“All ahead full, left full rudder!”
“Contact!” Jones sang out. “Dead ahead. Wait…It’s an Alfa! She’s close! Seems to be turning. Somebody pinging her on the other side. Christ, she’s real close. Skipper, the Alfa is not a point source. I got signal separation between the engine and the screw.”
“Captain,” Mancuso said. The two commanders looked at one another and communicated a single thought as if by telepathy. Ramius nodded.
“Get us range.”
“Jonesy, ping the sucker!” Mancuso ran aft.
“Aye.” The systems were fully powered. Jones loosed a single ranging ping. “Range fifteen hundred yards. Zero elevation angle, sir. We’re level with her.”
“Mancuso, have your man give us range and bearing!” Ramius twisted the annunciator handle savagely.
“Okay, Jonesy, you’re our fire control. Track the mother.”
“One active sonar ping to starboard, distance unknown, bearing zero-four-zero. The seaward target just ranged on us,” the michman said.
“Give me a range,” Tupolev ordered.
“Too far aft of the beam, Comrade. I am losing him aft.”
One of them was the October—but which? Could he risk shooting at an American sub? No!
“Solution to the forward target?”
“Not a good one,” the starpom replied. “He’s maneuvering and increasing speed.”
The michman concentrated on the western target. “Captain, contact forward is not, repeat not Soviet. Forward contact is American.”
“Which one?” Tupolev screamed.
“West and northwest are both American. East target unknown.”
“Keep the rudder at full.”
“Rudder is full,” the helmsman responded, holding the wheel over.
“The target is behind us. We must lock on and shoot as we turn. Damn, we are going too fast. Slow to one-third speed.”
The Konovalov was normally quick to turn, but the power reduction made her propeller act like a brake, slowing the maneuver. Still, Tupolev was doing the right thing. He had to point his torpedo tubes near the bearing of the target, and he had to slow rapidly enough for his sonar to give him accurate firing information.
“Okay, the Alfa is continuing her turn, now heading right to left…Propulsion sounds are down some. She just chopped power,” Jones said, watching the screen. His mind was working furiously computing course, speed, and distance. “Range is now twelve hundred yards. She’s still turning. We doin’ what I think?”
“Looks that way.”
Jones set the active sonar on automatic pinging. “Have to see what this turn does, sir. If she’s smart she’ll burn off south and get clear first.”
“Then pray she ain’t smart,” Mancuso said from the passageway. “Steady as she goes!”
“Steady as she goes,” Ryan said, wondering if the next torpedo would kill them.
“Her turn is continuing. We’re on her port beam now, maybe her port bow.” Jones looked up. “She’s going to get around first. Here come the pings.”
The Red October accelerated to eighteen knots.
“I have him,” the michman said. “Range one thousand meters, bearing zero-four-five. Angle zero.”
“Set it up,” Tupolev ordered his exec.
“It will have to be a zero-angle shot. We’re swinging too rapidly,” the starpom said. He set it up as quickly as he could. The submarines were now closing at over forty knots. “Ready for tube five only! Tube flooded, door — open. Ready!”
“Shoot!”
“Fire five!” The starpom’s finger stabbed the button.
“Range down to nine hundred — high-speed screws dead ahead! We have one torpedo in the water dead ahead. One fish, heading right in!”
“Forget it, track the Alfa!”
“Aye, okay, the Alfa’s bearing two-two-five, steadying down. We need to come left a little, sir.”
“Ryan, come left five degrees, your course is two-two-five.”
“Left five rudder, coming to two-two-five.”
“The fish is closing rapidly, sir,” Jones said.
“Screw it! Track the Alfa.”
“Aye. Bearing is still two-two-five. Same as the fish.”
The combined speed ate up the distance between the submarines rapidly. The torpedo was closing the October faster still, but it had a safety device built in. To prevent them from blowing up their own launch platform, torpedoes could not arm until they were five hundred to a thousand yards from the boat that launched them. If the October closed the Alfa fast enough, she could not be hurt.
The October was now passing twenty knots.
“Range to the Alfa is seven hundred fifty yards, bearing two-two-five. The torpedo is close, sir, a few more seconds.” Jones cringed, staring at the screen.
Klonk!
The torpedo struck the Red October dead center in her hemispherical bow. The safety lock still had another hundred meters to run. The impact broke it into three pieces, which were batted aside by the accelerating missile submarine.
“A dud!” Jones laughed. “Thank you, God! Target still bearing two-two-five, range is seven hundred yards.”
“No explosion?” Tupolev wondered.
“The safety locks!” The starpom swore. He’d had to set it up too fast.
“Where is the target?”
“Bearing zero-four-five, Comrade. Bearing is constant,” the michman replied, “closing rapidly.”
Tupolev blanched. “Left full rudder, all ahead flank!”
“Turning, turning left to right,” Jones said. “Bearing is now two-three-zero, spreading out a little. Need a little right rudder, sir.”
“Ryan, come right five degrees.”
“Rudder is right five,” Jack answered.
“No, rudder ten right!” Ramius countermanded his order. He had been keeping a track with pencil and paper. And he knew the Alfa.
“Right ten degrees,” Ryan said.
“Near-field effect, range down to four hundred yards, bearing is two-two-five to the center of the target. Target is spreading out left and right, mostly left,” Jones said rapidly. “Range…three hundred yards. Elevation angle is zero, we are level with the target. Range two hundred fifty, bearing two-two-five to target center. We can’t miss, Skipper.”
“We’re gonna hit!” Mancuso called out.
Tupolev should have changed depth. As it was he depended on the Alfa’s acceleration and maneuverability, forgetting that Ramius knew exactly what these were.
“Contact spread way the hell out — instantaneous return, sir!”
“Brace for impact!”
Ramius had forgotten the collision alarm. He yanked at it only seconds before impact.
The Red October rammed the Konovalov just aft of midships at a thirty-degree angle. The force of the collision ruptured the Konovalov’s titanium pressure hull and crumpled the October’s bow as if it were a beer can.