One torpedo went wild, diving after a decoy and exploding on the bottom. The other locked on Boston and slowly ate up the distance. Another bright dot appeared, and that was that. “Yankee-search the Alfa,” McCafferty said, his voice low with rage. The submarine vibrated with the powerful sonar pulses. “Bearing one-zero-nine, range thirteen thousand.” “Set!” “Match and shoot!” The Alfa didn’t wait to hear the incoming torpedoes. Her skipper knew that there was a third sub out there, knew that he’d been pinged. The Soviet sub went to maximum speed and turned east.
