“Yes, sir. I’ll be on it.” Nathan showed her the chart positions, and she got to work.
“Sir,” said Nosey, “I have one Kilo, one Akula out there, range five miles. Two miles separation, Kilo to port and slightly behind.”
Franks had stayed at a depth of 150 feet. They knew where she was now.
“Weaps. You call the warload allocation.”
Nathan worked on his console and spoke to the Weapons CPO in the torpedo room.
“Sir, tubes one and four selected. Mk 48. Firing solutions laid in. Kilo designated Tango one, tube one. Akula designated Tango two, tube four. Flooding tubes one and four. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish are hungry sir.”
“Range three miles,” said Nosey.
Franks waited two minutes.
“Select Tango two, launch tube four.”
“Tube four launched, good launch. Fish running.”
The Kilo wouldn’t be far behind, Franks knew.
“Select Tango one, launch tube one.”
“Tube one launched, good launch,” said Nathan. “Fish running.”
“Sir, fish four running in, range one mile. Fish pinging, pinging.”
“Tango two has launched countermeasures,” said Nosey. The Akula was trying to escape; nobody liked being hunted by a Mk 48. Franks had expected it.
“Fish pinging running in on Tango two,” said Nosey.
“Tango two has blown ballast, full revs. He’s going up,” said Nosey, “Fish four is going for the countermeasures. Running in, pinging. Shit. Fish missed, sir.”
“Get a new solution on the Akula, Nathan.”
“New solution on Tango two. Tube two. Flooding tube two. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish two is hungry, sir.”
“Launch tube two.”
“Fish away, sir. Running in, pinging.”
“Fish in the water,” said Nosey, “Type 53, the Kilo has launched.”
“Ready countermeasures port side,” said Franks.
“Range to incoming fish?”
“Range point nine miles. Yes, yes. Hot datum Tango one. Kilo is down sir.” The Kilo diesel electric hunter killer submarine had launched her own fish, her last act.
“The fish, where is it Nosey?”
“Point six miles, sir. Point three. Point two.”
“Launch countermeasures port side, Planesman, come hard to starboard.” A thudding boom sounded through the hull. The boat was pushed to the right. The sea boiled, USS NYC rolled.
“The Type 53 went for our countermeasures,” said Nosey.
“COB, damage control.”
“Fish two running in, pinging. Cutting wire,” said Nathan.
“Fish closing,” said Nosey, “closing, closing terminal. He’s launched countermeasures, turning to starboard. Hot datum Tango two. The Akula’s eaten the fish.”
Franks finally drew breath.
“Reloading tubes,” said Nathan.
“I have all the Bosporus headings charted and marked sir,” said Lieutenant Lefevre. Franks grinned.
“Thanks, Pigeon.” She’d worked on, oblivious, all through the engagement. Torpedoes and countermeasures flew thick and fast, but Pigeon had worked on her charts. As far as she was concerned, the Captain did his job she did hers, that was how it worked. Franks patted her on the shoulder.
“Thanks, we need you where you are.” He stopped and turned. “I didn’t tell you, did I?”
“What sir?”
“Pigeon, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”
She grinned.
Franks knew it was time to pull back inside the channel. The enemy would have his measure here, they’d try to pin his ass against the wall with flanking attacks.
The Russian Naval Airforce would have Ilyushin Il-38 ASW aircraft up there buzzing around like flies. Searching and dropping APR-3E homing torpedoes on him.
“Planesman, come about bearing two one five, speed eight knots.”
THE BOAT SAILED INTO the Bosporus. When he judged the moment correct, he ascended.
“Trim for up bubble 15, make for periscope depth.” The deck rose upwards towards the bow and then came level.
“Periscope depth sir.” He raised the scope and did a 360. Another 400 feet to go until they were 500 yards south of the huge suspension bridge, at the northern Black Sea end of the Bosporus.
“That’s it. Trim for down bubble ten, make your depth 250 feet. Planesman come about, put our bow on to north, northeast. We’ll face the enemy as he comes on.”
Franks rubbed his eyes, it had been a hard start to the battle, and he knew there was more to come yet.
“COB?”
“Sir.”
“Get a rating to bring us some coffee up here. Some biscuits too, sugary stuff, Oreos or whatever.”
The COB left the room, and soon a seaman from the galley appeared with coffee and biscuits.
“Thanks,” Franks looked at his name patch, “Fuller. Keep us supplied, OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
Franks turned to the sonar operator. “Nosey, any activity yet?”
“No sir, I’m on it.”
“Weaps. Warshot status?”
“All tubes loaded with Mk 48 sir. We’re ready.” He knew they were on a knife edge in truth, but you can only play the cards you’re dealt with. USS New York City would need an ace up her sleeve.
HIGH ABOVE IN THE SKIES above the Black Sea, three Ilyushin Il-38s headed south from the Crimean Peninsula. The four engine turboprop ASW aircraft headed towards Istanbul and the Bosporus.
North of them circled Ilyushin Il-76 heavy transport aircraft carrying elite VDV airborne troops and their BDM-4 armoured infantry fighting vehicles. These were equipped with 100mm cannon and 30mm cannons. Many carried the Arkan, anti-tank guided missile launchers. The VDV would be dropped by parachute to capture key locations along the Bosporus. Drop zones would be onto sites where they could provide cover for the passing warships. These and more Il-76s would subsequently land at Ataturk airport to disgorge more troops and vehicles.
“Owl one from Owl three, I have one plus bogie at range 67 kilometres, bearing eight degrees, altitude 200. Over.”
“Copy Owl three, this is Owl one, information?”
Lieutenant Ahmet Celasin, Turkish Airforce, ran his eyes across the radar screen return. He pushed the stick down and came to the left to bring his nose in line with the contact.
His F16C rolled smoothly through the sky. The 192nd Tiger squadron fighter flew Combat Air Patrol out from Balikesir in Western Turkey.
“Owl one, I have possible three or four bogies, heading two eight five for Istanbul, speed three five zero km. No IFF or civilian transponder.”
“Say again, no IFF?”
“Copy sir, no IFF or transponder.”
“Copy Owl three and two, intercept contact. Owl one and four will stand off to the east.”
“Copy.” Celasin pushed his throttle forward.
“Owl two. Keep one point five km to my west.”
“Copy.”
“Owl three from Owl one. Get visual.”
“Copy visual.” The F16C raced in, Celasin drew level with the contacts and flew a left-hand orbit. He broke through cloud base and approached from behind to the left within one kilometre. Three multi engine aircraft with faint wispy vapour trails from the turbo prop engines trailed them. They flew at less than 2,000 feet, and he saw the sea surface waves below.
“Owl one, Owl three. I have visual on contacts. Three Russian Ilyushin Il-38 ASW aircraft. Am moving up ahead to draw away.” Celasin flew his aircraft up in front of the three Russian turboprops and banked to the right to warn them off. He repeated the move.
“Owl one, I repeated warning. Contact is still Istanbul bound, over.”
Owl one reported the incident to Balikesir. He waited until the contacts had crossed the control line.