“Fish launched. The fish is hungry.”
“Sonar, all contacts have put on revolutions. They’re moving.” The Mk 48 CBASS raced upwards, there wasn’t a great deal of ground to cover.
“Weaps. The fish is hungry and pinging. Wire cut. Fish terminal, pinging, running in. Running in.”
“Sonar. Hot datum, Hot datum, Tango five.”
“Flood one, stabilise ascent at this depth.”
“Aye Sir, stabilising at one thousand feet.”
“Sonar. Sir Tango’s two and four are flooding ballast. They’re coming down to us. Aspect change on Tango four, coming to port, it sounds like he’s flooding a tube.”
“Weaps. Snapshot, snapshot. Target Tango four. Tube three, flood and open outer doors. Launch when ready.”
“Tube three ready in all respects. Launch. Fish away and hungry.”
“Sonar. Fish in the water type 53. Tango four got one away.”
“The fish is hungry and pinging. Wire cut. Fish terminal, pinging, running in. Come on, come on. Fish has missed. Wait, it’s turning, seeking. Acquired target, coming in for a second attempt.”
The fish slammed into Tango four towards the stern, and 650lbs of high explosive tore the hull open.
“Hot datum, Tango four.”
“Sir, dynamic surface entry. Six inbound. I think we have rocket launched anti-submarine mortars coming down on our starboard, but close, very close.”
“Come to port sixty degrees.”
“Fish in the water type 53.”
“Speed twenty one knots.”
“Weaps, dance the lure.”
THE LURE ATTEMPTED to confuse the torpedo's passive sonar by emitting simulated submarine propeller and engine noise, which is more attractive than the boat to the torpedo's sensors. It dangled temptation in the torpedo’s face. Come on, come for me. You know you should. I’m a tasty girl. I know what you want.
“We have a dancing lure, Sir.”
“Active, Sir. The first fish has gone active the fish is pinging us. It’s heading down towards us. Second fish is active too.”
“Planesman, get that bubble down. Emergency dive. Make your depth, 500.”
“Sonar. Range, incoming fish now 1,300 feet.”
“Sing the lure,” commanded Nathan.
The lure now returned "pings" from the torpedo, it’s dance of temptation a false target more alluring than the submarine. The lure now transmitted these pings to the incoming torpedoes.
“The lure is singing Sir.”
“Sonar. Range point two miles.” Nathan swallowed, closed his eyes and counted down. The adrenalin flush told him it wasn’t far.
“Eject countermeasures to starboard. Come starboard 60 degrees.” The crew leaned to stay vertical as the boat heeled hard to the left.
Countermeasures fell away from the hull spinning, blowing bubbles, hissing and emitting sounds of submarine propellers. Come and take me boys, I’ll do anything for you.
Two explosions blew against the hull from the right hand side. The crew heard the hull groan in punishment, and all fell to the right as the hull was pushed left. Further away, the mortars went off and six loud explosions reverberated against the hull.
“Damage control!” shouted Nathan.
“Weaps, lay in a firing solution on Tango two. Ready tube four. Snapshot, snapshot. Tube four, flood and open outer doors. Launch when ready.”
“Tube four ready in all respects. Launch. Fish away and hungry.”
“Blow forward. Reverse prop.” The prop slowed, its many blades looking like Arab swords. The prop stopped and went into reverse as the bow came up. When he judged the moment was right, he called out.
“Engage forward. All ahead full.”
“Sonar. Tango three flooding ballast, he’s coming down towards us.”
“Weaps. The fish is hungry and pinging. Wire cut. Fish terminal on Tango two, pinging, running in. Running in, pinging.”
“Sonar. Hot datum, Hot datum, Tango two.”
“Weaps. War shot status?”
“Sir, tubes one and two Mk 48 CBASS, tube five Harpoon, tube six clear. They’re reloading a Mk 48 CBASS in tube three right now.”
“Load tube six with Harpoon.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Line us up with Tango three, Sonar.”
“Come to port eight degrees, come back two. That’s it Sir, we’re staring down each other’s throats.”
USS Stonewall Jackson charged up towards the incoming Tango three.
Commander Hyun Bin, in the PRKN submarine Bada Saja, plunged into the depths to face his enemy.
“Weaps, lay in a firing solution on Tango three. Ready tube one. Snapshot, snapshot. Tube one, flood and open outer doors. Launch on my command.”
“Tube one ready in all respects.”
“Sonar. Tango three is flooding a tube. Sir, we’re racing towards each other. Sir, we’re playing chicken. We’re playing fucking chicken with another submarine.”
“We won’t tell anybody, Benson. Now shut up. Range to Tango three?”
“600 feet.”
“Launch tube one.”
“Fish away and hungry. Pinging, cutting wire.”
“Tango three has a fish in the water type 53.”
“Our fish is pinging, running in.” Nathan counted down, this had to be done just right.
“Fish inbound pinging us.”
Nearly, nearly.
“Come hard to starboard. Eject countermeasures to port, now.”
Countermeasures spun away from the boat spinning, blowing bubbles, hissing and singing songs of deception.
Men and women had to hold on to rails, anything to remain where they were.
There was a loud explosion to port. The hull shook with the force.
“SONAR. THAT WAS OUR own fish. We have a hot datum on Tango three. We out-chickened ‘em.”
Such was her forward momentum that USS Stonewall Jackson breached with her forward hull and sail out of the water. The crew briefly left the floor. She crashed back in.
“Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Down bubble fifteen, make your depth two hundred feet.”
“How did you know when to turn, Sir? How did you know?” asked Sonar Benson.
“Close your mouth Benson,” shouted Chief of the Boat, Seamus Cox. “The skipper’s spent more time on the shitter at test depth than that Gook has driving submarines. Shut the fuck up.”
Nathan grinned at his COB. “Sonar, where’s Tango one?”
“He’s at periscope depth. Bearing two eight three, range two point six miles. Flooding ballast. He’s diving and coming to port. He’s lining up for a shot.”
“WEAPS, CONFIGURE TANGO one’s fish for an underbelly shot.”
“Aye, Sir.”
The torpedo would be programmed to strike its target amidships from underneath. A standard submarine evasion tactic when under attack was to go deep. Seopung may unwittingly impale herself on her own nemesis.
“Weaps, flood tube two and open outer doors.”
“Tube two flooded, outer doors open. The fish is armed. War shot ready in all respects.”
Nathan knew it had all come down to this. All his training, his time on board the USS NYC, his entire Naval career. It had all come down to the next few minutes.
Do it. Now.
“Launch tube two.” There was a rushing sound up forward.
“Fish away. She’s passive tracking. The fish is hungry.” The Mk 48 CBASS was steered by the cable trailing back into the tube.
“Sonar. Aspect change, Tango one coming to starboard.”
“Weaps. Fish, two point six minutes to run.” The fish swam through the cold black sea, blind, but guided by its trailing wire.
“Fish two point two miles to run.”
Nathan stood at his conn, raised his chin and said, “And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.”