Be advised unidentified submarine, possibly U.S. Los Angeles – class boat reported operating in sector.
Unidentified submarine last spotted on surface approximately ninety nautical miles west of Sevastopol forty-five minutes prior to transmission of this message.
Unidentified submarine believed to be hostile, and is believed to have attacked and destroyed civilian Russian freighter Alexander Popovich.
Alexander Popovich was transporting women and children to Port of Odessa for joint ceremony with presidents of Russia and Ukraine.
Bear bombers currently dropping sonobuoys in the area.
By orders of the president of the Russian Republic, you are to seek out and destroy.
"Impossible." Gagarigan folded the message and handed it back to his XO. "A Los Angeles – class submarine in the Black Sea. How could it be?"
"I do not know, " the XO said.
"What is our current position?"
"One hundred miles southwest of Sevastopol, Kapitan."
"Bring me the navigational chart for the sector."
"Yes, Kapitan."
A moment later, the executive officer spread the navigational chart on the navigation table in the control room.
"Let us plot the sub's last postion and plot our current position."
After quickly scanning the charts, the Russian sub commander took the microphone and hit the switch, allowing his voice to broadcast all over the Kilo-class submarine.
"This is the captain. We have just received word that there is an enemy submarine in the area, possibly United States Los Angeles class. This submarine has already attacked and destroyed a civilian Russian freighter that had women and children on board. The president of the Russian Republic has ordered the Black Sea fleet to destroy it.
"We believe that this submarine is in our area, perhaps within ten miles of our current position.
"It is my intention, gentlemen, that the Alrosa shall be the submarine that will carry out our president's orders. We shall do so to avenge the death of innocent Russians. We shall do so to take control of the high seas and to show the Americans whose navy is superior, and we shall do so for the glory of Russia.
"Be prepared to go to battle stations. This is the captain. That is all."
The USS Honolulu Black Sea depths
Soup. Check this out." The Bloodhound handed his earphones to the sonar officer, Lieutenant Boers.
Boers had heard enough. He picked up the microphone for direct link to the control room. "Conn. Sonar. We have a possible submerged submarine! Bearing zero-one-five. Designate contact master two-nine!"
"Sonar. Conn. Aye. Man battle stations! Torpedo, rig for ultra quiet, " cried the officer of the deck, Lieutenant McCaffity.
"Rig tubes one and three fully ready, " Pete ordered.
"Rig tubes one and three. Aye, sir."
"Man battle stations!" All over the ship, red lights flashed. Crewmen sprinted and dashed to their positions. "Battle stations! Battle stations! All hands, man your battle stations!"
"XO, come with me. Mr. McCaffity, you have the conn."
"I have the conn. Aye, sir."
Pete rushed to the sonar room. Frank followed him.
The Bloodhound had both hands on the outside of his earphones. Intense concentration dominated his face. Lieutenant Boers was glued to the passive sonar screen.
"Okay, what do you got?" Frank asked.
"Sir, we have a possible submerged submarine, " Boers said, "bearing zero-four-seven. Designate master two-nine. Best step for evasion, sir, is to dive deep. Recommend diving to eight-three-one feet, to avoid that sub."
"Very well." Pete picked up the microphone. "Lieutenant McCaf-fity, this is the captain. Increase your speed to standard. Come right to course two-seven-zero. Make your depth eight-three-one feet."
"Aye, aye, Captain, " Lieutenant McCaffity said. "Chief of the Watch, all ahead standard. Dive. Make your depth eight-three-one feet."
"Aye, sir, " the chief of the watch, who was also serving as the diving officer, acknowledged the order passed down from the captain. He stood just behind the helmsman, who pushed down on the steering wheel. This sent the submarine into a steep dive.
The Honolulu continued its dive as Pete and Frank returned to the control room.
The diving officer gave reports on the sub's descent. "Passing five-five-zero feet."
A message came in from the radio room. "Conn. Radio. Sir, we are out of VLF radio range. Full message capacity is cut off."
"Radio. Conn." Pete said. "Extend extremely low frequency antenna."
"Passing six hundred feet."
Back in the sonar room, a small red cylinder appeared on the passive sonar screen. Lieutenant Boers' eyes widened.
"Conn! Sonar! We have risk classification." Boers turned to one of the sonar technicians. "Mark that tape. Get the classification on your monitor."
Pete rushed into the sonar room. "What the heck is going on?"
"Sir, " Boers said, "the master two-nine is classified as a Russian Kilo-class hunter killer. Bearing zero-one-zero, sir. He's close, but I don't think he's spotted us."
"Keep an eye on it, " Pete said.
"Aye, sir."
Pete headed back to the control room.
"Passing eight hundred feet, sir."
"Continue to dive, " Pete said. "Five degrees down bubble. Continue rigging for ultra quiet."
Pete picked up the microphone and switched to the 1MC. "Gentlemen, this is the captain. We have a Russian Kilo-class submarine out there. We are rigging for ultra quiet. We've been set back on our timetable because we rescued these orphans that we now have on board. But we went back and got them, because it was the right thing to do."
He looked around the control room. All eyes were glued on him.
"Our plan is to dive deep and hope to avoid the enemy submarine. But they're looking for us, as you know. Be ready. Be prepared. If that sub comes around or even so much as opens up a tube door, we're going to take her out." Pete exhaled. "This is the captain."
Pete hung the microphone back in its place. Dead silence was broken only by the diving officer's status report. Pete had decided to dive even deeper.
"Passing nine hundred feet."
He checked the sonar sweep monitor in the control room. Nothing. The oblong red image was gone.
"He's gone, " Frank Pippen was looking over Pete's shoulder.
"The heck he is, " Pete said. "He's up there." He looked up. "Somewhere."
"Nine-five-zero."
"Along with a dozen others just like him. Plus a whole fleet of aircraft and surface ships. All with torpedoes."
Depth dropped. Dropped more. 1100… 1200… 1250…
Pete was already deeper than he had intended to go. At 1475 feet, the submarine would be at "crush depth" and in danger of imploding. Enough was enough.
"Zero bubble."
"Zero bubble, aye, sir. Twelve hundred seventy-five feet, aye, sir."
The Honolulu was now headed in a westerly direction, toward the coast of Romania, nearly 1300 feet below the surface.
In the sonar room, the Bloodhound detected movement. "Soup, he's coming around, " he called.
Lieutenant Boers picked up the microphone. "Conn! Sonar! The Kilo's turning around, sir." A small red blip shot out from the larger, oblong red cylinder. "Conn Sonar! Torpedo in the water! Bearing two-four-one!"
A second red blip followed the first one. "Conn! Sonar! Second torpedo in the water. Bearing two-four-two!"
In the control room, sweat dripped off Pete's nose, splatting on the floor. If either torp exploded anywhere near Honolulu, it was all over.