“Want me to set a course to intercept, Captain?”
“Negative. Not yet. Have we passed the closest point of approach to Houston yet? Is she going away from us?”
“Still closing, Captain. We just won’t intercept. That’s all.”
“Then concentrate on Houston and see what the trouble is. I don’t want to lose this last target. Recheck that firing solution every sixty seconds,” he barked at the fire control coordinator.
“If we can straighten out our course for a few minutes, I can toy with one of the hydrophones. We should be able to copy Houston a few minutes after,” Carol explained.
“Go ahead,” Snow grumbled to the XO. “But only a few minutes. We are going to get that Russian out of the way before we do anything else.” He jabbed a finger emphatically at Ryazan’s location within the imager.
Ryazan’s captain considered the slight change in Imperator’s course. Everything at this stage was a guess on his part, but this could be the moment he hoped for. He knew he would be dead shortly if he was wrong, but he also assumed he would be dead within hours anyway. What difference did it make? It was too late for the world to appreciate his discoveries over the last few hours. The party would take care of his family whether he died now or tomorrow, or even if it had been yesterday.
The captain nodded to the XO, who called aft to the engineer. Ever so slowly, Ryazan’s prop began to turn. The rudder was put over to bring her to a course directly in line with Imperator. Noisemakers were prepared as they picked up speed. Perhaps they might provide enough distraction to give them another couple of seconds.
The familiar thrum of the deck under his feet gave the captain a feeling he’d never imagined before. His spirits were high. He was charging directly toward his fate. He was a paladin, a knight pounding across the field of combat. Though his final battle would never be seen, he had accepted that as his fate. Pride surged through his veins. When it seemed their approach had to be obvious, he ordered the political officer to play the national anthem over the PA system.
Imperator had been at the maximum range of the Soviet torpedoes when Ryazan got underway. The distance closed rapidly from that moment on. The first two torpedoes were fired while the national anthem echoed through every compartment. The second two left the tubes sixty seconds later. As soon as the first reloads were ready, they were fired. A total of eight torpedoes had been expended before sonar reported that Ryazan had been fired upon. Past experience told the captain there was no need to undertake evasive maneuvers. Instead he chose to go deep on the chance that one more lucky break might come his way.
Abe Danilov’s eyes were once again tight with concentration. He carefully added each report to the expanded mental picture he was composing. Unlike the holographic imager on Imperator, his mind did not include the ice above, but he was able to establish an image of each submarine. They existed in their exact location in relation to Seratov. His concentration was powerful enough to cut out all extraneous voices. He heard only the reports from sonar.
Poltava was gone, but the admiral also knew Houston had been damaged in the process. Her speed was limited by a propeller casualty and, since she failed to alter her course at all, he was sure her steering gear was also impaired. But that was an assumption he would wait on until there was absolute proof. His sonarmen also knew that Reed was trying to send an urgent message to Imperator.
He opened his eyes briefly, knowing Sergoff was nearby, and gave the signal to get underway. He was sure Houston had enough trouble of her own that it would be difficult to pick up Seratov now. With all of Imperator’s wizardry, he was still confident that there was too much to occupy her time with Ryazan and Houston’s emergency.
Stevan Lozak was pleased that they were once again moving, but his curiosity had yet to be satisfied. They were less than twenty kilometers astern of Houston and probably no more than fifty from Imperator. He had no idea what Danilov was planning and, if Sergoff knew, he was saying nothing. Each time that he impatiently queried Sergoff about their next move, the chief of staff would smile and lay a calming hand on his arm and explain that Lozak would know almost at the same time he did.
“Come ten degrees to port.” The calm voice jarred him from his thoughts. He was surprised to find Danilov’s eyes open and fixed on him. “You may keep her at four knots… no more. I think we have the luxury of time.”
Luxury of time! Lozak couldn’t believe his ears. After all the hours they had spent huddling behind that huge ridge of ice while the other submarines attacked each other so savagely! Lozak had no doubt that Danilov would live to a ripe old age with so much patience. If only he would achieve such a level of calm — if ever he reached that age.
Snow was caught by surprise. Everything before had been so easy. One after another, the Russian submarines had fallen before Imperator. Now he was actually under attack by the one he had been circling! The message that Houston was trying to send had occupied his time, only for a few minutes, but that was long enough to lose what he considered the proper picture. He was forced to relinquish control to Caesar.
Eight torpedoes in four salvos! Incredible — it was beyond comprehension that the Soviet submarine could have maintained such discipline knowing that her final strike would be suicidal. Yet somehow her captain had enforced absolute silence until Imperator had been momentarily distracted. It was almost as if it had been part of a master plan. But Snow was sure that was impossible. It was luck.
Snow had been ready to fire as he circled the Russian. Now Caesar automatically sent two torpedoes at him. There was no chance for evasion at that range. The Russian had made a headlong charge as his torpedo tubes were reloaded, and fired again. It was just a matter of time. He’d chosen sacrifice in his attempt to destroy the American submarine.
Caesar deployed decoys with electronic precision. These were followed by the high speed antitorpedo missiles (ATMs) as he kept track of each incoming torpedo. One that broke through the defensive screen was illuminated by the laser and disarmed. While the computer coordinated the defense with uncanny accuracy, it was a malfunction by a decoy that allowed the only casualty sustained by Imperator. One of the Soviet torpedoes was drawn away astern by a decoy and altered its course slightly to home on the noise-maker. However, a casualty to the decoy’s sound-transmission system had silenced it. The torpedo, losing target contact, returned to a search pattern. Caesar’s memory no longer carried this torpedo that had gone after the decoy. The Soviet fish now became a maverick, unaccounted for by the computer now defending the giant submarine.
That torpedo was in a long spiral when it sensed Imperator’s propeller signature. Once again, the guidance mechanism slipped into a homing mode. At a little over a thousand yards’ distance, Caesar was unable to reprogram the lost torpedo in time to destroy it from astern. It struck just outside the computer room.
The impact was felt in the control room but the immense hull absorbed much of the concussion. It was much like hitting an aircraft carrier with a bomb or torpedo — distant parts of the ship were basically unaware of the trauma at the scene.