“Conn, sonar, multiple torpedoes in the water! Bearing south!”
It seemed forever for the second batch of Mark 50s to warm up. If the ship had gone into combat without the Vortex tubes and had the old four Mark 50 tubes on the starboard side, the second volley of four torpedoes would have gone out immediately after the first. The ship could have a weapon out every forty-five seconds until all fifty were gone. Now there could be only twenty-four launched, in uneven batches of four at five-minute intervals. But he had cursed the Vortex system enough, Pacino thought.
“Tubes two and four ready, sir.”
“Firing-point procedures, tubes two and four,” Pacino commanded, listening to the sequence of reports as the battlestations team did their individual interlocking jobs.
Within ten seconds the tube launched and the smash of high-pressure air clanged throughout the ship, and fifteen seconds after that tube four sent its torpedo out into the sea. Pacino’s ears rang as Court announced that tubes six and eight were ready.
The launch litany was repeated for those two tubes, making eight torpedoes sent down the line to Target One.
“Mr. Court, get the port bank reloaded ASAP. Sonar, captain, what’s the status of Target One?”
“Impossible to say. Captain,” Holt’s voice said through the intercom circuit. “He’s completely masked by the Mark 50s. We have zero bearing separation. I’m calling loss of contact on Target One.”
“Conn, aye. Watch for a counterfire.”
Vaughn looked up at Pacino from the desk in front of the attack center.
“I don’t know. Skipper. It’s not like this guy to take four torpedoes and not shoot back. Maybe we should clear datum on general principles.”
“Hold on, XO. Phoenix launched a whole room against this guy. Granted only three fish locked on, but he still lived. I want to unload as many weapons his way as I can. Court, what’s the status?”
“Still loading, sir.”
Still, Pacino thought, Vaughn was right. And he hadn’t mentioned the fact that Pacino had put the ship in a launching position so that the torpedoes were transiting down the line of sight. If he’d planned it he would have driven off the track so that the bearing to the torpedoes in transit would be separated from the target bearing, allowing him to monitor both during the attack. But there had been no time for that. Still, it was a tactical failure. Pacino wondered if they’d even be able to hear a counterfired Nagasaki torpedo through the noise of their own Mark 50s. At this point, it came down to how good Petty Officer Holt’s ears were.
“The torpedoes could get here any moment. General. We must evade. And counterattack. Then we can shoot your Scorpion, there will be plenty of time …”
Colonel Ahmed looked at General Sihoud, hopeful that he would finally put the insubordinate commodore in his place, but to his disappointment Sihoud nodded, finally realizing he had no choice if they were to launch the missile and survive.
“Very well. Commodore. Evade the weapons and shoot back at the intruder. But be quick about it.”
“Tawkidi, abort the launch, evade to the north and warm up the Nagasakis in tubes ten and twelve,” Sharef said, thankful for at least a brief reprieve.
“Ship control,” Tawkidi ordered. “Emergency ahead, depth 400 meters, turn to course north. Sublieutenant al-Maari, power up the weapon in tubes ten and twelve. Sensor control, do we have a function report from the Second Captain on the SCM evasion sonar?”
Sublieutenant Rouni, on the sensor console, flipped through several graphic screens on the Second Captain display.
The longer he took, Sharef thought, the more certain it was that the SCM ventriloquist modules were down. Sharef might not even have thought to check, based on how heavily the aft damage had been from the initial American torpedo.
The deck rolled from the maneuver, then inclined downward.
Sharef found his dizziness returning, the tilting pitching deck starting his fall. He had toppled halfway to the deck before Tawkidi caught hold of him. Sharef thought himself fortunate to have the devotion of someone as dedicated and capable as Tawkidi, as well as Quzwini and the rest of the men. For an instant he wondered if he were becoming delirious, all of this gushing thought about his crew members. The aftereffects of his concussion? Great thing, to be in command of a submarine under attack by multiple torpedoes, with the commander getting a fuzzy mind. He hoped Tawkidi would watch and know the proper moment to take over if he had to. And that if he did, he would stand up to Sihoud. He could not do any more coaching now. Either his crew had the character and the training to fight their way out of this mess, or they died.
“Negative function SCM, Commander. It’s dead. We’ll have to evade on speed alone.”
“Commodore, we could insert a delouse and hope for the best, but I think I’m just going to run north. There’s plenty of navigational room, and all the weapons are coming in from one bearing, astern to the south. And there’s no need to engage the Second Captain in ship-control mode.”
“Agreed, Commander.” Sharef moved closer to the navigation display, checking water depth from the computer memory, the ice-profile generated from a satellite shot loaded into the system just before sailing, updated by the Second Captain’s latest predictions. There was no telling the range to the torpedoes, but based on the Second Captain’s detection ranges using the forward hydrophones, they must be distant. And given the fact that the American torpedoes were slow, there was a good chance that the ship would outrun the weapons and remain whole. In fact, he believed, whoever had fired on them had committed a tactical error, firing at a distance from a single bearing. As soon as the Nagasakis were fired down the bearings to the incoming torpedoes, the firing ship was doomed.
“Tubes ten and twelve ready, track search mode loaded for an immediate turn to the south. Commodore. Request to launch.”
“Launch ten and twelve.”
Within twenty seconds two Nagasaki torpedoes left their tubes at the bow of the Hegira, executed rapid 180-degree turns to the south and sped to the target.
As the weapons left the Hegira behind, the Hegira began closing the distance to the American 688-class submarine, which was running northwest, the American vessel some thirty clicks slower. Now within ten kilometers, the Second Captain system was still unable to pick her noise out of the sea from the interference of the highly increased own-ship noise of the seawater flow and propulsion machinery …
Chapter 32
Saturday, 4 January
When Admiral Donchez had shut his eyes after his phone conversation with General Barczynski, the snow had been two feet deep on the roads, drifting up to four. Now another foot of snow had blanketed the flats. Donchez dreamed of snow falling, snow colored black, of streets lined with bodies buried in the deadly flakes. When he was nudged awake it was a relief.
“Message for you, sir. Navy Blue.”
Donchez put the clipboard down on the abandoned console section in front of him. The message was from the Seawolf, and its body was a one-liner: WE ARE NOW ENGAGING THE DESTINY. He waved over the communications tech sergeant.