“Ratty?” asked Luke.
“Faint returns from Nahang Sir, two twenty three degrees, depth one twenty, speed eighteen knots. No sign of Siyah Bambak.”
“Call out when we’re in his baffles.”
“Sir.” He knew it was a risk moving out to follow the Nahang, the second Kilo was out there somewhere. However, when it would emerge from the gloomy depths and follow its fellow submarine was a guess. It had probably developed a mechanical problem, after all they’d been together since they left the Barents Sea. He couldn’t risk losing the Nahang in the Gulf of Aden. You had to play the cards you’re dealt, and he’d been dealt the Nahang. Luke didn’t like it, not one bit, but it was a risk he had to take. After several minutes slipping silently through the depths, Ratty called out.
“In his baffles Sir, Tango one is vectored on one six five, range nine kilometres.”
“Planesman, come to one six five degrees, speed twenty knots.” In the control room the crew leaned to the right as the boat tilted and turned to port. Luke knew it would be best to close the range to reduce the torpedo running time. HMS Holy Ghost slowly closed in on her prey. Her approach, masked by the noise from her opponent’s propeller.
“Call her out Ratty.” The control room became ever more silent, and everyone tensed up. It was a cold heavy silence. Intent on their screens, furrowed brows, licking of lips, eyes stared intently. Luke could sense and smell the air of intense concentration.
“It’s OK people, just think of it as an exercise.” He looked around the room, his words didn’t seem to help much.
“Range six kilometres, Sir.” The minutes counted down.
“Conn Sonar, we have a coast.”
“All stop, disengage drive,” snapped Luke. Holy Ghost slid silently through the darkness. The minutes dragged on. Had they been detected? He knew the MGK-440EM sonar that the Kilo carried made it a formidable foe. In underwater warfare knowledge is power, you could carry all manner of deadly weapons. However, if you didn’t know where your enemy was, you may as well carry sacks of flour.
“They’ve re-engaged their drive, Sir,” said Ratty.
“Possible aspect change, Tango one seems to be turning to starboard.” He knew they could have sensed something and were changing aspect on the passive sonar to better localise its direction. It could also be a standard precaution.
“Hold your course Planesman.”
“He’s re-engaged the drive. Returning to one six five degrees.”
“Make your speed twenty knots.” The Ghost moved off towards her target.
“Conn Sonar, range three kilometres.”
“Speed eighteen knots.” The Ghost was keeping off by three kilometres.
“Weps, flood tube one, set stealth mode on Spearfish tube one. Open outer doors.” Savita’s hand ran over her console.
“Outer doors open aye Sir. Tube one ready in all respects, the fish is hungry.”
“Weps, launch when ready and go deep for a belly shot.” Savita raised her eyebrows. The fish could be programed to strike from the left, right, top, bottom, forward or aft.
“Sir.” Her hands ran over the control board. There was a pause, then she announced the action phase.
“Warshot red, warshot red,” called out Savita, “launch tube one, the fish is running.” Her pulse was racing, she heard the rushing sound as the water flooded the now empty tube. It was the first time she’d launched a torpedo in action. The control wire trailed out behind the torpedo, Savita waited ten seconds then took hold of the Spearfish control stick, she angled it down diving the torpedo. She levelled the torpedo out at two hundred meters. Running at eighty knots it would take just over one minute thirty seconds to intercept the target.
“Fish running true, she’s greedy, fifty five seconds to run,” said Savita.
“Conn Sonar. Aspect change, Tango one diving and running to starboard, Sir. She’s on max revs.” He’d expected something like that, diving is a common evasion technique. He’d called for a belly shot, ie a strike from below as Nahang would be likely to narrow the distance herself. She’d impale herself on the Spearfish, her own angel of death.
“Conn Sonar, contact, contact astern. Submarine warning red. Submarine warning red. Tango two, range nine kilometres, bearing one four zero, depth ninety, max revs. She’s vectored straight for us.” Bastard, thought Luke. Why must it always happen? The shit hits the fan just when it couldn’t be worse. What a time for the second Kilo to reappear, just when we have a fish in the water.
“Active pulse from Tango two,” seconds passed by, “active pulse. Tango two.”
“Sir, I have a firing solution on Tango two,” said Savita.
“Weps, flood tube two, set stealth mode on Spearfish tube two. Open outer doors.”
“Outer doors open aye Sir. Tube two is ready in all respects, the fish is hungry.”
“Conn Sonar. Fish in the water, fish in the water, Soviet type sixty five.”
“Time to impact?”
“Five minutes forty four seconds.”
“Mark that time and call it.” Luke knew he had to appear confident, even though he knew they could be five minutes away from a crushing watery death.
“Weps, give me a sitrep on the Spearfish.”
“Thirty seconds to impact.”
“Ratty?”
“Tango one turning about to face us. Not diving she’s now rising.”
“Captain,” said Savita, “she’s going for a classic alpha three release manoeuvre. She’s going to launch a fish.” Luke knew all too well what was going on. Two fish running in for them, it didn’t get any worse than that.
“Conn Sonar, Tango one has deployed countermeasures. Noisemakers would be released, spinning and hissing behind the submarine in an effort to tempt the torpedo away from its real target.
“Weapons Sir, time to impact fifteen seconds.” Come on, come on, Luke willed the Spearfish on.
“Conn Sonar, Tango two’s fish is four minutes and thirty five seconds away and closing. It’s now above us, it looks like they’re going for a high and dive shot.” The torpedo would come down on them from above, it eliminated any chance of its guidance sonar being distracted by any surface targets.
“Conn Sonar. Two hundred metres to run. Our fish is pinging. The boat’s turning to port and diving. Still pinging. Yes, it’s ignored the countermeasures, fish going in. One hundred metres. Pinging, pinging. Hot datum! Hot datum!” A pause followed, Hot datum was submarine parlance for a direct hit. “Impact amidships, no screw count from her, I heard the hull tearing open, she’s sinking.” Luke hung his head in sorrow for the men lost. They were his fellow submariners and deserved respect. However, he had a job to do and a fish with their name on it was running in.
“Remove Tango one from the threat board. Ratty give me a sitrep on the Soviet fish.”
“The fish is three minutes fifty five away, running in fifty knots and high.” Luke knew he had to take a gamble.
“Come to one four zero degrees. Speed fifteen knots.” The Ghost turned to face the oncoming torpedo.
“Call the range Ratty.”
“Fish, six point five kilometres. Impact in three minutes fifty seconds.” Luke exchanged glances with the Exec. Commander Davis had a calm expression but his eyes told a different story.
“Fish, five point two kilometres. Impact in two minutes forty seconds.” Ratty calmly called out the numbers. The room was silent but crew members looked around furtively.
“Weps, ready two countermeasures, port and starboard. Set mode synchronise.” Type 2071 countermeasures or noisemakers, would be launched either side of the boat from the two SSE launchers. “Fish, three point three kilometres. Impact in one minute fifty seconds.” Ratty’s tone of voice rose, you could feel the tension now.