Two minutes later, the sonar transducer went into the water for a sixth time. The contact was now plotted on the helicopter's on-board tactical display that sat on the control panel between pilot and copilot.
"We got two signals here," Ralston said. "About six hundred yards apart."
"Looks that way to me. Let's go see the near one. Willy--''
"Cable within limits, ready to raise, skipper."
"Up dome. Romeo, Hammer. You got what we got?"
"Affirmative, Hammer," Morris answered. "Check out the southern one."
"Doing that right now. Stand by." O'Malley paid close attention to his instruments as he flew toward the nearer of the two contacts. Again he halted the aircraft. "Down dome."
"Contact!" the petty officer said a minute later. He examined the tone lines on his display and mentally compared them with data he had on Soviet submarines. "Evaluate this contact as steam and plant noises from a nuclear submarine, bearing two-six-two."
O'Malley listened for thirty seconds. His face broke into a slight smile. "That's a nuc boat all right! Romeo, Hammer, we have a probable submarine contact bearing two-six-two our position. Moving to firm that fix up right now."
Ten minutes later they had the contact locked in. O'Malley made directly for it and lowered his sonar right on top of the contact.
"It's a Victor-class", the sonarman aboard the frigate said. "See this frequency line? A Victor with his reactor plant turned down to minimum power output."
"Hammer," Morris called. "Romeo. Any suggestions?"
O'Malley was flying away from the contact, having left a smoke float to mark it. The submarine probably hadn't heard them because of the surface conditions, or if he had, he knew his safest bet was to sit on the bottom. The Americans carried only homing torpedoes, which couldn't detect a submarine on the bottom. Once launched, they'd either motor along in a circle until running out of fuel or drive straight into the bottom. He could go active and try to flush the submarine off the bottom, he thought, but active sonar wasn't all that effective in shallow water, and what if Ivan didn't move? The Seahawk was down to one hour's fuel. The pilot made his decision.
"Battleaxe, this is Hammer. Do you read, over?"
"Took your time to call us, Hammer", Captain Perrin replied at once. The British frigate was monitoring the search closely.
"You have any Mark-11s aboard?"
"We can load them in ten minutes."
"We'll be waiting. Romeo, do you approve a VECTAC?"
"Affirmative" Morris answered. The vectored attack approach was perfect, and he was too excited at what they had here to be annoyed at O'Malley for bypassing him. "Weapons free."
O'Malley circled his aircraft at one thousand feet while he waited. This was really crazy. Was Ivan just sitting there? Was he waiting for a convoy to pass by? It was about an even-money chance that he'd heard the helicopter. If he'd heard the helo, did he want the frigate to come in so he could attack her? His systems operator watched the sonar display intently for any change in the signal from the contact. So far there'd been none. No increase in engine power, no mechanical transients. Nothing at all but the hissing of a reactor plant at fractional power, a sound undetectable from more than two miles off. No wonder several people had looked and found nothing. He found himself admiring the nerve of the Soviet submarine commander.
"Hammer, this is Hatchet."
O'Malley smiled to himself. Unlike American procedures, the Brits assigned helicopter names associated with that of their mother ships. HMS Brazen's helo was "Hussy." Battleaxe's was "Hatchet."
"Roger, Hatchet. Where are you?"
"Ten miles south of you. We've two depth charges aboard."
O'Malley switched his flying lights back on. "Very well, stand by. Romeo, the way I want to work this, you give Hatchet a radar steer to our sonobuoy and we'll use our sonar for the cross-bearing to drop. Do you concur, over?"
"Roger, concur," Morris answered.
"Arm the fish," O'Malley told his copilot.
"Why?"
"If the charges miss, you can bet he'll come off the bottom like a salmon at spawning time." O'Malley brought his helo around and spotted the blinking anticollision lights of the British Lynx helicopter. "Hatchet, tallyho, I have you now at my nine o'clock. Please hold your current position while we get set. Willy, any change in the contact?"
"No, sir. This dude's playing it awful cool, sir."
You poor brave bastard, O'Malley thought to himself. The smoke float atop the contact was about burned out. He dropped another. After rechecking his tactical display he moved to a position one thousand yards east of the contact, hovered fifty feet above the surface and deployed the dipping sonar.
"There he is," the petty officer reported. "Bearing two-six-eight."
"Hatchet, Hammer. We're ready for your VECTAC. Take your steer from Romeo."
