Gordon had taken the 'Burgh down so deep that she'd scraped bottom, released countermeasures, and swung back toward the surface. The torpedoes, traveling considerably faster than the sub, had simply not been able to react in time and had slammed, one after the other, into the sea floor.
But they weren't clear yet….
"Faster!" Vetrov shouted. "Filatev! I need more power if we're to catch this bastard!"
"Captain," the Shtorman, the navigator, said. "We are close to Japanese waters. We may already be across the line…. "
"I don't give a fuck about that. Follow orders!"
"Sir, it is my duty to—"
"Follow orders, Shtorman, or I will have you arrested on the spot!"
"Yes, Comrade Captain."
He turned, glaring at Lobanov, the boat's political officer. "Do you have any criticisms, Toad?"
"No, Captain."
"That American vessel was responsible for the crippling of two of the Pacific Fleet's vessels. He also invaded our sovereign waters and may have made off with secret information. I will not see him escape!"
"It would be best, Comrade Captain," Lobanov said, "to kill the American outside of Japanese waters."
"The line is blurred, Lobanov. We have him!" He shook a fist at the forward bulkhead. "Vam kryska! the Russian proverb, literally "For you there is a lid," was the equivalent of the American "I've got you now!"
"Quartermaster! How far are we from Japanese waters?"
"Sir, we're probably inside the twelve-mile line now. It's pretty hard to tell exactly, of course… but I think we've already crossed."
"TMA. Where's our friend?"
"If he's still coming hot and heavy, Captain, he'll be close," Carver said. "Range three thousand, bearing zero-five-zero. We could use another sonar fix."
But for that they would have to slow down. Even Rodriguez couldn't hear anything but rushing water when the Pittsburgh was hurtling along at thirty-five-plus knots.
Of course, the same was true for the Mike. Had he broken off the chase? Or followed the Pittsburgh across the line?
"Maneuvering! Slow to one-five knots. Helm! Come left two-five degrees!"
"Maneuvering, aye. Slowing to one-five knots."
"Helm, coming left two-five degrees, aye aye, sir."
"Sonar, Conn. As soon as you have your ears, tell me where he is."
"Sonar, aye." Seconds passed. "Sir! Contact still astern! Range three thousand yards, bearing zero-five-zero! Speed estimated at twenty knots."
"Bang on with your TMA," he told Latham. "Helm, come left to new course… zero-nine-zero. Weps? I need a solution, and fast."
"Working!.. "
"Conn! Sonar! Torpedo in the water! He's launched!"
"Torpedo Room! Snapshot, three, two!.. "
No time to wait for the target solution. If he could put his return shots in the water, Lieutenant Walberg could steer them in by sonar track… and it might make the other guy flinch….
O'Brien heard the words over the intercom, words he'd hoped he would never hear: "Torpedo Room! Snapshot, three,two!.. "
Chief Allison, standing on the other side of the compartment, nodded. "Fire three." O'Brien's hand came down on the big red button. With a loud hiss and rushing sound, and a lurch transmitted through the torpedo-room deck, the first fish slid out into the sea.
"Three fired!"
"Fire two!"
He hit the second button. "Two fired!"
"All hands, rig for collision!" the captain's voice called. The deck tilted to starboard; the Pittsburgh was in a hard turn.
He thought he could hear a new sound now, the shrill, high-pitched whine of an approaching torpedo….
26
"Time to impact, ten seconds," Latham announced. "Nine… eight… "
"Mr. Walberg! This is no time to polish the cannonball!"
"TMA complete!" Walberg yelled from the weapons board. "Solution fed to torpedoes three and two!"
"Seven… six… "
"Cut the fish loose!"
"Cutting wires!"
"Countermeasures, COB! Now!"
"Countermeasures away."
"Hard left rudder! Down planes! Take us deep!"
"Two… one… "
Every eye went to the control room's overhead as a faint, throbbing whine shrilled in from forward, passed overhead, and dwindled astern.
"Maneuvering! Ahead full! Helm! Come right two-five degrees!" The torpedo had missed, but it would begin to circle, seeking a target. "Weapons Officer! What's the status on our fish?"
"Closing with target, Captain! Running time… now twenty seconds."
"Enemy torpedoes, dead ahead! Torpedoes in the water!" Vetrov's eyes widened. "No!.. "
"Torpedos approaching at fifty-five knots, range five hundred… "
"Hard left rudder! All ahead full!"
"Hard left rudder! Ahead full!"
The deck tipped precariously as the helmsman pulled the steering yoke hard to the left, forcing Vetrov to grab hold.
"Enemy torpedoes turning to compensate."
Shit! There would be no more promotions… no new commands….
He could hear the rising hum of the incoming enemy Mark 48s.
"Five seconds to target… three… two… one… "
The detonation thundered through the sea, a deep,
swelling rumble like incoming surf. A few seconds later, a second detonation sounded, rumbling, blending with the first, sending a rippling shudder through the American boat.
"Conn, Sonar. Two direct hits. I've got breakup noises."
"We got him," Latham added.
But his voice was solemn… and there were no cheers, no smiles in the control room. Every man there knew what had just happened.
Another submarine, and over a hundred submariners, had just died.
"Sonar, Conn. Where's the Russian torpedo?"
"Bearing three-two-zero. Executing turn to starboard."
"Helm! Come left five-zero degrees! Maneuvering, ahead full! Give her every damned bit that you've got!"
"Helm left five-zero degrees, aye."
"Maneuvering. Reactor is at one hundred fifteen percent. Making turns for three-eight knots."
Again the deck canted sharply underfoot. It was like angles and dangles all over again… but with a death-serious twist. The Russian sub had been destroyed, but it was still possible that it could reach out from its watery grave and kill the Pittsburgh, with a weapon already loosed.