There was yet another torpedo in the water. She pulled on her headphones in time to hear, racing in on them from the south, the rushing sound of a second Shkval rocket torpedo. She felt panic welling up in her as she called out the new contact, “Rocket torpedo bearing zero-two-seven. Bearing constant. Range nine thousand yards!” As if having another Shkval coming at them wasn’t enough, the torpedo they’d just dodged was making a turn to try and reacquire them.
In response, the Seawolf kept turning and increasing speed as the Audacious’ torpedo detonated somewhere in the water astern of them. Kristen forced the rising fear within her back down, refusing to listen to her instincts to panic. Another Aselsan submarine decoy was launched and Kristen felt the massive acceleration suddenly cease. The Seawolf slowed her turn as the bow angled down. Kristen had no idea where Brodie was going; there was little water beneath them to hide in, and the Russian rocket was racing in at over two hundred knots. She forced the fear from her thoughts, focusing on the direction from which the rocket had come, knowing the Akula had to be there.
It was difficult to hear anything through the roaring Shkval torpedo between the Akula and the Seawolf. Around her, men who’d been calmly thinking they would make it into the Persian Gulf without firing a shot less than an hour earlier, were now sweating along with the rest of the crew while the Seawolf’s speed dropped off as she went quiet. Brodie was apparently hoping the rocket would either go for the Aselsan decoy or pass the Seawolf by and charge for the countermeasure spread they’d dropped in their wake.
“One thousand yards,” Goodman whispered anxiously as the torpedo continued in on them. “Six hundred yards,” he reported a few moments later.
“I think he’s got us,” Hicks whispered as he removed his headphones.
Kristen removed her own headphones. The sound of the inbound torpedo was now quite clear over the loudspeaker. She and the others braced themselves as they felt the Seawolf, inexplicably, arch upward. The deck beneath them was suddenly angling upward at a bizarre slant, and Kristen was acutely aware of every sound and action around her. She glanced at Chief Miller. He was grimacing in pain as he clutched his chest; Fabrini was gripping an overhead pipe and looking grim. The other sonar operators were bracing themselves for impact.
But the torpedo passed them by, and, a few moments later, a muffled explosion reached them. The blast wasn’t too far away but far enough not to cause the Seawolf to shake violently.
“What happened?” Hicks asked in disbelief.
“He brought us down low,” Fabrini said out loud. “The skipper brought us down near the bottom and then, at the last minute, blew the tanks and brought us back up. The Shkval was going too fast and couldn’t turn quick enough to follow us and slammed into the soft sand where it detonated.”
“Son of a bitch,” Goodman whispered. “Sneaky motherfucker…” he added and then glanced toward Kristen, “Sorry, ma’am.”
Kristen eyed Chief Miller, who looked to be near collapse. “Fabrini, maybe we should to get the chief to sickbay.”
“I’m all right,” he gasped, clearly in distress. “I just have to catch my breath.”
Kristen didn’t have the luxury of time to argue with him. She returned to listening, hearing the other torpedo still searching for a new target, its active sonar pinging loudly as it hunted for a reflection off anything. The Seawolf was now coasting, her pump-jet dormant and making almost no discernible sound, although Kristen would have bet her own heartbeat, as well as everyone else’s, had to be audible through the hull. It had been another narrow escape from a second torpedo fired from the Akula. She doubted they would be so lucky a third time and redoubled her efforts, struggling to squelch her anxiety and focus on nothing but the sounds coming from the direction of the Russian. But she was also picking up the sound of a second submarine — the one that had come in behind the Seawolf. The Audacious’ torpedo had struck home, and Kristen could clearly hear the submarine going down.
“Con, sonar,” Fabrini reported. “We’re picking up the sound of a third submarine going down. Bearing one-five-eight. We think the Audacious got one.”
“Roger that,” Kristen heard Brodie’s measured reply.
“Hey, I think that torpedo has found something,” Hicks whispered. “Its bearing has changed and has increased speed to flank.”
Kristen spun her dial to focus on the direction where the remaining torpedo was moving as Fabrini reported what Hicks had heard to the control room.
“Look sharp, sonar,” they heard Brodie over the squawk box. “I think we’re about to find out where that Akula is.”
Kristen listened closely. The circling Russian torpedo had gone active and was pinging off someone’s hull. It was either the Audacious or the first Akula. Kristen was hoping for the latter when she heard a distant pump-jet come to life as the submarine the torpedo found picked up speed. “It’s the Audacious,” she reported, anxiety gripping her at the thought of the British now running for their lives. The Brits had risked their lives to save the Seawolf and were now paying for it. “They’re launching countermeasures,” she added as she listened to the torpedo closing in.
“Stay on the Akula!” Fabrini reminded her forcefully.
Kristen realized he was right and returned her focus to the general direction of the last rocket torpedo. She then heard, launching quietly from one of their own torpedo tubes, another MK48. The torpedo was almost silent as it swam out of the tube and moved away from the Seawolf.
“What’s he doing?” Goodman asked, wondering what Brodie was firing at.
“Look sharp,” Fabrini replied, echoing Brodie’s own words.
Kristen had no idea why Brodie would fire another torpedo. They had no target, just a general direction where they thought the Russian might be. Kristen closed her eyes, and her fingers were gently resting on her controls when she heard a sudden grunt of pain from behind her.
“Chief!” Fabrini shouted in alarm.
Kristen felt the bulk of Chief Miller slam against the back of her chair. The force of his body nearly propelled her into the console. She turned sharply and saw the badly overweight chief collapsing to the floor, grimacing in pain and gripping his chest. The men around her were all shouting, and for a brief second there was pandemonium again, but she commanded them to be silent.
“Dammit,” she snapped, “freaking out won’t help any of us.” She then motioned to a couple of seamen who were lingering along the rear bulkhead. “You two! Get the Chief to sickbay! The rest of you get back to work!” Kristen ordered, knowing it had to sound mighty coldblooded and heartless to order the rest of them to ignore Chief Miller, who appeared to be having a heart attack.