Perry’s casualties were primarily personnel. Nothing impaired the ship’s ability to fight. Her captain wheeled her about and brought her to flank speed to close her attackers.
Aboard the Soviet submarines, the targets were obvious — four American ships, most likely frigates from the sound of their single shafts. Both subs immediately commenced reloading tubes to fire a second set of missiles; their alternate tubes contained torpedoes. It seemed, at this range, to be similar to shooting fish in a barrel. The Americans apparently did not have their helicopters in the path of the submarines. By reloading quickly the Soviets could destroy the targets before they came within torpedo range. Only the two closest American frigates provided any immediate hazard to the submarines — and these were easy targets.
Perry’s captain deployed his helicopter in the direction of the missile launch. Within minutes the helo was dipping its sonar in the area where radar had first spotted the missile breaking water.
Contact almost instantly! Two contacts! Three… four. The sonar operator was confused — too many different sounds. Decoys! That was it — the minute the Russian submarine heard the initial ping of the sonar, it released decoys. Which was the real target? Which was the phony one?
There was only one way for Perry to tell — get weapons in the water! As Perry closed, her own sonar picked up contact. One was strong and solid. No doubt about it — classified submarine!
Even as the helo prepared to drop her first homing torpedo, Perry came within maximum torpedo range of the contacts. Saturation — that was the best way at this stage. They had no idea how many subs were in the vicinity. Splash! Perry’s captain could see the first torpedo fall from the helo. Splash! A second in the water.
Solution complete. Ship’s torpedoes ready. Fire! Leaning over the edge of the open bridge, her commanding officer saw three torpedoes leap out of the starboard tubes at short intervals like sprinters, hitting the water with tremendous splashes. One skipped on the surface for an instant, the others dove immediately.
Her commanding officer brought the little ship parallel to the sub’s course. Can’t close them too much — too good a target.
The helo was on the way back to the ship, her torpedoes expended. He’d launch the second helo with two more torpedoes before retrieving the first. What a hell of a chance he’d be taking, slowing down and maintaining course until he could launch one, bring one home.
But the word came to the bridge with a sudden finality — the hangar doors had been jammed by the near miss of that first missile. They’d have to start cutting — fifteen to twenty minutes before they could get the doors open and clear the deck for launch.
But they couldn’t wait! There were at least two enemy subs out there. Perry was the only ship prosecuting contacts yet. Other helos were coming in. Someone had to maintain the attack.
There was a report of more missiles breaking the surface. Then, in much less time than anticipated, there was an explosion a few miles off their bow. One of the missiles had locked on to their sister ship’s incoming helo, knocking it out of the air. Perry was the only one that could keep the subs busy. Her captain turned her directly toward the underwater contacts.
By now, at least one of the torpedoes should have hit, he thought. His binoculars steadied on the horizon above where the subs should be. Nothing. Sonar continued to report multiple noises in the water. Screw beats — submarines, decoys, Perry’s sister ship approaching from astern at flank speed. Then a report of an underwater explosion, then a second. Only two! The others must have run off.
Sonar was incapacitated by noise, clutter. The underwater explosions blanked any possibility of determining whether they’d gotten a hit. They were, after all, nuclear attack subs capable of outrunning a torpedo.
Only one thing left to do. Run down their throat. The missiles were for long-range, standoff-type weapons. Close in, they’d have to use torpedoes.
Off their port quarter, there was a rocking explosion, one that echoed across the water, definitely not from a torpedo hitting below the waterline.
Perry’s captain swung his glasses around. He saw only smoke and flame from the direction of their sister ship. She’d taken a hit from that last missile. Now Perry was all alone.
No sooner was he aware of that than another voice came over the speaker from sonar — more torpedoes in the water from the submarines! In the confusion, had they streamed their own decoys? Yes! The gunnery officer had seen to that automatically with the first contact. Her NIXIE buoy was streamed astern, creating more noise for a homing torpedo than the ship’s propellers.
But Perry had nothing else to attack the subs with. No standoff weapons, no depth charges, just her own torpedoes, and he had to reload the starboard side now. His attack would be made with the remaining port torpedoes — three of them. Then he had nothing — nothing until he could launch his second helo!
He came about to tow NIXIE along the track of the incoming torpedoes. As he looked out over the surface of the water, staring in the direction of the unseen torpedoes, various reports arrived on the bridge — another ten minutes to free the hangar doors, about the same time to reload two of the empty torpedo tubes. The third had been damaged by the launch!
The effect of the underwater explosions was diminishing. Sonar again had a definite submarine to port, operating at high speed. New sounds — like a boat breaking up. They must have hit one of the subs — one of the five torpedoes must have hit one of them! Other sounds — high-speed screws, more torpedoes approaching from port.
Perry’s captain overheard the telltale sounds through the speaker from sonar — a high-pitched squeal increasing in intensity as they drew near. He waited — an explosion astern, water bursting hundreds of feet into the air. One of the torpedoes had homed in on NIXIE! Where was the second? There was no squealing of screws nearby. Both must have gone off at the same spot — the decoy!
The water was once again turbulent. Nothing could be detected by sonar. The captain turned his ship in the direction of the last contact. As soon as he found that sub, he’d fire. There was no logic in giving the Russian any chances. Who could tell which sub had fired the last missiles — the one that had been hit or the one he was after now? If it was the former, he might expect another missile breaking the water any minute. Or was he too close to his quarry? Those subs were faster than his frigate; one had had a chance to run while he’d been evading them. In five minutes, going in opposite directions, the subs might be ten miles apart. One of the subs’ computers could feed a solution into its launching system and another missile…
Radar contact port quarter — on the screen — off the screen — high speed — another missile! The damned sub had opened the range while Perry was evading! At that range, it would take about a minute to impact.
Sonar gave him a course for the submarine. It had apparently fired a missile, then changed course to come in for a torpedo attack, if necessary. The sub was closing in again! The captain brought Perry on a new course to intercept, leaving his Phalanx open.
Even as they settled on the new course, the Phalanx opened up with a deafening roar. Four minutes until they could put the second helo on deck — only one starboard torpedo tube loaded. The second would take longer because maneuvering was delaying the loading.