Phoenix Sub Zero

Ahmed traded a glance with Sihoud. Sharef was using a combat tactic not invented by the Japanese — how good could it be?

“Bearing rate to the incoming weapons?”

“Constant bearing, sir,” al-Kunis reported, frowning.

“That means the weapons are still coming for us. They haven’t picked up the decoy yet,” Tawkidi whispered.

Ahmed felt a wave of nausea rise in his stomach and continue upward until a band tightened around his forehead. We’re dead, Ahmed thought.

* * *

Daminski ripped off his one-earphoned headset and dropped it on the deck as he shouldered past the attack center consoles to the forward starboard corner of the control room. He grabbed the accordion door curtain separating control from sonar and pulled it open, the door ripped half off its track.

“What the hell is going on?” his voice loud and razor sharp.

“Nothing, sir. Afraid that’s the problem,” Hillsworth said to the sonar display screen. “Target One dipped below threshold signal-to-noise ratio. We’ve lost him.”

“What about the one-fifty-four doublet?”

“Gone. Maybe he turned to an aspect that shields the turbine generators. Bloke might be running, giving us his screw. The propulsor might interfere with the tonal reception.”

“If he’s running you’d hear him on broadband.”

“With a conventional screw, maybe. With this ducted water turbine, who knows? Why don’t you chase him down the bearing line? He might turn up.”

“Okay, I’ll drive southeast.” Daminski turned to leave, then faced Hillsworth at the door, pointing his crooked finger in the Brit’s face. “Get on it. Chief. I want that son of a bitch back on this screen. Make damned sure you listen up for units one and two — they might pick up the target before we do.”

Back in control, XO Danny Kristman handed Daminski his headset without a word. Daminski strapped it on.

“Attention in control,” he snapped, “check fire tubes three and four. We’ve lost the contact because he’s running from the units. We are pursuing him out the strait. When we regain contact we’ll launch the second two units. Carry on. Helm, all ahead full, left two degrees rudder, steady course one four zero.”

Daminski crossed his arms across his chest, waiting for sonar to redetect the contact. And waiting was not something Rocket Ron did well.

* * *

“Battery’s low. Commodore.”

By now the sweat pouring off Ahmed’s face had soaked the chest of the coverall he’d been issued by al-Kunis. He tried to tell himself it was the oppressive wet heat in the crowded tomb of the control room, but he was honest enough with himself to accept that fear accounted for much of the sweat. A fear made worse, far worse, by his inability to save himself with his own action. He tried to avoid Sihoud’s eyes; their violet irises contained no comfort, only mirrors of his own anxiety.

“How much longer?” Sharef asked.

“I’m showing zero. We’ve got to restart the power unit now or I won’t even have enough current to pull the control rods out of the reactor core.” The mechanical officer, Quzwini, was on the opposite corner of the room from Sharef and spoke in a hushed voice, almost a whisper, but his report cut through the room.

“Sir, incoming torpedoes are speeding up,” al-Maari called from the sensor console beside Sharef.

“Give me another minute,” Sharef said over his shoulder to Quzwini while concentrating on a screen.

“Computer’s going down in twenty seconds, sir.”

“Bearing rate?” Sharef asked al-Maari.

“Zero, constant bearing, still driving toward us …” al-Maari said, straining to hear in his headset, his face suddenly vexed. “I’ve got a ping, sir. Both weapons are pinging.”

“Commodore, I’ve got to restart the plant, now!”

“Wait, Quzwini.”

“The Dash Five has detected the pings … and is pinging back with the enhancer.”

“Shutting down the computers now. Commodore.” “I said wait,” Sharef said sharply.

“Sir—”

“I’m getting severe cavitation from the torpedo screws,” al-Maari interrupted. “They’ve gone to maximum speed.

Now I have a right bearing drift, increasing, sir. The torpedoes are drawing right. They’re going after the Dash Five decoy, both of them!”

“Restart the reactor!”

Ahmed felt a sigh of relief whooshing out of him — until the computer screens died and the lights went out and the remaining fans wound down. Five hundred meters underwater, the ship lost power.

Chapter 11 Friday, 27 December

STRAIT OF SICILY

USS AUGUSTA

“Conn, Sonar, own-ship’s units one and two are active and homing.” Hillsworth’s report was calm, controlled. “We have return pings from the target bearing one four four. Unit range gates are narrow.”

Daminski smiled, raising his hands as if he’d just made the saving tackle.

“Attention in the firecontrol team. We’re not waiting for a solution. I’m putting two Mark 50s down the bearing line to the target, high-speed transit, run to enable 10,000 yards, active snake search. Firing point procedures, tubes three and four. Target One, horizontal salvo, one-half degree offset.”