The Navy Red secure communications net gave off its familiar bagpipe squeal as the cryptographic keys between the two ships synchronized. Then Burnham began passing the tactical information. A couple of times the lieutenant and his Coghlan counterpart had to repeat the information, but as it rose over the mountain the sun was playing havoc with the nighttime frequencies.
MacDonald listened to the passing of information with excruciating angst.
“XO,” Bocharkov said. “Make aft tubes one and two ready in all respects.”
“Aye, sir,” Ignatova replied.
Bocharkov’s mouth felt dry. He had never fired a torpedo in anger or in combat. He grunted. Anger? Combat? Were they different? Surprising to him, a calmness he had not felt earlier seemed to have settled on him as he reached this critical moment of making a decision. He knew once the decision was made, he could follow the rote to conclusion.
Should he fire first? If he did, the Americans would launch their torpedoes almost instantaneously. The one advantage he might have would be if they had lost constant contact with him because of his depth and the underwater obstruction he hit minutes ago. Sonar seemed positive that the last pulse by the Americans had failed to detect the K-122. But what if they were wrong?
“Contact One has changed course,” Orlov reported, his voice louder than normal. “A small change, but one that lines—”
“New course?” Bocharkov asked.
“A few degrees to the right—”
“What is the course?” Bocharkov barked.
“Two-seven-zero, sir.”
After a couple of seconds, Orlov added, “Sonar says the turn may be in response to them detecting us opening our torpedo doors.”
“Very well.” The decision was being taken from him by the Americans. Was this going to be another instance where a Soviet warship — in this case his — would back down rather than act?
“Contact One has steadied on course two-seven-zero. Sonar reports increased revolutions. Contact One is picking up speed.”
Bocharkov grunted. He had been wrong. The Americans still had contact on the K-122. Maybe opening the forward outer doors had done it; then again, maybe the Americans never lost contact. He never lost contact with them.
“Sir, Sonar says the course change indicates the Americans still have contact on us.”
“Depth of water beneath us?” Bocharkov directed the question to the navigator.
“Still at the three-hundred-meter curve, sir,” Tverdokhleb answered.
“Sir,” Ignatova called from the fire control console. “Aft tubes one and two are ready in all respects, sir. Aft tubes three and four have decoys.”
Bocharkov acknowledged, then ordered, “Make forward tubes one, two, three, and four ready in all respects.” If he was going to fire two torpedoes, he might as well give the Americans four to worry about. He’d keep forward tubes three and four reserved for a quick shot. Forward tubes five and six would be the safety reserve while the torpedomen reloaded the empty tubes.
“Coghlan, I say again, we are preparing to fire our over-the-sides torpedoes, if…” And the loss of synchronization caused the comms to drop out for a few seconds. “I say again,” Burnham continued.
MacDonald stepped inside the bridge. “Give me a pad,” he said to the quartermaster, snapping his fingers. He quickly wrote a note, and then handed it to Lieutenant Goldstein. “Sam, have the signalmen send this to the Coghlan.”
Goldstein read it, then nodded. “Aye, sir.” He turned to the boatswain mate of the watch and handed him the note. “Have the messenger take this to the signal bridge.”
MacDonald raised his glasses and scanned the sea in front of him, hoping to detect a periscope. His glance at the chart on the way to the port bridge wing showed they were nearing the three-thousand-foot curve. With that much depth beneath them, the Echo most likely would elude and evade them.
“Understand, Dale. You are preparing to fire your torpedoes. We are in launch position and awaiting your orders,” came an announcement from the Coghlan.
“CTF-Seventy on the bridge!” shouted the boatswain mate.
MacDonald stepped back inside. “Morning, Admiral.”
“Morning, Danny,” Green said, handing him a biscuit wrapped in a napkin. “Brought this back for you.”
MacDonald set it on the small shelf running along the front of the bridge. “Thank you, sir.”
“I listened to your watch officer pass the information to Coghlan. I’d be careful if I was you. I’m not fully convinced the Coghlan understands the orders. Comms are all screwed up.”
“I’m sending them a signal now, sir.”
“Very well. Do we know how far away the submarine is?” Green asked as the two men stepped onto the bridge wing.
“No, sir,” MacDonald replied, “but we know it bears dead ahead of us.”
Green rubbed his chin. “Then ten knots seems reasonable to me, but I was thinking as I walked from the mess hall to the bridge: There is no law against dropping a fourth grenade.”
“It might confuse them enough to fire their torpedoes.”
“And it might confuse them enough that they don’t know what we are doing and they may hold up firing them.”
“They might think they’re under attack.”
Green nodded. “And they should. So they will have two options. Surface or fight. From what I have heard, you have your surface action group prepared for fighting. Let’s get this over with before we lose all of our communications due to Mr. Sun.”
MacDonald swallowed. Green was right. He was taking too much time making his decisions. His orders were clear, so why did he not want to bring them to a conclusion?
“First time is always the hardest,” Green said.
MacDonald stuck his head inside the bridge. “Officer of the Deck, bring us up to twelve knots, maintain course.”
As Goldstein relayed the orders and the quartermaster made the log notations, MacDonald crossed the bridge to the starboard side and flicked the toggle switch. “Lieutenant Burnham, this is the captain. Work with the bridge to keep on course toward the submarine. I do not want to pass over it, but when we have steady contact, my intentions are to drop a fourth and final grenade. If the submarine fails to surface, then we are going to launch the over-the-sides.” He paused, and then added, “But only at my command. Make sure Coghlan is aware.”
MacDonald slapped the handset into the cradle and looked toward the port bridge wing. Admiral Green nodded. MacDonald turned to the sound-powered phone talker. “Tell Lieutenant Kelly to stand by for grenade.”
He listened to communications internal and with the Coghlan, as both destroyers ramped up to attack the intruder. He hoped the Soviet captain would surface, but if the man was anything like him, he would launch his torpedoes almost instantaneously when he heard the high-speed blade rates of the torpedoes searching for them. What if the Soviet captain still had the two destroyers on his sonar? Then the Dale and the Coghlan were going to be at a disadvantage.
The first attack would be a double launch. He would fire one over-the-side torpedo off the port side of the ship and simultaneously another torpedo from the starboard over-the-side weapon system. He would order the Coghlan to bracket the Dale fore and aft with ASROC-launched torpedoes. The four torpedoes should make contact and zero in on the submarine. When the submarine responded, he would know its location. Then, and only then, would he launch his remaining four torpedoes and order the Coghlan to launch everything it had.