Then the spell was broken, and the stern crashed back into the waves, throwing plumes of seawater fifty feet into the air. The whipsaw effect torqued the keel in the other direction, and the steel backbone of the ship groaned like a wounded animal, a resonating sound that rose through the deck plates at an incredible volume. But the keel held.
Towers rolled a little farther onto her starboard side and then sluggishly, she rolled back to port. She settled onto her wounded side and began to take on water.
Emergency battle lanterns came on automatically as power failed through two-thirds of the ship. The lanterns cast circles of light in the darkened passageways, raising the illumination level from Stygian blackness to something approaching evening twilight. The engines had fallen silent, but the semidarkness was far from quiet. The screams of injured Sailors echoed through the passageways, their cries competing with the shouts of damage control crews and the torrential rumble of the rising floodwaters.
CIC was a shambles. Captain Bowie climbed to his feet. His ears were still ringing, and a gash across the left side of his forehead leaked blood across his face and into his eyes. He clamped his left hand over the laceration and used his right hand to wipe the blood from his eyes as best he could. He blinked and strained to see in the near darkness. “TAO!”
Lieutenant Nylander’s voice came from behind him. “Here, sir!”
The captain turned to see the Tactical Action Officer struggling to get to his feet. The lieutenant winced and clutched at his right knee. Then he stood with a visible effort, holding on to the edge of a console for support.
“Establish comms with CCS. I need damage reports, casualty reports, and a report on the status of damage-control efforts. I want to know how long before we can make way and how long before we can fight.”
“Aye-aye, sir!”
The captain reached for his comm-set and then realized that he had lost it. He looked around and selected a face at random. “Surface!”
“Yes, sir!”
“See if we can go out over Navy Red. If we can’t fight, maybe we can still run this show from the sidelines.”
“Aye-aye, sir.”
A minute later, the Surface Radar Officer made his report. “The HF transmitters are out, Captain. We can hear, but we can’t transmit. The techs are working on it now, but we don’t have an ETR yet.”
The captain nodded. “Very well.”
A very young and timid voice asked. “Captain? Are we going to sink, sir?”
The captain made no move to locate the owner of the voice. The young man was scared, and he had every right to be. There was no sense in singling him out. “No, son,” the captain said. “We are not going to sink. We’re going to kill those bastards. Every goddamned one of them.”
Ingraham’s first SM-2 reached its intercept point with one of the Vipers bound for Benfold, and a distant flash in the sky told the story.
Radar confirmed the kill a second later. “Splash one!” the Weapons Control Officer shouted. Then, a few seconds later, “Splash two! Splash three!” He clenched his fists and waved them in the air. “We got ’em all!” He let go with a loud wolf whistle. “And that … ladies and gentlemen … is how it is done!” The CIC crew began to cheer.
Captain Culkins smiled. “Nice shooting.” This fight was far from over, but he could let them have a few seconds of self-congratulatory fun.
They’d earned it.
He keyed up Navy Red. “SAU Commander, this is Ingraham. We have splashed all three of Benfold’s inbound Vipers, over.”
There was no reply.
Captain Culkins keyed up again and repeated his message.
Again, there was no answer.
This time, he went out to Benfold. “Benfold, this is Ingraham. Radio check, over.”
“Ingraham, this is Benfold. Read you Lima Charlie, over.”
Captain Culkins frowned. Towers must have been hit pretty hard; they were off the air. He went out over Navy Red again. “Benfold, this is Ingraham. SAU Commander has taken damage and cannot respond via Navy Red. You are next in seniority. Are you prepared to assume SAU Commander at this time, over?”
The reply took nearly a minute. Rachel Vargas must have been tearing her hair out over there. No commanding officer ever wanted to turn down a position of command, especially in the heat of combat, but her bridge was knocked out and most of her weapons and sensors were off line.
When she finally answered, the frustration in her voice was palpable.
“Ingraham, this is Benfold. I’d love to take the ball, but I’m in no shape to run with it. This one is all yours, Mike. Good luck, over.”
“Ingraham, aye. Break. All units, this is the commanding officer of USS Ingraham. I am assuming SAU Commander at this time. I say again, I am assuming SAU Commander at this time, over.”
He released the mike button and scanned the tactical plot. He didn’t have much of a SAU left to work with. Benfold was out of it for the moment and so was Towers. That left Ingraham and Towers’ helo, Firewalker Two-Six. His own helo, Gunslinger Four-One, was at Ready Five. He could launch it in a matter of minutes if he had to. He decided to hold off on that for the moment. So far, helicopters hadn’t faired very well against the submarines. It wouldn’t pay to risk both of the SAU’s remaining air assets at the same time.
He keyed up Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is SAU Commander. Say your current status, over.”
“SAU Commander, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My fuel state is three hours plus zero two minutes. Three souls aboard. My load-out is one Mark-54 torpedo and a mixed rack of sonobuoys. I am currently monitoring passive buoys, tracking one POSS-SUB contact, designated Gremlin Zero Three, over.”
“SAU Commander, aye. Do you have a firing solution on contact Gremlin Zero Three, over.”
“SAU Commander, this is Firewalker Two-Six. That’s affirmative. I’ve got this guy tagged and bagged. Give me batteries released, and I’ll bring you his head on a plate, over.”
Captain Culkins thought about this for a few seconds. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is SAU Commander. You have batteries released. You are authorized to drop below two thousand feet only long enough to make your attack. Your approach and return are to be made above Angels Two, over.”
“This is Firewalker Two-Six. Copy all. Out.”
Captain Culkins swallowed. The Navy had sent helicopters after these submarines three times, and three times the helos had been blasted out of the sky. He hoped like hell he hadn’t just ordered Firewalker’s air crew to their deaths.
The pilot’s name was Lieutenant Clinton Brody, or just Clint to his buddies. He scanned his instrument panel and keyed his inter-phone.
“Start your weapons check-off list,” he said to the Sensor Operator. He looked over at his copilot, Lieutenant (junior grade) Julie Schramm.
“Here’s the plan, Jules. We stay above Angels Two for the approach. As soon as we start our attack dive, you launch a pair of flares. My guess is the sub will pickle off a heat seeker with our name on it the instant he detects our rotor wash. The flares will give the missile something to play with. As soon as our weapon is away, we bank hard to port, climb like hell, and you pop off two more flares. Got it?”