The Final Storm Read Online Free PDF Page B

the back for that, the captain was ready to offer it.
    He looked at the glow on the hands of his watch.
    “Three-thirty, Richie. We’ve got maybe two hours before visual. I’m not waiting.”
    He reached for the microphone, pressed the key.
    “Helm. Left full rudder, go to heading two seven zero, maintain fifteen knots.”
    “Aye, sir. Left full rudder, two seven zero, at one five knots.”
    “Lieutenant Gordon, secure the radar.”
    The exec’s voice came back immediately, Gordon expecting the order.
    “Done, sir.”
    No need for anyone to pick up our signal, he thought. Jap equipment isn’t too hot, but they can sure as hell pick up a radar beam. He settled back against the steel of the bridge’s railing. Now, we wait. As long as they don’t change course, we’ll run right into them.
    The sub was in full turn now, and he braced himself against the steel, the young seaman doing the same. He ignored the compass, knew that the helm would get it right. Done this too many times. So, who the hell’s out there? Is he alone? Too far away now, but we’ll know pretty soon. We’ll keep the radar off for twenty minutes, then give another quick look. Hockley’s got a good eye, can pick out whatever the hell it is in a flash. Japs can’t home in on us if we’re quick. I like good surprises, not bad ones. He stared out toward the unseen vessel, his thoughts beginning to race. What the hell are you, and where the hell do you think you’re going? This is
my
damn ocean, pal.
    H e had dropped down into the cramped conning tower, leaned close to the radar station, had to see it for himself. Above, his executive officer had replaced him in the open air of the bridge, alongside the young seaman, Fallon. There was a high tension throughout the tight space, the hard familiar odor of grease and bodies, young hands on the switches and controls, every man doing his job in perfect silence. Below his feet, in the ship’s control room, he knew it was exactly the same, a little more room, but men elbow to elbow, perched at their various stations, waiting for any order that would put them into action. The captain bent low, stared at the dark screen, said, “All right, Hockley, activate radar. Five seconds only.”
    Hockley flipped the switch, the round green screen flashing brightly, both men staring intently, the blip prominent.
    “It’s moving closer, sir. Eight thousand yards, ten knots. She’ll pass in front of us …”
    “Secure radar. I know where she’s heading, son. We’ll get a real good look in about fifteen minutes.” He turned toward the sonar station, saw another young man, Gifford, earphones clamped to his head. Gifford had his eyes closed, intense concentration, and the captain knew what was coming, waited for it. Gifford’s eyes popped open and he looked toward the captain, nodded, a low voice.
    “It’s a freighter, sir. Pitch too low for a destroyer. The screws are too heavy.” He seemed to catch himself, puzzled, and the captain waited for more.
    “It sounds like … two ships, sir. Two different rhythms.”
    The captain looked back to the radar, said, “Activate radar. Five seconds only.”
    The green light reflected through the small space, and he saw clearly a single blip.
    “Dammit. Secure radar. What the hell, son, there’s one blip. They riding piggyback?”
    “Sorry, sir. But it sounded pretty distinct …”
    “You sure it’s not wax in your ears, Gifford? Radar shows one ship.”
    Gifford was sweating in the musty heat, and the captain could see the frustration, uncertainty. The Japanese ships had a variety of rhythms and varying pitches depending on their speed and the size of their engines, but the captain knew that his instruments weren’t perfect, that often the best instrument they had was the sharp ear of the sonar man. It wasn’t something you could train, not completely anyway. There was a peculiar talent that every sub captain valued, the keen ear that could separate the