“You’ve betrayed your country,” Harrison said.
“It betrayed me!” Mixell’s face turned red, his neck veins bulging. “You betrayed me!”
His fury passed quickly, his skin color returning to normal.
“Haven’t you forgotten something?” Harrison asked. “The president is being evacuated, which means one of Kazan’s missiles is on its way here. Congratulations on plan A, but we’re all going to die.”
Mixell smiled. “I appreciate your concern for our safety, but don’t worry. The missiles fired by Kazan carry only a one-hundred-kiloton warhead. We’re six miles from the detonation point, which should be beyond the lethal radius. Just in case, however, I’ve got a boat tied up along the wharf outside. Air Force One should be in flames about thirty minutes before the missile arrives, and Trish and I will be long gone by then.”
One of the displays on the table began flashing again, and Harrison noted movement on the monitor. Marine One and its three escorts were approaching Joint Base Andrews, flying low, with their flight path occasionally blocked by nearby buildings, which explained why Mixell was waiting for the president to board Air Force One. Lumbering into the clear sky after takeoff, it would be an easy target.
Marine One touched down and the president and another dozen men and women debarked the helicopter, hurrying toward the boarding stairs pushed up against Air Force One.
“Pardon me for being rude,” Mixell said as he moved toward the missile launcher, “but I’ve got a president to kill.”
78
USS NORTH CAROLINA • K-561 KAZAN
“Torpedo launch transient, bearing two-seven-eight!”
Damn. Despite his crew’s head start tracking Kazan below the layer, the Russians had fired first. North Carolina’s crew was well trained, but they were methodical and slow. They weren’t yet proficient enough to execute Firing Point Procedures as quickly as crews that had completed a six-month workup preparing for deployment.
“Torpedo in the water! Bearing two-seven-eight!”
“Ahead flank!” Wilson ordered. “Hard left rudder, steady course two-one-zero.”
A red line appeared on the geographic display, joined by a purple line.
“Second torpedo in the water, also bearing two-seven-eight!”
To the Officer of the Deck, Wilson ordered, “Launch countermeasures!”
North Carolina ejected a torpedo decoy and broadband jammer, then completed its turn to the ordered evasion course, accelerating to maximum speed.
Both torpedoes had been fired while North Carolina was above the layer, so Wilson decided to drop below.
“Pilot, make your depth four hundred feet.”
As North Carolina tilted downward, Wilson turned to his Fire Control Coordinator, who was waiting on the three operators refining their target solution.
“Check Fire,” Wilson announced. “Quick Reaction Firing, Master one, tube Two primary, tube Four backup.”
Wilson canceled their normal torpedo firing process, implementing the more urgent version, which forced his Fire Control Coordinator to send his best solution to the torpedo immediately. The Russian captain wouldn’t know how well aimed the torpedo was, and it was better to give him something to worry about instead of letting him refine his solution and send updates to his torpedoes over their guidance wires.
Commander Maske shifted his gaze between the three combat control consoles, then tapped one of the fire control technicians on the shoulder. “Promote to master.”
Maske announced, “Solution ready!”
The submarine’s Weapons Officer followed. “Weapon ready!”
“Ship ready!” the Officer of the Deck announced.
“Match Sonar bearing and shoot!”
Wilson heard the whirr of the torpedo ejection pump, verifying the port torpedo bank responded as expected, then listened to the sonar technicians monitor their torpedo.
“Tube Two is in the water, running normally.”
“Fuel crossover achieved.”
“Turning to preset gyro course.”
“Shifting to medium speed.”
North Carolina’s torpedo was headed toward its target.
“Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-eight-zero!”
The American submarine had counterfired as expected. But Plecas had planned ahead; Kazan was already turning to an optimal evasion course, increasing speed to ahead flank.
Plecas checked the torpedo bearings, verifying Kazan’s new course was adequate. The torpedo bearings were drawing aft as desired. For added insurance, Plecas ordered a set of countermeasures launched: a decoy first, followed by a jammer.
The countermeasures were ejected, and after verifying the incoming torpedo was still drawing aft, Plecas focused on his outgoing torpedo salvo. The American captain had undoubtedly maneuvered his submarine as well, which meant both of Kazan’s torpedoes would speed by without a detection.
Plecas moved behind the two fire control technicians, who were updating their target solution for the American submarine. It had increased speed to ahead flank and turned to port. After analyzing further, its new course became clear. Their adversary had maneuvered to the southwest.
Plecas ordered his Weapons Officer, “Calculate steers, both torpedoes.”
Captain Lieutenant Alekhin evaluated several steers on his Weapon Control Console, then announced, “Recommend course one-eight-five.”
“Insert steer, both torpedoes, course one-eight-five.”
“Up doppler from torpedo!”
Wilson evaluated Sonar’s report with concern. The Russian crew apparently held North Carolina on its sensors and had just steered the torpedo back toward them. Wilson considered using the strong thermocline to his advantage again. But first, he needed to determine what type of salvo the Russian captain had employed.
Earlier, after dropping below the thermocline, they held only one torpedo on North Carolina’s sensors, which meant the other torpedo was running above the layer or had experienced a failure. The most likely scenario was that the Russian captain had fired a vertical salvo, but Wilson needed to be sure.
“Pilot, make your depth one-five-zero feet.”
North Carolina tilted upward, and as it traveled through the layer, Sonar lost one torpedo, but gained another.
Kazan had indeed fired a vertical salvo. This time, Wilson couldn’t use the thermocline, and if the Russian crew kept inserting steers, they would eventually lead their torpedoes to North Carolina.
The Russian captain had kept the advantage, keeping North Carolina on the run. Wilson needed to change that. Up to now, both submarines had been shooting quick-reaction fastballs at each other, forcing their opponent to focus on evasion, inhibiting their ability to prosecute their adversary. It was time for a curveball.
But first, he needed to respond to the torpedoes closing on North Carolina.
“Pilot, left ten degrees rudder, steady course zero-six-zero. Make your depth four hundred feet.”