Men were thrown from the deck along with many of the attackers. The Burn missile sent explosive gases up and out of the housing, and suddenly, large parts of the missile cruiser flew into the sky and sea. The entire port side was in flames.
Peter the Great was slowly being bled to death.
Captain Johnson was almost knocked from his feet on the battle bridge as the entire port side of Peter the Great burst out like an exploding balloon. He adjusted his field glasses and saw the flames being swept backward by the speed of the great warship.
“How in the hell did they know to hit their missile tubes?” Johnson turned away from the horrid scene and then grabbed his second in command. “Get below and place teams on all missile batteries; they’ll try the same here.”
“Aye,” the man said, and then he quickly went to his radio to give out the order.
Johnson hissed as he again sighted Peter the Great as she sped along in flames. He could see the crew fought both Wasakoo and the damage that had been done, and it looked as if both efforts were failing. He then turned his glasses onto the Simbirsk. Her crew was fighting valiantly, but he knew they wouldn’t stand a chance if he moved Shiloh from her current close-in station to assist; he knew the Simbirsk would be done for. He cursed as he knew that Second Captain Dishlakov was on his own.
“Helm twenty degrees to starboard; get in closer to Peter the Great. Fire control, get the fifties and twenty-millimeter weapons to assist the Russians. Sweep some of those bastards off her deck, give her crew a chance to get damage control working.”
“Aye, helm answering, twenty degrees to starboard.”
As Shiloh heeled over sharply, her .50-caliber machine guns and the manually operated Phalanx twenty-millimeter cannon opened fire on Peter the Great. Although many holes were punched into her side by the heavy-caliber weaponry, they could see the sudden assault had the desired effect on the attackers. Over two hundred Wasakoo were knocked from their ropes, and some even fell to pieces and then plunged into the sea. Peter the Great’s entire starboard side was swept clean of the attackers. Shiloh again turned away as her heavy weaponry kept a constant fire in their efforts to assist their onetime enemy.
As Captain Johnson had his mind momentarily eased as Dishlakov and his brave crew once more gained the upper hand in fighting the fires, the announcement from his CIC stunned him. Did one of Peter the Great’s missiles cook off? He was frozen in shock as the vision of a missile coming in at sea-top level slammed into Shiloh on her bow section.
The warhead’s detonation rocked Shiloh to her core. Men flew from the decks as a missile slammed into her stern. Flames erupted all along her mainframe and engulfed over fifty men as the fireball expanded. Johnson was thrown from his feet, and with one of his arms nearly broken, he tried to stand. Shiloh slowed and then started to immediately list to starboard. She was taking on water.
“All damage control stations shift to decks four, five, and six aft of frame sixteen, all sections!”
The announcement brought Johnson’s senses back faster than a face slap. As he stood, he felt hands on him as men tried to gather their wits.
“Conn, CIC, torpedo in the water!”
This time, Johnson felt his heart actually skip a beat.
“Peter the Great is under attack by a submerged source!”
Captain Johnson felt his hopes being dashed as he and his bridge crew were helpless to do anything as the long white wake of a torpedo headed straight toward Peter the Great.
Captain Thorne had just made the announcement to seal the boat. All hatches and vents were closed and all stations prepared to trust the last chance they had in getting the ballast tanks to release their hold on the sea.
“Conn, sonar, we have a submerged disturbance twenty miles to the north. Water slug! Submerged missile launch!”
Johnson grabbed the 1 MC mic. “What?”
“Suspected submerged contact has launched a missile.”
“Damn,” Thorne said as he turned to his XO. “Just what in the hell are we facing here, Gary?”
“Conn, sonar, we have a surface detonation!”
Thorne allowed the mic to lower as his heart skipped a beat. He looked at all the anxious faces watching him. He again raised his mic to his mouth but was suddenly cut off.
“Conn, sonar, we have high-speed screw cavitation — torpedo in the water!”
Thorne closed his eyes as the information refused to break into the clearer thoughts he had been trained in. His eyes went to XO Devers, and both men saw the same look of disaster. Wherever they were, whatever place they found themselves, somehow a shooting war was erupting right above their heads, and they were blind as bats.
They felt the disturbance in the seas even this far down as Houston once more rocked and rolled. This time when she started to slide, Thorne knew she wouldn’t stop until they went off the almost three-mile ledge she had lodged herself on. Every crewman aboard felt the vibration start anew as Houston began to slide. They heard the rush of sand and rock as her massive bulk started her slide into oblivion.
“Conn, sonar, we have a surface detonation, three-quarters of a mile away from the first.”
Thorne reached out and took a handhold on the stanchion that helped guide the periscope and felt his heart stop for a moment as the submarine picked up speed in her hurry to slide into the abyss far below. He once more raised the 1 MC mic to his lips, but he stopped when Houston once more came to a grinding halt. He closed his eyes in silent thanks.
“Engineering, how are we coming with that repair?” he asked anxiously.
“Skipper, we’re almost there,” came the call.
Houston slid a few feet and then settled. Thorne again felt the boat move and froze until it stopped.
“Gentlemen, there’s a fight going on up there; we don’t have the luxury of time here.”
For emphasis, every crew member felt the rumble of explosions even from their stranded spot on the side of the submerged mountain ledge.
“Chief of the Boat, stand by to surface!”
22
Second Captain Dishlakov could not believe what he had just been told. He quickly scanned the waters in the direct path of the giant warship. There it was: a single straight line of a torpedo’s wake heading straight at him.
“Hard to starboard!” he shouted as he watched in horror as the wake vanished as the torpedo went deep. The fear of every surface commander ever to take to the modern seas flared into his mind. “All ahead flank!”
Too late. The torpedo dove under the bow of Peter the Great, and the magnetic sensors buried deep inside ordered the warhead to detonate. Dishlakov felt the entire front sections of the enormous warship rise free of the sea, and he had the frozen moment in time all soldiers and sailors of the world knew was the pivotal time of an imminent death. The forward sections of the eight-foot-wide keel of Peter the Great separated as if they were nothing more than cordwood. The bow flashed brightly as her forward missile battery ignited in a fireball of massive proportions. A hundred feet of bow sheared away as the entire bulk of the battle cruiser came crashing back into the sea. Men, Wasakoo, and steel flew in all directions as the wail and cry of bending and cracking steel sounded even above the din of explosive outgassing.