He turned his attention back to Kristen. “Anything?”
She shook her head. Brodie responded by having Fabrini stand by to use the sonar from the torpedoes he was preparing to fire. Each torpedo’s sonar — once active — could be used by the sonar shack to help locate any other submarines in the area without necessarily revealing the Seawolf’s position.
Kristen glanced up at Brodie as he issued the commands to fire the first two torpedoes. There was no sense of relief or joy in his expression, just a determination to finish the task assigned.
Kristen heard the torpedoes swim out of the tubes. Once clear, the torpedoes were programmed to move away from the Seawolf in opposite directions. Once they’d moved off far enough, they would turn and approach the Borei from two different directions, making any chance of escape nearly impossible.
“Come on, you sneaky bugger,” Brodie whispered behind her.
She felt herself searching even harder for the fast-attack boat he seemed certain was close at hand. She trusted him. He’d never been wrong before, and she was certain if she looked hard enough there would be a second submarine guarding the Borei as he predicted.
The two MK-48s moved slowly away from the Seawolf. Their pump-jet motors were on a low power setting making little noise. Plus, what little sound they did make was lost in the clutter from two nearby drilling rigs filling the water with transients. Kristen felt the waves of exhaustion hitting her like the sea striking a beach. The brief energy boost had faded, and her eyes were burning once more.
For three minutes the two torpedoes swam away from the Seawolf before turning toward the unsuspecting Borei. As they turned on their target, the torpedoes activated their onboard sonar systems and began pounding the water ahead of them, searching.
Immediately, the active sonar from the torpedoes illuminated the Borei’s hull with high-energy pulses. In the sonar shack these sounds were translated into thick lines on everyone’s waterfall displays.
“She’s increasing speed and launching countermeasures,” Hicks reported as the Borei, caught unaware, reacted to the sudden barrage of sonar pulses from the two torpedoes. “Weapons are active and have acquired target, speed is increasing to fifty-five knots,” Hicks reported.
“Transients!” Greenberg shouted, nearly coming out of his chair. “Bearing two-eight-five, torpedo hatches opening.”
Brodie’s response was incredibly calm considering the situation. “Yankee search, now!” he ordered and keyed the microphone to the control room. “Snapshot, bearing two-eight-five, fire three and seven.”
The months of incessant drills now bore fruit as the Seawolf’s tracking parties were able to fire both torpedoes within seconds, whereas the two enemy submarines had yet to get a single torpedo in the water. At the same moment, the powerful bow sonar went active, sending out a cone-shaped, highly-focused beam of sound energy on the bearing where Greenberg heard the tubes opening. The information gleaned from the bow mounted sonar was fed directly into the two torpedoes just launched, and each adjusted its course to bore in on its target.
“Sierra Twelve has increased speed to ten knots and is running,” Hicks reported.
“Classify Sierra Thirteen as Akula II fast-attack submarine!” Fabrini added, as the computer recognized the second submarine as it increased speed.
Both sets of torpedoes — each with a different target — now had not only a general direction to their targets, but depth and range because of the active sonar search. Kristen could almost see the deadly dance now occurring a few thousand yards away from the Seawolf as she heard the two submarines fleeing and launching more countermeasures.
She’d already heard the sounds of men trapped inside a sinking submarine; the memory would haunt her the rest of her life. So, as the four torpedoes raced in on their targets, she removed her headphones and leaned back in her seat, staring numbly ahead as Greenberg counted down the ranges until impact.
The MK48s advanced sonar systems ignored the countermeasures and raced, as she knew they would, unerringly to their targets. The Borei was struck first. Greenberg reported both the first and second torpedo blasts. The Akula II was hit a minute later. There were no celebrations or high fives from anyone this time. Exhaustion and simple battle fatigue had turned the fight into purely a matter of survival; the simple grim math of war had replaced any excitement.
Kristen listened vaguely to the reports from Greenberg as he described both submarines trying to reach the surface, and then their final descent before she relinquished her seat and walked zombie like to her quarters.
It was over.
Chapter Thirty One
The lofty spires of the Kremlin were covered in snow and ice, and more snow was falling. Winters in Russia were long and hard. The president knew this only too well, although this winter had turned particularly bitter and cruel. He watched from his window as the massive crowd continued to grow in Red Square despite the cold. Among the protesters were soldiers and military vehicles, except those troops no longer obeyed his will.
He’d known his great gamble would remake the world, and it had.
Following the Borei’s unexpected destruction, the American led air offensive had swept across Iran like a tempest. Key command and control stations were among the first targets as B-2 stealth bombers dropped bunker-busting bombs on underground nuclear facilities, destroying Iran’s ability to defend itself. This initial wave of attacks was followed by a concentrated attack on the Iranian Navy. Within twenty-four hours it was over. Surprisingly, the Americans ignored the Iranian forces on the Musandam Peninsula. But with the destruction of the Iranian Navy came the inability to resupply the thousands of Iranians garrisoning the Peninsula. The Islamic Republic had tried an aerial resupply, but those few aircraft that managed to get into the air were shot down within minutes, leaving the troops on the Peninsula completely cut off.
The end had been inevitable. Within a week, the Iranian garrison was forced to surrender or starve to death. The Americans had been surprisingly gracious by allowing the captured soldiers to return — minus their equipment — to the Islamic Republic. Of course, they returned to a very different country than the one they had left. Political turmoil had seized the country and the president had resigned. But the mob hadn’t been satisfied with this, and the horrific images of the Iranian president being dragged through the streets of Tehran before finally being hanged from a crane were still fresh in Vladimir’s mind.
Now it was Russia’s turn.
Information about Russian involvement had been leaked to the press. By whom? He hadn’t been certain. Surely it had been one of his Security Council members, his close friends. He’d tried to control the media to prevent the catastrophe now before him, but the world press had seized upon the sensational story about an undeclared war having been fought under the waves, all at his behest. His country was now in turmoil as protests spread nationwide despite his attempts to suppress it and now the military had turned against his government.
He considered his trusted ministers, and had wondered from where the axe would fall.
Now he knew.
Vitaliy Shuvalov cleared his throat.
The president turned and looked at the youthful head of the FSB. It made sense. Vitaliy was a survivor. All along, he’d prepared quietly for the possibility of defeat and had planned well. It was Vitaliy who leaked the information to the press. It was Vitaliy who’d failed to suppress the dissent created by the shocking news. The president had considered him a friend, but there was no room in Vitaliy’s heart for anyone else but Vitaliy.