The helo’s tail wheel caught the edge of a flight deck net, and the belly of the aircraft slammed into the deck, crushing the landing gear.
The pilot cut power instantly, but the helo rolled far enough onto its port side for the rotors to scrape the deck. The blades shattered, and shrapnel flew in all directions.
A hand-sized chunk of the rotor hit the chock-and-chain man just below the right knee, shattering the bone and nearly amputating his leg. A larger piece of rotor hit the front window of the helo control tower, turning the safety glass to an instant network of spider webs. A smaller piece dealt the LSE a glancing blow to the side of the head, dropping him to his knees, but his cranial helmet reduced the impact to merely bruising force.
Miraculously, though pieces of the shattered rotors ricocheted off the deck and bulkheads, no others found human targets.
The crash-and-smash team started moving the instant the helo was on deck — one team spraying the wrecked aircraft with firefighting foam, and another rushing up to access the cabin and rescue the crew.
The pilot and copilot, both of whom could walk with assistance, were out in less than a minute. The SENSO, Petty Officer Haynes, had to be carried out on a stretcher.
The Helo Control Officer watched as his crash-and-smash team continued to blanket the downed aircraft with foam. “We’re going to have to push it over the side,” he said.
“We need the captain’s permission to do that,” the LSE said.
“Of course we do,” the HCO said. “But it’s not like he’s going to have a choice. No way that bird is leaving the flight deck under its own power.
Maybe if we were back in the States, they could crane it off and haul it back to the squadron for a rebuild. But right now, it’s blocking the flight deck, and we can’t launch or recover Firewalker until it’s gone.”
His words proved prophetic. Ten minutes later, the captain ordered a fifty-man working party to muster on the flight deck. Working together under the orders of the HCO, they rocked the damaged aircraft back and forth until they could roll it off the deck.
Gunslinger Four-One slipped over the side. The crippled helo floated only for a few seconds before disappearing beneath the waves.
CHAPTER 46
The image on the left Aegis display screen was a live video feed from the Benfold’s mast-mounted sight. The high-resolution black-and-white camera was focused on oil platform Golf.
Captain Vargas pointed to the screen. “Look at those bastards. Going about their business-as-usual routine, just as innocent as you please. And not a hint of the fact that they just cut one of our aircraft to ribbons a few minutes ago.”
“Can’t say I blame them for playing nice,” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman said. “A couple of shots from our 5-inch gun, and they’ll be visiting Allah in person. A helo is one thing, but they’re not stupid enough to risk mixing it up with a destroyer.”
“Looks like the sub is gone,” Captain Vargas said, still watching the screen as Benfold swung around to check out the back side of the oil platform.
“It hasn’t had time to go very far, ma’am,” said the USWE. He started punching buttons on the CDRT. “I’m setting datum at the northern edge of the oil platform, since that’s the last known location of the sub.” He punched another few keys and watched the display screen. “Okay, here’s our farthest-on circle. I’m building in the assumption that the sub got under way about fifteen minutes ago, or within five minutes of the last sighting by Gunslinger Four-One. Based on a maximum submerged speed of twenty knots, that sub has to be within ten thousand yards of the oil platform.”
The captain nodded. “What’s our predicted sonar range?”
“About forty-five hundred yards,” the USWE said. “But I’d rather err on the side of caution and base our search plan on thirty-five hundred yards.”
“We can cover the search area in three parallel passes,” the captain said.
“My thoughts exactly, ma’am.”
“Do it. Execute your search plan.”
“Aye, aye,” the USWE said. He keyed his mike. “Sonar — USWE. Go active on sonar. Commence your search. Remember how shallow the water is and adjust your depression angles accordingly.”
“Sonar, aye.”
“UB — USWE. I expect to gain contact within the next few minutes, and the water is too shallow for ASROC. We don’t know what side of the ship this guy is going to show up on, so go ahead and prep an over-the-side shot for the port and starboard torpedo tubes.”
“UB, aye. Recommend we configure both weapons for shallow runs, minimum initial search depths, and minimum ceiling depths.”
“Good call, UB,” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman said. “Make it so.”
He watched the CDRT, waiting for the first sign of the submarine.
“We’ve got you now, you son of a bitch,” he said softly. “The fat lady is about to sing, because this opera is over.”
But twenty minutes later when Benfold came to the end of her search run, there was still no sign of the submarine.
Captain Vargas laid her hand on Lieutenant (jg) Sherman’s shoulder.
“How did he get past us, Alex?”
Her USWE stared at the CDRT, still devoid of submarine contacts.
“He didn’t, ma’am. He couldn’t have.”
“Then he’s still here.”
“I don’t think so, Captain. We would have picked him up.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Alex,” the captain said. “The sub is either still here, or it got past us. Which is it?”
“He’s here, Skipper.”
“Then maybe he’s under the oil platform, blending in with its sonar return,” the captain said.
Sherman furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t think he can do that, Captain. Between the scaffolding, and the piping, and the pumps, there’s an awful lot of equipment down …” He stopped. “What did you just say, ma’am?”
“I said, ‘He might be under the oil platform … ’”
Lieutenant (jg) Sherman shook his head rapidly. “Not that part, ma’am. The other part.”
Captain Vargas shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I said something about the sub blending in with the oil platform’s sonar return.”
Sherman snapped his fingers. “Not the oil platform, the bottom.”
“You think the sub is sitting on the bottom?”
“Could be, Skipper.”
“Wouldn’t sonar have picked him up when we ran over the top of him?”
“No, ma’am,” the USWE said. “The SQS-53D’s automatic gain control clips the bottom return out of the signal when it processes it. If it didn’t, the system would show a sonar return in all directions; our scopes would be saturated. If the sub is sitting on the bottom, his signal could be getting clipped out along with the bottom signal.”
“Can we just shut the automatic gain control off, or bypass it?”
“No, ma’am. The bottom return would saturate our scopes, and we’d be completely blind.”
The captain stared at him. “You’re telling me that the American people spent millions of dollars on a sonar that refuses to see the submarine?”