a modulated signal laid over the underlying sonic carrier. No way it could have been meant for us. I propose it was sent in the blind to Lyre. To me, that means Lyre has some kind of self-destruct mechanism that can be activated by that signal.” I paused to take a sip of my cooling coffee. “Obviously, Shchuka’s signal didn’t reach Lyre. I think the ridge and Teuthis blocked it or attenuated it sufficiently that Lyre didn’t respond.” I took another sip. The coffee really was getting cold. “If Vega sends that signal here, whatever it is supposed to trigger will happen!” I leaned back against the red Naugahyde. I had spoken long enough.
The skipper refreshed our coffees from the thermos pot and sat silently, sipping his coffee while thinking. Finally, he leaned forward and looked earnestly at me. “I can’t find a flaw in your argument. I presume you’ve worked out a counter for this.”
“Sort of, Sir. You bring Teuthis close enough so the Basketball can examine Vega’s underside. What we do depends on what we see.” I paused, thinking about it. “Worst case, Vega has deployed both the sonar and a torpedo. If whatever the signal triggers doesn’t work, she launches the torpedo. If Lyre blows herself up, or whatever she’s supposed to do, Vega retracts the torpedo and reports a successful mission to Moscow.” I shrugged. “Otherwise, she launches the torpedo to do the job.”
The skipper stood up, and I joined him. “First things first. Let’s check Vega out.”
“Skipper, ever since I thought my way through this, my guys have been scouring Lyre for any explosives. The only thing we found, and I mean the only thing, is a double rack of torpedoes in the forward room. We have disconnected every wire, fitting plug—anything at all that could possibly lead to a detonation. Right now, you couldn’t fire a torpedo from Lyre if your life depended on it.” I took a deep breath. “I am confident that if the signal is designed to trigger an explosion on Lyre, it is now ineffective.”
As it turned out, I was right…but only partly so.
The skipper called Barry and Franklin in conference mode. “Barry, assume Waverly’s watch and bring Teuthis beneath Vega with sufficient clearance so Franklin can scan the bottom with the Basketball. Franklin, you be ready to get me a clean picture of Vega’s underside. Do not allow us to be detected!”
Then he called the XO and Waverly to his cabin. The skipper retained his desk chair, Waverly joined me on the couch, and the XO took the lounge chair. The skipper looked at me.
“Take them through what we just discussed, Mac.”
I walked them through the argument, step-by-step. When I finished, they greeted me with quiet astonishment.
“You’re certain Lyre is clean?” Waverly asked.
“Absolutely!”
We sat quietly while Cmdr. Roken put his considerable intellect to the problem.
“If you are wrong, Mac,” he said slowly, “and I really hope you are, we fade away and carry on with our planned parade through New London Harbor. If you’re right, he will send the signal, it will fail, and he will go to Plan B. The big unknown is how long will the Vega captain wait before launching his torpedo?” He turned to Waverly. “What are your thoughts?”
“We know nothing about that fish. Don’t know how it’s armed, how it’s steered. We know that a torpedo can explode if triggered by another explosion or if subjected to a large electric charge.” He reached for the phone. “With your permission, Captain.”
The skipper nodded. Shortly, Chief Torpedoman Jasper Cedrik knocked on the cabin door.
“Tubes, can you rig a large capacitor that can deliver a delayed high-voltage charge to a torpedo suspended in the water?”
Cedrik looked at Waverly in astonishment as the phone warbled.
“Thank you,” the skipper said into the handset. He looked at us. “Barry reports Vega has an open moonpool with a suspended six-foot torpedo and a dipping sonar device. Vega is moving at bare steerageway.” He turned to Waverly. “Well?”
Waverly raised his eyebrows at Tubes, who stammered, “Y…yes, Sir, I got something that’ll work. I need to get with the ETs for the delay circuit.”
“How long?” Waverly asked.
“Half-hour…maybe a bit more.”
“See to it!” the skipper said as Tubes left the cabin.
“I need to return to Lyre…”
“You do,” the skipper interrupted.
“But I need to speak with Ham first…make sure the divers know what is at risk.”
Mystic launched in mid-column while Teuthis maintained station beneath Vega. I took Sergyi with me so I would have another Russian speaker. Since we were preparing to run on the surface into the Thames River, I had Bob set Mystic on the hatch aligned with Lyre’s axis.
“Do you and your crew want to hang out down here?” I asked.
Taggert told me that either he or Jim and one of the crew would remain in Mystic all the time—just in case, he said.
We settled down to wait out whatever sequence would take place.
On Teuthis, Waverly and Tubes handed Harry and Whitey a package half the size of a briefcase—about twelve inches square by three inches thick. One side was marked with a bright “X.” A stainless wire with a grip handle large enough to accommodate a diver’s gloved hand extended out one end.
Tubes addressed them. “Place the case with the ‘X’ against the torpedo with the wire unobstructed. Duct-tape the case around the torpedo about ten times. The number of turns isn’t critical. Just make sure it is snug as possible.”
“Then stand by,” Waverly said. “Do you both have ear protection?”
