“Benson, layering here?”
“Sir, cold layer at 1,200 feet.”
“Ok, listen for subsurface contacts. Here first.”
Benson listened and played with his screen and its coloured rivulets for several minutes.
“Ok sir, I have definite and faint returns from seven boats. Three are SSN, four are very probably Song class diesel electric boats. Ranges nine to twelve miles away.”
“Planesman trim for descent, down bubble ten, all ahead two thirds, make your depth 1,400 feet.” He knew Bellerophon and Suffren would have detected the boats and be proceeding north too. Stonewall Jackson made her silent way towards the PLAN boats.
“What are our two closest contact Benson?”
“Sir, two Shang class SSN’s with a Song not far behind them. Their range is six miles.”
Nathan turned to the XO “Larry I’m thinking of uppercut. What do you think?”
“That’d be good. The Shang won’t be capable of coming down where we are,” Larry raised his finger, “but his fish may.”
“Yeah I know, but it’s a chance, and we’ll be down under the layer, I doubt he can get himself under it.” The XO nodded.
“Plansman, get deep, make your depth 2,000 feet.”
“2,000 Aye Sir.” The boat tilted down to the bow and sunk into the cold dark abyss.
“Benson what’s an approximate course to the nearest Shang?”
“Sir, there one at bearing 345 degrees and one further to our left.”
“Weaps, designate the nearest Shang as Tango one and the other as Tango two. Flood two tubes with Mk48. Do we have a Pointer loaded?”
“No Sir.”
“Get one in a tube.” Weaps touched his screen. A few minutes later he was ready.
“Sir tubes one and two have fish in them and are flooded. Ren is loaded into tube six.”
“Flood him. Benson let me know when we’re three hundred yards from Tango one.”
The minutes ticked away. “Three hundred yards sir.”
“All stop. Half fill forward one. Open outer doors on tubes one, two and six.”
The tilt up towards the bow was now alarmingly steep. The USS Stonewall Jackson rose slowly upwards bow first at eighty degrees toward Tango one’s belly. She was here down below the layer hard to detect, but she was coming up silently with menace on her mind.
Nathan looked at the depth indicator 1,500 feet 1,540 feet.
“Weaps, get a firing solution on Tango one.”
“Aye sir already laid in.” He knew the Shang was at three hundred feet. Nine hundred feet above the layer. Come on, come on please don’t hear me. As the boat approached 1,200 feet.
“Weaps, launch tube one.”
“Tube one launch,” the rushing sound could be heard up forward.
“Fish running, fish is hungry, climbing, climbing.”
“Flood forward one, let’s slip back, steady at 1,500 feet. Launch tube six.” barked Nathan.
“Tango one’s putting some revs on,” said Benson.
Weaps called out excitedly. “Fish pinging, pinging. Fish running in, terminal.”
The Mk48 found it’s mark, ramming into the Sheng below amidships and blowing the SSN in two.
“Yes. Hot datum Tango one,” shouted Benson.
“Ren’s out there,” at 1,300 feet, “holding station.”
“Aspect change on Tango two,” said Benson, “she’s turning towards the impact site and us.”
Nathan moved into the centre of the room and looked at the Weapons Officer. “Weaps, get Ren above the layer. Broadcast tubes flooding and outer doors opening, get him to sound like us, ready to attack.”
“Aye sir.”
“Speed fifteen knots, get us under Tango two.”
“Fifteen aye sir.”
Benson looked up. “Sir, tango two has launched a fish at Ren, type Yu-6.”
“Get Ren to give him an active ping. Simulate fish launch sounds.” The control room was a heaving sweaty action pit.
“Shit, Tango two’s heard us, he’s launched another fish, this one’s coming down.”
“Threat direction?”
“Port sir.”
“Ready countermeasures to port. Stream the lure.”
The lure a product of the high priests of underwater deception, L-3 Chesapeake Sciences Corp was towed behind the boat; the TB29/A1 was a near perfect jamming and deception tool. Its long range sensing ability were awesome.
“Weaps, dance the lure.”
In this mode, by emitting simulated submarine noise, such as propeller and engine noise, the lure would attempt to confuse the fish’s sonar by sounds more attractive than the boat to the torpedo's sensors.
“The lure’s dancing sir.”
“Yu-6 heading down and towards us, range one six miles sir.”
“Keep our speed, get under Tango two.”
“Yu-6 is pinging us, range 1,550 yards, 1,350 yards.”
Nathan clenched his teeth and held fast to a personnel rail.
“Yu-6, 990 yards sir.” Nathan counted down the seconds.
“Release countermeasures to port, come starboard, blow forward and turn hard upwards, all ahead full.” The boat pulled hard into a near vertical climb assisted by buoyancy and the powerful water jet drive.
“Mother fucker missed sir,” shouted Benson, “Yu-6 is heading down, spiral searching, goodbye sucker.” USS Stonewall Jackson raced for the surface.
“Range to Tango two?”
“Four hundred yards sir, three seventy.”
“Launch tube two.”
“Fish away and hungry. Pinging, pinging terminal, cutting wire,” Weaps could barely get it out.
Benson punched the air. “Hot datum, eat that Uncle Joe.” Nathan sighed.
“Flood forward one, two thirds, revs back for ten knots, come to level depth. That’s it people the cartoons over for now.” The boat settled, soon Benson picked up sounds from the west.
“Sir, detecting distant battle sounds from the west.”
“That’ll be the RN, come on Pike.”
WITH HIS WORLD CLASS sonar system, Commander Pike had detected the two Song class diesel electric boats sometime ago, heading his way just above. He decided to come to a stop and wait for them.
“Mercer. Range to the Songs?”
“Four kilometres sir.” She’d been watching them like the shark that she was. Pike took down his hand-held intercom and pressed transmit, the ship’s tannoy came to life.
“All hands, all hands. This is your Commander speaking. Billy Ruffian is now at action stations. Quiet state. We have two Chinese boats out there looking for a fight. We’re about to give them one. Commander out.”
“Weaps, designate as Tango Papa 1 and 2, compute firing solutions, ready two Spearfish. Open up, let them get a sniff.”
Weaps got to work.
“Sir, two Spearfish tubes two and three, flooded and outer doors open, firing solutions loaded.
“Count me down Melanie,” said Pike.
She jiggled her Bowers & Wilkins headphones. “Range, three point four Kilometres sir, speed 12 knots. Two point five, one point eight. They’re just 100 meters above us. Point seven, wait sir, passed us by, now south of our location.”
“Planes, come about anti clockwise, nice and slow, get on a course behind them.”
“On south sir.”
“Make speed 15 knots.” Bellerophon gained on the two Song class over a few minutes.
Sir,” said, Mercer, “Range to Tango Papa 1 is eight hundred meters we are in his baffles, Papa 2 is one point four kilometres to his starboard.” In his baffles meant they were right behind the Song class in his blind spot. Pike calculated that this was about as good as it was going to get.
“Weaps, tube three T Papa 2, tube two T Papa 1. Launch two and three.”
“Both tubes launched, Spearfish running, active, pinging.” The two Torpedoes ran in at 50 knots, full terminal velocity.