“By the time Belgorod can distinguish the torpedoes through the jamming, we won’t be anywhere near that bearing. Her captain will naturally think he’s the target of the salvo. He’ll probably counter fire and then run to the south as fast as his boat’s overweight butt can go.”
“What about Kazan?” Segerson asked.
Jerry grinned. “That’s why I’m having the UUVs dump the NAEs to the north of the minefield. All that noise should trigger the mines’ passive sensors and many of them will go active looking for a target to lock on to. I don’t think Kazan’s captain will want to be anywhere near a pack of activated mines looking for something to kill. He’ll evade to the north, just to make sure he’s out of range of the mine’s torpedo payload.”
“And if he goes active first?” pressed Weiss.
“Then he’ll see a lot of junk on his screen from all the noise, but even if his sonar system can cut through it, there will be multiple moving targets. He’ll have to figure out real fast what’s valid and what isn’t — if we’re lucky, he may even think there are several submarines attacking simultaneously. Regardless, he’ll be distracted and that gives us the advantage. Once we get in front of the countermeasures, we’ll have a clear line of bearing to Kazan. We generate a quick fire control solution, and if necessary, throw a couple of Mark 48s her way while we head north to the pack ice. Any questions?”
Weiss, Segerson, and Gibson initially kept staring at the geoplot, then looked up at each other, and then finally at Jerry. “Um, no, sir,” said Weiss.
“Okay, then. We need to do this expeditiously; we’ll only have about ten minutes after the first countermeasure is launched. We need to have the torpedoes on the way, and us out of the way before that time is up,” Jerry summarized. Then pointing at Segerson, added, “The XO and I will set up the torpedo spread, and you, Captain…”
“Yes, sir?”
“Fight your ship.”
The enthusiasm in control started ramping up the moment Jerry had given Weiss his instructions. LT Ford, in charge in UCC, successfully navigated José across the fixed acoustic arrays and had just detected one of the PMK-2 mine anchors. Jerry glanced at the navigation plot and saw that Carter was only a few hundred yards from the lead-lined passage they’d created. Life was about to get very exciting… for the Russians.
“Weps, make tubes one through four ready in all respects,” Weiss ordered calmly.
“Make tubes one through four ready in all respects, aye, sir,” repeated Owens. Jerry peeked at the torpedo tube status display and confirmed they were being flooded down; they’d be ready to shoot soon. Stepping back from the fire control consoles, Jerry turned and caught Weiss looking his way; his expression was still an odd mixture of relief and bewilderment.
Smiling, Jerry passed by the periscope stand and without looking up remarked, “When this all over, Captain, remind me to tell you a little sea story about a very close friend of mine.”
Startled by the unexpected statement, Weiss hesitated momentarily, recovered, and replied, “Yes, sir.”
“Captain, we’re passing over the acoustic arrays now,” reported Malkoff.
“Time to begin the festivities,” Jerry muttered under his breath, reaching for the intercom mike. “UCC, Conn. Accelerate UUVs to maximum speed and bring them to a depth of four hundred feet.”
As Ford acknowledged the command, Weiss leaned toward the fire control consoles and shouted, “Countermeasures, stand by!”
An intense silence descended on the control room as everyone sat anxiously at the edge of their seat. All eyes were on Jerry, waiting for him to give the order when all hell would break loose. After an insufferable pause, the intercom speaker squawked to life. “Conn, UCC, both UUVs are at eight knots, accelerating to ten. Depth is four hundred fifty feet, coming to four hundred feet.”
With an expression of utter resolve, Jerry clicked the mike. “UCC, Conn, deploy countermeasures… NOW!”
Petty Officer Yolkov yawned and rubbed his eyes. The Sever monitoring station personnel had been at full combat alert for the last twenty-four hours, and everyone was starting to get a bit worn. Glancing at his watch, he was disheartened to see that his shift was only half over. Sighing quietly, the young rating picked up his mug with hot tea. He had to stay awake for another two hours. Yolkov raised the mug, but it never reached his lips. Suddenly, his eyes went wide with disbelief as his display console erupted with alarms.
“Lieutenant!.. LIEUTENANT!” he screeched.
“What is your problem, Petty Officer Yolkov?” shouted an angry Zhabin. The lieutenant looked up and saw both operators were white as ghosts; Yolkov was trembling, pointing nervously at his screen.
Irritated, Zhabin strutted toward the pair, yelling, “I said, what is the problem, Petty Officer—” He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as he looked over the operator’s shoulder and saw the display.
“Mother of God!” he exclaimed. The entire northern line of Sever modules was alerting. The track log kept jumping between three and five possible targets. But there was no track data, and the bearings were all over the place. Stumbling backward, Zhabin almost fell over a chair at a nearby desk. Scrambling to maintain his balance, he grabbed the nearest phone… but whom should he call? The helicopter detachment commander? No! He had to alert the entire base. With quivering fingers he punched in the chief of staff’s number.
Boris Kalinin had learned to appreciate the early hours of each morning. It was the only time he could rely on to be free of interruptions, allowing him to attack the massive assemblage of paperwork the base generated. Thus, when the phone rang, it was with frustration that he reached for the handset.
“Chief of Sta—” he started to say, but was cut off by an excited, loud, and incoherent voice, shouting something about multiple contacts. Kalinin recognized the voice as the officer in charge of the Sever monitoring detachment. Irritated by the unintelligible report, the captain bellowed, “Lieutenant Zhabin! Get a hold of yourself! Calm down, you imbecile! That’s better. Now report properly, Lieutenant.”
Zhabin paused and began again. His voice was still very agitated, but he was at least understandable. Kalinin listened, impatient, then with alarm. Jumping to his feet, he exclaimed, “Five submarine contacts!? The entire northern array line is being jammed!? Call the flight line immediately! I want helicopters airborne, right now!”
He slammed the handset down back into the base while shouting for his aide, “Pyotr! Sound a base-wide alert! We’re under attack!”
“Firing point procedures, Dragon torpedo complex, Mark 48 ADCAP, tubes one through four,” snapped Weiss.