The ensign commanding the tracking party immediately consulted the Hewlett-Packard mini-computer located in the starboard-after corner of the attack center. "Okay," he announced, "I have a trace angle little shaky computing now." That took the machine all of two seconds. "Okay, I have a range gate it's a convergence zone, range between three-five and four-five thousand yards if he's in CZ-i, five-five and six-one thousand yards for CZ-2,."

"It's almost too easy," the XO observed to the skipper.

"You're right, X, disable the computer," Ricks ordered.

Lieutenant Commander Wally Claggett, Executive Officer, "Gold," USS Maine walked back to the machine and switched it off. "We have a casualty to the HP computer looks like it'll take hours to fix," he announced. "Pity."

"Thanks a lot," Ensign Ken Shaw observed quietly to the quartermaster hunched next to him at the chart table.

"Be cool, Mr Shaw." the petty officer whispered back. "We'll take care o'ya. Don't need that thing now anyway, sir."

"Let's keep it quiet in the attack center!" Captain Ricks observed.

The submarine's course took her northwest. The sonar operators fed information to the attack center as she did so. Ten minutes later, the tracking party made its decision.

"Captain," Ensign Shaw announced. "Estimate contact Sierra-5 is in the first CZ, range looks like three-nine thousand yards, course is generally southerly, speed between eight and ten knots."

"You can do better than that!" the CO announced sharply.

"Conn, sonar, Sierra-5 looks like Akula-class Soviet fast-attack, preliminary target ident is Akula number six, the Admiral Lunin. Stand by -" a moment's silence "-possible aspect change on Sierra-5, possible turn. Conn, we have a definite aspect change. Sierra-5 is now beam-on, definite beam-aspect on target."

"Captain," the XO said, "that maximizes the effectiveness of his towed array."

"Right. Sonar, conn. I want a self-noise check."

"Sonar aye, stand by, sir." Another few seconds. "Conn, we're making some sort of noise not sure what, rattle, like, maybe something in the aft ballast tanks. Didn't show before, sir. Definitely aft definitely metallic."

"Conn, maneuvering room, we got something screwy back here. I can hear something from aft, maybe in the ballast tanks."

"Captain," Shaw said next. "Sierra-5 is now on a reciprocal heading. Target course is now southeasterly, roughly one-three-zero."

"Maybe he can hear us," Ricks growled. "I'm taking us up through the layer. Make your depth one hundred feet."

"One hundred feet, aye," the diving officer responded immediately. "Helm, five degrees up on the fairwater planes."

"Five degrees up on the fairwater planes, aye. Sir, the fairwater planes are up five degrees, coming to one hundred feet."

"Conn, maneuvering, the rattle has stopped. It stopped when we took the slight up-angle."

The XO grunted next to the captain. "What the hell does that mean ?"

"It probably means that some dumbass dockyard worker left his toolbox in the ballast tank. That happened to a friend of mine once." Ricks was truly angry now, but if you had to have such incidents, here was the place for them. "When we get above the layer, I want to go north and clear datum."