“Conn Sonar. Sub surface contact ahead, depth one hundred, bearing two eight nine, range three point four kilometres, speed twelve knots. Iran navy library has it identified as the Siyah Bambak. Lucky guess Sir.”
“There’s no luck involved in it,” Luke lied, “I knew it was here.”
Luke picked up the handheld microphone and pressed the red button next to his conn station twice. Whoop, Whoop. “Action stations, action stations. Submarine warning red.” Whoop, Whoop. “Action stations, action stations. Submarine warning red. All through the boat, men and women donned white anti-flash hoods. Compartment doors were closed, and action stations were manned. Damage control crews put on their breathing apparatus but left the masks off. They were ready. Holy Ghost was a well-oiled war machine.
Luke looked to Savita, “Weps, status report.”
“Tubes one, two, five and six loaded with Spearfish, ready in all respects, the fish are hungry.”
“Speed twelve knots. Get us well into his baffles.”
“Twelve aye Sir,” said the Planesman. The Ghost moved closer to the prey.
“Conn Sonar aspect change, he’s turning sharp to port, still turning.” Ratty listened intently. “Crazy Ivan, crazy Ivan. He’s increasing revs.” In the cold war an abrupt about turn and charge to clear its baffles by a Soviet submarine is called a “Crazy Ivan.” The Kilo was turning to rush straight for them. It had turned to port, Luke had little option.
“All ahead full, turn to starboard.” The boat leaned to the right, it’s crew held on. The Ghost sped off to the right of its prey. Luke cursed under his breath, they’d just made a lot of noise carrying out the evasive manoeuvre. After two minutes came the news he just didn’t want to hear.
“Conn Sonar. Three surface impacts, it’s a Limbo salvo Sir. The Frigate’s heard us and fired anti-submarine mortars.
“Shit.” Luke knew they’d be fused for depth. “Flood one, two and three, emergency dive.” The Ghost’s bow dipped and she plunged into the depths. Her normal working depth was four hundred meters but she could dive to six hundred. Above her, the three powerful mortar rounds sank towards Holy Ghost.
“One hundred and sixty meters Sir,” called out the Planesman.
“Two hundred Sir.” Luke knew they’d be set to explode at three different depths to maximise the chance of a hit.
“Conn Sonar. Fish in the water, fish in the water, Soviet type sixty five.”
“Two hundred and forty deep Sir.”
“Come to one fifty degrees.”
“Weapons. Countermeasures ready Sir,” called Savita. Luke was turning Ghost back towards the Siyah Bambak. A metallic creaking sound ran through the boat due to hull squeeze.
“Two ninety deep Sir.”
A ripple of dull explosions sounded through the hull.
There was a shaking of the hull, due to the overpressure, the metallic creaking sound vibrated the tortured hull. The depths shook violently as the Limbo rounds exploded. Luke knew more would follow.
“Damage control report.”
“Weapons. I have a firing solution on Tango two,” she called out. Her voice carried a strain.
“Incoming fish six hundred meters. Impact thirty seconds.” Ratty’s voice had an edge to it now. Luke counted down.
“Impact in twenty five seconds.” Luke’s hand gripped the mount he leaned on.
“Weps, dance the Lure.” Savita’s hands flew across her console.
“The Lure’s dancing Sir,” said Savita.
“Impact in fifteen seconds.” The Lure danced its dance of temptation.
“Release countermeasures. Blow one two and three, Planesman, emergency ascent. Maximum revs.”
The boat’s deck tilted up at an alarming angle and people hung on with white knuckles. “Weps, flood tube one, open outer doors, tube one.” The two noisemakers emitted sounds like a submarine running at full speed and blew out clouds of bubbles confusing the Soviet torpedo’s sonar. Holy Ghost’s prop spun at full revs and the vibration throbbed throughout the boat.
“Impact, nine seconds. Six seconds. Fish is going to port, the fish is going for a noisemaker.” A tremendous booming rumble sounded and the boat shook violently, the steel hull creaked and groaned then lurched hard to starboard and rolled. The crew clung on to anything they could grab. The rumble subsided, the control room crew looked around the room. They were still alive. Luke picked up the communications handset.
“Damage control report.” He replaced the handset.
“Tango one sitrep Ratty.”
“Range one point eight Kilometres, depth one hundred.”
“Weps, give him a belly shot.”
“Snapshot, snapshot, called Savita, “Warshot red. Warshot red. Launch tube one, launch tube one.” She pressed the launch button.
“Fish is running and hungry,” she said. “Fish has acquired the target, time to impact, fifty six seconds,” She decided to leave cutting the guidance wire till the last possible moment to prevent Siyah Bambak’s countermeasures from distracting the fish. She steered the fish low and would bring it up at the last minute.
“Conn Sonar. Three surface impacts, another Limbo salvo Sir.” What a bloody time, thought Luke, just when we had a fish in the water.
“All ahead full, make your depth one hundred.” The deck angled up and Holy Ghost rose, it was a gamble, convention said dive but the Kilo had to be taken out. The seconds went by, all the control room knew the three mortars were falling from the surface, had they put enough distance between them? How accurate were the Limo’s operators? If the operators had got their position wrong then Ghost could be heading into the three rounds. It was ironic, but Luke found himself hoping they were accurate. Three explosions erupted behind the Ghost. The boat lurched forward, two of the crew fell as they were pushed forward. The Planesman fell onto his steering yoke. The deck tilted forward. The hull was a bulk of groaning steel. Shit, that was close thought Luke. The deck tilted to the left and then to the right in the boiling waters. The Ghost then started to settle and right herself.
Savita still had control of her fish, she looked at the counter, fifteen seconds to impact. She angled it upwards under Siyah Bambak’s hull.
“Fish is hungry,” she had an edge of anger in her voice, “it’s sniffing, sniffing. Fish is now greedy, it’s starving, terminal boost kicking in. Cutting the wire.”
“Sonar, fish pinging, closing, closing Ratty called out as the Spearfish raced in at over sixty miles per hour.
“Hot datum! hot datum! Tango two.” Savita raised both her arms, clenched her fists and shook them.
“Yes.”
Luke picked up the broadcast microphone. “Boats Company. We were tasked with sinking two Iranian Kilo class boats. Just south of The Gate of Grief we’ve called a hot datum on the second boat. Well done everybody, the Ghost has struck again.” Luke recited a corruption of the naval hymn.
“Lord God, our power evermore
Whose arm doth reach the ocean floor
Dive with our men beneath the sea
Traverse the depths deceptively
O hear us when we pray, and hunt
them out, there’s peril in the deep.
The Ghost is coming for you.” He replaced the microphone.
“Mr Ratty. Sitrep on the Frigate.”
“Two point three kilometres, bearing eighteen degrees.”
“Come to zero degrees.” The Holy Ghost leaned to the right and turned to the north.
“What’s its depth?” Ratty Southworth looked over.
“Depth? It’s on the surface Sir.”
“I said what’s it’s depth Ratty?” The sonar operator smiled.
“Too fucking shallow Sir.”
“I agree. Weps mark surface contact as Tango three. Flood tube two.”
“Contact designated as Tango three aye.”