“Thirteen minutes, twelve seconds, sir,” reported the combat systems officer.
When the torpedo closed on its target, it would turn on its active sonar and, after locating the target, would then shift to attack speed. At that range, the lead escort ship would have very little chance to react, and no time at all to escape. The only chance the ship would have was if it detected the initially silent inbound torpedo with its own active sonar pounding through the water.
If that lead escort ship made a rapid course maneuver or a sudden increase in speed, Cheyenne would know that the torpedo had been detected. But when the Mk 48 acquired its target, both the convoy and the escorts were still maintaining their course and speed.
“Conn, sonar. We have a detonation on the bearing to Master 54. All escort ships are increasing speed, continuing to ping with active sonar.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Fire control and sonar, keep a steady track on Masters 55 and 56. I want to shoot as soon as things settle out. Shut the outer door on tube one and reload with an Mk 48.”
Several minutes ticked by slowly while the crew of Cheyenne waited for the response of the ships overhead.
“Conn, sonar. Escorts have settled back into their stations. Master 54 had several secondary explosions and it sounds like it’s going down.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Sonar, any indications of assistance or rescue efforts provided to Master 54?”
“Conn, sonar, that’s negative, Captain. They all just steamed right passed it without slowing.”
“Sonar, conn, aye.” That bothered Mack. The Luda hadn’t exploded or sunk suddenly, so there was no reason why one of the convoy ships shouldn’t have at least slowed to pick up survivors. Something was wrong, but Mack wasn’t sure what.
“Captain, we still have solutions for Masters 55 and 56 being passed to tubes two and three.”
Mack looked over at the executive officer. “Very well, fire control. Firing point procedures, tube two, Master 55, and tube three, Master 56.”
Once again the deadly drill was carried out and two more torpedoes sped from Cheyenne toward their targets.
“Conn, sonar. Units from tubes two and three running hot, straight, and normal.”
“Time to acquisition will be sixteen minutes, forty seconds,” reported the combat systems officer.
Again Cheyenne’s officers and crew waited. The torpedoes knifed through the water, but this time toward ships that were dependent upon others for protection — a protection those others could not provide.
“Conn, sonar. One of the escort vessels closest to us, the other Luda, Master 57, has started to increase speed and is executing a rapid turn!”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Which way is Master 57 turning?”
“Conn, sonar. It’s turning right toward us, Captain. Back along the torpedoes’ paths.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Have the torpedoes acquired yet?”
“Conn, sonar, yes, sir, both torpedoes have gone active.”
“Cut the wires, shut the outer doors, and reload tubes two and three.” Mack looked over toward his executive officer. “We’re going to get out of here. I want to clear this area and be back in a shooting position within the hour.”
“Conn, sonar. Both torpedoes have detonated. Masters 55 and 56 have stopped their screws.”
Mack doubted either ship had been killed. He didn’t think that a single Mk 48 each would sink the troop transport ships, but he knew that they must have been crippled.
Mack quickly gave the orders to take Cheyenne out of the area, accelerating and diving away from the closing surface ship. Still beyond the detection range of the Chinese sonar, Cheyenne increased speed to twenty knots and began a thirty-minute high-speed dash that took her out and away from the convoy and then back along a leading intercept course to wait for the convoy to catch up.
As before, the convoy slowly approached Cheyenne while on board the submarine tubes one, two, and three were made ready to shoot once again. Designated as Masters 58, 59, and 60, three ships of the convoy — the two remaining troop transports and the merchant tanker — had been selected as the next targets.
Once again the firing procedures were executed by the numbers against Masters 58 and 59. The torpedoes from tubes one and two ran as expected and soon Cheyenne detected two more explosions under the last two troop transports.
The combat systems officer reported to Mack, “We’re ready on Master 60, Captain.”
Master 60 was the merchant tanker, no longer shielded by the troop transports. Mack knew that tanker would be sorely missed by the Chinese.
Mack glanced at the executive officer. “Very well, fire control. Firing point procedures, tube three, Master 60.” Mack also knew that, with its single hull construction, the tanker would soon be spilling the diesel fuel, lubricating oil, and aviation fuel that the Chinese on the Spratlys really needed.
“Course of Master 60 is 195, speed ten, range fifteen thousand yards.”
“Sonar, conn. Stand by.”
“Conn, sonar. Standing by.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube three, Master 60.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube three, Master 60, aye, sir.”
“Tube three fired electrically.”
“Conn, sonar. Unit from tube three running hot, straight, and normal.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Time to acquisition?”
“Time to acquisition is—” The combat systems officer’s report was suddenly cut off.
“Conn, sonar! We have torpedoes in the water off our port bow, SET-53s, bearing 205 and 207!”
Captain Mackey glanced quickly at the executive officer and then turned back to Cheyenne’s control station. “Make your depth five hundred feet, increase speed to flank, do not cavitate. Release countermeasures.” Mack then turned to look back at the executive officer. “Fire control, I need a solution on whoever that bushwacker is, and I need it fast. Cut the wire on tube three, shut the outer door, and reload tube three.”
“Conn, sonar. I think we got it, sir. Must be a diesel boat since it was so quiet. But it’s trying to reload and making a racket, bearing 200.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Snapshot, tube four, bearing 200, Master 61.”
The Mk 48 from tube four was quickly on its way toward the bearing to Master 61. Mack would worry about the classification of Master 61 later.
“Conn, sonar. Both enemy torpedoes have increased speed”—the sonar supervisor paused—“but they are on intercept course for our decoys,” he added. “They fell for it.”
But Mack wanted one more piece of news before he was sure that the danger had passed. “Sonar, conn. What course are those torpedoes on?”
“Conn, sonar. Course is 020. They are headed out and away, sir. No indication of re-attack.”
The immediate threat of the torpedoes had passed, but Cheyenne wasn’t out of danger yet. The submarine that shot them was still out there.
But not for long. The Mk 48 from tube four acquired the enemy submarine, and minutes later sonar reported an explosion from the bearing of the fleeing diesel. Master 61, which had given itself away as a noisy Romeo as it increased speed, was no longer a threat.
But Mack didn’t relax. Cheyenne still had a job to do. “Sonar, conn,” he said. “What’s the surface picture look like?”
“Conn, sonar. The remaining ships of the convoy are still on same course, same speed. Master 60, the tanker, is no longer with the convoy; it’s fallen astern of the convoy. Sounds like it’s dead in the water, Captain.” The BSY-1 operators confirmed the sonar supervisor’s call.