“First-fired torpedo is homing!”
Wilson cursed under his breath. The first torpedo was within two thousand yards and had locked on to Michigan. With the torpedo already homing, a decoy would do little to distract it from the 560-foot-long submarine. However, it could still be jammed.
“Officer of the Deck, launch acoustic jammer!”
Lieutenant Lake complied, launching one of the five-inch countermeasures, then Wilson tackled the problem of where to place Michigan. The torpedo would be momentarily blinded, but once it passed the countermeasure, ahead would be clear water. And Michigan.
“Helm, all stop. Back emergency!”
Wilson decided to stop-and-drop. Rather, stop-and-rise. The best way to prevent the torpedo from locking on to the submarine was to stay near the acoustic jammer and get as close to the ice canopy as possible, hoping the jammer and sonar reflections from the ice would sufficiently confuse the torpedo. Unfortunately, Michigan was moving too slowly to drive to the surface quickly enough. The Hovering system wasn’t an option, either; it would adjust Michigan’s depth gradually. Wilson needed a radical depth change.
“Chief of the Watch, Emergency Blow all main ballast tanks!”
The Chief of the Watch stood and activated the mechanical levers above the Ballast Control Panel, porting high-pressure air to the main ballast tanks. The sound of air rushing into the tanks drowned out the conversations in Control, and Wilson felt Michigan rising toward the surface.
With the ballast tanks full of air, the submarine’s ascent would be uncontrolled, and it would smash into the ice above. They were either going to mangle the sail, or if the ice was thin enough to break through, they might shear off the fairwater planes on the sail. This wasn’t going to turn out well, but he had no choice.
After Michigan began rising rapidly, Wilson ordered the Chief of the Watch to secure the blow, then flood all variable ballast tanks, bringing on weight to decrease the rate of ascent and lessen the submarine’s impact with the ice. As the Chief of the Watch flooded water into the tanks, Wilson turned his attention to the incoming torpedoes, and the submarine that fired them.
Sonar did not hold a contact, so there was no target solution to send to the torpedo. The best they could do was get a torpedo in the water ASAP, ramming it back down the throat of whoever had attacked them.
Wilson called out, “Quick Reaction Firing, tube One, bearing one-seven-two!”
The Control Room was fully manned now, and as the Fire Control Party prepared to launch a torpedo, Wilson checked the submarine’s depth. Michigan’s keel was at one hundred feet and rising rapidly. They were going to smash into the ice cap any second.
Wilson grabbed on to the Conn railing as he called out, “Brace for impact!”
94
Buffanov stood behind his Weapons Officer, monitoring the status of his outgoing torpedoes. The first torpedo was homing on the American submarine, while his second torpedo had descended to a search depth of 175 meters, as close to the bottom as possible, which would increase the probability it detected the sunken ballistic missile submarine. A rocky ocean bottom would have been problematic, but the smooth bottom of the Barents Sea should present no issue. The announcement from his Weapons Officer confirmed his assessment.
“Detect, second fired torpedo!”
Buffanov listened to the next report; their torpedo was performing as expected.
“Second fired torpedo is homing!”
On the Weapon Launch Console, the parameters updated as the torpedo increased speed and angled down toward its target.
As Christine descended the ladder into the abandoned Russian submarine, cold, stale air greeted her. Chief Stankiewicz waited on the deck below, shining his flashlight around the deserted compartment, its surfaces covered in a thin layer of ice. Christine reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped onto an angled deck. As she shined her flashlight around, she realized the Russian submarine had settled on the bottom of the Barents Sea at a twenty-degree down-angle and fifteen-degree list to port.
They were in the center of what looked like the Engine Room, standing on a walkway suspended in the air. She leaned over the railing and shined her flashlight below; it looked like they were on the upper of two levels. Beneath her sprawled the submarine’s main engines and reduction gears, and in the distance toward the stern of the submarine, she could see the shaft, with water trickling into the submarine from around the shaft seals.
She moved forward to create room for Brackman and Berman, and after the two men landed on the walkway, they continued forward to make room for the rest of the ONI team. Brackman led the way toward a watertight door, open on the latch. He stepped into the next compartment, followed by Christine and Berman, the white beams from their flashlights cutting through the darkness.
Christine heard it first. Faint, high-pitched pings. She’d heard the noise before, while aboard USS Michigan off the coast of China. The pitch of these pings was a tad higher, but unmistakable nonetheless. Brackman heard the noise as well, stopping on the walkway, his head cocked as he listened to the distinct sound, growing gradually louder.
Berman heard it next, and as he stopped to listen to the unusual noise, there was a deafening explosion behind them and the submarine jolted, knocking Christine and the two men to the deck. There was a pressure transient and pain pierced her ears, and the roaring sound became muffled.
Christine pulled herself to her feet, as did Brackman and Berman, and as all three turned their flashlights toward the compartment behind them, a torrent of water blasted through the watertight door opening, hitting Berman and knocking him backward. He ricocheted off Christine and tumbled over the upper-level walkway, and his impact and the surge of water knocked Christine the other way. She hit the waist-high railing and flipped over it, but managed to grab on to the metal bar with one hand.
As she dangled from the walkway, her grip started to slip, so she released the flashlight and grabbed on to the railing with her other hand. She tried pulling herself onto the walkway, but the water surging into the compartment buffeted her with too much force. Her left hand lost its grip and she clamped down hard with her right, but the railing slipped away and she tumbled into the darkness.
95
Michigan shuddered as she slammed into the polar ice cap. The air was filled with the groan of twisting metal as water sprayed from both periscope barrel seals, dousing Wilson on the Conn. He moved to the port side of Control, turning back to examine the damage. A quick glance told him the flooding was within the capacity of the drain pump, but the bigger concern was that the seawater was spraying on the combat control consoles. The dual screen consoles were water resistant, not waterproof. The watchstanders remained at their consoles, processing the Quick Reaction Fire command as the sound of an explosion rumbled through Michigan’s hull.
Checking the nearest sonar display, Wilson noted the second torpedo had disappeared from the screen, while the bearing to the first torpedo remained constant, which meant it was on an intercept course with Michigan.