CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
USS Halibut – Transit to Guam
Twenty-one-hundred-fifty miles of open ocean lay between us and Guam. There was little chance we would have company, but the Skipper wasn’t taking any chances.
The day following our close encounter with the Soviets, we crept silently out of the trench, hugging the north wall and then the bottom until the bottom dropped out from under us as it disappeared into the abyssal deep. The Skipper had Sonar on six-hour port-and-starboard watches. Every piece of sonar equipment was continuously manned, our ears stretched to their maximum. Most of the crew was convinced that we had fooled the wily Soviet submariner, but some of us had reservations.
I, for one, was especially suspicious. The Whiskey didn’t hang around at all. Instead, he hightailed
