"Release countermeasures."
"Countermeasures released."
"Helm! Come left four-five degrees!"
"Helm, come left four-five degrees, aye aye, sir!"
"Torpedo at two-zero-zero yards… "
"Release countermeasures."
"Countermeasures released."
"Torpedo still tracking us, Captain," Sonar reported. "Sonar, this is the Captain. Which side is it coming in on?"
"S-Sir?"
"Is that you, Caswell?"
"Yes, Captain!"
"Caswell, which side of the boat is that torpedo homing on? Port or starboard? Or is coming straight up our ass, dead center?"
There was a moment's hesitation. "Sir! It's slightly to port!"
That made sense. Their last maneuver, turning to port forty-five degrees, would have put the Iranian torpedo off Ohio's port stern quarter.
"Torpedo range, one hundred yards!"
Fifteen seconds, a hair less… allowing for Ohio's forward velocity.
Silently, he began counting….
"You guys okay back there?" Mayhew asked, ducking his head in through the aft lockout chamber hatch.
"Sure thing, Wheel," Tangretti replied. "What's all the racket up there?"
"Don't know yet. We've been picking up a lot of active sonar. I think the bad guys have been hunting for the Ohio. That explosion… well, that might be what it was."
"Hey, Wheel?"
"What is it, Olivetti?"
"If the bad guys got the Ohio, how are we supposed to get back?"
"We'll swim back if we have to. What do you think?"
"Sure," Tangretti added. "Manama and the Fifth Fleet are just 230 miles that way, as the SEAL swims."
"If anything happens to our ride," Mayhew added, "they'll come get us. Patrol boats. Rescue helos. Something. They're not going to leave us out here. Okay? They're not going to forget us."
"Okay, Wheel."
Mayhew pulled back through the hatch, dogging it behind them — a precaution in case the ASDS found itself in battle and one or another of its compartments started to flood. The SEALs aft were left alone with uneasy thoughts.
Of course the Navy wasn't going to forget them. Still, from the fragmentary reports they'd heard while ashore at OP Tamarind, it sounded like a major shooting war had broken out, and if the Iranians were taking shots at the Ohio, that war had just escalated, big-time. The safest bet, probably, would be to turn the ASDS around and get back to shore… the Iranian shore. The ASDS had a maximum range limited by its battery life, and must be running close to empty already. Ashore, they could dig in, call for help, and wait.
Here, in the Gulf, they were helpless. Sitting ducks when their air ran out and they had to surface.
Of course, the real sitting ducks at the moment were the officers and crew of the Ohio, a mile or so to the south….
"Fifty yards! Sir, it's on top of us!"
"Helm! Come right forty-five degrees!"
He could hear it now, a faint, high-pitched whine, approaching from astern and to port. A second later and they all heard a loud thump, followed by a grating sound, like something heavy and metallic dragging along the port side, moving forward. The sound stopped… and then there was a second thump, and a third.
The torpedo was scraping along the Ohio's left side.
It wouldn't have worked if the Iranians had fired a wake-homing torpedo at them, or if they had used a proximity fuse on the warhead. In either case, the torpedo would have detonated by now, and Ohio would be sinking, or, at the very least, would be seriously damaged.
And it would not have worked had Stewart not been able to rely on his sonar crew's sharp ears and sharper interpretation of their data. Caswell's ears had let him time the maneuvers perfectly: turning left, first, to bring the incoming torpedo toward that side of the sub, then turning away at the very last moment, so that when the torpedo hit, it did so at such an oblique angle that the impact trigger in the nose didn't fire.
For several long seconds the men on Ohio's control room deck strained to hear the silence.
"Sonar. What's happened to the torpedo?"
"It's gone silent, sir. I heard one sharp clank, like maybe the screw fouled on a steering vane. Its homing sonar is dead, too. I don't hear a thing."
"Keep listening. Helm, continue the turn to starboard. Come to course two-nine-zero."
"Continue hard right to course two-nine-zero, aye aye."
At his side, Shea let out a long, pent-up breath. "My God, Skipper. You know how to time 'em tight! Did I just hear a 533mm torpedo bounce off our side?"
"Thank Caswell. That kid deserves a medal after this."
"Control Room, Sonar! I have Sierra Three-three-nine on passive. Passing us to starboard at seventeen knots!"
Good.
"Helm, come right to new course one-eight-zero!"
"Come right to new course one-eight-zero, aye aye, sir!"
"Maneuvering, make revs for one-zero knots!"
"Maneuvering, making revolutions for one-zero knots, aye, Captain."
A Kilo had a top speed underwater of seventeen knots, and Stewart was willing to bet that the new Iranian Ghadir-class, based on the same design, could do no better. By continuing the turn, he would put Ohio on the Iranian sub's tail, in his baffles, and at ten knots, Ohio's sonar would be able to hear the other vessel.
"Weapons Officer! Lock onto Sierra Three-three-nine. Prepare to fire tubes one and three."
"Lock onto Sierra Three-three-nine, aye, Captain. Tubes one and three are loaded and ready to fire."
"Control Room! Sonar! I have aircraft close overhead! Splash to starboard!"
That splash could be sonobuoys, dropped to pinpoint Ohio's position… or it could be antisubmarine torpedoes. There was no time to prosecute the attack against the Iranian sub. Time was critical, and he acted without hesitation.
"Maneuvering! Ahead flank!"
Maneuvering repeated and acknowledged, and Ohio sped forward, accelerating to 25 knots. Ping! Ping!
A sonobuoy, then. But a torpedo might follow at any moment.
"Snapshot, tube one, Sierra Three-three-nine!" He could at least send a fish streaking after the Iranian sub, just to return the favor. "Helm! Come left to one-five-zero!" That was to avoid slamming into the Iranian boat from behind.
No plan survives contact with the enemy, Stewart thought.
And in this case, with the plan to pick up the SEALs in their ASDS, that was quite literally true.
Lieutenant Commander Hawking, too, had heard the explosion, though it was muffled and far off. At that moment he was nearly forty miles southeast of Ohio's position, leading several Iranian surface vessels on a high-speed chase that they could not possibly win. When he heard the distant rumble, however, and checked the bearing on his sonar, he knew that either Ohio had just taken a shot at someone… or that someone else had taken a shot at the Ohio.
Either way meant serious trouble.
Easing back on the control stick, he let the Manta rise toward the surface. A moment later the canopy broke through the water, giving him a brief glimpse of the world above.