“Cut it loose,” she told Mendez, who worked his controls to release a single MK 54 torpedo.
Sensing that he might not have the time he did when attacking Stennis, Sergeyev said, “Fire two and three.”
“Fire two and three, aye.”
Just as the next two torpedoes left their launch tubes, Popov sat up in his chair. “Torpedo in the water!” he declared in obvious shock. “Five thousand feet, bearing two-four-zero!” Captain, it has acquired us!”
“Emergency dive! Dive!” Sergeyev shouted. “Left full rudder! All ahead flank!”
“Left full rudder!” Zhdanov repeated as he swore under his breath loud enough for Sergeyev to take notice. “All ahead flank!”
The crew exchanged frightened looks as they ran from stern to bow dogging the hatches. In a matter of seconds, they had gone from being the hunter to being the hunted.
“Make your depth four hundred feet,” Sergeyev ordered, staring at the chart next to him.
“Captain! We’re going to hit the bottom!”
Sergeyev pointed at the thirty-mile-wide Penghu Channel just south of their position formed by the Penghu Islands and the southwest coast of Taiwan, where the strait reached a depth of almost six hundred feet. “Four hundred feet, Anatoli. Now.”
Zhdanov opened his eyes wide in sudden understanding and said, “Four hundred feet, aye.”
Popov said, “Range three thousand five hundred feet, bearing two-four-zero! Time to impact one minute forty-five seconds.”
Sergeyev reached for an overhead pipe as K-43 dropped at a near forty-degree angle through the thermal layers of the northern end of the Penghu Channel with a torpedo on its tail.
The continuous sounding of the general quarters alarm had been accompanied by the ship’s loudspeakers blaring, “General quarters! General quarters! All hands man your battle stations!”
Cmdr. Benjamin Kowalski was on the bridge when Vinson’s skipper, Capt. Peter Keegan, wearing the mandatory dark-blue Improved Flame Resistant Variant coveralls and a matching cap sporting his rank, turned to his executive officer and barked, “Left full rudder and all ahead flank! CAT! CAT!”
The XO, also wearing IFRVs, repeated the order in a commanding voice. Just then, Capt. James Buchelle, the ship’s CAG, reached the bridge, his face tight with an anger shared by Kowalski at having been surprised even after getting plenty of warning from USPACFLT about the rogue sub in the area.
“Those fucking CATs better work, Dover,” the air boss whispered to Kowalski, who was familiar with the old-school last-ditch battle tactic. Without much time or maneuvering room, Keegan had decided to place the stern of the carrier in harm’s way. Just two years earlier, it would have been their only hope to rely on the incredible power generated by the nuclear reactors and steam turbines driving the huge propellers to produce enough turbulence to tumble a torpedo.
But unlike the other carriers in the Nimitz-class fleet, the crew of Vinson had a prototype trick up their sleeve, borrowed from the Ford-class design: the Countermeasure Anti-Torpedo system, or CAT.
An AN/SQL-25 acoustic device “Nixie” countermeasure sensor towed a hundred yards behind the carrier detected the presence of the incoming torpedoes. The Nixie’s receiver array sent the information to a computer on the bridge that calculated the projected trajectories and automatically passed the coordinates to the array of CATs mounted on the carrier’s port and starboard bow sponsons, the extensions of the flight deck over the water.
Kowalski and Buchelle — as well as everyone on the bridge — turned to the tactical display screens on the bridge as the starboard system released six projectiles, two per torpedo, while Vinson continued its sharp turn away from the incoming threat.
Resembling a video game, the screen showed the CATs rushing to intercept in the same manner as Sea Sparrows and RIM missiles would do in the air, but operating just below the surface.
The first two CATs collided against the lead torpedo in an impressive explosion two thousand feet from the carrier. The next set of CATs converged on their target with another outburst of water and shrapnel. But as sometimes was the case with antimissile systems, the proximity of the second blast caused the last two CATs to veer off course and miss the last torpedo.
“Twenty seconds to impact,” the operator reported as the last wisp below the surface approached Vinson’s stern.
“Shit,” Keegan hissed, his jaw clenching as the carrier completed the turn and placed 260,000 shaft horsepower of force from its four massive screws in front of the threat.
The 533-millimeter torpedo wildly undulated when it encountered the extreme turbulence from the churning wake of the powerful ship. The weapon swerved off course and exploded two hundred feet from the carrier’s port rudder.
Damage Control Central soon had information from the area that had absorbed the explosion. The initial assessment was then relayed to the ship’s captain.
After reviewing the initial damage control report, Captain Keegan ordered the ship to a speed of dead slow. The port rudder responded to commands, but it was not operating in unison with the starboard rudder. It would take a more detailed inspection to determine the exact damage.
In the meantime, thought Kowalski, we better find the fucker before he tries it again.
Eyes closed, Capt. Yuri Sergeyev counted the seconds while Leonod Popov updated him on the incoming torpedo.
He then looked up and said, “Release countermeasures.”
“Countermeasures, aye,” replied Anatoli Zhdanov.
A moment later, a small Aselsan ZOKA acoustic decoy shot off the starboard side of the submarine and immediately created a noise barrier between the torpedo and the submarine as K-43 dove below two hundred feet.
“Steady on course two-four-zero,” he ordered, knowing it would take another minute to reach four hundred feet.
“Course, two-four-zero,” Zhdanov said.
“Range six hundred feet. Twenty seconds to impact,” Popov warned.
Sergeyev hoped to put as much distance as possible from the acoustic lure stirring the waters aft of his propeller.
Popov looked up again before removing his headphones. “It’s going for the decoy!”
Staring at his stopwatch, Sergeyev tightened his grip on the overhead pipe.
The muffled explosion rocked the submarine over on her starboard side, spilling utensils and plates in the galley. The lights flickered a few times but remained on.
“All stop!” Sergeyev commanded, killing all cavitation sounds following the explosion to try to trick the Americans while using the underwater currents to drift to deeper waters.
Lt. Cmdr. Kathy Lombardo pushed the cyclic forward and lowered the nose of her helicopter to descend over the area where her torpedo had detonated.
“No one is reporting cavitations,” Lt. Danny Mendez said. “I wonder if we got him.”
“Nope. Bastard is still down there, Danny,” Kathy replied, watching the circle of foam marking the underwater explosion — too small to represent an imploding boat the size of a Type 212. The sub was still in one piece somewhere close to her position, likely drifting silently toward deeper waters, and in this part of the strait, it could only mean the Penghu Channel.