The captain had already waved over his XO. “All stop. Let’s get some decoys out — double fast! And… I guess we’re going to have to generate some noise. I want all tubes ready for firing, on manual input if we have to.” Better to have his torpedoes warm and muzzle doors open.
The images creeping into the captain’s ordered mind grew more unattractive by the minute. He could picture a Soviet Alfa loitering near the surface, using the movement of the ice for cover as he closed to torpedo range. And if the man possessed a sixth sense, he might begin to wonder why the American had held off firing torpedoes for this long… perhaps a casualty to take advantage of. The minutes seemed hours as they closed their target with often erratic contact by sonar.
“Torpedoes in the water!” The cry from sonar was urgent. “Two of them… our gear was down again. We never heard anything until it came back on.”
“Snap shot… tubes one and two. Whatever input you’ve got, shoot on generated bearings.” The captain signaled to his XO with his hands to dive and go to flank speed as he shouted into the speaker, “Sonar go active. I need a range.”
“About eight thousand yards…”
Damn! He’d crept at least five thousand yards since the last firm range. He’d let the Russian sneak right in. As the thud of the last torpedo leaving the ship came to him, the deck was rolling to starboard and falling away. Olympia’s props slashed the water. Alternatives raced before the captain’s eyes. He knew more decoys had been fired and that Olympia was reversing course and diving as fast as she could. But, it would most likely be maneuvering that would save them.
Two torpedoes fired at that range and they’d never heard a thing… not the telltale sound as the muzzle doors were opened after flooding tubes… not a goddamn thing! Just the report from sonar that they were victims of their own inoperative gear. And the Russians had the advantage — good target solutions in their warheads!
Olympia had performed so perfectly the past few days, killing quickly and efficiently. And here she was running… running when she should have been attacking. The captain had no idea how much data they’d been able to insert before they shot, but he was afraid it wasn’t enough. Torpedoes were like little spaceships, miraculous instruments but almost directionless without the simplest of instructions. Each bit of information made them that much more intelligent. With proper input, they could be as accurate and deadly as a rifle. His single advantage was that an Alfa moving at high speed simulated the sound of an express train — or at least that’s what his sonarmen indicated.
“Are we able to get a range on the nearest torpedo?” The captain’s voice was loud and sharp, but there was no fear evident.
“They’re both still in search.”
“What is Alfa doing?”
“Same thing we are, Captain.” For a moment. Lieutenant Merry’s voice was tinged with humor. “Running like a scared rabbit. He’s making such a racket that the ice isn’t giving him the least bit of help now. Hell, if anything, it’s reflecting all that sound.” But the Soviet torpedoes were still closing.
Olympia’s decks canted sharply. The diving officer kept her planes on the edge of a full dive. The rudder was hard left, after first turning to starboard. Her speed was still building.
The captain, gripping the shiny chrome railing, noted a sensation completely foreign to anything he’d ever experienced in the past. Everything he’d ever anticipated in all his years aboard submarines — assuming he was ever fired upon — no longer seemed to be important. Two high-speed Soviet torpedoes were bearing down on him, and the fears and the systematic orders he’d once memorized no longer mattered. Each situation had to be unique. Intuition was everything in successful evasion — that and a little luck, like having perfectly operational equipment.
Those torpedoes bearing down on Olympia had been programmed to chase after a diving, evading submarine — and they were doing just that.
“Their torpedoes are past that first batch of decoys.”
“We did fire more?” The captain glanced over his shoulder at the XO for confirmation.
“…ought to be in the middle of them now…” The XO’s response was lost as sonar reported one of the Soviet torpedoes apparently veering away… attracted by one of the decoys.
But one more was still closing, its electronic brain intent on an American 688-class submarine making enough noise in its escape attempt to attract them.
Olympia’s captain shifted his rudder again as the diving officer leveled off near test depth. They were approaching maximum speed now. The captain was gambling — hoping to confuse the torpedo with radical course changes. The addition of the noisemakers might just turn the trick.
“Range… two eight hundred… range gating… damn…”
The sudden silence was ominous. Then the words droned over the speaker, “…sonar’s cut out again… we’re sure it was homing on us… Then, “…got it back again… it’s on to us, Captain… definitely homing…”
“Decoys — spit ’em out.” This course and depth were no good. They couldn’t go deeper. And with the torpedo still above, they couldn’t head up… the only option was to make it a stern chase. The captain altered course, then ordered the diving officer to add five hundred more feet. That would take them below test depth — but it also would make it that much more difficult for the torpedo. Olympia’s deck tilted sharply once again.
Reversing course cost more precious seconds. Even at top speed, the new Soviet torpedo was more than twenty knots faster than a 688-class. Olympia became the rabbit for a torpedo that would not be deterred by their decoys.
The Soviet torpedo detonated in Olympia’s reactor compartment as she plunged beyond test depth in her frantic effort to escape certain death. Those who weren’t killed by the blast in the after third of the submarine died within seconds as bulkheads were crushed by the intense pressure of the water. Those in the forward section behind the watertight doors survived… until Olympia’s hull was shattered like an egg as she plummeted past crush depth.
None of them lived to hear the blast as one of their own torpedoes was attracted by the express-train sounds of the Russian Alfa, detonating after a glancing blow. The outer hull fractured behind the control room. Power was lost when the shock wave rolled over the ship driving the rods into the pile. The scram was momentary. The engineers reacted instinctively, quickly bringing the reactor back on-line. The Alfa would have been unable to sustain a second hit. Many of their instruments had been shattered. Only experience kept her operating within reasonable limits.
She turned to rejoin her sister ship, seeking protection while she licked her wounds.
Abe Danilov’s eyes remained tightly shut, as if he were in a trance… scarcely breathing. But Sergoff knew better — and Stevan Lozak had learned to appreciate these eccentricities as never before.
What Danilov perceived behind those closed eyes was much like what was depicted on the holographic imager in Imperator, but it was within his mind. He was withdrawn from the picture, gazing down on it well away from Seratov. He had mentally erased Orel when she was mercilessly destroyed by Imperator, and he had dismissed Olympia in the same manner. The Alfa that had been damaged. Poltava, reversed course and limped after her sister ship, Ryazan. On the far end, Tambov huddled among the ice floes, hoping to remain hidden until Imperator blundered too close.