“Owl three, Air one gives you weapons clear, repeat weapons clear, execute.”
“Copy Owl one, I am execute free.” Celasin swallowed; this had never been done before. He throttled back and fell ten km behind the contact, he’d give them a chance, so he switched to international frequency in the clear.
“Russian Il-38 flight you will turn north now. Repeat Russian Il-38 flight you will turn north.”
Seconds later came the reply in a thick Russian accent.
“Monkey on my tail, you will fuck you.”
Celasin narrowed his eyes. He set master arm on and selected AMRAMM. The symbol on his radar screen changed to a target. The target flashed red. He held his finger over the pickle button. Waited, and pressed. The missile fell from its hardpoint, ignited the motor and sped off toward its target.
“Fox three.” Seconds later he saw the flash in his domed cockpit window, the radar screen confirmed the hit and the target fell into the sea.
“Owl one, Owl three, splash bogie. Confirm, we have one bogie down.”
The air war had begun.
WITH THE CURRENT FLOW in the deeper level of the Bosporus being south to north, Franks didn’t want to keep the boat in reverse. He needed it to be quiet. “All stop. Trim for up bubble ten. Vent front and rear 25 percent. We’ll settle here and wait for them.”
The boat sank slowly to the channel bed where she kicked up a cloud of billowing silt. She settled in the dark narrow channel and waited.
“COB,” said Franks, “Lieutenant Commander Blake has briefed Herzer, tell him to prepare and get a seaman to stand by for a signalling relay. Better use an A-ganger with a big hammer.”
“Sir.”
The COB set up the signalling chain. Talk about improvised, thought the COB.
It took less than two hours for the enemy to draw in.
“Sir,” said Nosey, “I have multiple subsurface contacts to the north heading our way. Probable Kilo class. I also have faint distant surface contacts, these seem to be standing off.”
“Ok, Nosey. Let me know when they’re seven miles away.”
The minutes went by.
“Contacts. Three Kilos, range seven miles, sir.”
“Weaps?”
“Designate left to right Tangos one to three.”
Nathan’s fingers ran over his screen. “Firing solutions laid in sir.”
“Ready solution for Tango three. Prepare for launch.”
Nathan worked on his console as indicators flashed on the Weapons CPO’s station in the torpedo room.
“Sir, tube three selected. Mk 48. Firing solution laid in. Kilo designated Tango three, tube three. Flooding tube three. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry sir.”
“Range six point four miles,” said Nosey.
“Trim forward and aft, fill 20 percent, come to depth two five zero.”
“Two five zero aye sir.” The boat rose from the channel bed.
Franks waited until he estimated the enemy were within six miles away.
“Launch tube three.” There was a gushing sound from up forward.
“Good launch, tracking Tango three, I’m taking the fish to the east,” said Nathan. “I’m going for a top down shot.”
“Fish, range to target three miles,” said Nosey.
“Steering fish into target. Closing, pinging, fish pinging. Cutting wire.” The Mk 48’s onboard sonar was tracking the Kilo.
“Sir, Kilo has launched countermeasures early,” said Nosey.
“He’s going up. He’s blown ballast. Fish rising, range point two miles. Closing, pinging, closing. Yes, got him. Hot datum on Tango three. Huge gas escape, prop racing. Impact with the seabed. Tango is down sir.”
One down, now they knew he waited for them. The element of surprise was gone.
“Sir, Tangos one and two have increased revs. They’re bearing down on us. Range two point six miles.”
Franks waited, not yet.
“Launch on Tango two.”
“Flooding tube two. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry, launch two Sir. Good launch. Running.”
“Both Tangos running in at us, max revs sir,” said Nosey.
“Make full revs, engage reverse.”
“Reverse aye sir.”
Franks did his calculations. “Let me know when Tangos get to one point two miles.”
“Sir, fish is pinging, running in for Tango two,” said Nathan, “cutting wire.”
“Fish closing on Tango two. He’s fixed. He’s not taking any action. Wait, Tango’s going to his starboard. He’s late.” Nosey punched the air.
“Hot datum Tango two. Gas escape. Secondary explosion.” Nosey looked at Franks. “Tango isn’t down sir, he’s just not fucking there.” He looked back to his console display. “Range on Tango one now one point two miles.”
“COB, signal Herzer.” The COB nodded back down the companionway.
At the base of the sail an Engineer fitter, an A-ganger, struck the lower hatch with his heavy baby beater three times.
Inside the sail cylinder was Herzer, the boat’s diver. He wore his diving suit and rebreather apparatus, the upper hatch had been opened and the cylinder was open to the sea. Attached to one of the ladder’s rungs were several submarine escape suits known as Submarine Escape Immersion Equipment Mk 10 or SEIE. These suits, filled with air, would allow the crew to ascend from a stricken submarine from a depth of six hundred feet. They were known by many as WAEFFO suits: When All Else Fails Fuck Off suits.
Herzer heard the three loud bangs, pulled a suit clear and opened the small air cylinder. The suit partly inflated and quickly rose up the cylinder and out, on its way to the surface.
A US Marine with binoculars sat at one end of the huge bridge looking for the ascending suits reaching the surface. He saw it and picked up his radio mike.
“Watch party west, watch party west. We have a signal on the surface.”
“Copy, watch party.” At five locations across the bridge, Marines had hung 155mm Howitzer shells deep down into the sea.
“Signal on the surface. Detonate the IED.” A Marine turned the blast charge handle. Deep below the surface, the shell detonated. Gas escaped from the explosion to the surface of the sea.
“Right, get the next ones in.” The Marines lowered another shell, held by its cable, which was wrapped in detonation cord, down into the sea. There it would hang until the next suit appeared on the surface.
It was crude, but the submarine and the Marines above had a signalling system. The submarine’s distance to the bridge would be factored in along with how long it took for the suit to reach the surface. If an enemy submarine approached, the Marines would detonate a 155mm shell and hope it would be on or near the target.
“Kilo is running in close to the bridge sir.”
“Weaps launch tube one.”
“Sir, tube one selected. Firing solution laid in on Tango one, tube one. Flooding tube, outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish is hungry sir. Launching.” A rushing sound came from up forward.
“Good launch. Fish running, pinging, pinging. Cutting wire.”
“Sir, Tango one’s got a fish off, fish running in. Goddamn close.”
“Countermeasures, port side, come hard to starboard. Blow ballast.”
“Sharp transients. Shells going off sir,” said Nosey.O ne IED blew close to the target, I can hear hull buckling noises. That must have hurt. Kilo is heading down. I can hear an impact with the seabed. Our fish is running in fast, pinging, closing.” Russian Type 53 was closing in. There was a ripping boom to port, the boat rolled, and Franks held on. Cortez wasn’t quite so quick and he fell to the deck, but climbed back up holding his ribs. The boat came to its central position. The enemy fish had gone for the countermeasures.
In the strait, it was like fighting in a locker box, and the trailing lure was useless.