The lower row of three launch tubes was heaved upward by the shock wave and the expanding gas bubble. The upper set folded in the middle as the blast and inertia from the lower tubes thrust them upward and back. The pulsating bubbles first pulled the tubes toward each other, then violently pushed them out again, only this time sideways. Five of the launch tubes were crushed, flattened like beer cans over much of their length, while the sixth was badly bent and distorted around its center. The supporting I-beams were twisted like pretzels and wrenched free from the now-crushed cylindrical supports.
“Conn, Sonar, multiple explosions bearing one eight five!” cried out the sonar supervisor. A boisterous cheer broke out in control, but they weren’t done yet and Weiss quickly suppressed the celebration. “SILENCE IN CONTROL!” he thundered.
As the noise died down, Weiss turned and pulled on the intercom’s switch. “Sonar, report. What do you hear?”
“Skipper, it sounds like someone kicked over an organ — multiple ‘gong-like’ noises and lots of banging metal. That launcher got thumped real hard.”
Jerry rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Rest now, my friend, we have the watch,” he whispered. Then glancing up at the periscope stand he saw Weiss looking down. Jerry extended his hand and grasped Weiss’s firmly. “Well done, Captain. Now, let’s get the hell away from this beehive!”
Mirsky could hear the two Klimov turboshaft engines shrieking above his cockpit. He’d pushed them well beyond the red line on the RPM gauges, and he prayed they’d hold together. Both Helix helicopters were doing better than 150 knots — racing toward the last reported location of a probable American submarine.
Toggling his mike, he passed instructions to his wingman. “Red 45, disregard standard tactics. Drop three RGB-48 buoys to the northeast of the datum, triangular pattern. I’ll do the same to the northwest.”
The flight commander was desperate to get sensors in the water as soon as possible. If the American was trying to disengage under the cover of the countermeasures, he’d be moving faster than usual, which meant the two helos couldn’t afford the time needed to hover and dip. Besides, the dipping sonar would be badly affected by all the noise in the water; the passive RGB-48 sonobuoy with its much lower frequency range would not. The only problem would be in finding enough open water to drop the buoys safely. A crushed sensor wouldn’t do them any good.
Mirsky pulled the Helix into a sharp, low hover as Mitrov verified the sea surface below was free of large ice chunks, and then started dropping the buoys. Once in the water, the sonobuoy released its hydrophone assembly, which sank to a depth of fifty meters.
It wasn’t even a minute before Mitrov barked, “Contact, bearing one three five. Target appears to be moving to the northwest at moderate speed.”
“Got you, you bastard,” growled Mirsky, smiling. Pulling up on the controls, he put his machine back into flight mode, streaking low over the water toward the ice-encrusted shores of October Revolution Island. He had to give the American captain credit; running along the rocky coast took courage. The water wasn’t even forty meters deep. Clicking his mike, Mirsky ordered his cohort to follow. “Red 45, submerged contact heading northwest. Fly twenty-five kilometers along course three two zero. Drop another sonobuoy pattern and stand by to release ordnance!”
“CONN, SONAR, TORPEDO IN THE WATER! BEARING ZERO FOUR EIGHT!” blasted the intercom speaker. Weiss was stunned, his expression asked, “How did they know?”
Jerry spun about and looked at the WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver; it remained silent. Pointing to the blank display he shouted, “The torpedo hasn’t enabled! Turn to the right!”
Weiss caught on quickly. “Helm, right full rudder! Steady on course zero seven zero!”
Carter rolled to starboard as the rudder bit, swinging the bow hard right. The incredibly high bearing rate meant the weapon was close — very close, and yet the torpedo’s seeker continued to remain silent as it roared past them. There wasn’t time to ask any questions as the intercom blared once again. “Conn, Sonar, new contact bearing zero five five! No, correction. Regained Sierra one six, drawing left rapidly!”
“Range to target?” shouted Jerry instinctively.
“Three eight double oh yards and decreasing!” answered Segerson tensely.
“Bearing rate is left thirteen degrees per minute!” added Owens.
“Jesus! She’s right on top of us!” uttered Weiss.
“And may not know it, Lou!” exclaimed Jerry as he snapped his fingers. “Shoot, for God’s sake! Shoot!”
“Snapshot! Sierra one six, tube eight! Minimal enable run!” yelled Weiss.
Segerson jumped between consoles, making sure the targeting data was good. Once he was satisfied, the fire control technician grabbed the firing key handle, rotated it to the left and called out, “Set… stand by… shoot!”
The two Helix helicopters barely slowed down as six more sonobuoys were laid out in two triple chevron patterns. Both sensor operators picked up their prey quickly and verified the target was passing amazingly close along October Revolution Island. Mirsky stationed Red 45 ten kilometers to the north, in case his torpedo missed, updated the contact’s course and speed, and hit the attack button.
The Ka-27M automatically positioned itself over clear water right along the target’s projected path. Once the fire control computer was satisfied the vehicle had met the necessary flight conditions, it released a UMGT-1 torpedo. Mirsky immediately pulled the helicopter away from the ocean’s surface and announced, “Weapon dropped!”
The torpedo plunged underwater and drifted lazily for a moment as the seawater-activated battery came up to power. The propulsion motor accelerated the weapon to forty-five knots as it executed a large circle search; the acoustic homing head began pinging. On its second pass, the torpedo detected a faint echo, but with lots of Doppler. Peeling out of its search pattern, the weapon shot toward its target at full speed. Seconds later it impacted and exploded.
Mirsky saw the plume from the explosion break the surface and reach skyward. Petty Officer Mitrov cheered at their apparent success. But the flight commander wasn’t ready to congratulate himself just yet; he was more seasoned than that and knew he could have just as easily hit a rock. With an impatient voice he growled, “Shut up and search for the target, you fool! Red 45, monitor your sonobuoys for any sign of the contact; stand by to execute your attack!”
The Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo catapulted out from the lower port torpedo tube and turned hard left as soon as it was under power. Segerson had set the weapon to run at slow speed initially, to make sure the torpedo’s seeker had enough time to acquire and lock on to the target. It was a good call. The acoustic homer enabled a scant seven hundred yards from the Russian attack submarine. Between the strength of the return and the high Doppler shift, the seeker’s logic readily locked onto the echoes and accelerated to attack speed.
There was very little the crew of Kazan could do. By the time they understood what was happening, the Mark 48 torpedo was at sixty-five knots and had already closed to less than four hundred yards. No decoy or countermeasure could save them now. The weapon hit aft, striking near main engineering and shredding a ten-foot hole in the hull. The submarine heeled over sharply, angling downward, and plowed into the bottom at almost twenty knots — its shattered hull lay within a stone’s throw of Toledo.