Fifteen minutes later, Benson spoke up, his hands still on his headset.
“Sir, I have had Stimpy’s contact for several minutes now. I’m picking up a possible contact to his north. Stimpy confirms this. Sir, it’s very faint but I’m thinking both are Yasen class boats. The computer says it’s 80 % probable, but Stella’s guessing again. I can tell her work.”
Nathan grinned; Benson’s would-be girlfriend in the programming team was at it again.
“And what does the lovely Stella think?”
“She says it’s the Krasnoyarsk and the Novosibirsk.”
“What do you think?”
“I think she’s showing off, sir. She’s a woman; she can be a bullshitter.”
Nathan grinned. “But a very good bullshitter?”
Benson reluctantly nodded.
“Ok, Stella, here we go. Planesman, come left 25 degrees, sprint 20 knots for ten minutes, then all stop.”
“Aye, sir.”
The boat accelerated in the deep blackness and headed to the east of the two contacts. Minutes later, her Kawasaki motors turned off, and the boat coasted quietly.
“Benson, sitrep on contacts?”
“We have them, sir. Stimpy is two miles behind the southern contact. Northern contact is four miles to our north.”
“Weaps. Designate southernmost contact as Tango 1, set up a firing solution. Northern contact is Tango 2, set up a firing solution. Flood tubes one and two, open outer doors. Give our fish a sniff of the quarry.”
“Sir, will do.”
“Weaps, get Stimpy to turn towards Tango 1. Set his speed 15 knots, simulate flooding tube and opening outer doors.”
Weaps set up the actions on his control panel.
“Sir,” said Benson, “Tango 1’s coming about, flooding a tube and opening outer doors.”
Nathan knew it was time to make the play.
“One ping from Stimpy on Tango one, wait 50 seconds then get him to simulate a Mk48 launch.”
Stimpy pinged the Russian boat.
“Sir,” said Benson excitedly, “Tango one’s launched a Type 53 Fizik, homing on Stimpy.”
“Weaps, use Stimpy’s ping to update Tango 1’s position. Launch tube one, get a fish on him.”
“Sir.” A rushing sound was audible from the forward end. “Sir, Mk48 running, fish is hungry.”
“When the 53 is three hundred yards away from him, cut the wire and dive, Stimpy.”
Long seconds ticked by. “Sir, Tango 1’s diving; he must have detected our fish running in. Stimpy’s wire is cut; he’s diving.”
“Range to Tango 1 from our fish, Benson?”
“Point eight miles, sir.”
Nathan looked at the watch on his wrist and counted down the seconds. Point eight miles at 50 knots, that was 50 seconds. The seconds counted down.
“He’s launched countermeasures, sir,” said Benson. “Fish closing, closing.”
Nathan watched the second hand ticking down: four, three, two, one.
Benson stood and punched the air. “Yes. Yes. Hot datum Tango 1. He took it up his belly, hull split asunder. Huge gas escape. He’s breaking up, sir. Secondary explosion at the bow, it must be a Type 53. He’s going down, sir, he’s split in two.”
Poor bastard thought Nathan. He couldn’t help but think of her crew and what they were going through.
“Good, Benson. Now Tango 2, what’s his status?”
Benson sat and listened; it was back to work. He adjusted the settings on his dripping coloured oil-like screen.
“Sir, I’m getting a sound build up, he’s building up the drive. Sir, he’s accelerating to the east, now 21 knots. He’s running away. Now heading for 85 degrees.”
He looked at Nikki, and she nodded. He wasn’t running, he was heading for the edge of the icecap where he’d report to Northern Fleet.
“Bearing on Tango 2?”
“Zero five zero degrees, sir,” said Benson.
Nathan did a quick and rough trigonometry calculation. “Planesman make for 028 degrees, all ahead full.”
“Aye, sir, 028, all ahead full.”
USS Stonewall Jackson chased after Tango 2 on an intercept course. She ran after the Krasnoyarsk with fangs out and snarling. He must be stopped before he could make his report.
11
USS Stonewall Jackson sped off through the darkness.
“Planesman, come to… What’s his depth, Benson?”
“Five hundred feet, sir.”
“Up bubble 20, make your depth 500 feet. We’ll get in his baffles.”
Nathan knew the Yasen had one goal in mind: make his report. The Jackson tilted bow up as she climbed to 500. He knew they hadn’t got long; the Yasen was faster.
“Range to Tango 2?”
“Two point two miles, sir.”
It had to be now. “Launch tube two on Tango 2.”
There was a rushing sound up front.
“Fish running, good launch, the fish is hungry.” The Mk48 raced off after the Krasnoyarsk.
“Come on, come on,” urged Nathan, squeezing the conn rail.
“She’ll get him, sir,” said Weaps. “He’s fast, but not that fast.”
The world suddenly became a shaking turmoil, and the boat pitched up at the bow and was pushed to port. She now fell by the bow as the sea boiled. Alarms sounded, the boat’s lights blacked out and the emergency red lights came on.
“Damage control report,” shouted the Chief.
Nothing came back.
Seamus Cox shouted down the companionway. “Are you ladies asleep? I said fucking damage control report. I want it now!”
The boat was settling as the sea slowly returned to normal.
The Chief stomped off aft down the companionway. “I want some ass people, and I want it now.”
Nathan smirked; he knew somebody would get a good roasting.
“It’s still too noisy to get a good sonar return, sir.”
Nathan knew his crew were reacting well.
“Reloading tubes one and two with Mk48, sir.”
“Good, Weaps. Let me know what the Yasen is up to as soon as you can, Benson. Check on Stimpy too. Did he make it?”
The minutes passed by. Nathan waited.
He heard the Chief down the main companionway shouting. “I don’t care if you’re the Secretary of Defence, sir. Bad hair day or not, get on it now, nobody fucks with my boat.” He returned to the control room. “Sir, damage control reports minor problems. The grease monkeys are on it. I just told the Senior Electrical Engineering Officer to get on it.”
“Thanks, Chief, I heard you.”
Nikki walked over to him and paused briefly. “Sir, I looked at the soundings, and the idiot’s guide to fleet submarines. I think the Yasen ejected a mine in its wake, probably the MDM-6, but there are others. It’s academic anyway; they’re all powerful. It must have detected us as we were at full speed and it didn’t want to turn about, so it was a mine or nothing. He’s going like hell for the edge of the icecap; he wants to signal Northern Fleet at Severomorsk, Северный флот, Северомо́рck. He didn’t care about us hearing him.”
“Yeah, thanks, XO. Showing off with the Russian, Nikki.” Nathan smirked, and Nikki smiled and nodded.
“Sir, the Yasen is making 34 knots,” said Benson. “We’ve no chance of catching him at 20 knots. The Mk48 was taken out by the blast. I tried an emergency call to Stimpy, as I knew the Yasen would know we were there. I’m afraid there was no reply.”
“Thanks, Benson. I think we can expect unwanted company down here, Nikki. Take us back to the ice lead. I’ll write a report to COMSUBPAC.”
“Sir.” She turned. “Koss, get me a heading back to the layer. We’re going to call Momma.”
Nathan took the broadcast handset from its mount and broadcast to the crew.
“All hands, all hands. We just made a hot datum on a Russian SSN.” Cheers could be heard. “But I have to tell you, Seaman Stimpy gave his life in the engagement. God rest Stimpy. Let’s make the enemy pay for that. Captain out.”