“So we have company,” Mannion observed. “Not that close,” Lieutenant Charles Goodman noted. “These bearings haven’t changed a whisker.” “Conn, sonar.” It was Jones’ voice. Mancuso took it. “Conn, aye. What is it, Jonesy?” “We got another one, sir. Alfa 3, bearing zero-five-five. Running flat out. Sounds like an earthquake, but faint, sir.” “Alfa 3? Our old friend, the Politovskiy. Haven’t run across her in a while. Anything else you can tell me?” “A guess, sir. The sound on this one warbled, then settled down, like she was making a turn. I think she’s heading this way—that’s a little shaky.
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