Toland stood in the Combat Information Center, watching the displays. Submarines concerned him the most. Eight allied subs were in the Denmark Strait, west of Iceland, forming a barrier that few submarines would be able to pass. They were supported by Navy Orions operating out of Sondrestrom, Greenland, something impossible until the Russian fighters at Keflavik had been whittled down. That closed off one possible avenue of access to Strike Fleet Atlantic. More submarines formed a line parallel to the fleet's line of advance, and those were supported by the carrier-borne S-3A Vikings that operated continuously off the flight decks.
The Pentagon had leaked to the press that this Marine division was enroute to Germany, where the battle hung in the balance. In fact, the tight formation of amphibs was twenty miles from his carrier on a course of zero-three-nine, four hundred miles from its real objective.
"We're not heading north any longer," Calloway said. Dinner was being served in the wardroom. The officers were plowing through the last fresh lettuce aboard.
"I believe you're right," O'Malley agreed. "I think we're heading west now."
"You might as well tell me what the devil we're up to. I've been shut off from your satellite transmitters."
"We're screening the Nimitz battle group, except that when you're motoring along at twenty-five knots, it's not all that easy." O'Malley didn't like this. They were running a risk. It was part of war, but the pilot didn't like any part of war. Especially risks. They pay me to do it, not to like it
"The escort is mostly British, isn't it?"
"Yeah, so?"
"That's a story I can use to tell the people at home how important-"
"Look, Mr. Calloway, let's say you file your story, and it got published in the local papers. Then let's say a Soviet agent reads the story and passes it along to-"
"How would he do that? The government has undoubtedly put severe restrictions on all forms of communication."
"Ivan has lots of communications satellites, same as us. We have two satellite transmitters on this dinky little frigate. You've seen 'em. How expensive do they look? Think maybe you could have one in your backyard, inside a bush maybe? Besides, the whole group is blacked out. Total EMCON. Nobody is transmitting anything at the moment."
Morris arrived and took his seat at the head of the table.
"Captain, where are we going?" Calloway asked.
"I just found out. Sorry I can't tell you. Battleaxe and we will continue to work together for a while as stem guard for the Nimitz group. We are now designated 'Mike Force.'"
"We getting any more help?" O'Malley asked.
"Bunker Hill is heading this way. She had to reload her magazines and join up with HMS Illustrious. They'll operate in close when they catch up. We're going to outside picket again. We start doing real ASW work in another four hours. Still going to be a bastard trying to keep up with the carrier, though."
There were three contacts. All arrived within ten minutes. Two were ahead of Chicago, left and right of her bow. The third was on her port beam. Somehow, McCafferty realized, the Russians knew of the submarines they had killed. Probably some sort of radio buoy, he was sure. That meant all that his tactical successes had really accomplished was to draw more dangers in on the trio of American submarines.
"Conn, sonar. We have some sonobuoy signals at two-six-six. Count three buoys-four, make it four."
More Bears? McCafferty wondered. A cooperative hunt?
"Skipper, you better come forward," the sonar chief called.
"What's happening?" The waterfall display screen was suddenly crowded.
"Sir, we have three lines on sonobuoys forming up right now. Gotta be at least three aircraft up there. This one's fairly close, looks like it'll extend aft of us, maybe right on our friends."
McCafferty watched the new signal lines appear at the rate of one per minute. Each was a Russian sonobuoy, and the line marched east as two others grew on different azimuths.
"They're trying to box us in, Chief."
"Looks that way, sir."
Every time we destroyed a Russian ship we gave them a location reference. They've confirmed our course and speed of advance many times over. McCafferty had gotten his submarine back to the Svyataya Anna Trough. His path to the icepack was a hundred miles wide and three hundred fathoms deep. But how many Russian subs were there? The sonar crew continued to call off bearings to the submarine contacts while the captain watched the buoy lines extend.
"I think this is Providence, sir. She just increased speed-yeah, look at the noise now, she's really increased speed. This buoy must be right near her. Still can't find Boston, though."
