“What do I tell the SAU Commander when he starts screaming for amplifying contact data?”
“You let me worry about Captain Whiley,” Captain Bowie said. “You follow your search plan and keep your eyes open. And don’t get tunnel vision.”
“Sir?”
“There are four subs out there. Don’t let yourself get wrapped around the axle over one contact, especially if it’s POSS-SUB low. We still don’t have any real classification data on this guy. We don’t even know his range. He might still turn out to be an Omani fishing boat way the hell and gone outside of radar range, and his signal’s caught in the surface duct.”
“I’ve seen it happen, sir,” Chief McPherson said. “More than once. Just be ready to shift gears on a second’s notice if we get any new information on the contact.”
The ensign nodded. “I’ll remember that.” He looked up. “Are you ready to assume the watch?”
The captain said, “Hang on to it for a while, if you want to, Pat. This is your first no-shit bad guy, and he showed up on your watch. In my book, that means you get to chase him down. This will be your kill … if you want it.”
Ensign Cooper swallowed heavily. He was frankly surprised that the captain wasn’t pulling him off in favor of a more experienced USWE. He suspected that he’d been given the watch for the first leg of the search because the captain hadn’t anticipated any action so early in the hunt. But now the captain was trusting him with the safety of the ship — saying as much right in front of the CIC crew. True, the captain and Sonar Chief would be close at hand, in case he screwed up, but it was still a pretty clear vote of confidence from the old man. He felt a surge of nervous pride.
“I want it, Captain.” He turned to the chief. “This one is mine, Chief. You can have the next one.”
Chief McPherson took a step backward and crossed her arms. “Your show, boss.”
Ensign Cooper looked at the chief out of the corner of his eye. “Okay, I know the second rule of USW. What’s the first rule?”
The Sonar Chief smiled. “USW is hard. If you’re stupid, it’s impossible.”
The ensign raised an eyebrow. “You’re making this up as you go along.”
“No, sir, I am not.”
Cooper opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a burst of warbling tones from the Navy Red secure radio circuit, followed by a voice transmission. “SAU Commander, this is Benfold. Contact report to follow. Time, seventeen fifty-four Zulu. My unit holds passive broadband contact, bearing three-two-five. Initial classification: POSS-SUB, confidence level low. Believe this contact correlates to Towers’ Gremlin Zero One, over.”
Captain Whiley’s reply was as rapid as before. “Roger, Benfold.SAU Commander concurs. Designate your contact Gremlin Zero One, over.”
Ensign Cooper forgot whatever it was he’d been about to say. He was too busy punching keys on the CDRT. A bright blue line popped up, extending from the center of Benfold’s NTDS symbol to the edge of the screen. The blue line crossed the most recent bearing line from Towers.
His keyed-in commands instructed the computer to plot a hostile-submarine NTDS symbol (a red V-shape with a dot in the center) directly on top of the intersection of the blue line from Benfold and the red line from Towers. It was called a cross-fix. That’s where the submarine was.
“Gotcha, you little bastard.” He keyed his mike. “All Stations — USWE, we’re in business. Break, UB, stand by for range updates from the CDRT.”
“UB, aye.”
Every thirty seconds, the CDRT updated the range and bearing to the contact. After only two updates, the underwater battery fire control computer had a rough estimate of the submarine’s course and speed. Each set of bearing updates refined the solution. The search was about to become the chase.
Captain Whiley’s voice broke over the Navy Red radio circuit. “All units, this is SAU Commander. I am executing Pouncer Maneuver — now, now, NOW!”
Cooper watched on the CDRT. Sure enough, the symbol for Antietam was increasing speed and heading toward the southern flank of the formation. The symbol representing Antietam’s helo, Samurai Seven-Nine, cut around the northern end of the formation — to approach the sub from an unexpected angle. According to the tactical plan, the helo’s altitude would be above 2,000 feet; high enough so the submarine’s sonar wouldn’t be able to detect the sound of his rotors.
The plan was going perfectly.
Whiley’s voice came over Navy Red right on schedule. “All units, this is SAU Commander. My Anvil is away — now, now, NOW!”
A small armored hatch snapped open on the cruiser’s forward missile deck, exposing the weatherproof membrane that covered the upper end of a vertical launch missile cell. A millisecond later, the membrane was shattered as Antietam’s Vertical Launch Anti-Submarine Rocket (ASROC), code-name Anvil, blasted out of its missile cell and roared into the night sky on a silvery-orange pillar of fire.
Although it came out of the launcher like any other missile, the ASROC’s flight profile was like no missile in the world. Instead of diving toward the surface of the ocean to begin a sea-skimming run, or turning toward its target and accelerating to an intercept point, the ASROC heeled itself over at a forty-five — degree angle and began boosting toward the top of a pre-programmed ballistic arc.
Ten thousand feet above the ocean, it hit the top of that arc, and any passing resemblance it had to an ordinary missile vanished. An electronic module inside the weapon sent trigger pulses to a pair of explosive blocks in the airframe. The explosives detonated instantly, shattering the steel restraining bands that held the missile together, and splitting the fiberglass airframe into two pieces. The missile literally came apart in midair, and from the expanding cloud of discarded debris fell the ASROC’s payload: a specially configured Mark-54 torpedo.
The torpedo dropped toward the sea like a stone, completing the downward half of the ballistic arc as it hurtled toward its rendezvous with the waves. As the weapon fell past two thousand feet, a parachute deployed, slowing its rate of descent just enough to prevent damage when it hit the water.
Falling somewhat slower now, the weapon slammed into the ocean with enough force to shatter its nose cone along a series of pre-stressed structural points — absorbing a little more of the shock and protecting the delicate sonar transducer in the nose of the weapon.
As it sank through the ocean, seawater rushed in through small vents, completing the electrical circuit for the weapon’s salt-water batteries. The batteries transmitted power to the weapon’s computer, and the computer (in turn) sent signals to other systems, lighting off the sonar sensors, pre-arming the warhead, and taking control of the fins and stabilizers.
All of this happened very quickly. Less than six seconds after its launch from USS Antietam, the torpedo’s turbine engine spun to life. The weapon calculated its depth and position, and then accelerated toward the start point for its search pattern.
“USWE — Sonar, we have weapon startup. It’s Antietam’s ASROC, sir, and it looks like they got it right in the pocket.”
A friendly-weapon symbol appeared in blue on the CDRT. Ensign Cooper kissed the tip of his finger and touched it to the glass screen directly over the symbol. “Come on, baby, acquire … acquire …”