Jain’s head spun as he looked at the Omnibus display. The incoming weapon was very close. “Deploy countermeasures!” he screamed.
It was too late. Before the countermeasures were ejected from the Akula, the Mark 48 torpedo’s warhead detonated, devastating compartment three and violating the bulkhead with compartment two. The submarine heeled sharply over to port and pitched downward. At thirty-four knots she slammed into the shallow bottom with tremendous force, crushing some of the torpedo tubes and the weapons loading hatch. Water began gushing into the torpedo room.
The submarine’s momentum carried it forward, lifting its stern clear of the water as it rotated about its shattered bow. Slamming back down into the water, the boat jumped a bit and then settled quickly. The aft part of the boat came crashing down onto the ocean floor; the harsh impact caused the shaft seals to fail, and water began pouring into yet another compartment. Skidding to a stop, Chakra lay still, bleeding to death.
“Loud explosion bearing two six zero! There’s breaking-up noise, loss of propulsion plant tonals!” reported the sonar supervisor. But unlike the last time, there were no cheers, no congratulatory backslapping. Just silence.
Thigpen finally broke the stillness. “It looks like we got her, sir.”
Jerry nodded and sighed; he felt relief and sadness at the same time. A lot of brave men had just been killed, betrayed by their fleet commander, and executed by their former skipper — the irony couldn’t have been more tragic. Jerry watched as Samant walked slowly out of control, spots of water appearing on the deck as he headed aft.
Petrov had started to move toward him when Jerry grabbed his arm. “Let him go, Alex. He needs some time alone. He has to deal with this on his own terms. It’s what he wanted.”
The Russian fought initially, then stopped, heeding Jerry’s counsel. Petrov knew exactly how Samant felt; he’d lost a boat and some of his men as well. He knew that his friend would never get over this day. Sometimes doing the right thing can be personally devastating.
Facing Jerry, Petrov remarked quietly, “That was the most courageous act I’ve ever witnessed. I don’t know if I could do what he had to.”
Jerry shook his head, struggling with his own emotions. “I know I couldn’t.”
The pounding of his head dragged Kirichenko to a state of semiconsciousness. He tried to move, but found he was pinned under a console. The central post was dimly lit by the battle lanterns; wisps of smoke floated through the beams. No one moved.
Off to his right, Kirichenko saw Jain’s body draped over the navigation plotting table, his neck at an unnatural angle. The Russian felt his eardrums pop and he heard the noise of rushing water. He could feel the cold liquid as it crawled up his legs.
Unable to completely understand what was going on, Kirichenko did realize that Chakra was dead, and that he would be soon enough. Weary and racked with pain, he couldn’t summon the strength to try and move the console off of him. Then he saw a shadow move, or thought he did.
At first, he couldn’t make it out. But then it looked like men slowly making their way toward him. He tried calling out to them, but all he could manage was a faint gurgle. As the nebulous figures got closer, Kirichenko thought they looked odd. They didn’t seem to be Indian. Then two of them moved into the light. They were pale, vague images, dressed in Russian naval uniforms. Straining to focus his eyes, he finally caught sight of the billet patch on the closest individual; it was in Russian, and it read COMMANDER.
Panic gripped Kirichenko as the muddy seawater lapped upon his face. More and more of the wraithlike images huddled around him, waiting patiently. Soon the seawater covered his mouth and he struggled to breathe through his nose. The apparitions were now all smiling, and began reaching out to him. And just before the murky water covered his eyes, he saw the commissioning pin on the commander’s uniform — the name on the pin was Gepard.
23
CLEANUP
“The water depth is only fifty-two meters, Dr. Patterson. What do your experts tell you?” The Chinese minister of national defense sounded impatient, like he’d already had this discussion, perhaps more than once.
Patterson tried to sound positive. “My experts tell me we likely have a few days, General. They want to use some of that time to find out if there is a way to use conventional explosives. They think they can adapt one of our air force’s Massive Ordnance Penetrators for the task. They’re running simulations now to see how the bomb behaves in an underwater explosion. The tamping effect…”
General Shi interrupted, “We’ve considered that as well. The problem is that no matter how big a conventional device is used, there is no guarantee that the devices in the remaining nuclear torpedoes will be destroyed. It might simply shred and scatter the wreck, leaving the torpedo warheads intact. Even one or two one-hundred-fifty-kiloton bombs detonating off our coast could do tremendous damage.
“And what if a conventional explosion merely damages the devices so they fail to detonate? The wreck is not in deep water. It is conceivable that some organization could search the wreck and recover them.” The general’s voice hardened. “We have been threatened with rogue nuclear weapons once. We will not let it happen again.”
Patterson argued, “Our engineers are optimistic they can come up with a nonnuclear way to destroy the torpedoes in Chakra’s wreck.”
“So are ours,” Shi countered, “but can they do it in time? We know the torpedoes were not fitted with any kind of deadman switch, or they would have exploded already. But we don’t know the Indians’ timetable. How far north were they going to go? The list of targets your source discovered goes all the way to Qingdao and Dalian. Do we have days, or hours? And your people have suggested that the Indian captain had the ability to change targets, skipping one port to save time.”
“That’s true,” Patterson conceded.
“Then they could probably reset the timers, as well,” Shi continued. “In truth, the hulk of that submarine could explode with the equivalent of a six-hundred-kiloton nuclear bomb at any moment. We’ve issued the standard notice to airmen and mariners, and our navy is doing its best to keep the area clear, but when those bombs go off, people are going to die, and more will die later from the fallout. The only certain way to completely destroy everything inside the submarine’s hull is with another nuclear device — much smaller than the one-hundred-fifty-kiloton weapons on board, but big enough.”
Patterson recognized that Shi’s argument was based on hyperbole. It would be virtually impossible for all four timers to hold the exact same time, within nanoseconds of each, and at best two weapons might detonate simultaneously — the other weapons destroyed in the blast before their fuze mechanisms could get them started. But still, that meant a three-hundred-kiloton explosion. On the whole, the general’s reasoning was sound. “All right,” she conceded. “The U.S. will support your decision. How big a bomb will you use?” she asked.
“I don’t think that’s important, as long…”
“We’ll be able to measure the size of the blast as soon as you detonate it,” she pointed out.
Shi nodded. “Of course. My country, like yours, has a store of nuclear depth bombs designed for use against hostile submarines. They can be set for different yields. Our minesweepers have already verified the location of the wrecked submarine and placed a buoy over it. North Dakota’s initial position report was most accurate and due to her assistance, we were able to quickly assess the situation. Our aviators say they can place the depth bomb within half a meter of the wreck, perhaps directly on it, by helicopter. After listening to our best scientists, the Central Military Commission decided on a ten-kiloton yield.”