Panic Switch полностью

Pacino watched from behind the shorter man, and as the last line was tossed over from the pier, he reached under the bridge cockpit ledge forward and found the ship’s air horn lever and pulled it aft. A blasting roar came from the horn, the earsplitting noise sounding like the Queen Mary was leaving the pier. Pacino held it for a full eight seconds, the horn notifying all in the river basin that the submarine was getting underway.

“Lookout, shift colors!” Cooper yelled up to the flying bridge. The lookout quickly pulled on the lanyard, and the American flag came up on the mast behind the captain, the flag underneath it the banner of the force, a snarling Jolly Roger skull-and-crossbones on a black field, gothic script stating, “U.S. Submarine Force.”

Pacino lifted the VHF to his lips and hit the transmit button. “Navy tug Massapequa II, take us to center of channel.” The engines of the tug roared as the tug put on ahead turns and maneuvered them to the center of the river. Pacino took a quick look up-river, but the Thames was empty, and there were no vessels down-river either. He looked at Cooper. “Put on ahead one third with a right rudder.”

“Pilot, Bridge,” Cooper said into the 7MC, “all ahead one third, right full rudder.”

“All ahead one third, Bridge, Pilot, aye, right full rudder, and my rudder is right full and Maneuvering answers, all ahead one third.”

“Bridge, Navigator,” Lewinsky’s baritone voice boomed from the 7MC, hold us fifty yards left of center of channel, recommend course one seven five.”

“Pilot, Bridge,” Cooper said, “come to course one seven five.”

“Bridge, Pilot, come to one seven five, aye. Steering course one seven five.”

“Pilot, Bridge, aye,” Cooper acknowledged. He looked at Pacino. “All good?”

“You’re doing a hell of a job,” Pacino said, putting the binoculars to his eyes again and scanning down river. The seaway was still empty.

“Bridge, Navigator,” Lewinsky said over the bridge box speaker, “turn point at Point Alpha is in one thousand yards, new course one three five.”

The submarine and the tug moved slowly down the river, the scenery of the lush Connecticut coastline sliding by, opulent houses lining the river on either side of the nearly mile-wide channel. Eventually the New London Ledge Lighthouse grew large ahead of them and the shorelines to port and starboard were behind them. They’d emerged into the Sound.

“Bridge, Navigator, mark the turn at Point Alpha, new course one three five.”

“Pilot, Bridge,” Cooper called into the 7MC mike, “left full rudder, steady course one three five.”

Dankleff acknowledged. Pacino elbowed Cooper. “Look down channel as we go into and come out of the turn,” he ordered. Cooper looked with his naked eyes, then lifted his binoculars.

“Channel is clear,” he said.

The harbor pilot shook Seagraves hand, climbed down into the cockpit, excused himself, and vanished down into the vertical trunk to the upper level. Pacino leaned over the starboard side of the sail and saw the harbor pilot walk forward toward the tug. Two of the tug’s sailors helped him get back aboard the tug.

Pacino nodded to Cooper.

“Captain, request to shove off the tug,” Cooper called up to Seagraves.

“Shove off the tug,” Seagraves ordered, his face covered by binoculars as he scanned down the channel.

“Tug Massapequa II, when able, shove off,” Cooper said into the radio.

“Roger, Navy Submarine. Fair winds, following seas,” the VHF speaker squawked.

The deck crew tossed over the tug’s lines and the tug’s engines roared as she veered off to the right, circling behind them to return to Groton.

“Tell the navigator,” Pacino ordered.

“Navigator, Bridge, the tug has shoved off.”

“Bridge, Navigator, aye.”

“Once the deck is rigged for dive,” Pacino said to Cooper. “Increase speed to full.”

“Bridge, Pilot,” Dankleff called. “Deck is rigged for dive by Chief McGuire, checked by Ensign Cooper.”

“Pilot, Bridge, all ahead full.”

As the ship sped up, the water climbed up over the nosecone at the bow and splashed up to the leading edge of the sail, breaking on either side and foaming back up over the aft part of the deck. The flags snapped in the wind aft. Pacino smiled to himself. The sounds and sensations of getting a submarine underway always gave him an odd sense of happiness.

“Mr. Cooper, secure the maneuvering watch and station the normal surfaced watch,” Seagraves ordered as he climbed down from the flying bridge. “When you can, disassemble the flying bridge.” He vanished into the bridge access trunk.

Lewinsky guided the ship through two more turns as Fishers Island faded astern, the new course 090 until Block Island was behind them. At Point Charlie, the navigator had them turn to east-southeast to skirt Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket.

“Bridge, Contact Coordinator,” River Styxx’s voice came smoothly over the 7MC. “New visual contact, Victor One, bearing one one two, range two thousand yards by radar. Contact bearing rate is right. Sonar reports contact is shut down and drifting.”