“I have them waiting, sir.”
The boat cruised on toward the enemy fleet.
After several minutes, Benson shouted out, “Sir, surface transits. Their sounds are consistent with ASW mortars entering the sea above and slightly to the south.”
“Come hard to port. Emergency deep, emergency deep.”
The boat flooded her forward buoyancy vessels and her prop revs climbed to max. In the control room, the bow dipped, and she rolled to the left and north, and the crew hung on or leaned in their harnesses.
“Sir, they’ll be UDAV-1,” said Weaps. “Probably a salvo of SG with impact-time fuze. They’ll be set to bracket 300 feet; it’s about whether we can get deep enough, quick enough.”
The boat plunged down into the deeps and safety.
Nathan wished they’d approached the fleet deeper. Too late for that now; he knew it was a fine line between hit and escape. Come on, down, get down.
She plunged deeper, and above the mortars fell, waiting for their time to explode. Jackson approached the 600-feet mark when the first mortar exploded.
Boom. It could be heard throughout the boat. Fittings shook, and the hull groaned due to the pressure wave. Then another and another. Boom, boom. The boat shifted and bucked, and the crew could hear the hull straining. The salvo finally came to an end.
“Sir,” said Benson. “I think the ship’s sonar heard us as we’re noisier than normal.”
Nathan breathed again. “Planesman, level out at 600 feet, resume the heading.” Nathan cursed and looked to the XO. “Goddamn it, Nikki, it’s like driving an old U-boat.”
“Not really, sir. They couldn’t go thousands of feet deep and we can dive a lot longer than the Kriegsmarine could.”
“I know. It’s just annoying.”
Benson looked over at him. “We’re passing under where the Udaloy was, now leaving his track.”
Now Nikki looked over to Nathan. “Sir, he’s still a threat.”
“I know he is.”
Just at that point, Benson called out. “Sir, more surface transits. He’s lobbing more mortars in. They’re to our west, in our direction.”
“Come hard to starboard. Emergency deep, emergency deep.”
Already at 600 feet, the boat dived further into the black crushing depths.
“Nine hundred, 1,100,” called Nikki, “one thousand three hundred feet.”
“Planesman, level out.”
Above the mortars started to explode, and although further away, they were still close. The hull strained under the pulsing force. Fittings rattled and throughout the boat, crew hung on and blinked at every thud. Nathan knew at this depth they were in the hunting zone of any Russian SSN down here patrolling the fleet.
“Any boats down here with us, Benson? Sniff ’em out.”
Benson spent time listening and watching his dripping oil screen. After a couple of minutes, he was satisfied. “Clear, sir. I hear no boats.”
“Good. One day you’re going to have to teach me that oil screen thing.”
Benson grinned. “It’s easy, sir. Like reading tea leaves.”
“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Planesman, up bubble fifteen, make your depth 600 feet, speed 8 knots.”
“Aye sir, up 15, 600 feet, 8 knots.”
With the quarry ahead, Nathan knew it was time for some help. “Weaps, flood and open outer doors on tubes five and six. Let Scooby and Ren off the leash. Scooby to the north of Tango one and Ren to her center.”
A rushing sound came from up forward.
“Pointers deployed, sir.”
The two drones made their way towards Peter the Great faster than USS Stonewall Jackson. Scooby emitted sounds that made him seem like his master, while Ren remained silent.
Up forward, torpedo room sailors used the hanging gantries to manoeuvre two Mk48s into the now vacant tubes. The six Mk48 CBASS fish were now ready and waiting for the call.
USS Stonewall Jackson stalked her target, Pyotr Velikiy, Peter the Great. One of the world’s most powerful warships.
“Damn,” said Benson. “Dipping sonar three miles south west. It’s a Helix ASW chopper.”
Nathan knew the Russians would be looking hard.
“Sir, Scooby’s taken a salvo of UDAV-1 ASW mortars from Tango one. We’re both in range,” said Benson.
“I’ve set him to go emergency deep,” said Weaps, “and make sounds like we would.”
“Ok, guys, keep on it.”
A minute later.
“The mortars are going off over Scooby and he… Wait one, wait one…” The control room listened to Benson, the Virginia Visionary. “Ship launched Type 53 torpedo from Tango one. It’s running for us, range three miles, speed too damn fast.”
They were being hunted by a large torpedo; the same type as was launched from their SSNs.
Benson sat up at his chair; the room noticed and waited. “Holy fuck, we have a fish in the water. It’s an APR-3 dropped from the Helix. It’s in a spiral search looking for us.”
A nightmare, knew Nathan. They were now a target for a heavy Mk53 and a light APR-3. Either could deliver a fatal blow given the chance.
“Both fish running in.”
Nathan knew the APR-3 airdropped was closer. “Emergency deep, emergency deep. Prepare and load countermeasures port and starboard. Weaps, Ren’s at the central location, closer to the 53, that right?”
“Yes, sir, he’s about equidistant from us and Tango one.”
“Right, get him to flood tubes etc, make like he’s carrying out a Mk48 attack on the Pyotr Velikiy. And stream out our tail; get Lucy out at one mile.”
“Nine hundred feet,” called out Nikki.
“All ahead stop, let the negative buoyancy take us down,” said Nathan. “I want us dropping silent as a nun’s panties.”
Nikki looked at him reproachfully.
“You know how quiet they are coming off?” He winked at her. “I’ll tell you about a night in Denver one day.”
Weaps raised his fist. “Ren’s making like an SSN.”
Nathan nodded.
“One thousand one hundred feet,” said Nikki.
“APR still closing, 900 yards, 750, 500. It’s terminal. Closing fast.”
“Get ready, Planesman.”
He waited until the last possible moment.
“One fifty, 120.”
“All ahead full, hard to port, blow ballast. Launch countermeasures to starboard.”
The boat rolled to the left and pitched up, the crew were pushed hard to the right. The bow was up sixty degrees and the power and buoyancy pushed her upwards.
The APR-3 was tempted towards the countermeasures. It exploded. The boat was rolled and pushed, the lighting failed, and the dull red light came on. The crew heard the hull groan and strain like never before. She raced for the surface and came slowly under control; the boiling sea was left below.
“Chief, damage control, get on it.” He knew that wasn’t the only threat down here. “Benson, Weaps, how’s Ren doing with the Type 53?”
“Sir, he’s leading the fish a merry dance. He’s on auto deception and he’s doing a good job of looking like a Los Angeles class SSN. The best copy of USS Pittsburgh that that fish has ever seen. Oh, oh no. No.”
“What’s up?”
Benson hung his head. “The 53’s gone off. The bastard took poor Ren with it.”
Nathan wanted to whoop, but knew the crew wouldn’t like it. Ren had done his job; he’d saved them. But the crew wouldn’t see it like that.
Nathan took the intercom off its hook. “I have to tell you that seaman Ren has just defeated a Russian torpedo. As a result, we’re safe. But he lost his life doing his duty. God rest seaman Ren.” He replaced the handset. Command required you to do odd things; morale mattered.
“Chief, damage control report.”
“I can’t believe how well we got through that. Mitsubishi, Kawasaki and Electric Boat make a tough submarine. Some pipes are fractured, a buoyancy pump will need replacing. Some electrical boards are blown. But all can be fixed in a couple of hours. We’ve bypassed where needed. The boat’s still in fighting shape, sir.”