Control of the British helicopter's course came now from Reuben James's radar, which steered it onto a precise northerly course. O'Malley watched the Lynx approach, checking to make sure the wind wasn't driving him off his own position.
"You will drop your charges one at a time, on my mark. Stand by, Hatchet."
"Standing by." The British pilot armed his depth charges and came forward at ninety knots. O'Malley lined up the blinking lights with the smoke float.
"Charge one-Mark-mark! Charge two-Mark-mark! Get clear!"
The Lynx pilot needed no encouragement. Scarcely had the second depth charge fallen free when the helo leaped upward and raced northeast. Simultaneously, O'Malley yanked up on his collective control to bring his delicate sonar transducer out of the water.
There was an odd flash of light from the bottom, then another. The surface of the sea turned to foam that leaped into the starry sky. O'Malley closed in and switched on his landing lights. The surface was churned with mud, and... oil? Just like in the movies, he thought, and dropped another sonobuoy into the water.
The bottom reverberated with the rumbles from the depth charges, but the system fiItered them out and locked in on the higher frequency sounds. They heard escaping air and rushing water. Someone aboard the submarine might have hit the ballast controls in a vain attempt to blow the submarine to the surface. Then there was something else, like water dropped on a hot plate. It was a moment before O'Malley had it figured out.
"What's that, skipper?" Willy asked over the intercom. "I never heard that before."
"The reactor vessel's ruptured. You're hearing a runaway nuclear reactor." God, what a mess that'll be this close into shore! he thought. No more diving on the Doria for a few years... O'Malley switched to the radio circuit. "Hatchet, this is Hammer. I copy collapse noises. We score that one as a kill. Do you claim the kill, over?"
"Our fox, Hammer. Thanks for the steer in."
O'Malley laughed. "Roger that, Hatchet. If you want the kill, you also get to file the environmental-impact statement. Out."
Aboard the Lynx, pilot and copilot exchanged a look. "What the devil is that?"
The two helicopters returned in loose formation and made a pass over both the British and American frigates to celebrate their kill. It was the second for Battleaxe, and Reuben James would now paint half a submarine on the side of her pilothouse. The ships recovered their helicopters and turned west for New York.
Mikhail Sergetov embraced his son in the Russian way, with passion and kisses to welcome him back from the front. The Politburo member took his son's arm and led him to his chauffeured Zil for the drive into Moscow.
"You've been hurt, Vanya."
"I cut my hand on some glass." Ivan shrugged it off. His father offered him a small glass of vodka, which he took. "I haven't had a drink in two weeks."
"Oh?"
"The General does not permit it in his command post," Ivan explained.
"Is he as good an officer as I thought?"
"Perhaps a better one. I've seen him in command at the front. He is a truly gifted leader."
"Then why haven't we conquered Germany?"
Ivan Mikhailovich Sergetov had grown up while his father had climbed the Party ladder nearly to the top, and he had often seen him switch in a moment from affable host to abrasive Party apparatchik. This was the first time it had ever happened to him, however.
"NATO was far readier than we had been led to expect, father. They were waiting for us to come, and their first mission of the war-before we had even crossed the border in force-came as a rude shock." Ivan explained the effects of Operation Dreamland.
"We were not told it was that bad. Are you sure?"
"I've seen some of the bridges. Those same aircraft raided a dummy command post outside Stendal. The bombs were falling before we knew they were there. If their intelligence had been better, I might not be here."
"So it's their air power?"
"That's a major part of it. I've seen their ground-attack fighters cut through a tank column like a harvester through a wheatfield. It's horrible."
"But our missiles?"
