He returned to the conn. He had to captain, and he knew he was going to be well matched. He had studied Andri’s moves throughout, and the only thing he took for granted was that Andri didn’t know him. He’d have to learn all about Jim Hickman as they fought. “Match his depth, planesman.”
“Aye,” said the planesman officer, and he began to call depths as they followed the Saratov down.
“We’re not going to have her for long,” echoed Bumper’s voice over the box.
“Release countermeasures,” Andri barked as he hit the bridge. Nick was right behind him.
“Countermeasures released” was the response.
“Dive.”
No one talked as the sub seemed to descend almost vertically. They all waited for the torpedoes to arrive, and they listened to the sonar tracking the path of the fish.
“Torpedoes have acquired target,” said sonar. A gentle ping echoed through the ship as the active sonar in the torpedo’s nose locked on.
The order came. “Release countermeasures again.”
The Saratov spit from her body two more small canisters pressurized with carbon dioxide. Once in the water, the cans released their gas, forming a huge cloud of bubbles that reflected the sonar back to the torpedoes and caused them to lose their lock. The torpedoes passed through the cloud and sped off in the wrong direction, still looking for their prey. Andri had gotten lucky.
The confirmation came from sonar. “Torpedoes passed.”
“Do we have a lock on the sub?” asked Andri.
“No, sir. We lost her after she fired, and we dived.”
“Who fired the missile?”
No one answered. The silence almost unnerved him, but he kept his temper because of the immediate situation. “Come hard right forty-five degrees. Release countermeasures.”
The Saratov pulled about and dropped the canisters. He needed the carbon dioxide cloud to buy him more time.
Nick knew who had fired the missile after no one claimed responsibility. He didn’t know why, but he was going as ask her the first chance he got. After all, she was still on the ship.
“Level off. Come right bearing one-three-three. How far are we from the bottom?”
“About one hundred meters.”
“Take her down ninety more and level.” Andri had to think. It was time for the ultimate captain’s test.
Moments later, Sasha signaled their depth. They were coming to a giant drop in the ocean floor. A huge crevasse that seemed to have no bottom. Andri was gambling that he could make it there before his enemy decided to fire again. He’d use the floor as his cover, hoping that his ship would blend in with the bottom, making it impossible for him to show up on sonar. He also used the time to get a feel for his adversary. He was obviously a patient man. One who studied before he acted. How long had he been behind them? He was well schooled because he didn’t fire again in haste. Instead he was waiting for Andri to become vulnerable, and Andri was intent on making sure that didn’t happen. He was going to try to use his enemy’s caution against him. He had to make it to the crevasse.
Kyle Gunnerman was the pilot of the old Bell helicopter making its way across the sea in search of the sub. He was equipped with two sonar buoys and two torpedoes. Four Sparrow air-to-air combat missiles sat astride his copter, making it look overburdened. His vehicle was the joke of the Toledo. It was outdated, slow, and ugly, and Kyle had been the unlucky pilot to draw the command of the craft.
He didn’t mind it that much. After a time, he got used to all the ribbing, and he and his crew actually developed a sense of affection for the old girl. She flew like a pig, yet there was a certain prestige about her age and being able to absorb so much punishment, unlike the more modern war helicopters.
He had spotted the Saratov miles away. It was hard to miss it since it had risen so far above the surface. There was genuine feeling of excitement as he dropped the column and dove the helicopter to a few feet above the water. He hadn’t been seen or heard, and he needed to get closer before he released his torpedoes for the kill. He pushed the throttle wide open, and the old girl began to feel like she was going to rattle apart. He was the only aircraft in position to sink the sub his ship was after, and Kyle wanted a direct hit. They wouldn’t laugh at him or his helicopter after today.
“Arm torpedoes,” he ordered his copilot.
The old girl skimmed across the top of the gently rolling waves. He still wanted to get closer, and he could see that the sub was doing nothing to dive. She was sitting like a duck on a lake. The scenario was perfect. The sun was directly at his back, and a slight breeze was blowing directly against him. The helicopter couldn’t be seen or heard from the Saratov. One other thing that helped him was that the Saratov’s reduced crew left the ship’s radar unmanned. It couldn’t get better.
“Okay, prepare to drop on my mark.” Kyle was confident that the kill was imminent. He was going to try to aim it right at the bow of the ship. One torpedo, one sunk sub. It was all too good until the missile launched.
The launch caught him completely unprepared. He hesitated a moment as he tried to figure out what to do. The sub was still there, but a missile was in the air. He should have dropped the torpedo on instinct alone, but he had botched that. The missile was getting away, and there was a positive chance that it was armed with a nuclear warhead. His gut told him to go for the missile. It now took priority.
“Shit! Abort drop! Ready missiles, fire!” A flip of some switches, and a sparrow released from the side racks and burst out ahead and up. It quickly chased the loping missile into the clouds and out of sight. The sparrow would cover five miles before it caught the slower Russian projectile and exploded, driving its nose directly into its solid rocket booster. It would be another three minutes before the debris would fall safely into the ocean from the sky.
Not knowing what would be the end result of the missile, Kyle returned his attention to the sub. It was gone. He felt like he had taken his eyes off it for only a second, but it was a second too long. “I don’t fucking believe it.”
“Drop a fish, skipper,” remarked his copilot. “He can’t be that far down.”
“Shit!” replied Kyle. “No. I don’t think he saw us. If we drop, it might alert him to the others. The best hope now might be to see if he’ll come up again. Radio the Toledo and tell them what we found. Maybe someone close by has a chance of getting a good lock on her.”
Being prudent was what Kyle thought he was doing. It was a long shot that the sub would surface again, but he didn’t want to waste his torpedoes on a ghost somewhere under the water. To him, the chase wasn’t over.
“Well, I’ve lost her,” said Josh as he closed down ODIS and strapped in. “She went too deep.”
Jim heard it from the conn. “Anyone else got a lock? Sonar got anything?”
“Sorry, Cap,” replied Bumper over the speaker. “Sonar lost her right after he released countermeasures.”
Mikhail finally emerged from beneath. “Did we hit her?” There was no tone of hopefulness about his language. He remembered full well that his grandson was aboard that ship.
Hickman motioned him over. “No. Tell me, any suggestion what this guy might do?”
Somewhat relieved, Mikhail offered his assistance. “Let me see a floor map.”