tc.redstormrising-第39部分

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w　the　total　is　ten。　That　gives　them　awfully　good　ELINT　coverage。　If　we　make　electronic　noise；　they'll　hear　it。〃
〃And　not　a　Goddamned　thing　we　can　do　about　them。〃
〃Not　for　a　while；　sir；〃　Toland　agreed。　〃The　Air　Force　has　its　antisatellite　missiles；　six　or　seven　as　I　recall；　but　they've　only　been　tested　once　against　a　real　satellite；　and　there's　been　a　moratorium　on　the　ASAT　tests　since　last　year。　The　Air　Force　can　probably　dust　them　off　and　try　to　reactivate　the　program；　but　that'll　take　a　few　weeks。　Their　first　priority　is　the　radar　satellites；〃　Toland　concluded　hopefully。
〃Okay；　our　orders　are　to　rendezvous　with　Saratoga　at　the　Azores　and　escort　our　Marine　Amphibious　Unit　to　Iceland。　I　suppose　the　Russians　will　watch　us　all　the　way　up！　Hopefully　by　the　time　we　get　there；　the　Icelandic　government　will　allow　us　to　land　them。　I　just　learned　that　their　government　can't　decide　if　this　crisis　is　real　or　not。　God；　I　wonder　if　NATO　will　hold　together？〃
〃Supposedly　we　have　proof　that　it's　all　a　put…up　job；　but　we　don't　need　to　know　what　that　evidence　is。　The　problem　is　that　a　lot　of　countries　are　buying　this　charade；　at　least　publicly。〃
〃Yeah；　I　love　that。　I　want　you　to　refine　your　estimate　of　the　threat　from　Soviet　subs　and　aircraft　on　a　continuous　basis。　I　want　information　about　the　smallest　change　in　what　they　have　at　sea　the　moment　you　get　it。〃

