the intercom. "Tracking target."
"Five,
four,
three, two, one.
Fire."
The
ship bucked
as it spat out a torpedo, and
the bow angled up for a moment until the trim computer automatically
pumped
water forward to compensate for the loss in weight. Sorensen listened
to
confirm the torpedo was a dummy. The motor never kicked in and it sank
into the
mud of the gulf.
Hoek
was yelling
through the intercom,
"Sorensen, what's the matter with you? Hit them with the target
sonar."
Fogarty
stared at
his console. The
narrow-beam echo ranger was locked onto Mako and
tracking her course,
but Fogarty, remembering his own recent sonar lashing, couldn't help
thinking
of the sonar operators whose eardrums were about to take a pounding.
Another
moment's delay and those same operators would hear the sound of the
dummy
whooshing out of the tube, and they would return the favor.
Reluctantly, he
pushed the button on his console.
Glaring
at
Fogarty, Sorensen said, "The
next time you hesitate on a direct order will be your last."
Sound.
Fogarty
had learned, traveled through
warm shallow seawater at 4921.25 feet per second. 12.33 seconds later
two men
were screaming in Mako 's
sonar room, and three more in her control room.
On Barracuda there were cheers. Hoek
even did a little war dance in his seat.
Mako was now hors de
combat , and five of
her
crew had ringing ears. The umpire aboard Mako immediately noted the
"kill," as did Billings, the umpire aboard Barracuda. Both
ships sent up radio buoys.
"Well
done," said
Flowers.
"Congratulations."
"Sorry
about your
men," answered
Springfield. "Buy you a drink in Norfolk."
"Sink
the Hawk and I'll buy you
one."
Springfield
retracted his buoy, and Barracuda continued north for three hours on electric power,
making sure
there was no second picket. Finally the main turbine was cut in.
"All
ahead full,"
ordered
Springfield, and Barracuda lunged forward like a
dolphin.
8
Bonifacio
Six
hours after
leaving Naples, Barracuda raced through the Tyrrhenian Sea, heading for the Strait of Bonifacio.
"Attention
all
hands, attention all
hands. Secure from general quarters. The movie this morning will be Bonnie
and Clyde at zero nine hundred in the mess. That is all."
After
eliminating Mako from the
wargame, the crew was jubilant. In the galley Stanley was preparing
cioppino
from fresh fish taken on at Naples.
"What
is it?"
asked Cakes.
"Shark
soup,"
Stanley replied with
a grin.
In
the torpedo
room Lopez was feeding Zapata
and smoking a huge stogie. Aft, even the nucs got cute and painted the
profile
of a sub on the casing of turbogenerator number one.
Coming
off watch,
Fogarty went to the movie,
and Sorensen went looking for Eddie Luther, the corpsman. With a peek
at the
watch sheet in the control room he learned that Luther was taking his
turn on
Sorensen's Beach.
Luther,
a dapper
little man with a taste for
jazz and no scruples whatsoever, sold amphetamines.
No
one was on
duty in the steering machinery
room when Sorensen banged on the door to the Beach. When it opened,
Sorensen
heard Cal Tjader playing on his machine. Silently, Luther passed
Sorensen a
packet of ten Dexamyl tablets in exchange for a ten dollar bill, and
Sorensen
headed for the sonar room to test all the circuits in his console.
Two
hours later,
on his way to the mess.
Sorensen felt the ship reduce speed. As he was munching a hamburger, it
came to
a complete stop.
"Attention
all
hands, this is the
captain. We have entered French territorial waters approximately thirty
miles
off the coast of Corsica. We are attempting to contact a French
submarine
operating in this area. All hands to maneuvering stations. That is all."
Sorensen
took up
a cup of coffee and walked
back to the sonar room.
----
The
Strait of
Bonifacio between the islands
of Corsica and Sardinia was slightly over six miles wide at its
narrowest
point. Small islets guarded both sides of the eastern entrance, and
dangerously
shallow shoals surrounded the western exit into
"Five,
four,
three, two, one.
