He looked to his gray-bearded veteran.
“Tube six is ready, sir. Other than reaching optimum range, the ship is ready to launch the torpedo.”
“If the Specter is going to stay at periscope depth and drift, my torpedo won’t need to chase it. I can shoot from maximum range. How far are we from maximum range?”
“Half a mile, sir.”
A second hail to the dolphins went unanswered.
“My babies.”
“I cannot offer you solace,” Volkov said. “But I can offer you revenge. I invite you to launch the torpedo. We’ll be within range in minutes.”
Holding back tears, the trainer looked to him.
“I will do it,” the trainer said.
Volkov nodded, and the sonar operator tapped keys to send the launch authority to the trainer’s console.
Tasting his vengeance for attacks against his homeland, his submarine, and the dolphins he had grown to respect, he counted the final seconds in his mind.
Then the shrill dissonance of ripping metal stopped him. The staccato spiking screeches resonated around him, and he discerned that the harsh discord arose in front of him.
His first instinct suggested that he had suffered a collision.
“Mother of God!” he said. “Hold your fire.”
The trainer froze, and the sonar operator tapped keys to revoke the trigger. Volkok looked for his executive officer, but the man’s newfound zeal had propelled him half way to the forward door to investigate the problem.
Seconds later, the ripping repeated, and a report of flooding in the torpedo room rang through loudspeakers.
“All stop,” he said. “Have damage control teams lay to the torpedo room. Raising the periscope.”
While his gray-bearded veteran announced the unfolding casualty, he tapped keys to raise his optics and grab a panoramic sweep. As the next volley of shrieks hammered his hull, he ran his eyes over the image. With the lack of a visual object into which he had embedded his bow, he formed a quick theory.
The Goliath’s cannons.
“Secure snorkeling,” he said. “Make your depth thirty meters, smartly.”
Another volley ripped metal.
“We’re going deeper during a flooding casualty, sir?” the veteran asked.
“To evade cannon fire. Do it!”
The deck dipped, but a ship the size of the Krasnodar labored during three more volleys before the shredding subsided. Thinking the worst had passed, Volkov heard a new ripping from behind him.
With his stern pushing down his bow, his propeller rose before it could seek the safer depths. While shallow, the rear of his ship incurred four volleys of pounding before the depths protected it.
But the depths also brought increased water pressure to squeeze the seas into his submarine. The report came from his engineer officer
“Flooding in the engine room! Loss of propulsion!”
Volkov slapped his hand on the nearest officer he could find. The operations officer’s young, frightened eyes faced him.
“Lay to the engine room and lead damage control for the flooding while the engineer restores propulsion. The holes will be numerous but small. You can handle this.”
As the young officer headed sternward, a sailor entered the control room from the front and presented a mound of metal.
“The executive officer wanted me to show you this, sir.”
“Come,” Volkov said.
“It’s an example of the rounds used against us. He believes they splintered before hitting the water and then hit us with a spreading pattern. We’re lucky that most of these didn’t penetrate the bilge and create two holes each. The water absorbed most of the energy.”
Volkov held the metal and noted that friction had smoothed its edges.
“Thank the executive officer for bringing this to my attention. Return to the torpedo room and assist him.”
As the sailor left, the trainer looked at him.
“Can I shoot now?”
Survival had pushed vengeance against the Specter from Volkov’s mind. His first instinct allowed him retaliation, but wisdom precluded shooting with possible damage to the tube.
“Wait,” he said.
The gray-bearded veteran raised a sound-powered phone.
“The executive officer has a status report.”
“On the speakers,” Volkov said.
The electronic amplification of the bandwidth-limited sound-powered phones made his second-in-command sound a world away.
“Multiple tubes are damaged, including tube six. Do not attempt to launch the weapon in tube six. I repeat — tube six is damaged. Hold your fire from tube six!”
Volkov reached for a microphone.
“Understand tube six is damaged. Holding fire on tube six. Report status of flooding in the torpedo room.”
“Water is building in the bilge and appears to be rising slowly. I can’t tell yet if the pumps will keep pace. Shoring will be difficult with the numerous holes. I’ll need more men to bring towels, bed linen, anything to stuff into the holes.”
“Approximately how many holes?”
“Fifty. Maybe sixty. Average diameter is two centimeters.”
Volkov looked at the trainer.
“If you are to have your vengeance, we need to stop the flooding. You heard him. Grab ten men and take them to the torpedo room with towels and linen and knives to cut the cloths and to cut through lagging to get to the holes.”
The trainer departed, and Volkov raised his microphone.
“Find me useful tubes,” he said.
“The torpedo nest is damaged,” the executive officer said. “It’s obvious that the tubes were the target of the attack. I recommend cutting the wires to our drones and closing the muzzle doors so I can investigate all tubes.”
“Cut the wires to all drones and close all muzzle doors. Report to me when you’ve assessed the tubes.”
The veteran waved his phone for Volkov’s attention.
“The engineer has a report, sir.”
“Put him on the speakers.”
“I heard the executive officer’s report, sir. The same surgical attack happened back here on our motor. Propulsion is down, and I have approximately thirty holes. I’ve already sent for extra support from the crew to stuff the holes.”
“Can you get me propulsion?”
“I need to open the reduction gears, sir. It’s possible, but it will take time — at least an hour. The motor survived, but I’ve got two holes in the gears. They may have survived, but I can’t tell until I’m inside the case. The gears locked up due to shrapnel.”
“Is the outboard available?”
“Yes, sir. I can get you a knot and a half with it.”
“I’ll take it. Deploy the outboard.”
He looked to the gray beard.
“Can you get us to twenty meters and hold us with a knot and a half?” Volkov asked.
“If anyone can do it, I can. We’ve still got enough momentum to come shallow and reduce the flooding. What happens once I’ve got us there is unknown.”
“Make your depth twenty meters.”
“New contact, bearing one-six-five,” the sonar operator said.
“Submerged or surfaced?”
“Submerged. It just passed through the acoustic layer. I hear hull popping. It’s definitely on the way up.”
“Designate the new contact as the Goliath.”
Volkov feared that the transport ship intended to finish him. He pushed vengeance against the Specter behind his need for survival and lifted his microphone.
“Executive officer, I need a heavyweight torpedo ready in a tube now. The Goliath is coming for us.”
“Tube one, sir! It’s just been verified as usable. The hydraulic system’s damaged, but we can load a torpedo manually.”