“Make ready.”
“Make ready.”
“Make ready, aye, sir.” The weapons officer gave the go-ahead for the torpedoes to be warmed up.
Commander Clifford checked the plot on the plotting table, and got confirmation from the technician that the two solutions were set.
“Make tubes ready in all respects.”
“Make tubes ready in all respects.”
“Make tubes ready in all respects, aye, sir.”
The fire control technician transmitted the data that would be required by the weapons of choice, and the order was passed down to the torpedo room. The torpedo in the torpedo tube, warm and ready to fire, was immersed in water as the tube was flooded. Now they were at their greatest risk. The noise of the water flooding into four tubes would immediately take away their stealth, leaving them exposed, able to be picked up by an enemy submarine. Once flooded, the TMs opened the outer doors, the four deadly torpedoes now ready to be launched.
“Launch ten degrees left and right tubes one and three; launch ten degrees left and right tubes two and four.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Firing point procedures.”
“Firing point procedures, aye, sir.”
“Match bearings and shoot!”
“Match bearings and shoot, aye, sir.” The weapons officer directly in front of the launch control panel immediately pressed the firing switch, the firing sequence now initiated.
The jet of water at the rear of each of the torpedoes formed a ram and pushed each deadly weapon out of its tube, one by one and into the open sea. With two thin wires trailing behind each advanced capability (ADCAP) torpedo as they snaked, the seeker searched for the target as they sped towards the Akula-SSNs.
“Five minutes to target,” called out the weapons officer.
“Bridge, Sonar. Sierra-One and Sierra-Two, cavitation, estimate speed twenty knots. Sierra-One new course two-two-five; Sierra-Two, speed twenty knots, new course one-three-five.”
“Bridge, aye,” responded the XO.
“Four minutes to target.”
The four torpedoes raced towards the two Akula-class, hunter-killer submarines, which at that moment in time were the hunted. The Mark 48 torpedoes were world-class. With twenty miles of guidance wire tucked into the body of the torpedo, it gave the USS Providence the space to get out of the area quickly, reducing the likelihood of the enemy being able to strike back. The swashplate piston engine powered the nearly six-metre torpedo at fifty-five knots, over 100 kilometres per hour. Travelling at nearly two-miles per minute, the enemy had very little time to react.
“Three minutes to target.”
“Bridge, Sonar. Sierra-One, twenty-four knots, new course zero-three-five; Sierra-Two, twenty-four knots, new course one-one-five.”
“Bridge, aye,” answered the XO. “They’re racing and zigzagging, skipper.”
“Two minutes to impact.”
“Bridge, Sonar. Countermeasures deployed, countermeasures deployed.”
“Bridge, aye. Calm down, Larry,” encouraged the XO. They needed their best sonar operator to be calm and specific.
“Weapons, are the 48s still on target?” asked the skipper.
“Yes, sir. They’ve got through.”
“Bridge, Sonar. Fish in the water! No, wait. Two fish, two fish in the water!”
“Bridge, aye. Hard to port, full ahead.”
“Bridge, Sonar. Four fish in the water!”
“One minute to impact.”
The Akulas were hitting back. One had fired down the bearing of the torpedoes heading directly for them, while the second had manoeuvred further away, tracking the Providence and launching two torpedoes in the submarine’s path.
“Helm?”
“Fifteen knots, sir.”
“Sonar, Bridge. Poulton.”
“They have four in the water, sir. Fifty knots. First two impact four minutes. Second two three-minutes twenty.”
“Thirty seconds to impact.”
“Helm?”
“Twenty-five knots, sir.”
“Ahead full.”
“Ahead full, aye sir.”
The XO and Commander Clifford looked at each other. There was nothing else to do or say. All they could do now was hope that the Providence could cut thirty-plus knots, and they could put some distance between them and the chasing Soviet torpedoes. It was likely that they were the Type-65 and, with a top speed of fifty knots and a range of fifty kilometres, it was unlikely the US SSN would outrun it.
“Bridge, Sonar. I can hear popping sounds. Sierra-One is moving towards the surface.”
“Bridge, aye.”
“Fifteen seconds to impact.”
“Helm.”
“Thirty knots, sir.”
“Engine room, Bridge.”
“Engine room, aye.”
“We have four fish up our backside and I need all this baby has got.”
“One hundred and twenty per cent, aye.”
“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…”
“Helm.”
“Thirty-two knots, sir.”
“…five, four, three, two, one, impact.”
You could have heard the proverbial pin drop. The entire ship’s focus was on what would happen in the next few moments.
The USS Providence shuddered slightly.
“Bridge, Sonar. One, no, two explosions.”
“Bridge, aye.”
“Bridge, Sonar. Sounds of breaking up and rushing water. It’s a hit, sir.”
The men in the control cheered and the cheering spread throughout the ship.
“Quiet,” snapped the skipper. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
The remaining two Mark-48 torpedoes, not fooled by the Soviet countermeasures, approached their target: the second Akula. The proximity fuse of each one sensed the large object ahead and two 300 kilogram high-explosive warheads, plus the remaining fuel, erupted with devastating force. The first one ripped the bow off the now stricken submarine, the second one breaking its back, tearing into both layers of steel. The submarine, now a mass of entangled wreckage and dead sailors, sank ungainly to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, to join its sister ship that was already ploughing towards the mud beneath.
The boat trembled again as the second submarine was struck.
“Bridge, Sonar,” came the excited voice of Poulton over the comms. “Two explosions… I can hear the sound of tortured metal… water has breached… on last bearing… depth increasing… they’ve been hit, sir.”
“Thank you, Poulton.”
The control room erupted into cheering and backslapping. They had just blown two of the Soviet navy’s best out of the water and done their duty by protecting the convoy.
The XO was about to demand silence again when the skipper indicated no; leave them to enjoy the moment.
“Bridge, Sonar. Torpedoes, two minutes to impact.”
“Bridge, aye.”
“Standby decoys,” ordered the XO.
“Decoys, aye.” The weapons officer confirmed he had received the order.
“Bridge, Sonar! Two more torpedoes, right behind the first four! One minute to impact!”
“Bridge, aye,” responded the skipper keeping his voice calm, although inside his mind and his heart were racing. “Helm.”
“Thirty-six knots, sir. Maybe have one more in her.”
“Decoys in five seconds.”
Fifty seconds. The crew could now hear the whine of the torpedoes as they got closer and closer.
Forty-five seconds. “Launch countermeasures.”
“Countermeasures, aye.”
Forty seconds.
“Countermeasure launched.”
“Hard to starboard.”
“Hard to starboard, aye.” The helmsman turned the boat to the right, the submarine tilting slightly as the rudder and planes gripped the water.