“Who goes first, the helo or us?” the TACCO asked.
“Helo’s closer in — not within minimums, though,” the copilot pointed out. “I’d say the helo.”
Sure enough, moments later, the Desron’s TAO said, “Paddywhack Six Zero One, take target with torpedoes.”
The TACCO let out a groan of frustration. “It was mine, all mine,” he said brokenly. “If only — ”
Rabies put the S-3 into a tight turn, putting them nose on to the attacking helo. They watched the torpedo fall off of her hard point, splash noisily into the water, then dive. In the crystal clear waters, they could follow the course of the torpedo down to a considerable depth. Rabies fancied he could even see the outline of the minisub, a darker blotch against the white sand seabed and coral.
But wait, was that…
“Homeplate, you’ve got an inbound torpedo,” he said, his voice calm despite the tension twisting his gut into a knot. “Repeat, torpedo inbound!”
“We’ve got it, Hunter,” the TAO snapped.
As he watched, Rabies saw the Jefferson’s wake change in its configuration as the aircraft carrier started to turn. It was a standard ASW evasive maneuver, but was probably of no use in these waters. First, the carrier was just too massive, took too long to commence a change in direction. Her turning radius was measured in miles instead of yards. Second, the range was just too close. There was not time for the carrier’s wake to even reflect the change of course, much less for it to do any good.
“With a target that big, she can’t miss,” Pencehaven said. He stared at the geometry of the attack, sick dread filling his heart. Sure, it wasn’t his boat that was going to get nailed, and he was glad about that. But what about the six thousand plus men and women on board that aircraft carrier? And wasn’t that the heart of the entire battle plan, having the air power to establish air superiority for the troops who would follow? An idea flickered through his brain, and without thinking, he toggled the communications switch. “Captain, recommend course two-four-zero, speed flank plus,” he said firmly. “Sir, if we can get close enough in, we can eject our noisemakers into the path. We’ve already seen that it’s a stupid torpedo — it’ll go for it, sir. I’m sure of it.”
“The carrier’s got her own noisemakers,” the captain said.
Pencehaven shook his head. “It’ll be too close, sir. Even if they destroy the torpedo, it looks like it’s going to be astern of her. The overpressure wave and the explosion itself may damage the carrier’s propellers. I know she’s got four of them, but if she loses maneuverability…” Pencehaven didn’t need to finish the sentence. Everybody on board the submarine knew what it would mean to lose a propeller — a dramatic decrease in maneuverability. And if the aircraft carrier couldn’t maneuver, she couldn’t turn into the wind to launch and recover aircraft. “Recommend we deploy noisemakers for the carrier’s protection, sir,” Pencehaven concluded.
Men don’t rise to be the captains of submarines if they’re prone to indecision. The captain’s answer came back immediately. “Roger, conning officer, come right, steady course two-four-zero, flank speed. Engineer, give me everything you’ve got. We’ll be noisier than a pig, but let’s see what this old tub can do.”
I know what this old tub can do, Pencehaven thought. We’re on refresher training, for heck’s sake. If ever there’s a time that she’s got max speed available, it’s now.
Beside him, Jacobs looked sick. “We’re going to be back within range, then,” he said, “And noisier than a bitch in heat.”
“Not a problem, Renny,” Pencehaven said with more confidence than he felt. “Like I said, these are stupid torpedoes. They went for the noisemakers once — they’ll go for it again. And we both know she’s probably only carrying two. After that, she’s going to have to cut and run, and then we’ll nail her ourselves.”
“We haven’t been so good at that so far,” Jacobs pointed out.
Pencehaven shook his head, waving away the comment. “She’s mine, Renny. She’s all mine.”
Everything inside the submarine was shaking now as the submarine approached max possible speed. The water was coursing over her like a thick fluid, sound echoing through her limber hulls, vortices creating noise as the water flowed over every protuberance in her hull. The submarine was built for silence, but it was almost impossible to run silently at flank speed. The equipment required to maintain the engineering plant, the water over the hull, even the rattle of the periscope in its tube all contributed to the cacophony now pouring into the water.
As they watched, the contact turned back to meet them.
“Okay, bitch. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Pencehaven said softly. As they watched, the other submarine accelerated to her own flank speed. No new torpedoes appeared in the water. For a moment, Pencehaven marveled. They’d pegged it that time, hadn’t they? Two torpedoes, that was all. And now she was out of weapons, and running for safety. But she wouldn’t find it, not anywhere in this sector of water, not as long as USS Centurion was there.
“Captain, she’s headed back to the Arizona,” Pencehaven said. “I recommend you let her think we’ve lost her, then execute the maneuver recommended by the carrier.”
“Roger, that’s the plan,” the captain’s voice said, now firmly in control. “Go active, stay in a search mode. As soon as we lose contact. Let her think we’re clueless. Then secure on my command, and we’ll close the Arizona.”
It was the Army officer’s turn to look puzzled as the naval officers and Coast Guard officer clustered around the table turned pale. He looked from face to face, searching for a clue, then looked back at the tactical display. “What’s that funny symbol?”
Finally, Magruder spoke. “An enemy torpedo. And it’s headed straight for us.”
“But what’s Centurion doing?” Green broke in. A frown creased her face, then slowly cleared. She turned to Lab Rat, and nodded solemnly. “Seems that we’re not the only ones with some good ideas around here.”
They all stared at the screen as the Centurion screamed toward them, her speed leader increased to an almost unimaginable length for a submarine. New symbols popped onto the screen, evidence that she was ejecting noisemakers. As they watched, the torpedo symbol turned abruptly left, and headed straight for one. Just as abruptly, the Centurion changed course, then disappeared from the screen.
“I’m gonna owe that man a beer,” Batman said softly. He turned his attention back to the TAO. “How many more fighters have we got to launch?”
“Six more, sir,” the TAO replied. “All standing by and ready to go.”
Batman turned to Tombstone. “Just like the old days, isn’t it?” he asked softly.
“Not quite,” Tombstone said. “We’re not in a cockpit.”
TWENTY-ONE
“Conning officer. I want you to listen to me very, very carefully.” The captain’s voice was calm, betraying no hint of nervousness. “This is just like making an approach on the pier. You just can’t see it. We’re going to use the same speeds, the same tiny course corrections. And on my signal, let engineering know that I want this boat backing down as hard as she’s ever backed in her life.”