Edwards had a questioning look on his face. “What’s the plan, Skipper?”

“XO, we’re going to decoy them off with the MOSS. Then we’ll move in real close and hide underneath the bastard.”

Edwards shook his head in wonder. “Damnedest idea I ever heard, Skipper. It just might work.”

Glass winked, hoping his XO had learned from him the same lesson Ward had taught him. He turned and gave another order. “All stop. Chief of the Watch, keep us on depth with the trim pump.”

The screw stopped turning and Toledo glided to a stop. The sub was near silent, hidden behind the screen of noise from the NAEs. Wallich would use the trim pump to move water on and off the boat to keep the submarine near the ordered depth. Even though the trim pump was built to operate silently, it was still better not to use it unless it was needed. Especially if they were going to hover beneath an enemy destroyer.

Down in the torpedo room, Bill Dooley checked the launch control panel for the MOSS. The courses and speeds the little simulator would follow were all correctly entered. He checked the tapes to make sure the latest copy of Toledo’s signature was loaded. Satisfied that everything was set, Dooley flipped the toggle switch to launch the device on its journey.

Out in the number-three torpedo tube, the end cap fell away from the green tube containing the MOSS, giving the vehicle access to the sea. The battery in the MOSS energized the propulsion motor, starting the little propeller at the aft end. Slowly it started to move down the tube, then out into the waters of the fjord. It swam a hundred feet free of Toledo before angling upward to a depth of three hundred feet. While it was moving up, a tiny transponder reeled out behind the MOSS. It stopped when the distance between the MOSS and the transponder was exactly the length of Toledo.

Steady on the new depth and the first course, the MOSS was ready to do its job. The tape started playing. Anyone listening to a passive sonar would swear they were hearing Toledo heading out into the center of the fjord.

The MOSS emerged from the NAE’s noise field with its player serenading at full blast.

The sonar operator aboard the Admiral Chabanenko jumped to attention when he heard the new return. He was certain that the American submarine they had been expecting was trying to sneak away behind the noisemakers’ screen. He was even surer of it when he faintly heard the distinctive screw beat of a Los Angeles–class propeller.

The operator grinned as he reached down and pushed the button to send out an active sonar ping again.