“Recommend coming about now, Captain.”
“Come left to course three one zero… easy now,” he added to the helmsman.
“Coming to course three one zero, sir… very gently.” In the background, the captain could hear the diving officer coaching the planesman. Checking the engine revolution indicator, he saw that they were slowing gradually, exactly as the engineer had explained they would. There really had been no need to rehearse the process once the captain described his plan. Each man who listened to him repeat himself understood his intent exactly. Olympia had to have the first shot!
“Passing north, sir.”
“She’s risen about sixty feet, Captain… about all I can get out of her. Our speed’s too slow…” The diving officer paused for a moment. “Two hundred forty feet between us and the ice.”
“Making turns for two knots, sir.”
The weapons control coordinator had reported ready before they began the turn. The torpedoes had been warmed, the tubes flooded and pressure equalized, muzzle doors opened — each completed as the ice above provided masking sound. All the presets had been entered according to the captain’s wishes: target course, speed, range, aspect, optimum depth. Olympia was ready to fire once she steadied on her new course.
“My course is three one three, Captain. I’ve lost steerage way… no forward motion.”
“Zero bubble, sir… we’re steady.”
“Dead in the water, sir.”
“The ship is ready, sir.”
“The weapon is ready, sir.”
“Solution ready.”
“Shoot on generated bearings.”
No sonarman ever misunderstood the sound of a water slug, not the sudden, powerful burst used to eject a torpedo. Even before its propellers started, he cried out, “Torpedo in the water… dead ahead.”
“Range?”
There was a hesitation. “About five kilometers… maybe a little farther. I have screw beats now.” Novgorod’s captain had exercised almost exactly the same preparations as his enemy. His first torpedo was ready to fire. The presets were a bit off, but not too far if they could change it with the wire guidance. He had to force the American to dive before he could get off an additional shot. “Fire!” he shouted.
“Our torpedo is running, sir,” sonar reported.
“The American torpedo… range?”
“The range seems to be about—” He never bothered to finish his analysis. The captain didn’t really care at that moment. “Probably close to four kilometers.”
“He was closer than we thought. What speed?”
“I have nothing on him… dead in the water… our torpedoes seem to be head on to each other.”
“No evasion yet?”
“Nothing, Captain.”
Novgorod’s captain turned to his fire control officer. “Do you have the solution for the second torpedo?”
“Almost complete, sir.”
“Standby to fire.” The captain called to his executive officer. “Noisemakers! Tell engineering to prepare for evasive action.”
No more than thirty seconds had elapsed. During that time, the political officer had not moved from his position, nor had he uttered a word.
“Firing point procedures!”
“Solution ready,” Olympia’s fire control coordinator responded.
“Noisemaker in the water, Captain,” another reported.
“Very well.” The presets had been inserted as soon as sonar pinpointed the Soviet water slug. There had been little to alter. Novgorod had been very close to the quartermaster’s projected position.
The captain called over to the chief of the watch, “We’re going to go deep right under him. Make all the noise you want with the trim pump as long as we go down like a rock.”
“Their torpedo is still searching, Captain. I think it started out too deep.”
“Shoot!” he called out. He felt the jolt of the water slug through his feet.
“I have a second torpedo in the water from the Russian!”
The captain waited. He couldn’t go deep as quickly as he hoped. The wire attached to the torpedo should remain until they were sure it was running correctly. This was the consummate moment when seconds became hours… the waiting… knowing another torpedo was actively searching for you. His hands gripped the shiny railing beside the periscope as he sorted out the reports from each sector of his ship.
“Unit’s running properly, sir.” They could break the wire now!
“Very well… all ahead full… make your depth six hundred feet.” He had to change the aspect he was presenting to the Russian. “Right full rudder.”
Olympia’s deck slanted downward, the angle increasing perceptibly as the propeller bit into the water. With the rudder hard right, she began to bank slightly with increasing speed. The feeling of motion — forward, downward, starboard — was exhilarating. Now they were making their escape.
The political officer heard each of the reports. He knew the American had fired first… that Novgorod had answered within seconds… then had fired again… that the American also had two torpedoes in the water… but he was unable to move. His feet were glued to the deck. His hands gripped the side of the chart table. He was aware there was no way he could assist the captain, but in such moments he also understood that the captain didn’t want his help. All along, he had been humored by the captain… and he now realized the amount of patience the man could exhibit to an important party member.
“Captain, their first torpedo is range gating!”
“Is it locked on us?” the captain called out frantically.
“I don’t know yet… it could be the ice… a noisemaker… us… I can’t tell, Captain, I’m not sure.” Fear was cracking his voice.
There was little point in maintaining position, waiting foolishly to determine if they were a firm target. The engineers were ready. “Ahead full… right full rudder,” the captain barked.
A warm feeling surged down his back as the submarine responded. Noisemakers! That was it. Screen himself! If he was now going to create so much noise, he had to put more decoys in the water. He knew how much noise an Alfa generated. Glancing briefly at the political officer, whose eyes stared blankly into space, he called for more noisemakers over the din of reports from each department. He knew the American was also underway now, more than likely scrambling just as he was. No point in precision when you may be blown up any moment.
“Torpedo closing… port quarter… locked on us.” The sonarman’s voice had changed from fear to a high-pitched cry as the torpedo propellers screamed ominously into his headset.
Olympia’s sonarman had been reporting the Soviet torpedo’s approach in a dry monotone. This changed instantly to a shout of glee, “First torpedo appears to be locked on a noisemaker… passing astern.”
The captain tried to restrain himself. “Number two… where’s the second?”
“Still in search, sir… may be too shallow… they may have programmed it for a different depth after own first one.”
“Hold that angle, Chief,” the captain called out. “We can stay under it… make your new depth eleven hundred—”
His voice died with the distant explosion that needed no sonarman’s identification. The sharp blast cracked across the depths, penetrating Olympia’s hull, into the ears of each of her crew. It was the most terrifying sound a submariner could hear — a massive underwater detonation.
The silence in Olympia endured for perhaps five seconds. Each man stopped whatever he was doing — pondering his own good fortune, considering the fate of his opposite on the other submarine, desperately hoping that his own destiny would not be settled within seconds.