Fire."
The
ship bucked
as it spat out a torpedo, and
the bow angled up for a moment until the trim computer automatically
pumped
water forward to compensate for the loss in weight. Sorensen listened
to
confirm the torpedo was a dummy. The motor never kicked in and it sank
into the
mud of the gulf.
Hoek
was yelling
through the intercom,
"Sorensen, what's the matter with you? Hit them with the target
sonar."
Fogarty
stared at
his console. The
narrow-beam echo ranger was locked onto Mako and
tracking her course,
but Fogarty, remembering his own recent sonar lashing, couldn't help
thinking
of the sonar operators whose eardrums were about to take a pounding.
Another
moment's delay and those same operators would hear the sound of the
dummy
whooshing out of the tube, and they would return the favor.
Reluctantly, he
pushed the button on his console.
Glaring
at
Fogarty, Sorensen said, "The
next time you hesitate on a direct order will be your last."
Sound.
Fogarty
had learned, traveled through
warm shallow seawater at 4921.25 feet per second. 12.33 seconds later
two men
were screaming in Mako 's
sonar room, and three more in her control room.
On Barracuda there were cheers. Hoek
even did a little war dance in his seat.
Mako was now hors de
combat , and five of
her
crew had ringing ears. The umpire aboard Mako immediately noted the
"kill," as did Billings, the umpire aboard Barracuda. Both
ships sent up radio buoys.
"Well
done," said
Flowers.
"Congratulations."
"Sorry
about your
men," answered
Springfield. "Buy you a drink in Norfolk."
"Sink
the Hawk and I'll buy you
one."
Springfield
retracted his buoy, and Barracuda continued north for three hours on electric power,
making sure
there was no second picket. Finally the main turbine was cut in.
"All
ahead full,"
ordered
Springfield, and Barracuda lunged forward like a
dolphin.
8
Bonifacio
Six
hours after
leaving Naples, Barracuda raced through the Tyrrhenian Sea, heading for the Strait of Bonifacio.
"Attention
all
hands, attention all
hands. Secure from general quarters. The movie this morning will be Bonnie
and Clyde at zero nine hundred in the mess. That is all."
After
eliminating Mako from the
wargame, the crew was jubilant. In the galley Stanley was preparing
cioppino
from fresh fish taken on at Naples.
"What
is it?"
asked Cakes.
"Shark
soup,"
Stanley replied with
a grin.
In
the torpedo
room Lopez was feeding Zapata
and smoking a huge stogie. Aft, even the nucs got cute and painted the
profile
of a sub on the casing of turbogenerator number one.
Coming
off watch,
Fogarty went to the movie,
and Sorensen went looking for Eddie Luther, the corpsman. With a peek
at the
watch sheet in the control room he learned that Luther was taking his
turn on
Sorensen's Beach.
Luther,
a dapper
little man with a taste for
jazz and no scruples whatsoever, sold amphetamines.
No
one was on
duty in the steering machinery
room when Sorensen banged on the door to the Beach. When it opened,
Sorensen
heard Cal Tjader playing on his machine. Silently, Luther passed
Sorensen a
packet of ten Dexamyl tablets in exchange for a ten dollar bill, and
Sorensen
headed for the sonar room to test all the circuits in his console.
Two
hours later,
on his way to the mess.
Sorensen felt the ship reduce speed. As he was munching a hamburger, it
came to
a complete stop.
"Attention
all
hands, this is the
captain. We have entered French territorial waters approximately thirty
miles
off the coast of Corsica. We are attempting to contact a French
submarine
operating in this area. All hands to maneuvering stations. That is all."
Sorensen
took up
a cup of coffee and walked
back to the sonar room.
----
The
Strait of
Bonifacio between the islands
of Corsica and Sardinia was slightly over six miles wide at its
narrowest
point. Small islets guarded both sides of the eastern entrance, and
dangerously
shallow shoals surrounded the western exit into
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