More minutes crawled past. Virginia continued racing through the ocean at forty knots, now just beneath that magical interface between the warm waters of the surface, and the frigid waters of the deep.
"Torpedo one is closing, sir. Range two hundred meters… "
"Range to torpedo two and torpedo three."
"Two is at approximately two hundred fifty meters. Three is at about two hundred eighty meters."
It would have to do. "Weps! Release countermeasures!"
"Countermeasures released, Captain."
"Maneuvering! Up planes, four-zero degrees! Hard right rudder! Stand us on our tail, Mr. Falk!"
"Up planes forty degrees, aye aye! Hard right rudder, aye aye!"
"Hold on to your stomachs," Master Chief Bollinger called from his post behind the helm station.
The deck tilted wildly, both nose high and canting sharply to starboard. Coffee mugs crashed and clattered across the deck. Nearby, a microphone dangled from its cord at an impossible angle out into the middle of the control room. The men were all strapped in, however, and stayed at their posts. Garrett heard a crash from forward, however, followed by a yell of surprise and pain. Another one for the Doc, he thought. He hoped it wasn't serious.
But the order was the mission, the boat, the plant, the crew. Right now the crew had to look after themselves.
Garrett had been wishing the Virginia was a Seawolf-class boat, and the extra four torpedo tubes would have been a nice asset. Now, though, he was able to bring Virginia's big strength into play… her maneuverability. With a third less the mass of the bulky Seawolf, Garrett could fly the Virginia like an aircraft.
At least, that was what he was going to try….
"I've lost him!" the sonar officer called, his voice nearly a wail. "I've lost him!"
"What? How?"
"I believe the target has punched up through the thermocline, sir. I'm not picking up his plant noises any longer!"
"Damn!" But there was nothing to be done about that now. Shuhadaa was fleeing for her life, trying to slip out from between the two American torpedoes fired five minutes earlier.
The good news was that both American ADCAPS were almost certainly being guided by wire — connected to their torpedo tubes by miles of thin filament. As soon as the enemy sub engaged in a violent maneuver, however, those wires would be cut. If the torpedoes hadn't acquired the Shuhadaa yet, there was a good chance the Pakistani boat would be able to run clear.
He hoped. Allah, the merciful, the compassionate! Protect us now from our enemy's wrath! Keep us unseen, unheard, protect us …
"What did you say?" Khalili asked.
He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.
"Nothing."
The waiting was becoming intolerable.
"We're above the thermocline, Captain! Torpedoes have lost us!"
"Stay with it, Queenie." If the torpedoes popped above the thermocline and started circling, they might yet reacquire. By sharply turning Virginia and doubling back on her track, Garrett was closing the range on the torpedoes before they could reacquire, closing… then passing over them, leaving them hunting the Virginia off to the west.
They would also start to close the range on the enemy submarine.
"Torpedo room! Reload tubes two and four! Sonar! Have our fish acquired the target?"
"Sir, I can't hear a damned thing at this point. Nothing but splash." Of course. At forty knots, only the loudest noises would make themselves known to Virginia's sonar crew — that Kilo on the surface running on diesels, for example. Or the howl of an incoming torpedo a few hundred yards astern.
Damn. Garrett was willing to bet that the second Kilo out there was the terrorist sub out of Small Dragon. Kazuko's murderers.
And they were on the point of getting away again.
An idea…
"Weps!"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you still have a lock on Junior?"
Carpenter looked surprised. "Uh… yes, sir! Junior is above the thermocline… and about four miles away. He went into idle mode when things got exciting."
"That's one way to put it. Okay… does he still have enough juice for another mission?"
"I'll see what I can manage, sir," Carpenter said, grinning.
"Drop him below the thermocline. I want to try to track the other boat."
"We'll lose contact with him if we do, Captain."
"I know. But we'll reacquire in a moment."
More minutes passed. Finally, Carpenter announced, "Junior is below the thermocline, sir. We've lost contact."
"Very well. Mr. Falk! Take us to three hundred fifty feet!"
"Make depth three-five-zero feet, aye, sir!"
"Sonar! I want you to keep your ears sharp and polished… both for the enemy sub and for those torpedoes astern. I don't want them coming back to bite us!"
"Aye aye, sir!"
Moments later, as Virginia slid deeper, Queensly announced, "I hear two enemy torpedoes, Captain.
They're circling… trying to reacquire. Range approximately two thousand yards. I don't hear the third fish. It may have gone above the thermocline."
"Or run out of juice." I hope….
"We've reacquired Junior, Captain. He's responding to signals."
"Patch the visual from the UUV to the control room monitor."
"Done, Captain." There was a jump, but no marked change on the screen. Both sets of cameras were showing empty ocean.
"Captain, Sonar. I've picked up both of our fish, sir. Bearing zero-two-one and one-two-five. Sierra One-zero-three is right between them, at zero-nine-eight."
"Very well. Weps, steer Junior toward the target. Active pinging."
"Aye aye, sir!"
"Mr. Falk, make depth two-five-zero feet. Take us back up above the thermocline."
"Make depth two-five-zero feet, aye, sir."
"Playing tag, Skipper?" Jorgensen asked.
The exec's quiet voice startled Garrett. He'd not known the man was standing behind him and to his right.
"That's the idea. I don't want Junior to illuminate us for the bad guys. But maybe he can light up the target for our torpedoes."
"Maybe…. "
ADCAP torpedoes, for all their sophistication, still possessed idiot-grade brains. Their wires to Virginia's weapons console cut, they would circle until they acquired a sonar target to home on, or until they ran out of fuel. At the moment, they were too far from the enemy submarine to pick up its noise signature, too far to go active and home on the target for themselves.
But they were close enough to the LMRS to pick up its sonar pulse, close enough to hear the pulse and begin following it, Pied-Piperlike.
And the LMRS had been aimed at the enemy by a human brain, not the simple-minded yes-no, on-off literalness of a computer chip, however high-tech.
If Junior's batteries could hold out just a little longer….
"Another torpedo, Captain! It's gone active!"