autopilotsâif a stray electron galloped sideways through the system, the boat could be endangered within seconds. An out-of-control submarine could easily dive too deep, past its crush depth. The faster the sub was going when control was lost, the sooner crush depth would be reached. This one, Kolnikov knew, was operated by three computers that constantly checked on each other and compared data. Any two of them could outvote and override the third.
Still, engaging the autopilot was an act of faith, Kolnikov told himself as he pushed the final button and took his hands off the boatâs joystick controls. If Rothberg and the Germans didnât have the computer system functioning properly, this was going to get very exciting very quickly.
Now Kolnikov watched the attitude indicator and the depth gauge, waiting.
All steady.
The machine kept the sub on course, without varying the depth a detectable amount. But for how long? And if something went wrong, how long would he have?
He looked around. Turchak, Eck, Boldt, and the other two Germans were frozen, staring at the gauges. Leon Rothberg was working on the master combat control station on the starboard side of the control room.
âDonât go to sleep,â Kolnikov muttered to Turchak, who nodded in full agreement.
For the first time since he submerged the sub, Kolnikov left the captainâs post. He was relieved to find the radio gear and encryption computer in the communications space, or radio room, in the area on the starboard side of the control room. No codebooks in sight, which meant they must be in the safe. He examined the safe, which, alas, was locked. He had been worried that the communications officer or his subordinates might have destroyed the crypto computer and the codebooks when they realized the sub was being hijacked. Apparently not.
As nifty as the sonar was, the codebooks and cryptographic computer were solid gold. Or would have been if the Americans hadnât known the submarine was stolen. No doubt they would change the codes within hours, if they hadnât already.
Yet any new system would be based on the encrypting algorithms contained in the computer, which meant that it was a prize without price for many of the worldâs intelligence agencies.
Kolnikov patted the machine once, then left the compartment and went forward through the control room into the crewâs living area. He looked into the captainâs cabinâvery nice, bigger than he expectedâand looked into each of the officersâ staterooms, the wardroom, and the head. Finally he went down the ladder to the third deck. The galley and mess hall were under the control room. Right now the mess hall was jammed with Americans, packed like sardines. Two Germans were guarding them. Kolnikov didnât say a word, merely looked.
Under the mess hall were the cold rooms and auxiliary machinery space. After inspecting both compartments, Kolnikov climbed back up to the mess hall and went aft, into the torpedo room.
America had only four torpedo tubes, two on the starboard side and two port. All were empty just now. Eight Mk-48 torpedoes rested on cradles, ready for loading. Two contained dummy warheads, but six were war shots. In the center of the compartment was a compact berthing module, which had bunks for the six SEALs who would use the minisub. This module could be disassembled and removed from the boat in port, and the space used for more torpedoes.
His inspection complete, Kolnikov went through the galleyâavoiding the mess hall where all the Americans were being held just nowâinto crew berthing. The berths were tiny, about the size of coffins, stacked three deep. Personal privacy could not be had here. There were, Kolnikov knew, not enough bunks for all the American sailors the boat normally carriedâthe junior men took turns sleeping. None of this surprised Kolnikov, who had spent almost twenty years serving in submarines.
Forward
Still, engaging the autopilot was an act of faith, Kolnikov told himself as he pushed the final button and took his hands off the boatâs joystick controls. If Rothberg and the Germans didnât have the computer system functioning properly, this was going to get very exciting very quickly.
Now Kolnikov watched the attitude indicator and the depth gauge, waiting.
All steady.
The machine kept the sub on course, without varying the depth a detectable amount. But for how long? And if something went wrong, how long would he have?
He looked around. Turchak, Eck, Boldt, and the other two Germans were frozen, staring at the gauges. Leon Rothberg was working on the master combat control station on the starboard side of the control room.
âDonât go to sleep,â Kolnikov muttered to Turchak, who nodded in full agreement.
For the first time since he submerged the sub, Kolnikov left the captainâs post. He was relieved to find the radio gear and encryption computer in the communications space, or radio room, in the area on the starboard side of the control room. No codebooks in sight, which meant they must be in the safe. He examined the safe, which, alas, was locked. He had been worried that the communications officer or his subordinates might have destroyed the crypto computer and the codebooks when they realized the sub was being hijacked. Apparently not.
As nifty as the sonar was, the codebooks and cryptographic computer were solid gold. Or would have been if the Americans hadnât known the submarine was stolen. No doubt they would change the codes within hours, if they hadnât already.
Yet any new system would be based on the encrypting algorithms contained in the computer, which meant that it was a prize without price for many of the worldâs intelligence agencies.
Kolnikov patted the machine once, then left the compartment and went forward through the control room into the crewâs living area. He looked into the captainâs cabinâvery nice, bigger than he expectedâand looked into each of the officersâ staterooms, the wardroom, and the head. Finally he went down the ladder to the third deck. The galley and mess hall were under the control room. Right now the mess hall was jammed with Americans, packed like sardines. Two Germans were guarding them. Kolnikov didnât say a word, merely looked.
Under the mess hall were the cold rooms and auxiliary machinery space. After inspecting both compartments, Kolnikov climbed back up to the mess hall and went aft, into the torpedo room.
America had only four torpedo tubes, two on the starboard side and two port. All were empty just now. Eight Mk-48 torpedoes rested on cradles, ready for loading. Two contained dummy warheads, but six were war shots. In the center of the compartment was a compact berthing module, which had bunks for the six SEALs who would use the minisub. This module could be disassembled and removed from the boat in port, and the space used for more torpedoes.
His inspection complete, Kolnikov went through the galleyâavoiding the mess hall where all the Americans were being held just nowâinto crew berthing. The berths were tiny, about the size of coffins, stacked three deep. Personal privacy could not be had here. There were, Kolnikov knew, not enough bunks for all the American sailors the boat normally carriedâthe junior men took turns sleeping. None of this surprised Kolnikov, who had spent almost twenty years serving in submarines.
Forward
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