the control panel and switched off the signal processors so that he could get the sound without computerized interference. But it was no good. There was too much background noise. He switched the filters back on. Next he tried some changes in his azimuth controls. The SOSUS sensors were designed to give bearing checks through the selective use of individual receptors, which he could manipulate electronically, first getting one bearing, then using a neighboring gang to triangulate for a fix. The contact was very faint, but not too far from the line, he judged.
Franklin
queried his computer terminal. The USS Dallas was up there. Gotcha! he said with a thin smile. Another noise came through, a low-frequency rumble that only lasted a few seconds before fading out. Not all that quiet, though. Why hadn't he heard it before switching the reception azimuth? He set his pipe down and began making adjustments on his control board.
“Chief?” A voice came over his headphones. It was the senior duty officer.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Can you come back to control? I have something I want you to hear.”
“On the way, sir.”
Franklin
rose quietly. Commander Quentin was a former destroyer skipper on a limited duty after a winning battle with cancer. Almost a winning battle,
Franklin
corrected himself. Chemotherapy had killed the cancer—at the cost of nearly all his hair, and turning his skin into a sort of transparent parchment. Too bad, he thought, Quentin was a pretty good man.
The control room was elevated a few feet from the rest of the floor so that its occupants could see over the whole crew of duty operators and the main tactical display on the far wall. It was separated from the floor by glass, which allowed them to speak to one another without disturbing the operators.
Franklin
found Quentin at his command station, where he could tap into any console on the floor.
“Howdy, Commander.”
Franklin
noted that the officer was gaining some weight back. It was about time. “What do you have for me, sir?”
“On the
Barents Sea
net.” Quentin handed him a pair of phones.
Franklin
listened for several minutes, but he didn't sit down. Like many people he had a gut suspicion that cancer was contagious.
“Damned if they ain't pretty busy up there. I read a pair of Alfas, a Charlie, a Tango, and a few surface ships. What gives, sir?”
“There's a Delta there, too, but she just surfaced and killed her engines.”
“Surfaced, Skipper?”
“Yep. They were lashing her pretty hard with active sonar, then a 'can queried her on a gertrude.”
“Uh-huh. Acquisition game, and the sub lost.”
“Maybe. Quentin rubbed his eyes. The man looked tired. He was pushing himself too hard, and his stamina wasn't half what it should have been. ”But the Alfas are still pinging, and now they're headed west, as you heard."
“Oh.”
Franklin
pondered that for a moment. “They're looking for another boat, then. The Typhoon that was supposed to have sailed the other day, maybe?”
“That's what I thought—except she headed west, and the exercise area is northeast of the fjord. We lost her the other day on SOSUS.
Bremerton
's up sniffing around for her now.”
“Cagey skipper,” Franklin decided. “Cut his plant all the way back and just drifting.”
“Yeah,” Quentin agreed. “I want you to move down to the
North Cape
barrier supervisory board and see if you can find her, Chief. She'll still have her reactor working, and she'll be making some noise. The operators we have on that sector are a little young. I'll take one and switch him to your board for a while.”
“Right, Skipper,”
Franklin
nodded. That part of the team was still green, used to working on ships. SOSUS required more finesse. Quentin didn't have to say that he expected
Franklin
to check
Franklin
queried his computer terminal. The USS Dallas was up there. Gotcha! he said with a thin smile. Another noise came through, a low-frequency rumble that only lasted a few seconds before fading out. Not all that quiet, though. Why hadn't he heard it before switching the reception azimuth? He set his pipe down and began making adjustments on his control board.
“Chief?” A voice came over his headphones. It was the senior duty officer.
“Yes, Commander?”
“Can you come back to control? I have something I want you to hear.”
“On the way, sir.”
Franklin
rose quietly. Commander Quentin was a former destroyer skipper on a limited duty after a winning battle with cancer. Almost a winning battle,
Franklin
corrected himself. Chemotherapy had killed the cancer—at the cost of nearly all his hair, and turning his skin into a sort of transparent parchment. Too bad, he thought, Quentin was a pretty good man.
The control room was elevated a few feet from the rest of the floor so that its occupants could see over the whole crew of duty operators and the main tactical display on the far wall. It was separated from the floor by glass, which allowed them to speak to one another without disturbing the operators.
Franklin
found Quentin at his command station, where he could tap into any console on the floor.
“Howdy, Commander.”
Franklin
noted that the officer was gaining some weight back. It was about time. “What do you have for me, sir?”
“On the
Barents Sea
net.” Quentin handed him a pair of phones.
Franklin
listened for several minutes, but he didn't sit down. Like many people he had a gut suspicion that cancer was contagious.
“Damned if they ain't pretty busy up there. I read a pair of Alfas, a Charlie, a Tango, and a few surface ships. What gives, sir?”
“There's a Delta there, too, but she just surfaced and killed her engines.”
“Surfaced, Skipper?”
“Yep. They were lashing her pretty hard with active sonar, then a 'can queried her on a gertrude.”
“Uh-huh. Acquisition game, and the sub lost.”
“Maybe. Quentin rubbed his eyes. The man looked tired. He was pushing himself too hard, and his stamina wasn't half what it should have been. ”But the Alfas are still pinging, and now they're headed west, as you heard."
“Oh.”
Franklin
pondered that for a moment. “They're looking for another boat, then. The Typhoon that was supposed to have sailed the other day, maybe?”
“That's what I thought—except she headed west, and the exercise area is northeast of the fjord. We lost her the other day on SOSUS.
Bremerton
's up sniffing around for her now.”
“Cagey skipper,” Franklin decided. “Cut his plant all the way back and just drifting.”
“Yeah,” Quentin agreed. “I want you to move down to the
North Cape
barrier supervisory board and see if you can find her, Chief. She'll still have her reactor working, and she'll be making some noise. The operators we have on that sector are a little young. I'll take one and switch him to your board for a while.”
“Right, Skipper,”
Franklin
nodded. That part of the team was still green, used to working on ships. SOSUS required more finesse. Quentin didn't have to say that he expected
Franklin
to check
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