“Status of the Shkval in tube six?” he asked.
“Outer door is open, sir,” Captain Lieutenant Katerina Sobol reported. “Weapon is on internal power. We need a target data package to be inserted. Bearing, range and speed, or failing that, simply the bearing.”
“Status of the Gigantskiy?”
“Large bore tube five’s outer door is open. Weapon power is applied from the ship, but all systems are started up and nominal. Gigantskiy unit two also needs a target data package.”
“Very good,” Alexeyev said, glancing to his right, where First Officer Ania Lebedev occupied the command console’s center seat. “You ready?”
“Captain,” Shvets said, “Losharik requests permission to undock and shove off.”
Alexeyev nodded and turned toward Shvets. “Watch Officer, to Losharik, undock and shove off.”
“I’m ready, Captain,” Lebedev said quietly. “I hope we made the right decision about the Losharik. I’d hate to lose her up here.”
“I’m sure it will be fine, Madam First,” Alexeyev said, hoping his voice sounded credible. “Sonar Officer, line up to transmit active sonar and ping at Hostile One’s assumed position.”
Sonar Officer Valerina Palinkova operated the switch-protector on the sonar sphere’s mode selector switch and rotated it from “PASSIVE” to “ACTIVE.” She uncovered a second protective cover over the ping buttons, selected high frequency and pushed it.
Nothing happened.
Frowning, Palinkova put her finger on the low frequency active transmit button and pushed it.
Still nothing.
“Captain, I have a serious malfunction,” Palinkova said. “Active sonar is not responding.” Weapons Officer Sobol jogged to the sonar and sensor console, looking over Palinkova’s shoulder.
“I concur, Captain,” Sobol said in her squeaky high-pitched voice. “Sonar passed all self-checks, but the hydrophones aren’t transmitting.”
Alexeyev shook his head in disgust. This damned mission, he thought. “What do you think, First?” he asked quietly to Lebedev.
“Let’s input an assumed range and bearing to Hostile One at the open water, Captain, but set it to immediate enable in case he’s closer.”
“Weapons Officer, input a target package, bearing zero eight seven, range seven miles, but program in immediate enable.”
“Any depth selection, Captain?”
“Leave it at the default presets,” Alexeyev said, then said to Lebedev. “If he’s surfaced or on the bottom, the Shkval will miss.”
“If he’s hovering under the polynya, we’ll hit him,” she said.
“Procedures for firing the Shkval,” Alexeyev announced loudly to the room.
“Ship is ready, Captain,” Shvets said.
“Weapon is ready, sir,” Sobol reported. “Assumed target data package inserted. Weapon on internal power.”
“Weapons Officer, fire tube six!” Alexeyev barked.
Nothing happened.
“Firing point procedures,” Captain Seagraves announced to the room. “Master One, tube one, offense mode, medium-to-medium active snake, one mile enable.”
“Ship ready, sir,” Pacino said in his boom mike.
“Weapon ready, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Styxx reported.
“Solution ready,” Quinnivan said.
“Shoot on generated bearing,” Seagraves ordered.
“Set,” Lieutenant Vevera said from the battlecontrol console, sending the final target solution to the torpedo in tube one.
“Stand-by,” Styxx said, taking the large trigger lever on the far aft weapon control console from the twelve o’clock position to the nine o’clock stand-by position, which instructed the weapon that launch would be immediate.
“Shoot!” Seagraves barked.
“Fire!” Styxx said, taking the trigger lever all the way to the three o’clock firing position.
A booming roar sounded in the room, the thunderclap smashing the eardrums of the battlestations crew as the ejection mechanism boomed.
“Tube one fired electrically,” Styxx reported.
“Own-ship’s unit, normal launch,” Senior Chief Albanese called from the sonar stack.
Seagraves shared a glance with Pacino and Quinnivan. “And now we wait.” As if an officer from an old World War II U-boat movie, Quinnivan had clicked an old-fashioned stopwatch.
“Twenty-five knot transit speed for medium speed search,” Quinnivan said. “Seventeen minutes, Captain. Maybe we should have set it to high-speed transit. We could update it through the wire if you want, Skipper,” Quinnivan said.
“Let’s wait and see what happens,” Seagraves said. He looked at Quinnivan. “Did you read Mr. Dankleff’s patrol report from his Panther run?”
“I may have given it a quick read-through, Captain, yeah?” Quinnivan said. “Why do ye ask?”
“And did you ever get access to the top secret codeword patrol report of the first Devilfish?”
“No, sir. ComSubCom wouldn’t release it to me. I’m a Brit, or as you Americans would say, a foreign national, and some secrets have to stay in the house.”
“Navigator,” Seagraves said to Lieutenant Commander Lewinsky, “get over here.”
“Yes, Captain,” Lewinsky said, glancing at the display on the command console, which Pacino had set to the same display as Pos Three of the battlecontrol lineup, a God’s eye view of the battle area, with superimposed lines where the ice walls were estimated to be. A blinking red diamond symbolized Master One, the BUFF, situated just at the western opening of the box-like walled-in area.
“You read the Devilfish report, didn’t you?”
“I did, Captain,” Lewinsky said, raising his eyebrows.
“And Dankleff’s Panther report?”
“I did, sir.”
“Notice any similarities?” Seagraves asked.
Lewinsky shook his head. “No, sir, not at all.”
Seagraves half-smiled and nodded. “Keep thinking about it, Navigator. Let me know your thoughts if you think you’ve solved the riddle.”
“Time to ping active on the mine command detonation signal, yeah, Captain?” Quinnivan prompted.
Seagraves took a deep breath. “Yes, XO. Senior Chief Albanese, line up to ping active with the mine command detonate signal.”
“Aye, Captain,” Albanese said. “Request to replace fuses in the active sonar circuit.”
“Replace fuses as needed, Senior,” Seagraves said, eyeing the repeated display on the command console. He turned toward the weapon control console. “Anything, Weps?”
“Nothing yet, sir,” Styxx said. “I’ve still got wire-guide continuity. Weapon is past point of enable and searching using active pinging.”
“Good,” Seagraves said.
“Sonar is ready, Captain,” Albanese said.
“Sonar, ping active at Master One, signal for the command detonate of the mines.”
From forward, the loud sound could be heard in the room, almost as deafening as the torpedo launch, fifteen seconds of the roaring climax of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture, starting with a cannon blast, a wailing trumpet battle call, another cannon blast, the trumpet call repeating, the sequence repeating a second time, ending with a final loud cannon firing.
Seagraves looked at Quinnivan. “What do you think our good friends on the Belgorod will think of that?” he asked.
“Depends if it works,” Quinnivan replied.
“Anything?” Pacino asked Albanese, leaning over his sonar stack’s seatback.
Senior Chief Albanese held his headset to his ear as if listening hard, but he shook his head and looked back at Pacino, then Seagraves. “Nothing, nothing at all. The mines must have either fallen off or went tits-up from the nuke’s shock wave.”