Unfortunately, events were proceeding so rapidly that combat control could not accurately determine the range and course of each incoming torpedo in the time required, which meant guesswork — and luck — would be required.
After assessing the likely firing range and trajectory of each torpedo, Watson made his decision. “Helm, left ten degrees rudder. Steady course three-one-zero. Launch countermeasures!”
Asheville had already turned to the northwest, and a slight maneuver to the left appeared to provide the optimal path between the other two torpedoes, maximizing the distance to both, one on each side of the submarine.
It grew silent in the Control Room as the crew realized what their Captain was attempting to do. Through the submarine’s hull, they began hearing the high-pitched pings — like bird chirps — growing louder as the Russian torpedoes searched the water for a target that met the engagement parameters.
Suddenly, one of the ping rates increased.
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedo to the southwest is range-gating! Torpedo’s homing!”
The torpedo had increased the rate of its sonar pings to more accurately determine the range to its target, so a refined intercept course could be calculated. It had locked onto Asheville. Then the rate of pings from the second torpedo also increased.
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedo to the north is also homing!”
After analyzing the latest information, Watson concluded that the situation was almost hopeless. There was nowhere to evade. Turning left or right would head toward a homing torpedo, exacerbating the situation. The only hope was to eject more decoys and pray.
“Launch countermeasures!” Watson ordered. “Alternate a decoy and jammer every fifteen seconds!”
The Junior Officer of the Deck complied, ejecting the first decoy as Sonar made its next report.
“Nearest torpedo range is one thousand yards!”
Watson did the mental calculation, using the estimated closing speed of a Russian heavyweight torpedo and Asheville’s speed at ahead flank.
One minute left.
Sonar’s report echoed in the quiet Control Room. Maybe they’d get lucky and the incoming torpedoes would lock onto the decoys, with the jammers providing cover for Asheville’s escape.
The Executive Officer’s voice broke the silence. “Firing solution to Master two has been sent to Weapon Control. Solution ready!”
“Weapon ready!” the Weapons Officer announced.
“Ship ready!” Lieutenant Idleman reported.
Watson had temporarily forgotten that they were in the middle of a Quick Reaction firing, his thoughts focused on torpedo evasion. At a minimum, they’d send a torpedo back down the throat of one of the Russian submarines, hopefully sending it to the bottom.
“Shoot tube One!” he ordered.
Watson felt the ship shudder as it ejected the three-thousand-pound weapon, then returned his attention to the critical issue.
“Range to nearest torpedo is five hundred yards!”
Thirty seconds left.
His eyes were glued to the Sonar display, trying to discern whether their decoys had distracted the torpedoes. If so, the torpedo bearings would start falling rapidly behind them. But the bearings to both torpedoes remained steady.
“Nearest torpedo’s range is two hundred yards! Both are still homing!”
Ten seconds.
Their fate was sealed. There was nothing more Watson or his crew could do.
He counted down the seconds in his mind, and when he reached zero, Asheville jolted as a deafening explosion filled his ears. The wail of the flooding alarm soon emanated from the speakers, and the lights in Control fluttered, then went dark momentarily before the emergency lights kicked on.
Watson ordered an Emergency Blow, hoping to offset the flooding, but the submarine slowed and its stern began to squat from the weight of the ocean flooding the Engine Room. As Watson watched the red numbers on the digital depth display swiftly increase, he knew that Asheville would not reach the surface.
50
IRIS JAMARAN
Along the northern shore of the Strait of Hormuz, the Iranian frigate IRIS Jamaran loitered in the shoals just south of Larak Island. As the hot sun beat down on the warship’s metal structure, the ship’s captain, Commander Behzad Ahmadi, leaned back in his chair and checked the clock mounted to the Bridge bulkhead, waiting in anticipation as time counted down.
Two nights ago, Ahmadi’s ship had participated in a clandestine operation, laying mines provided by a military ally across the entire width of the Strait of Hormuz. It didn’t take much for Ahmadi to decipher that the ally was Russia, since the mines were marked with Cyrillic inscriptions. While Ahmadi didn’t care much about the markings nor who their covert ally was, he was keenly interested in the carnage the ordnance would inflict. Before laying each mine, an activation timer had been set. Ahmadi glanced again at the clock, his eyes remaining focused on the minute hand until it reached the designated time.
Ahmadi’s gaze shifted to the busy strait. A large container ship was less than a thousand yards away from the nearest layer of mines. His eyes followed the ship, his body tensing in anticipation as the unsuspecting merchant sped toward its demise.
Seconds after the ship reached the first mine layer, a billowy waterspout shot upward, engulfing the ship’s bow, and the sound of the muffled explosion rolled past Jamaran. When the mist cleared, Ahmadi could tell that the ship’s bow was already sinking lower into the water.
The merchant turned suddenly, heading north. It took Ahmadi a moment to realize what was happening. The merchant ship’s captain had quickly deduced what had occurred — the ship had hit a mine and was taking on water — and he had turned the ship toward the nearest shoal water, which was to the north, hoping to ground the merchant ship before it sunk. A wise move, Ahmadi concluded.
A moment later, another merchant ship reached the first mine layer to the west, suffering a similar fate, except this ship started taking water on faster and was unable to reach shoal water before slipping beneath the waves. On both sides of the strait, backing bells were ordered aboard the ships, and traffic through the Strait of Hormuz ground to a halt.
Ahmadi smiled. Their mission had been accomplished.
51
WASHINGTON, D.C.
In the Situation Room in the West Wing, the president took his seat at the table, joining Chief of Staff Kevin Hardison, Secretary of State Marcy Perini, acting Secretary of Defense Peter Seuffert, Secretary of the Navy Sheila McNeil, and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Joe Sites. The information coming in from the Persian Gulf was grim, with the near-term outlook alarming. The president turned to his secretary of the Navy, Sheila McNeil, for the latest update.
“We’re certain it’s Russia?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Sheila replied. “The sonar frequency of the fired torpedoes correlates to the Russian Futlyar heavyweight torpedo, plus the signature of the radar guiding the missiles that shot down our helicopters matches the maritime version of the Russian Pantsir missile system. There is no doubt, Mr. President. We’ve been attacked by Russian submarines.”
“How many?”
“Four that we know of. Asheville’s crew launched its emergency SEPIRB buoy after their submarine was sunk, which included a message informing us that they were engaged by three Russian submarines in addition to the one chasing the strike group.”