“Make sure the doors are closed as soon as each torpedo is launched.” Each open torpedo tube door slowed them slightly, and they would need that speed.
“Three minutes until we are north of Contact Two,” reported the plotter. “Sonar reports Contact Three’s sonar strength is approaching a twenty-five percent chance of detection.”
Markov looked at all the information on their position. That Perry-class frigate was just too close. He was about to fire the opening shots in what could be World War III. The thought terrified him until he suppressed it. He had his duty. “Stand by.”
“Captain, Contact Three’s bearing rate is changing again. She may be turning!” The plotter’s voice went up a half-octave before dropping back to its normal even pitch.
“Fire control party, check fire! Menchikov, ask Sonar if that frigate could be changing course toward us.”
The plotter asked, listened carefully, and answered, “No sir. Three has already turned past us.”
Markov exhaled heavily. “Close the tube doors. Continue with the original approach.” They had done it.
They were inside the screen.
“Sir, one of our helicopters has just reported a MAD contact!”
Brown looked up from the pile of messages he was reviewing. “Where’s their contact?”
“In the inner zone, sir.”
“What?” The messages were dumped and Brown was on his feet.
He moved to the close-range plot. The ASW officer pointed to one half-circle shape showing the call sign Bravo Four. “This bird was coming in to the carrier after finishing his patrol, sir. He’s critical on fuel.”
Brown felt an icy sensation down his back. How could anything have gotten in so close without being picked up? “Tell the helo to hold contact for as long as he can. How solid is it?”
“Bravo Four got two good passes in before he called us, Admiral. I’m vectoring other birds from Connie and the O’Brien at top speed to localize the bastard.” The ASW officer looked personally affronted by the idea that anything could have slipped past his screen.
“We don’t have time.” Brown shook his head. “Okay, have Bravo Four lay one DICASS sonobuoy and then head home. “Who’s in ASROC range?”
“O’Brien, sir.”
“Order her to pair up with Duncan and attack immediately. Keep the helos ready to assist.” He turned to his chief of staff. “Jim, put the entire formation at general quarters. Increase speed to maximum and turn the heavies away from the MAD contact. And keep the rest of the screen clear so O’Brien and Duncan can engage. Got it?”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Brown hardly heard the alarms on Constellation. He was too busy trying to make sure the sneaky bastard out there didn’t get a shot off. Whoever it was, he was too damn close right now.
“Sir, the fire control party is tracking the main body of the formation.”
Markov shook his head. “Keep the plot simple. Pick out the three strongest signals and concentrate on them. They are either the closest or the biggest. Either way we want them.”
The group around the table got busy.
Markov looked at Dribinov’s charge meters. They showed forty-four percent of his battery power left. All of his training screamed at him that this was wrong, that he was in trouble.
He was inside the screen, though. And in any event, the Dribinov couldn’t back out now, even if he wanted it to. Markov forced himself to relax. There would be plenty of power available for the rest of his approach.
He laid a hand on his first officer’s shoulder. “Dimitri, tell the torpedo room I want a new record for reloading. We will probably have to shoot our way out of here.” The shorter man nodded his understanding and reached for the intercom. Markov turned to the others. “Tracking party, how long until — ”
“Sir, sonar reports heavy screw noises. It sounds like the formation is speeding up.” Menchikov paused to listen and then continued. “Bearing rates are changing.” Another pause. “Bearing rates on two warships, Contacts One and Three, are constant, increasing signal strength.”
“Govno!” If a contact was neither going to the left or right of him and its sound signal was getting stronger, then it must be headed straight for him. One enemy ship doing that might be coincidence, but two could not be. Somehow the Dribinov had been found.
Markov gripped the plot table and ripped out a string of orders. “Release a decoy. Fire Control party, prepare for a snapshot. We will fire a spread into the mass of the American formation. Make turns for emergency speed.”
The ASW officer looked sick. “Admiral, O’Brien and Duncan are cold. They’re still too far away to pick anything up on sonar.”
Brown bit down the urge to swear. “Tell them to launch blind. We’ve got to put the pressure on this guy.”
The ASW officer relayed his order, then listened for a minute to a new report coming in through his headset. “Bravo Six is picking up something from the DICASS Bravo Four dropped.”
Brown nodded in satisfaction. That was something at least. “When will Six be on top?”
The ASW officer made a rapid calculation. “Three minutes, Admiral.”
Brown felt his short-lived relief die. “That son of a bitch will be able to launch in three minutes.”
“Torpedo in the water! Aft and to port!”
Markov whirled to his first officer. “Release another decoy. And fire tubes one through six! Stand by for evasive action.”
It took an infinity of ten seconds to launch all six weapons. Every man aboard the Dribinov could hear the clunk as high-pressure air valves opened and closed. Each time they cycled, they sent a blast of compressed air into a torpedo tube, literally throwing the torpedo out into the water. Spent air was vented into the boat’s hull, and Markov and his crew yawned and swallowed as the pressure built.
“Sonar reports that the weapon is active, but it is drawing left.”
Markov felt his heartbeat slowing slightly. A bearing change that quickly signaled that the American torpedo had not acquired his submarine. And that meant it would probably miss. Confident that his prediction would be confirmed in a matter of seconds, he used the time to organize his thoughts, to plan his escape.
Menchikov broke into his thoughts with more bad news. “Sonar reports another torpedo in the water. They think it is distant, but it is directly ahead of us.”
Markov watched carefully as a young lieutenant marked the new threat on the plot with shaking hands. There wasn’t anything he could do. Not yet.
Clunk. The last torpedo left its tube and whined away toward the fleeting enemy formation. Now! Markov spun to the helmsman. “Right full rudder. Slow to ten knots.” Reflexively he looked at the battery gauges. Thirty-two percent.
“Captain, Sonar reports the second torpedo’s seeker is locked onto something, perhaps the seabed.” A soft boom sounded from ahead as the American Mark 46 exploded on the muddy floor of the Yellow Sea. Markov smiled and relaxed, but not too much.
If they were dropping on him, it was time to get out. But not quietly. Markov had already decided to fight his way clear. The Americans might have detected the Dribinov too soon, but they would soon find they’d grasped a tiger by its tail.