Volkov noticed the American vessel outpacing him by ten knots. “What’s incredible? The speed?”
“No. I know the Virginia-class’ abilities. I commanded one. I mean its trajectory has it intercepting the torpedo in our stead.”
“You said this wasn’t suicide.”
“Maybe I was wrong.”
“Wrong or not, the California will take the weapon, and the orders are clear.” Volkov raised his voice. “Come left to course one-one-five.”
The deck angled and then settled.
“We’re broadside to the torpedo, Anatoly. Can you hear anything?”
The sonar guru shook his head. “There’s still too much flow noise. The torpedo’s still too far away.”
Tempted to slow and listen, Volkov instead watched the California’s incoming gifted information stream across a screen. “What now?”
His face stone, Commander Hatcher remained stoic under the pressure. “Updates on the torpedo. The estimated solution is holding. Four minutes until it impacts us, unless the torpedo picks up the California.”
Anatoly tapped his screen and raised his voice. “Active seeker, bearing three-one-nine. That’s the incoming weapon. It just went active.”
Volkov turned his head towards his sonar guru. “Listen for a Doppler shift as it acquires us and turns towards us.”
The sonar ace nodded. “Doppler’s already gone up, marking a fifteen-degree turn. The torpedo has acquired us and is compensating for our new course.”
Volkov walked to the central table and looked down at the tactical scene. He grabbed a stylus and then extrapolated the undersea geometries to reveal the torpedo’s potential timing to hit the American submarine. “If it acquires the California, impact is in six and a half minutes. Either way, the weapon hits a target.”
The rider moved to the table. “We’re missing something. This can’t be a suicidal move. No offense, but your ships are the expendable ones.”
“That’s a bold statement for a man standing inside one.”
“I’m an American naval officer on a nationless submarine owned by a French arms dealer that’s staffed by Russians. I didn’t expect this to be easy.” The rider shifted his nose towards the streaming English characters. “Instructions from the California. A new course for you of one-five-five.”
Volkov agreed with the evasion heading and adjusted the Wraith’s direction. A minute later, he watched the icon representing the California breach the expected sonic acquisition cone of the torpedo’s seeker. “We’ll know soon enough if it’s wire-guided. If it ignores the California, that will be telling.”
Fed by the datalink, the chart showed the American vessel continuing into the hostile weapon’s path, crossing to its cone’s far edge, and then turning to evade.
Anatoly announced the failure. “No change in Doppler. The torpedo’s staying on its course after us.”
Raising his eyebrow, Volkov looked to his rider. “Your countrymen are heroic, but they’re failing.”
After waiting to allow the California’s trajectory to shift the friendly submarine’s icon back into the torpedo seeker’s cone, Commander Hatcher responded. “Give them time. They’re going broadside to the weapon now.”
Volkov toggled a window to raw sound data and saw a cursor following the frequency of the hostile seeker. For a solid minute, the value remained unchanging, suggesting the futility of the American crew’s effort to lure the weapon away. “Doppler’s constant. Impact’s in two minutes.”
The rider gave a confirming nod.
“So be it.” Volkov raised his voice towards the gray-beard. “Pass the word. Except for those manning propulsion and combat stations, all hands stand by to abandon ship.”
Commander Hatcher raised an eyebrow. “You have a procedure for getting your crew off fast enough?”
The Wraith’s commander impressed himself with his nonchalance. “In our fleet, we must be prepared for it. Lifejackets, inflatable rafts, small arms, satellite phones, radios… they’ll all be assembled under our hatches within thirty seconds.”
“Impressive.”
“I’ve lost count of the hostile exchanges of weapons we’ve encountered. It’s almost normal for us.”
The rider scoffed. “If you say so.” He read incoming characters. “The California recommends gaseous countermeasures.”
Volkov agreed and elevated his voice. “Prepare to launch one pair of gaseous countermeasures on my mark.”
The gray-bearded veteran tapped an icon. “I’m ready, Dmitry.”
“Launch countermeasures.”
On the chart behind the Wraith, a cloud formed representing the blinding bubbles. The California reached the gas field’s edge and then disappeared behind it.
With ninety seconds to impact, the gray-bearded veteran shouted over his shoulder. “All hands are standing by to abandon ship.”
“Very well.”
“Do you want to come shallow?”
While assessing his options, Volkov ignored his veteran.
The gray-beard tried again. “Come shallow, Dmitry?”
“No. Stay on ordered depth.”
Forty-five seconds later, the gray-bearded veteran revealed his fearful impatience. “We’ve got less than a minute.”
“I know, damn it. Hold your tongue.” Hungry for information, Volkov glared at the display.
As new characters trickled across the screen, Commander Hatcher announced the update. “The California has passed through our countermeasure field and is back in contact.”
The American submarine’s icon faded and reappeared in the Wraith’s baffles. Its speed vector then veered to the southwest.
As the incoming torpedo’s icon passed through the gasses, the sonar guru curled forward, pressing his earmuffs against his head in deep focus. “I hear the incoming weapon.”
“Very well, Anatoly. Doppler?”
“Down-Doppler! I hear the seeker’s frequency falling.”
The rider’s tone carried measured enthusiasm. “Confirmed! The California says the torpedo has turned away from us and has acquired its hull. The recommendation is for us to maintain course and speed until we’re free of the acquisition cone.”
Volkov reached for his whiskers and stroked their graying strands. “That’s an easy decision for me, but I don’t see a net gain. Like you said, our ship’s expendable. The California is not.”
Commander Hatcher’s stoic tone returned. “There are several tactical options remaining for my countrymen. I trust we’ll be impressed soon with some decisive maneuvers.” The rider’s eyes followed the incoming data stream. “Gaseous countermeasures from the California. I don’t expect further instructions for us. You can maneuver as you wish.”
“The evasion’s no longer our problem, thanks to your comrades.” Volkov watched the torpedo’s icon follow the American submarine out of his ship’s baffles. He shouted. “All stop. Come to snorkel depth.”
The deck rolled and then steadied as gravity and liquid friction slowed the Wraith. With the reduced speed, new sounds appeared on the sonar display, and Anatoly called out. “I hear the California’s flow noise on broadband, barely, because I knew where to listen. I hear the torpedo’s screws, too. The bearings align with the data from the California.”
“Very well, Anatoly. Keep listening to the California and to the torpedo. Have the other sonar technicians listen for hostile submarines. We need to regroup.”