The divers nodded.
“Stand-by near the torpedo…we don’t know how long…until the sonar sends a ping. Then wait exactly two minutes, pull the handle, and hustle back to Teuthis. Try to get under her hull ASAP, and then get inside soonest.” He turned to Wally Dubbs. “Follow the divers back to Teuthis, but stow the Basketball right away.” He turned to Ham. “Let the OOD know the moment the divers are secure.”
We caught most of it on tape through the Basketball. Harry and Whitey mounted the case against the torpedo like they had been doing this all their lives. The worst part was the wait. They hung near the torpedo, keeping pace with the barely moving Vega, for a full hour and ten minutes. When the sonar finally pinged, they both slapped their hands to their ears. Two minutes later, Harry pulled the handle sharply, and they dropped like rocks to Teuthis a hundred feet below. Wally followed with the Basketball barely able to keep up with them.
Five seconds after Ham reported the divers secured, Barry dropped Teuthis to within a few feet of the bottom and ordered a few seconds of flank speed to get the hell out of there.
Five minutes later, the kludged delay circuit inside the waterproof case fired, releasing the megavolt charge across the massive capacitor, transferring the charge directly into the torpedo’s steel body. A microsecond later, the PBX warhead exploded, breaking Vega’s keel, sending her to the bottom.
On Lyre, Okean picked up the modulated ping from Vega. At first, nothing seemed to happen. After a couple of minutes, the Sozh display shifted to a larger scale. Spook had the watch, but I jumped in to monitor the Sozh more closely. I called Sergyi, Wyatt, and Matt to Control.
As they arrived, the Ritm machinery control console lit up, and the main screw started turning. Then Boxit, the course control system, went into action. Lyre lifted off the bottom and came to heading 180 degrees.
I got on the Secure Gertrude. “Teuthis, this is Lyre. We figured that modulated signal out. Something has taken control of Lyre’s systems. They are completely non-responsive to us. Lyre is picking up speed and driving straight toward the Continental Break, course one-eight-zero. We are doing everything we can to slow her down, drive her into the bottom—whatever it takes to stop her.
“I think she is headed to deep water where she will drop to crush depth. We will stop her if we can.”
Swordfish and Drum picked up my transmission and altered course to intersect Lyre. Without a DSRV to slow her down, Teuthis chased us at flank speed. When she caught up, she paced us a hundred yards off our starboard beam.
Wyatt and Matt were deep into the Russian manuals, looking for clues about how the control worked.
“Look,” Matt said, “Okean gets the enabling signal and sends it to Akkord right here on this line. From somewhere, Akkord conjures up a destination and sends signals to Boxit and Ritm. See…look!” He traced out the signal path with a finger.
I jumped in. “Guys, we got six hours on our present course and speed. If you can find a way to slow us down, we gain more time to solve the problem.”
They both grunted.
In the Engine Room, Sergyi and Gilbert traced out power lines. Power to the electric motor was physically protected. They couldn’t access it without appropriate power tools, which they didn’t have.
“Gilbert,” Sergyi said. “why not disconnect the batteries?”
“Okay, you inform Mac, and I will do it.”
Sergyi came to tell me, and we both returned to the disconnect panel.
“Okay, Gil, throw the switch.”
Nothing happened.
“Their override seems to have cut the disconnect out of the circuit,” Gil said. “Shit!”
After three hours, we had made no progress.
Wyatt and Matt were frantic. “We’ve checked every circuit three times,” Wyatt said.
“Let’s take a different tack,” I suggested. “Wyatt, if you were going to design a system that could surreptitiously take over this nearly autonomous machine, how would you do it?”
Wyatt turned to Matt, and they began brainstorming this concept.
“I would hide it in plain sight,” Matt said.
Two hours left.
“How do you do plain sight without someone seeing it?” Wyatt asked in exasperation.
Matt pointed at an Akkord circuit board. “What’s on the other side?” he asked.
They pulled it out and turned it over.
“That circuit’s not on the schematic,” Wyatt said, excitement coloring his voice.
One hour left. The bottom was 500 feet below us and dropping.
“Look, Wyatt, another one, and another!”
“Mac, come here. Look…there is a complete set of hidden circuitry under all these boards.” I could feel Wyatt’s excitement.
I checked the depth. 1,000 feet and dropping. I looked at Wyatt. “What happens if you simply pull a board, turn it over, and plug it back in?” I asked.
Matt looked at me in astonishment. “Hide it in plain sight…It’ll run that circuit.”
“Everybody…to control!” I shouted.
They were there in five seconds. I glanced at the depth. 2,500 feet!
“Here’s the deal,” I said, pulling and flipping boards as I talked. “Mystic’s test depth is five thousand feet. We’re getting there fast. I want everyone inside Mystic except me and Sergyi. We’re gonna flip boards until the last minute…”
“I’m staying with you, Boss,” Bert said. “You need a couple more hands.”
Others started to protest that they wanted to stay, too.
