“Bridge, this is Sonar. No change in torpedo bearing. The signal may be splitting into two or more weapons.”
Well, that didn’t work, Levi thought. He ordered another rapid course change. Screw closing on the sub. Coming right, he steadied perpendicular to the torpedoes’ approach. Maybe giving them a rapidly changing angle would throw them off.
The sonar room reported again. “We now have three weapons in the water. Bearing rate on one is changing. It may be going for Duncan. Rate is still steady on the other two.”
Levi clenched his fists. There was nothing more he could do. “Pass the word, all hands brace for impact.” He looked out to starboard and saw another ship heeling sharply. The Duncan was also maneuvering.
Soviet SET-65 torpedoes use passive sonar to home in on the sounds made by a ship’s engines and propellers. As the two torpedoes fired by Dribinov at O’Brien closed on their target, their robot brains brought them in behind the American destroyer — with one a hundred yards back.
Both tiny onboard computers evaluated the closest noise source as the rapidly turning screws of an American Spruance-class destroyer. Both were wrong.
They were homing on a Nixie, a torpedo decoy towed behind most U.S. Navy warships. No bigger than a garbage can, the Nixie was designed to make noise on the same frequencies as the ship towing it, but so loud that any attacking torpedoes would be spoofed into attacking the decoy instead.
It worked.
The Dribinov’s first torpedo closed on the Nixie and detonated when its proximity fuze sensed the target’s position changing rapidly.
The explosion of its six-hundred-pound warhead threw a hundred-foot-tall geyser of icy water into the air, drenching sailors watching from the O’Brien’s fantail. At the same moment the shock wave rippling out from the explosion lifted the destroyer’s fantail almost clear of the water, and for a moment the O’Brien’s propellers raced as they neared the air.
The second torpedo, intent on the same target, raced through the roiled water left by the explosion and suddenly found itself without a noise source to home in on. The SET-65’s forward-looking seeker didn’t have the intelligence to realize that its original target was now to its left and behind. And the control logic preprogrammed into the torpedo’s tiny brain was simple, direct, and mistaken: If a target is lost, circle right and look for another.
Meanwhile, O’Brien’s captain had not been idle. As soon as the first weapon exploded, destroying his Nixie, he’d ordered a hard left turn. Not only was he now closing on the Soviet sub’s estimated position, but he and the second torpedo were heading in opposite directions with a combined speed of eighty knots — over ninety miles per hour.
It took roughly thirty seconds for the Russian torpedo to circle completely around to face O’Brien’s stern. By that time the destroyer had covered thirteen hundred yards, over half a nautical mile. The torpedo’s small size meant a small, short-range seeker, with a maximum range of a thousand yards. So it never heard the O’Brien again and simply continued its turn. Left behind by its prey, the torpedo circled mindlessly for about five more minutes, then ran out of gas and sank quietly to the bottom.
Levi’s heartbeat was starting to slow toward normal when he heard a tremendous, rolling explosion from the right and felt the O’Brien rock for an instant. His head snapped right in time to see another towering column of water like the one that had appeared behind his ship. This one, though, wasn’t made up of only white, foaming water. It was stained a dirty black and gray and located directly under the Duncan’s stern.
The column sagged and then collapsed back into the sea, leaving the frigate hidden for half a minute under a dense cloud of mist and smoke. When it emerged, the Duncan was visibly listing to port and down by the stern.
Levi stood rigid with anger. The Russians had struck again. He wheeled to his bridge crew and snapped out a new string of orders. “Indicate turns for twenty knots. Right full rudder. Boatswain, call away the repair and assistance party.”
The first explosion’s rumbling Crrrummmpp came through the hull exactly when the tracking party predicted Dribinov’s first torpedo would reach its target. There were excited, quickly muffled exclamations from the Control Room crew, followed shortly by disappointed mutters when the time for their second torpedo to attack came and went. But the second explosion was right on schedule, and again the control room crew had to stifle its cheers.
Markov hid his excitement well. Three American ships sunk or damaged in a single quick series of attacks. It was easy to be calm when things were going as he had planned. Now to exploit the situation by escaping through the gap he’d just blown clear through the American ASW screen. “We will steer toward the two targets. Steady on course two six five.”
The sub changed course slowly at low speed. Normally he would have increased speed to hasten its turn, but the Dribinov’s battery was now too low to risk the unnecessary drain.
Markov smiled. He’d only sunk one of his priority targets — probably an amphibious ship — but once past the screen, he could clear the area and snorkel, recharging his batteries. He still had plenty of weapons, and with a full charge he could make another attack.
He moved back to the plot table and started to estimate the maneuvers he would need to make. Assuming about six hours to motor clear at three knots, while the task force continued to the north…
The SH-3H Sea King hovered low, its rotor wash churning the sea into a bubbling cauldron. A cable hung from under the helicopter, stretching down into the water.
In the Sea King’s cockpit, the pilot clicked his mike. “All right, Tommy. Activate the pinger. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The petty officer in charge of Bravo Six’s sonar gear reached out and flipped a single switch — activating the dipping sonar dangling thirty meters under the water.
“Comrade Captain! Active sonar on the port bow. Very strong.” The plotter’s voice climbed in pitch.
“Damn it! Release a decoy! Right full rudder.” Markov looked at the charge meter and tried to make a fast calculation. How much battery power could he spare? Not much. He sighed and issued the order. “Increase speed to ten knots.”
WHANNNG! A sharp explosion rocked the sub’s hull from side to side. Markov felt the shock and automatically adjusted for it, flexing his knees. The lights flickered and fragments of the compartment’s insulation drifted down onto the plot table.
It was a depth-charge attack, close by. No warnings this time. “All compartments report damage.”
He was just starting to receive reports when the second salvo came in, with a third seconds behind. This time the Control Room lights went out and did not come on again. In the darkness he could hear men shouting orders and he spoke to those nearby, calming them.
His first lieutenant’s voice cut through the confusion. “Maneuvering room reports one of the shafts refuses to turn. Also, there is flooding in the crew’s quarters.”
Shit. Markov couldn’t see the plot in this blackness, but his head held the known elements of the situation Dribinov faced. “Right full rudder. Release another decoy. Put all power into the remaining screw. Turn off all but emergency equipment.” He coughed in the dust-choked air. “And get the damned emergency lights rigged in here.”