15　…　The　Bastion　Gambit

USS　CHICAGO
〃What's　the　sounding？〃　McCafferty　asked　quietly。
〃Fifty　feet　under　the　keel；〃　the　navigator　answered　at　once。　〃We're　still　well　outside　Russian　territorial　waters；　but　we　start　approaching　real　shoals　in　twenty　miles；　skipper。〃　It　was　the　eighth　time　in　half　an　hour　that　he　had　mented　on　what　lay　ahead。
McCafferty　nodded；　not　wanting　to　speak；　not　wanting　to　make　any　unnecessary　sound　at　all。　The　tension　hung　in　the　attack　center　of　the　Chicago　like　the　cigarette　smoke　that　the　ventilators　would　not　entirely　remove。　Looking　around；　he　caught　his　crewmen　furtively　disclosing　their　states　of　mind　with　a　raised　eyebrow　or　a　slightly　shaken　head。
The　navigator　was　the　most　nervous　of　all。　There　were　all　sorts　of　good　reasons　not　to　be　here。　Chicago　might　or　might　not　have　been　in　Soviet　territorial　water；　itself　a　legal　question　of　no　small　plexity。　To　the　northeast　was　Cape　Kanin；　to　the　northwest；　Cape　Svyatoy。　The　Soviets　claimed　the　entire　region　as　an　〃historic　bay；〃　while　the　United　States　chose　to　recognize　the　international　twenty…four…mile　closure　rule。　Everyone　aboard　knew　that　the　Russians　were　more　likely　to　shoot　today　than　request　a　decision　under　the　International　Law　of　the　Sea　Convention。　Would　the　Russians　find　them？
They　were　in　a　bare　thirty　fathoms　of　water…and；　like　the　great　pelagic　sharks；　nuclear　attack　submarines　are　creatures　of　the　deep；　not　the　shallows。　The　tactical　plot　showed　bearings　to　three　Soviet　patrol　craft；　two　Grisha…class　frigates　and　a　Poti…class　corvette；　all　specialized　antisubmarine　ships。　All　were　miles　away；　but　they　were　still　a　very　real　threat。
The　only　good　news　was　a　storm　overhead。　The　twenty…knot　surface　wind　and　sheets　of　falling　rain　made　noise　that　interfered　with　sonar　performance…but　that　included　their　own　sonar；　and　sonar　was　their　only　safe　means　for　getting　information。
Then　there　were　the　imponderables。　What　sensing　devices　did　the　Soviets　have　in　these　waters？　Might　the　water　be　clear　enough　that　a　circling　helicopter　or　ASW　aircraft　could　see　them？　Might　there　be　a　Tango…class　diesel　boat　out　there；　moving　slowly　on　her　quiet；　battery…powered　electric　motors？　The　only　way　they'd　learn　the　answer　to　any　of　those　questions　was　the　metallic　whine　of　a　torpedo's　high…speed　propellers　or　the　simple　explosion　of　a　falling　depth…bomb。　McCafferty　considered　all　these　things；　and　weighed　the　dangers　against　the　priority　of　his　Flash　directive　from　SUBLANT：
Determine　at　once　the　operating　areas　of　REDFLT　SSBNs。
That　sort　of　language　gave　him　little　leeway。
〃How　tight　is　the　inertial　fix？〃　McCafferty　asked　as　casually　as　he　could。
〃Plus　or　minus　two　hundred　yards。〃　The　navigator　didn't　even　look　up。
The　captain　grunted；　knowing　what　the　navigator　was　thinking。　They　should　have　gotten　a　NAVSTAR　satellite　fix　a　few　hours　ago；　but　the　risk　of　detection　was　too　high　in　an　area　crawling　with　Soviet　surface　craft。　Two　hundred　yards；　plus　or　minus；　was　fine　accuracy　by　any　rational　standard…but　not　while　submerged　in　shallow　water　off　a　hostile　coast。　How　accurate　were　his　charts？　Were　there　unmarked　wrecks　out　there？　Even　if　his　navigational　data　were　pletely　accurate；　quarters　would　be　so　tight　in　another　few　miles　that　a　goof　of　two　hundred　yards　could　ground　them；　damaging　the　submarine　。　。　。　and　making　noise。　The　captain　shrugged　to　himself。　The　Chicago　was　the　best　platform　in　the　world　for　this　mission。　He'd　done　this　sort　of　thing　before；　and　he　couldn't　worry　about　everything　at　the　same　time。　McCafferty　took　a　few　steps　forward　and　leaned　into　the　sonar　partment。
〃How's　our　friend　doing？〃
〃Continuing　as　before；　skipper。　No　changes　at　all　in　the　target's　radiated　noise　level。　Just　toolin'　right　along　at　fifteen　knots；　dead　ahead；　no　more　than　two　thousand　yards　off。　Pleasure　cruise；　like；〃　the　sonar　chief　concluded　with　no　small　irony。
Pleasure　cruise。　The　Soviets　were　sortieing　their　ballistic　missile　submarines　at　intervals　of　one　sub　every　four　hours。　Already　a　majority　of　them　were　at　sea。　They　had　never　done　that　before。　And　all　seemed　to　be　heading　east…not　north　and　northeast　as　they　usually　did　to　cruise　in　the　Barents　or　Kara　seas；　or　most　recently　under　the　arctic　ice　cap　itself。　SACLANT　had　learned　that　piece　of　information　from　Norwegian　P…3　aircraft　patrolling　Checkpoint　Charlie；　the　spot　fifty　miles　offshore　where　Soviet　submarines　always　submerged。　Chicago；　the　nearest　sub　to　the　area；　had　been　sent　to　investigate。
They'd　soon　detected　and　gotten　into　trail　position　behind　a　Delta…III；　a　modem　Soviet　〃boomer；〃　as　missile　subs　were　known。　Trailing　her；　they'd　stayed　within　the　hundred…fathom　curve　the　whole　way　。　。　。　until　the　target　had　turned　southeast　into　shallow　water　toward　Mys　Svyatoy　Nos；　which　led　to　the　entrance　to　the　White　Sea…all　of　which　was　Soviet　territorial　water。
How　far　did　they　dare　follow？　And　what　was　going　on？　McCafferty　returned　to　control　and　went　to　the　periscope　pedestal。
〃Look　around；〃　he　said。　〃Up　scope。〃　A　petty　officer　turned　the　hydraulic　ring　control　and　the　portside　search　periscope　slid　upward　from　its　well。　〃Hold！〃　McCafferty　stooped　at　the　conning　station；　catching　the　instrument　as　the　quartermaster　stopped　it　below　the　surface。　From　a　position　that　was　murderously　unfortable；　the　skipper　duck…walked　the　scope　in　a　full　circle。　On　the　forward　bulkhead　was　a　television　monitor　which　worked　off　a　camera　built　into　the　scope。　It　was　watched　by　the　executive　officer　and　a　senior　petty　officer。
〃No　shadows；〃　McCafferty　said。　Nothing　to　make　him　suspect　that　something　was　there。
〃Concur；　skipper；〃　the　XO　agreed。
〃Check　with　sonar。〃
Forward；　the　sonar　watch　listened　carefully。　Circling　aircraft　made　noise；　and　there　was　about　an　even　chance　that　they'd　heard　it。　But　now　they　heard　nothing…which　didn't　mean　that　nothing　was　there；　like　maybe　a　high…flying　chopper　or　another　Grisha　laying　to；　her　diesels　shut　down　as　she　drifted；　listening　for　someone　like　Chicago。
〃Sonar　says　they　don't　have　anything；　skipper；〃　the　XO　reported。
〃Two　more　feet；〃　McCafferty　ordered。
The　quartermaster　worked　the　lever　again；　bringing　the　periscope　up　by　twenty…three　inches；　just　barely　out　of　the　water　in　the　troughs　of　the　waves。
〃Skipper！〃　It　was　the　senior　ESM　technician。　The　highest　item　on　Chicago's　periscope　was　a　miniature　antenna　array　which　fed　signals　to　a　broadband　receiver。　The　instant　it　projected　above　the　surface；　three　lights　flickered　on　the　ESM　tactical　warning　board。　〃I　read　three…five；　maybe　six　India…band　search　radars。　Signature　characteristics　say　ship　and　land…based　search　radars；　sir；　not；　repeat　not；　aircraft　sets。　Nothing　in　the　Juliet…band。〃　The　technician　started　reading　off　the　bearings。
McCafferty　allowed　himself　to　relax。　There　was　no　way　a　radar　could　detect　so　small　a　target　as　his　periscope　in　these　waves。　He　turned