“Stop it, people! We don’t have time for this. Get your butts into Mystic NOW—That’s an order!” I turned to Taggert. “Lieutenant Taggert, when your depth indicates five thousand feet, you break your seal and move away.”
“But…but…” he stammered.
“That’s an order, Bob. Just do it!”
4,000 feet!
Sergyi flipped a board at the bottom of the Akkord console. The display commenced oscillating between the imposed setting and those we had set before all this started. Quickly, we flipped the remaining boards along the console bottom.
5,000 feet—slowing the descent! Mystic broke seal and pulled away.
I reached for the depth control knob and cranked in 4,000 feet. Lyre assumed a ten-degree up angle but still dropped.
5,500 feet—still slowing the descent—only dropping half as fast!
I tried the rudder control. The rudder responded. I tried the speed control and cranked it up to fifteen knots. Lyre responded, sucking power from the batteries.
6,000 feet—holding, almost!
I came to my feet, and Sergyi threw his arms around me in a bear hug. Draped against the Akkord console, Bert grinned at me.
“What the fuck!” I said. “I thought I told you to get your ass on Mystic.”
“I must not have heard you, Boss,” he said quietly.
5,500 feet—rising.
“Looks like we got damn control back,” Sergyi said.
“You want to drive her?” I asked Sergyi.
“You bet, Boss.”
“Make your depth two hundred feet, speed seven-point-five knots.”
At 1,000 feet, we picked up a Secure Gertrude call from Teuthis.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis.”
“Roger, Teuthis, we hear you.”
“What is your status?” I recognized Franklin’s voice.
“We are okay, coming to two hundred feet. Mystic is independent with most of the crew. Recommend you take her aboard Teuthis until we figure out what to do next.”
“Are you certain?” It was the skipper. “We don’t need any more heroics.”
“Yes, Sir. We have sufficient power to reach the two-hundred-foot curve on course zero-one-six. We can bottom there, recharge the batteries, and check out any damage to the false sail. We were doing ten knots for longer than I would have wished.”
“Roger. We will watch your six until we arrive at the two-hundred-foot curve.”
The transit took eight hours. The three of us remained in Control the entire time—just in case something else went wrong. Sergyi put us on the bottom at 195 feet with two percent of batteries remaining.
A half-hour later, Teuthis slipped up to our starboard side, and Mystic made a seal to our after-hatch. My entire crew came with her. After the hugs and back-slapping, I sent Sergyi and Bert back to Teuthis to get cleaned up and have a meal.
Outside, the divers hooked up the charge and then inspected every inch of our false sail. To everyone’s surprise, it had withstood the harrowing journey at least as well as those of us inside the Alfa. All the divers did was to cinch up the belly straps again. The divers played with Borysko, who had finally accepted the new 4 x 4 when his old one broke in two.
For most of this, I pulled away from the others. I didn’t need any more praise. It was my job to anticipate the take-over possibility and prepare for it. I fingered Kate’s ivory cylinder, wondering how she would have reacted to learning that I had perished at sea.
One more thing. While Sergyi, Bert, and I were fighting for our lives, as Lyre plunged toward the abyssal deep, Borysko tried to keep up with us, as reported by Bob Taggert from Mystic. According to my sources, Orcas generally remain shallower than 1,000 feet. I think Borysko knew we were in trouble and tried to help. Mystic picked him up at nearly 4,000 feet. Bob said he ended up staying on the surface for several hours following that deep dive. I suspect his massive body was warding off mild decompression sickness.
Bert returned to relieve me so I could freshen up. I expected to see Kate soon and wanted to look my best. My circadian cycle was all screwed up. It was 0930, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I figured Kate would get my rhythms straightened out.
THE LYRE—ELECTRIC BOAT
For a final time, the 1MC blared “Surface! Surface! Surface!” followed by the Klaxon’s three long Aoogahs! I did not hear it because I was aboard Lyre. We simply surfaced and trimmed ourselves to sit low in the water. I was on the Bridge with Bert. Sam and Rusty posed as lookouts on the port and starboard fairwater planes. It was 1400 hours on a bright, sunny winter afternoon outside the channel buoys. Frisco took the lead. We followed 300 yards back, with Mystic sitting proudly on our after-deck. Teuthis was last, behind us by 300 yards. To any observer, we were obviously three nuclear submarines returning to port after DSRV exercises at sea.
The temperature was in the low forties with a slight easterly breeze. Driving Lyre from the Bridge was child’s play. The bridge box was only superficially similar to ours, but I had direct control over everything with appropriate switches and knobs. In the water alongside us, and sometimes ahead or behind, Borysko cruised easily, fully recovered from his deep dive experience. He carried his 4 x 4 like a cigar stump sticking out of his mouth.
We passed the channel buoys and somewhat later Race Rock. Frisco refused the Pilot. So did we and Teuthis. A Navy tug accompanied Frisco upriver to her berth. Two Navy tugs met us. Spook and Wyatt handled the lines down on our foredeck, snugging the tugs against our port and starboard bow. Teuthis lowered her outboards but had a tug stand off her port bow as a precaution.
