“If you said otherwise, I’d be inclined to doubt your word,” the president said. “But there is a larger picture here, and the stakes are greater than you perhaps imagine. If Germany manages to deliver that submarine despite the concerted efforts of our Navy, it will seriously damage the credibility of our naval deterrence. It will also prove to many of the nations who are watching that German military hardware, and German military tactics, and German military training are the equal to — if not superior to — our own. To say that this will alter the balance of power in Europe would be a gross understatement. But even that is not the worst of it. I’ve spoken at length to Prime Minister Irons, and she makes no secret of the fact that she is preparing for war with Germany. I don’t believe I need to remind you of what happened the last couple of times England and Germany went to war with each other.”
“No, sir.”
“We may have a chance to prevent that war,” the president said. “If you can send that last submarine to the bottom, we can paint this whole thing as a military disaster for Germany. Really rub the German government’s nose in it: in the United Nations, in the media, and in the eyes of the man on the street. If we can do that, I think I can talk Prime Minister Irons into accepting a symbolic defeat of Germany, in lieu of the real thing.”
The noise level was dropping rapidly now, and that was a good thing, because the president’s voice became softer. “I hate to put the pressure on you, Jim, but this may well be the most important naval engagement of our time. It’s the bottom of the ninth, and you’re our last batter.”
“We’ll do our best to put it over the back fence, Mr. President,” the captain said.
“I know you will, Jim. May God bless USS Towers and all who sail in her. Good luck and good hunting.”
The speaker warbled again, and Navy Red dropped sync. The president was off the line.
CIC was silent for nearly a minute, and then Captain Bowie clapped his hands together. “TAO, let’s get Firewalker airborne. Then tell the engineers to drop the port screw off line and set Quiet Ship.” He looked around CIC. “It’s show time, folks. Time to kill us a submarine.”
CHAPTER 51
The helo pilot’s voice came over the Navy Red speaker in Combat Information Center, “SAU Commander, this is Firewalker Two-Six. I am up for Towers control. My fuel state is three hours plus four zero minutes.
Three souls aboard. My load-out is one Mark-54 torpedo and a mixed rack of sonobuoys, over.”
“Roger, Firewalker,” Chief McPherson said. “Proceed to your fly-to points and begin seeding your buoys. You are at the edge of Siraji airspace, so keep your eyes peeled and don’t wander outside our missile envelope. You might get some company up there, over.”
“This is Firewalker Two-Six. Copy all. Roger, out.”
The chief switched her comm-set from Navy Red to the USW tactical net. “Sonar — USWE. Go active. Stay sharp and change your equipment lineup every couple of minutes until we find the combination that gives us contact.”
“Sonar, aye.”
The chief looked at the CDRT and ran through the tactical situation in her mind. She wanted to be sure that she hadn’t missed anything.
Navy Red warbled. “Towers, this is COM Fifth Fleet. I hate to follow the president’s pep talk with bad news, but intelligence estimates indicate that you are steaming into a Siraji minefield, over.”
The XO looked up. “A minefield? How much more good news can we stand?”
“Tell me about it,” the captain said. He keyed up Navy Red. “COM Fifth Fleet, this is Towers. Understand my unit is steaming into a minefield. Request estimated boundaries of the field and any known safe transit lanes, over.”
“Towers, this is COM Fifth Fleet. I am transmitting boundaries of the minefield to you now. There are currently no known safe transit lanes, and I do not have time to get a mine sweeper up there before you encounter the field, over.”
The XO snorted. “This just keeps getting better.”
The TAO said, “Captain, the parameters of the minefield just showed up in the link.”
An irregular geometric shape appeared on the Aegis display screens, a series of thin red lines connected at each end to form a lopsided trapezoid off the coast of the port city of Zubayr. The NTDS symbol for Towers showed the destroyer a little less than a mile and a half south of the edge of the minefield.
“Nothing like cutting it close,” the XO said. “They could have waited another six minutes or so, and we’d have found out by ourselves.”
The captain keyed up Navy Red. “COM Fifth Fleet, this is Towers. I am in receipt of your minefield coordinates. I would have liked to have known about this sooner. I almost steamed into this thing blind, over.”
“Towers, this is COM Fifth Fleet. Sorry about that. We just confirmed this info about two minutes ago. You were the first to know, over.”
“COM Fifth Fleet, this is Towers. Roger, out.” The captain punched out of Navy Red and walked over to Chief McPherson at the CDRT.
“How are we looking, Chief?”
The chief tapped the screen with her fingertip. “Farthest-on circles put Gremlin Zero Four somewhere south of this line, Captain.” She indicated a dotted arc on the display, just south of the minefield. “Assuming he’s been traveling at maximum submerged speed since he torpedoed the Benfold, he could be inside our own Torpedo Danger Zone in the next ten minutes or so.”
“Are you expecting to gain contact immediately?”
“Not really, sir,” the chief said. “So far, he’s depended a lot on deceptive maneuvering; I’d be surprised if he makes a straight run for home. But he might just want to surprise us, so we’re prepared for it.”
She pointed to a series of small green circles, each with a lightning bolt — shaped line coming out of its top at a forty-five — degree angle.
“Firewalker Two-Six is laying a passive sonobuoy field to the south.
When Gremlin Zero Four breaks the barrier, he’ll be inside torpedo range.”
“I hate to wait until he’s that close,” Captain Bowie said. “Are you sure we can’t get ASROC to work here? I thought the new shallow-water configuration was supposed to be pretty effective.”
The chief shook her head. “It is, sir. But this water is too shallow even for the modified ASROCs. They’ll end up buried in the sea bottom.”
“Is there any way to reprogram the ASROCs?” the XO asked.
“I wish we could, sir,” Chief McPherson said. “But it’s not a software issue. It’s a physics problem. We call it dynamic overshoot. An ASROC missile drops its torpedo from an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Even with the parachute pack to slow it down, when it hits the water, an ASROC-launched torpedo is moving fast. The saltwater batteries start the motor up almost immediately after the weapon splashes down, but the torpedo is still sinking fast. The computer takes control of the rudder fins and elevator fins and starts leveling off the torpedo as quickly as it can — sort of like a pilot trying to pull an airplane out of a steep dive. If the water is deep enough, the torpedo levels itself off and goes into its search pattern. If the water is too shallow, the weapon slams into the sea bottom before it can level off. Maybe the bottom is soft mud, and it buries itself. Maybe the bottom is hard-packed sand, and the torpedo is demolished by the impact. Either way, the torpedo is history.”