"Set all three units for straight runs," ter Horst said. "Gyro angles thirty right, zero, and thirty left."
"Straight runs, thirty-degree triple fan spread, aye," Van Gelder said. "Torpedo room acknowledges gyro angles set."
"Set detonation depth one thousand meters."
"One thousand meters, aye. Torpedo room acknowledges one thousand meters set."
"Detonation yield one kiloton."
"One kiloton, aye. Torpedo room acknowledges one kiloton."
"Program all fish for maximum attack speed after a quiet runout of four kilometers on nonconflicting random starting doglegs," ter Horst said, "to disguise our own location."
"Twenty knots four thousand meters random doglegs, aye," Van Gelder said, "then seventy-five knots thereafter, aye."
"That just might make Wilson panic," ter Horst said, "when he hears one of those 65s come at him like a freight train. If he gives us a datum, we'll control the units through the fiber-optic wires, send all three in his direction."
"Understood," Van Gelder said. "Sir, for that matter why not shoot the weapons one by one? When they hear the first go off atomic, if they're still alive, waiting for the second and the third would be slow torture."
"I like your thinking, Gunther, but two problems. Wilson's not the type to buckle from slow torture."
"You know him, sir?"
"Not well, but we've met, at a Naval Submarine League banquet in Washington once. Didn't hit it off. Lack of chemistry, as the Americans would put it. From what I saw I wouldn't want to face him in a waiting game. Sudden shock, that's the thing, though slim chance enough that that would work. But more importantly, the first warhead would ruin sonar in this sector for a while, and would help Challenger guess what range from launch we're detonating at, so it's best to flush them everywhere at once."
"Understood, sir," Van Gelder said. He glanced ruefully at the TMA plot.
"Turn your key now, Number One."
Van Gelder took out his enabler, pushed it into the slot, and twisted. This is murder, he told himself. Those minesweepers have wooden hulls, each crew has forty men.
"Captain is enabling," ter Horst said. He turned his key.
"Torpedo room is ready," Van Gelder said. "Tubes six, seven, and eight prepared to shoot."
"Fire six," ter Horst said.
"Tube six fired," Van Gelder said.
"Fire seven."
"Tube seven fired."
"Fire eight."
"Tube eight fired."
"All units operating properly," the sonar chief said. "Time to detonations?" ter Horst said.
"Nine minutes, Captain," Van Gelder said, "unless the weapons find the target sooner."
"Torpedo in the water," Sessions said. "Another 65, Captain, bearing three four five, range about twelve thousand yards."
"Torpedo course?" Jeffrey said.
"Zero six zero," Sessions said.
"Well away from us," Jeffrey said.
"Second torpedo in the water! Also a series-65 … Torpedo course is zero nine zero, sir."
"A spread?" Jeffrey said. "He's using conventional warheads then, fanning them out with a passive sonar search."
"We'll see," Morse said. "If I were him, I'd make them go active at ten thousand yards."
"Third torpedo in the water," Sessions said. "This one's heading one two zero!"
"Coming toward us," Jeffrey said. "Phone Talker, relay to all hands. Repeat for emphasis, incoming torpedo, rig for ultraquiet, rig for depth charge."
"Aye aye, sir," the phone talker said.
"Sir," Sessions said, "most hostile contacts on our tactical plot appear to be changing course and heading Out to sea."
Jeffrey glanced at the TMA. "Good," he said, "we have them foxed. They must think we're further offshore than we really are."
"Time to detonations?" ter Horst said.
"Four minutes, sir," Van Gelder said.
"Signs of our quarry?"
"Nothing, Captain."
"Wilson isn't stupid. If he runs or launches countermeasures too soon, he'll just draw more fire and make our own job easier."
"Yes, sir," Van Gelder said. He looked again at the tactical display. Every surface unit was fleeing for open water, heading away from the area where all the mines and torpedoes had been going off. Obviously someone in higher headquarters who knew ter Horst took his "Stand Clear" very literally. But even at their maximum speed of sixteen knots, the little minesweepers were doomed.
"Watch carefully for a hole-in-ocean contact just before the sonar whiteout hits," ter Horst said.
"Acknowledged, Captain," Van Gelder said. He spoke with the sonar chief.
"If we localize Challenger as we destroy her," ter Horst said, "it'll speed up the salvage operations. Crypto gear and other good intel are time sensitive, you know."
"Yes, Captain," Van Gelder said.
"While we're waiting," ter Horst said, "reload tubes six through eight with nuclear torpedoes. Use deep-capable units now."
"Third torpedo closing," Sessions said. "This one will pass us close to port."
"Torpedo status?" Jeffrey said.
"Still in passive search mode, sir, still straight running."
"Lying doggo was a good idea," Morse said, almost whispering. "They might not go active till they're past us."
"Good," Jeffrey said. "On this sandy bottom we'd stand out like a billboard at close range, our sail and control surfaces especially, our active out-of-phase masking notwithstanding. We're deep enough the pressure's squashed our anechoic tiles to the point of uselessness."
"Torpedo at closest point of approach now," Sessions said. "Range nine hundred yards.
"One minute to detonations," Van Gelder said. "Still no fresh datum on Challenger."
"Very well, Number One," ter Horst said.
"They've run for over fifteen thousand yards already," Jeffrey said. "What are they waiting for?"
"They may have overestimated how much ground we'd cover at top quiet speed," Morse said. "That's bad. It suggests Voortrekker's faster."
"The torpedoes might be programmed for circular searches," Jeffrey said. "They'd loop back this way on active after a dash ahead to cut us off."
"We'll see," Morse said. "If so, we'll be right in the search cone of the fish on one two zero."
Jeffrey nodded. "I—"
A dreadful concussion jarred the boat and a doomsday cacophony washed over Challenger.
"First torpedo had a nuclear warhead!" Sessions shouted as the deep bass roar went on and on.
The bubble pulses caught the sail, tilting Challenger to starboard. She stayed that way against the sand, listing six degrees.
A second volcanic boom went off, much closer, shaking Jeffrey to his bones. He tasted copper in his mouth — the gum at one capped tooth had started bleeding. More hard blows struck the ship, dwindling as the fireball throbbed and plummeted for the surface. Challenger listed ten degrees to starboard now.
"Both of those were one-KT explosions!" Sessions yelled.
"Third time's lucky," Morse said.
"I told you," Ilse said.
The third torpedo blew, pounding Jeffrey's core. Challenger slammed sideways, grinding across the bottom. All the nerves in Jeffrey's teeth felt on fire, and his left leg twisted painfully. Relentless reverb banged and banged, the ship listing more and more — fifteen degrees, twenty degrees, thirty degrees and rising. Jeffrey's eardrums hurt again, like at Umhlanga Rocks but worse, his tortured hearing assaulted by endless unearthly rumbling.
"Third torpedo has detonated!" Sessions shouted, sticking to procedure when it was barely possible to speak again. "The range from us was seven thousand yards!" Jeffrey shook his head to clear his brain. He noticed Ilse and the crewmen in the CACC did the same, looking at each other wide-eyed, amazed to be alive. Jeffrey studied the automated damage control reports. Minor problems only. "Hah! This boat's incredible!"