USS REUBEN JAMES

Morris watched the sonar plot. The sonobuoy contact had faded off after a few minutes. A school of herring, perhaps. The ocean waters abounded with fish, and enough of them on active sonar looked like a sub. His own sonar was virtually useless as his ship struggled just to keep up with the 'phibs. A possible submarine to seaward-every sub contact was a possible cruise-missile sub-was all the Commodore needed to go to full speed.

O'Malley was dipping his sonar now, trying to reacquire the lost contact. He was the only one who could keep up with things.

"Romeo, this is Bravo. Be advised we are prosecuting a possible missile carrying submarine." Doug Perrin had to assume the worst case.

"Roger that, Bravo." According to the data-link picture, three helicopters were backing Battleaxe up, and the British frigate had interposed herself on the line from the contact to the amphibious ships. Be careful, Doug.

"Contact!" Willy said. "I have an active sonar contact bearing three-zero-three, range two three hundred."

O'Malley didn't have to look at his tactical display. The submarine was between him and the 'phibs.

"Up dome!" The pilot hovered while the sonar transducer was winched in. The contact was alerted now. That made it harder. "Romeo, Hammer, we have a possible contact here."

"Roger, understood." Morris was looking at the display. He ordered the frigate to close at flank speed. Not a smart tactic, he had no choice but to pounce on the contact before it got within range of the 'phibs. "Signal Nassau we're working a possible contact."

"Down dome!" O'Malley ordered. "Drop it to four hundred and hammer!"

Willy activated the sonar as soon as the proper depth was reached. He got a screenful of echoes. The transducer was so close to the rocky bottom that nearly twenty rocky spires showed up. A swiftly running tide didn't help matters. Flow noise around the rocks gave numerous false readings on the passive plot also.

"Sir, I got a whole lot of nothing here."

"I can feel him, Willy. The last time we pinged, I bet we had him at periscope depth and he ducked down deep while we came over."

"That fast?" Ralston asked.

"'That fast."

"Skipper, one of these things might be moving a little."

O'Malley keyed his radio and got permission to launch from Morris. Ralston set the torpedo for circular search, and the pilot dropped it into he sea. The pilot keyed the sonar into his headphones. He heard the whine of the torpedo's propellers, then the high-frequency ping of its homing sonar. It continued to circle for five minutes, then switched over to continuous pinging-and exploded.

"Explosion sounded funny, sir," Willy said.

"Hammer, Romeo-report."

"Romeo, Hammer, I think we just killed a rock." O'Malley paused.

"Romeo, there's a sub here, but I can't prove it just yet."

"What makes you think that, Hammer?"

"Because it's one damned fine place to hide, Romeo."

"Concur." Morris had learned to trust O'Malley's hunches. He called up the amphibious commander on Nassau. "November, this is Romeo, we have a possible contact. Recommend you maneuver north while we prosecute."

"Negative, Romeo," the Commodore replied at once. "India is working a probable, repeat probable contact that's acting like a missile boat.

We're heading for our objective at max speed. Get him for us, Romeo."

"Roger. Out." Morris set the phone back in place. He looked at his tactical action officer. "Continue to close the datum point."

"Isn't this dangerous, rushing after a submarine contact?" Calloway asked. "Don't you have your helicopter to keep them at arm's length?"

"You're learning, Mr. Calloway. It's dangerous, all right. I think they mentioned that the job could get that way when I was at Annapolis... "

Both her jet turbines were running flat-out, and the frigate's knife-edge bow sliced through the water at over thirty knots. The torque from her single screw gave the ship a four-degree list to port as she raced to close the submarine.

"This is getting nasty." O'Malley could see the frigate's mast clearly now, the distinctive crosstrees well above the horizon as he covered fifty feet over the water. "Talk to me, Willy!"

"Lots of bottom echoes, sir. The bottom must look like a city, all these damned things sticking up. We got eddies-we got too many things here, sir. Sonar conditions suck!"

"Go passive." The pilot reached up and flipped the switch to listen in.

Willy was right. Too much flow noise. Think! he told himself The pilot looked at his tactical display. The amphibs were a scant ten miles away. He couldn't hear them on his sonar, but there was about a 30-percent chance that a submarine could. If we had him at antenna depth before, he probably has a fair idea where they are... but not good enough to shoot.

"Romeo, Hammer, can you warn the 'phibs off? Over."

"Negative, Hammer. They are running away from a probable contact to seaward."

"Great!" O'Malley growled over the intercom. "Prepare to raise dome, Willy." A minute later they were heading west.

"This sub-driver's got real balls," the pilot said. "He's got brains, too O'Malley keyed his radio.

"Romeo, Hammer, put November's course track on your tactical display and transmit to my gadget."

It took a minute. O'Malley blessed the unknown engineer who'd built this feature into the Seahawk's tactical computer. The pilot drew an imaginary line from their only contact on the sub and Nassau's projected course. Figure the sub is going at twenty- to twenty-five knots... The pilot reached down and stabbed his finger on the glass tube.

"That's where the bastard is!"

"How do you know?" Ralston asked. O'Malley already had the Seahawk heading that way.

"'Cause if I was him, that's where I'd be! Willy, next time we dip, keep the dome at exactly one hundred feet. Tell you one other thing, Mr. Ralston-this guy thinks he's beat us." Nobody beats the Hammer! O'Malley circled over the spot he'd selected and brought the Seahawk into hover.

"Down dome, Willy. Passive search only."

"One hundred feet, listening, skipper." Seconds stretched out into minutes while the pilot worked his controls to keep the helicopter stationary. "Possible contact bearing one-six-two."

"Go active?" Ralston asked.

"Not yet."

"Bearing is changing slowly, now one-five-nine."

"Romeo, Hammer, we have a possible submarine contact." The helicopter's onboard computer transmitted the data to Reuben James. Morris altered course to bear down on the contact. O'Malley raised his sonar dome and deployed a sonobuoy to mark the position and hold the contact while he moved to another position. The frigate was now four miles from the helicopter.

"Down dome!" Another minute's wait.

"Contact, bearing one-nine-seven. Buoy six shows contact bearing one-four-two."

"Gotcha, sucker! Up dome, let's go get him!"

Ralston worked the attack system as O'Malley moved south to get right behind the target. He set their last torpedo for a search depth of two hundred feet, and a snake course.

"Down dome!"

"Contact, bearing two-nine-eight."

"Hammer!"

Willy punched the active sonar button. "Positive contact, bearing two-nine-eight, range six hundred."

"Set!" Ralston said immediately, and the pilot jammed his thumb on the red release button. The burnished green torpedo dropped into the water.

And nothing happened.

"Skipper, the torp didn't activate-dead torp, sir."

There wasn't time to curse. "Romeo, Hammer, we just dropped on a positive contact-bad torpedo, negative function on the torp."

Morris clenched his fist on the radiotelephone receiver. He gave course and rudder orders. "Hammer, Romeo, can you continue to track the target?"