Mack hoped that he was right. If he was, Cheyenne would be able to maintain the tactical advantage as long as possible. If he wasn’t… well, then things could get very interesting very fast.
It was nearing midnight. The captain had been relieved of his command duty officer responsibilities by the executive officer. The new section fire control tracking party had just settled in when the TB-23 thin line towed array gained tonal contact. These tonals were the same as those Cheyenne had recorded during her earlier encounter with the Chinese Alfa before he was lost in the shallow shoal water.
As towed-array bearing ambiguity was being resolved, more tonals were detected, on different beams, to the east. These tonals were also the same as the Chinese Alfa.
The executive officer knew that there was only one way to interpret the situation: clearly, there were two Alfas. As more data came in, he could tell that the easterly one was closer and was maintaining his distance, but the other Alfa was closing on Cheyenne’s position. The fact that neither the conformal nor the spherical arrays had contact as of yet meant that both were easily beyond 60,000 yards away.
The executive officer called the captain to the conn.
Mack, as he always did, made his decisions quickly. In battle, he simply didn’t have the luxury of mulling things over for long.
Cheyenne would close on the Alfa to the west. Mack chose that option because he knew the first Alfa might have recorded some of Cheyenne’s signature, and by closing on the other Alfa first he would place the easterly Alfa in Cheyenne’s baffles. This was, perhaps, not the best place for it to be, but it was the best option available to him. And it had the added benefit of allowing Cheyenne to take on the unsuspecting Alfa first.
Battle stations were manned as soon as contact was gained on the conformal array at 40,000 yards.
“Torpedo room, fire control, make tubes one and two ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors.” As was Mack’s habit, he instructed the executive officer to order the tubes readied before the range was so close that the Alfa would hear the evolution.
Acknowledgment, as always, was immediate. “Make tubes one and two ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors, fire control, torpedo room, aye.”
The executive officer, acting in his role as fire-control officer, passed the acknowledgment on to Mack. “Captain, tubes one and two are ready in all respects. Both outer doors are open.”
“Very well, fire control,” Mack answered.
The Alfa was drawing right now, with contact on all sonar arrays. When the BSY-1 operator and the fire-control coordinator were satisfied with the TMA solution on Master 69, the Chinese Alfa class attack submarine, the captain ordered, “Firing point procedures, Master 69.”
His command was acknowledged and the combat systems officer at the BSY-1 reported the target course, speed, and range.
“Sonar, conn, stand by.”
“Conn, sonar, standing by.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tubes one and two.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tubes one and two, aye.”
There was a short delay, and then the combat systems officer reported, “Tubes one and two fired electrically.”
“Conn, sonar, units from tubes one and two running hot, straight, and normal,” said the sonar supervisor as the two torpedoes executed their wire-clearance maneuvers. They were running at a slower speed for now. Once they had acquired they would increase speed and come up from their deep search depth. When they breached the layer, the torpedoes would pitch up and complete their acceleration to attack speed.
“Very well, sonar,” Mack replied. “Time to acquisition?” he asked the combat systems officer.
“Fifteen minutes, twenty seconds, Captain.”
Hunting two Alfas, with every passing moment increasing the odds that Cheyenne would be discovered, fifteen minutes had never seemed so long to Mack. After another eternity had passed, he heard, “Both units have acquired.”
“Conn, sonar, Master 69 is turning toward and increasing speed, cavitating heavily.”
Mack didn’t have a chance to acknowledge the information. Before he could say anything sonar reported noisemakers launched by the Alfa.
Mack nodded and ordered “steer the weapons.” That would keep them from being tricked into attacking the decoys. He also ordered Cheyenne’s course changed to the right by ninety degrees. He wanted accurate targeting information for the torpedoes, and for that he needed the bearings to the incoming Alfa and to the stationary noisemakers to diverge.
It didn’t take long to obtain a bearing spread. But Mack didn’t have any chance to relax. The combat systems officer had just reported the torpedoes on course for intercept of Master 69, when out of the baffles came sonar contact on the second Alfa.
“Cut the wires, shut the outer doors, and reload tubes one and two,” Mack ordered. “Make tubes three and four ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors.”
A melee situation was rapidly developing.
“Conn, sonar, we have torpedoes in the water, bearings 285, 290, 110, and 105. Both Alfas have launched weapons at us!”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, Master 70, as soon as tubes three and four are ready.”
It was time for Cheyenne to clear datum. It was also time for their own countermeasures to be launched. As soon as Mack received the report of tubes three and four being fired electrically, he ordered the outer doors shut and the tubes reloaded. The torpedoes they’d just fired would have to do their own thing.
“Steady as she goes, all ahead flank. Do not cavitate. Make your depth one thousand feet.” When those orders had been acknowledged, Mack added, “Rig ship for depth charge.” It didn’t matter that those were torpedoes coming at Cheyenne, not depth charges. The phrase had originated in the early days of the Silent Service, and it had stuck.
Mack had done all he could for the moment. His plan now was to let the countermeasures do their own work and to try and slip away from the scene.
Cheyenne reached flank speed, on course 015, and at one thousand feet, as the Chinese-launched, Russian-made torpedoes were entering the baffles. The countermeasures, launched from the dispensers at the stern planes’ vertical struts, had worked, decoying the fish and buying time for Cheyenne.
That was the good news. The bad news was that sonar couldn’t hear Cheyenne’s last two torpedoes, and couldn’t tell whether they had entered their terminal homing mode at Master 70. With the guidance wires cut, the BSY-1 had no knowledge of it, either.
The next few minutes were tense and silent. Then the sonar supervisor spoke up. “Conn, sonar, two explosions, one bearing 175 and the other coming from the baffles.”
Sonar didn’t have enough bearing information to get both direct path and bottom bounce, so the sonar supervisor couldn’t report range. Sonar also couldn’t tell exactly what the torpedoes had impacted against. It could have been one or both of the Chinese Alfas, but it could also have been Chinese noisemakers, or even Cheyenne’s own countermeasures. To top it off, Cheyenne had lost contact on both Alfas in the baffles.
In short, Mack had no idea whether one or both of the Alfas were still there — and he wanted to know. That information was important to Cheyenne’s survival, and to the success of her mission.