“What’s that?” he asked. “I noticed something different.”
The trainer nodded.
“Andrei reports that the Goliath-Specter is now a medium-range target. It’s a good estimate that the Goliath-Specter is less than ten nautical miles from him.”
“Verify the bearing from him.”
The trainer sent and received chirps.
“Four o’clock.”
“Four? It turned toward the south. That explains why my torpedo hasn’t acquired yet.”
“I still have the wire, sir,” the weapons operator said. “With this new update, I recommend a forty-five-degree steer to the left.”
“Do it,” Volkov said.
“My babies are useful, are they not?” the trainer asked.
“They could do even better if they close the distance to the Goliath-Specter on an intercept course.”
“I never taught them the concept of an intercept course. They will just do their best to catch up, based upon whatever geometry plays out in their minds. It might be an intercept course, or they may follow the wake.”
“So be it,” Volkov said. “Send the data to the plot.”
The sonar operator obeyed, and the icon representing a hostile submarine, Volkov’s best image for the Goliath-Specter tandem, shifted in space to its updated location.
“Nineteen thousand yards, and opening distance slowly.”
“It’s within weapons range, sir, if you want to shoot again with a medium search speed,” the weapons operator said. “There’s little margin, and you’d have to act fast.”
“How’s my present torpedo doing?”
“Its low fuel makes a hit questionable.”
“Assign tube one to the Goliath-Specter.”
“Tube one is ready.”
“Shoot tube one.”
The pneumatic torpedo impulse system in the ship’s forward compartment pushed out the weapon. The rapid pressure change popped Volkov’s ears.
“Tube one away, normal launch,” the weapons operator said.
“I’m going to let the Goliath-Specter drift to the south while I maintain course. Let it take its roundabout path towards the Bosporus while I take the direct route.”
“It may be a moot point, sir,” the weapons operator said. “Our second weapon may take care of the problem.”
“Perhaps, but I must think two steps ahead.”
Looking to his tactical display, he tapped a stylus over the location where the Goliath submerged, and then he moved the stylus to his target’s present position. The speed averaged twelve and a half knots. He aimed his nose at the trainer.
“Let’s force the dolphins to a better position. They’re giving up a knot and a half and can’t maintain a tail chase.”
“Where do you want them?”
“Let’s see if they can intercept the Goliath on its way back toward the west. Send them to the southwest.”
“Six o’clock?”
“Yes. Send them.”
“I’m sending them to six o’clock,” the trainer said. “I also need to inform you that they’ll need to sleep soon.”
The warning reminded Volkov that his living tactical assets suffered multiple limitations. Having become a student of their skills after his last deployment, he recalled that they rested half their brains, keeping one eye open in alert defense, prior to resting the other half. But they were useless in their semi-alert sleeping state. And though they broached and breathed freely, they needed to eat.
“I understand,” he said. “Can you produce a predictable sleeping and eating schedule?”
The trainer shifted his weight and appeared energized with pride.
“Yes. It will take some coaxing, but I’ve conditioned them to work on half their normal sleep for days. I’ve also taught them to feed in their most efficient hunting formation. Andrei encircles a school of fish while Mikhail feeds, and then they switch. They are warriors, after all.”
“How does that add up in hours?”
“An hour of feeding followed by four hours of sleep.”
“Five hours total. I see. What’s my absolute limit from now until they need to rest and eat again?”
“Probably two hours. I can’t be sure and neither can they know or tell me. They can’t reckon time.”
“If I command their sleep and feeding now, how long will they be able to endure until they need another break?”
“I can guarantee you twelve hours of operations, but I believe they can go longer if I push them.”
“Let’s continue to use them now,” Volkov said. “They might be able to tell me which way the Goliath-Specter runs as it evades my torpedo.”
He looked to his sonar operator to get an update on his weapon, but the sailor’s stiffness worried him.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Torpedo in the water!”
The terror in the sailor’s eyes told Volkov all he needed. He had been ambushed, and his adversary’s aim was true.
“All ahead flank!”
The Krasnodar shook, and mortal terror consumed Volkov as he forced his voice calm.
“Where is it?”
“In our baffles. Close.”
“Launch countermeasures!”
The click and thud of the release and jettison of gas-generating canisters silenced the room with the inescapability of the desperation.
“Do you hear any sign of the submarine that shot us?”
“No, sir.”
Volkov cleared his mind. Standing, he rested his hands on the elevated conning platform’s railing and bowed his head. He needed to accept and understand his failure to give himself a chance of overcoming it.
He had chased the Goliath-Specter tandem, but given that an unknown assailant had attacked him, he concluded that the Goliath and Specter had split. The opposing submarine had become a ghost, and he had driven his ship by it, showing the Specter a high bearing rate. He had gifted his adversary an easy target.
The intelligence report about his mercenary opponents and the torpedo strike on the Muromets suggested that the incoming weapon would cripple his ship while sparing his crew’s lives. But given his shame, he found himself wishing instead for a heavyweight torpedo to send him to oblivion.
“Torpedo is range-gating!” the sonar operator said. “It ignored our countermeasures completely.”
“That’s because it’s wire-guided, and it’s a perfect shot. It will hit us. Blow the main ballast tanks and emergency surface the ship. Pump water overboard from all tanks and make us as light as possible.”
As the deck angled upward, he reached for a microphone to speak to the entire crew.
“We will take a torpedo hit soon,” he said. “There’s a high probability that the weapon will attach small explosives to our hull and create multiple holes in the ship. Close all watertight doors and prepare to fight the flooding in each compartment. However, if the weapon is indeed a heavyweight torpedo, all who survive the blast are ordered to abandon ship immediately.”
The ship bobbed and rocked on the surface, and an idea inspired Volkov. If the weapon were to attach limpets, he could minimize the number of attachments if he presented the warhead the challenging, moving geometry of a tight circle.
“Left full rudder. Continue in a circle at flank speed until I say otherwise.”
The ship rolled out of the turn.
“Impact imminent!” the sonar operator said.
While Volkov lifted the microphone to his lips, the incoming seeker’s transmissions became audible in his hull. A chill consumed him, and he stared at ashen faces in the compartment.
“Brace for impact.”