“TAO — Weapons Control. Our birds have acquired the Bogies.”
Seen from the Aegis display screen, the destruction of the enemy jets was no more dramatic than the loss of the helo had been. Two friendly-missile symbols converged on two hostile-aircraft symbols. Each of the missile symbols touched the symbol for one of the hostile aircraft, and the Bogies were gone. The destruction of two aircraft depicted in the sterile exchange of computer icons. No hint of the fire and violent death that those symbols represented.
“I hope they suffered,” the XO said. “I hope those bastards shit their pants when they saw our missiles coming, and I hope they burned and bled and screamed for Allah — all the way down to the water. And I hope their souls fry in hell!”
Captain Bowie laid his hand on his second-in-command’s shoulder and quietly said, “That’s enough, Pete.” He gave the shoulder a quick squeeze.
“I understand what you’re feeling, but we don’t have time for that.”
As if on cue, the Weapons Control Officer’s voice came over the net.
“TAO — Weapons Control. Silkworm launcher number three is down for the count. Shifting to launcher number four.”
Out on the forecastle, the 5-inch gun fell silent for a second, swung to cover its new target, and began hammering out another barrage of shells.
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the tactical net. “USWE — Sonar, we have weapon start-up. It’s Firewalker’s torpedo, sir. Placement looks pretty good.”
A friendly-weapon symbol appeared in blue on the CDRT.
Chief McPherson keyed her mike. “Sonar — USWE. Has the weapon acquired?”
“USWE — Sonar. That’s affirmative. Firewalker’s weapon has just now acquired the target. It’s a tail-chase, Chief. Even odds as to whether it can catch the sub.”
“USWE, aye.”
“Kapitan!” the Sonar Operator shouted. “The American torpedo has acquired us!”
“Calm down!” Gröeler snapped. “Estimated range?”
“Close aboard, sir! The signal strength is high. Estimated range — less than fifteen hundred meters.”
“Very well,” Gröeler said. He nodded, as though he had been expecting this. The Americans were good — far better than he had thought.
He had three missing U-boats to prove it. But this wasn’t over yet.
He turned to the OOD. “Officer of the Deck, I have the Conn!”
“Officer of the Deck, aye!”
Gröeler barked, “All engines ahead one-third, slow to five knots! Left standard rudder, steady new course three-one-zero!”
The boat began to heel over as the Helmsman executed his orders.
“Sir, my rudder is left fifteen degrees! Coming to new course three-one-zero. All engines ahead one-third! Slowing to five knots!”
The Officer of the Deck stared at Gröeler. “Five knots, Kapitan? Sir, how can we outdistance a torpedo at five knots?”
Gröeler held up a hand. “Launch two static noisemakers,” he said.
“Then wait thirty seconds and launch two mobile decoys. Set one of the mobile decoys for low speed and the other for high speed.”
The Officer of the Deck stared at his kapitan for another second. Then he blinked and turned to the Countermeasures Control Panel. “Aye-aye, sir. Launching static noisemakers now!”
A pair of pneumatic hisses followed by a pair of metallic thumps announced the ejection of the two countermeasures.
The Officer of the Deck began punching buttons rapidly, programming the mobile decoys as his kapitan had ordered. His hands trembled as he worked. Five knots? They should be racing away at flank speed, not waiting for the torpedo to catch them!
“The American torpedo is too close,” Gröeler said. “There is no time to run. It will catch us before we go a thousand meters. Our only chance is to fool it.”
“Launching mobile decoys, now!” the Officer of the Deck reported.
There was another pair of hisses and thumps as the second set of countermeasures was ejected.
“Excellent,” Gröeler said. “Diving Officer, ten degrees up-angle on the bow planes. Make your depth twenty-five meters.”
“Diving Officer, aye! Sir, my bow planes are up ten degrees. Coming to new depth two-five meters.”
“Steady on new course three-one-zero,” the Helmsman called out.
“Very well,” Gröeler said. He looked at his Officer of the Deck. “We give the torpedo two static noisemakers to activate its anti-countermeasure algorithm.” He spoke in a quiet, unhurried voice, as though unaware that death was rushing toward them. “Then we give it a pair of mobile decoys — not so easily identifiable. The torpedo is faced with two invalid targets and three possibly valid targets. Two of them move slowly and do not seem to be actively evading. The third moves away at high speed.”
The American torpedo was close enough now to be heard with the naked ear. The growling whine of its high-speed screws resonated through the hull of the submarine like the buzzing of an insanely powerful electric razor. The sound grew rapidly louder as the torpedo approached.
The Officer of the Deck’s eyes darted frantically around the control room, as though searching for somewhere to run. There was, of course, nowhere to go. “The torpedo …” His voice came out in a squeak. He stopped himself and tried again. “The torpedo will acquire the high-speed decoy and attack it instead of us?”
Utterly calm, Gröeler turned back to the tactical display. “I estimate that we will find out the answer to that question in approximately one minute.”
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the 29-MC announcing circuit. “All stations — Sonar has multiple active 53 Delta contacts off the starboard quarter, bearing one-five-five. Initial classification: POSS-SUB, confidence level low.”
Chief McPherson keyed her mike. “Sonar — USWE, what have you got?”
“USWE — Sonar, I’m tracking five separate contacts. Unless I miss my guess, we’re looking at a cluster of decoys, Chief. Two of my contacts are dead in the water, so they’re probably static countermeasures. The other three are all showing motion. Looks like two are moving slowly, and one is getting the hell out of Dodge.”
The chief keyed her mike again. “Sonar — USWE. Watch your net discipline. The fast-moving contact is probably our submarine, trying to outrun Firewalker’s torpedo. But I want you to maintain a track on all three of your mobile contacts until we get a clear classification. Your two low-speed contacts are designated Alpha and Bravo. Your high-speed contact is designated Charlie. Tag all three contacts and send them to fire control.”
“Sonar, aye. Slow-movers are designated Alpha and Bravo. Fast-mover is designated Charlie. All three contacts are tagged. Transmitting them to fire control now.”
“USWE, aye. Break. UB — USWE. You should be getting contact data on three POSS-SUB contacts in a few seconds, designated Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. We believe Alpha and Bravo are decoys, and Charlie is our submarine, but we don’t have final classification yet. Prep the starboard tubes for an over-the-side torpedo shot and stand by to launch it on zero-notice.”
Before the Underwater Battery Fire Control Operator had a chance to reply, the Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the net again. “USWE — Sonar. Firewalker’s torpedo has acquired contact Charlie, the fast-mover.