Phoenix Sub Zero

Daminski received the readiness reports and ordered the tubes fired. Hackle took the trigger to the firing position twice; twice the deck shuddered and the atmosphere in the room blasted its pressure pulse painfully into the ears of the watchstanders. Once the weapons were launched Daminski slowed the ship to five knots, hoping to hear the contact better in case it evaded again. But Hillsworth had it nailed, both from the ping returns from torpedoes one and two and from broadband and narrowband contact. The UIF Destiny-class submarine was doomed.

Daminski wondered for a moment if he should reload the tubes, all four now empty. Loading would create noise that could lead to the target hearing them well enough to put a counterfired torpedo down the bearing line. Leaving them empty, however, meant that he had nothing in his tubes to shoot a surprise contact, a second hostile submarine coming out of nowhere.

The UIF had only one Destiny submarine. Their Victor. His were bottled up in port and were either broken down or louder than was good for them. And there was no way this enemy ship would counterdetect the Augusta.

This was why they paid him command pay, Daminski thought, and made a command decision — leave the tubes dry and reload later.

* * *

Battle lanterns, large flashlights in waterproof boxes, came on, barely holding back the thick darkness in the control room. Ahmed felt the evening meal trying to rise in his throat. He forced it back down, the taste bitter.

“Ship control,” Sharef said, his voice commanding and sharp from the forward starboard corner of the control room, “have you got depth control?”

The ship control officers at the console stared at a row of old-fashioned electrical instruments illuminated by the battle lantern behind them. How the instruments worked, Ahmed could only guess; perhaps they had their own battery pack behind the panel. Ahmed considered Sharef’s question in the dim room surrounded by helpless navy officers and blank screens. A loss of depth control would mean that they were … sinking.

“Hydraulic backups are functional, Commodore,” a very young officer said from the left seat of the two. “Depth 510 meters, negative depth rate. Air bottles are fully charged.”

“Keep the ship above 800 meters with air bubbled to the negative tanks, but minimize air use. Keep the angle zero within seven degrees.”

“Yes sir.”

Sharef checked his chronometer in the light of a battle lantern.

Ahmed considered asking what was going to happen but thought better of it when he saw Sharef glaring at him in the dark airless space. Sharef leaned over the dead chart table and drummed his fingers on the horizontal videoscreen glass.

Ahmed checked his own watch, wondering how long the ship would float in the sea, powerless, while the coalition submarine and its torpedoes were out there, searching for them. * Daminski frowned at the report from sonar, his eyes meeting Kristman’s. Ron Hackle, the weapons officer at the firing panel, turned around and joined in the silent conference of consternation.

* * *

“Say again, Sonar,” Daminski said slowly, trying to think.

“Captain, Sonar, the first two own-ship units are at the bearing to Target One, active pinging range gates so narrow that the torpedoes are within a hundred yards of the target.

But that situation continues. The torpedoes sound like they’re in reattack.”

“Ron, what’s that mean to you?” Daminski asked the weapons officer.

“The units are on top of the target, sir. They should be detonating. Instead they’re going into reattack.”

“Why the hell would two units go into reattack?”

Daminski leaned over the firing panel to look at the Pos Four display of data from units three and four, which were still attached by thin electronic wires to the torpedo tubes and from there to the firecontrol computer. It was unfortunate that he had had to cut the wires on units one and two in order to line up the tube banks to shoot three and four; the data from one and two would likely solve this problem.

“What do the units say?”

“Still on the run to enable,” Hackle said.

Daminski turned to the conn and mumbled to himself.

“Units one and two on top of the target and going into reattack mode. Reattack mode. Which means they lost the target and are turning to find it again. But they keep pinging, so they reacquire the target, but then lose it and go into reattack again.”

Daminski paused and looked at Kristman. “Why would a unit go into reattack?”

“Bad proximity sensor,” Kristman said slowly.“The unit hears the target, homes on it, but can’t detect an iron hull or doesn’t hit the hull directly, so it swings back around for an other approach. Goes into reattack.”

“One unit with a bad proximity sensor, okay. Two weapons? I don’t think so. What if the sensor is good? Why would it go into reattack?”

“Blip enhancer? Or active countermeasures?”

“What?”

“The target could broadcast an active sonar ping that matches the incoming sonar pulse, with a frequency shift, timed to fool the torpedo’s range gate.”