Piranha: Firing Point

“Lucy, immediate execute. Clear datum to the east, emergency fl—”

The radio call was interrupted by the violent roar of the Vortex missile as it left tube number three on the starboard side, where the radio console was located. It took several seconds before Phillips could hear anything.

When he did, he clicked the transmit button and said! “Ricky, this is Lucy, say again?”

“He didn’t hear you. Admiral.”

“Lucy, this is Ricky! Immediate execute. Gear datum to the east, emergency flank! I say again, clear datum to the east, emergency flank, ASAP, ASAP, ASAP! Do you copy me, over?”

The reply was static-filled.

“Ricky, this is Lucy, say again, over.”

“Lucy, this is Ricky, clear datum, dammit! Get out of there now! Withdraw! Do you copy?”

Bruce Phillips glared at the phone.

“Weps, tube eight, target five, firing-point procedures.”

“Lucy, this is Fred, immediate execute, clear datum east, ASAP! Do you copy?”

Phillips made a face.

“Ship ready, sir.”

Phillips made a decision. Micromanagement had its place, but he was two Rising Suns away from a Distinguished Submariners’ Medal, and he’d be damned if he was going to clear datum. Yet ignoring the radio call wasn’t his style. He’d confront the radio caller directly.

And this time he’d be damned if he’d use the stupid call signs.

“Admiral, this is Phillips, negative clear datum. I say again, negative negative negative. Piranha is at the firing point. I repeat. Piranha is at the firing point, negative clear datum. Phillips out.”

He looked at his officer of the deck while turning the volume down on the radio.

“OOD, lower the periscope, take her deep, one thousand feet, best listening depth.”

“Aye, sir,” the officer of the deck acknowledged, making the orders to the helm and diving officer.

“Well,” Phillips said to the weapons officer, peeved.

“What are you looking at? Status on the weapon, let’s go! Shoot eight!”

“Computer auto-sequence start at five, four, three…”

The three Nagasaki torpedoes soared through the water toward the target ahead, the one designated only as ST15, the fifteenth submerged target encountered that campaign.

The weapons ate up the distance at eighty-five clicks, against a target moving at ten clicks at periscope depth, the range getting closer and closer.

Patton stared at Pacino.

“I don’t believe it. He doesn’t want to hear there are three plasma torpedoes on the way inbound,” Patton sputtered.

“Shoot a Vortex at him,” Pacino commanded.

“What?”

“Now, John, let’s go, get a Vortex missile in the water, aim it for the Piranha, ceiling setting enabled, and make damned sure you disable the terminal-mode detonation. Move!”

A look of understanding dawned on Patton’s face.

“Line up tube one. Vortex Mod Charlie, swimout mode, ceiling setting enabled, terminal detonation disabled, target — the USS Piranha. Firing-point procedures, Piranha, Vortex one. Report!” “Sir, what are you doing?” XO Walt Hornick asked.

“Launch the damned thing now,” Patton roared. The crew responded sluggishly, not understanding why they would be ordered to shoot at their own submarine, but Patton obviously did not have the time or the inclination to tell them.

It took fifty seconds for the Vortex Mod Charlie to clear the tube and ignite the solid-rocket fuel. Unlike Bruce Phillips’ Mod Bravos, which left their launching sleeves under full thrust, the Mod Charlies had a torpedo-like booster engine to get the smaller missile clear of the tube and a few ship lengths away, allowing the solid-rocket fuel to ignite only when the missile was one thousand feet away going fifty knots.

Pacino ducked into station four to see what would happen. Would Phillips finally react?

“Sir,” Hornick said, “why did we put friendly fire on the Piranha!” “Think, XO,” Patton said. “He didn’t hear our order for him to clear datum; he wanted to keep shooting. He can’t hear a Nagasaki torpedo, not even three, not while he’s lighting off solid-rocket-fueled weapons, and I doubt he’d hear them anyway. So the next sound he’ll hear is an inbound Vortex missile aimed at him. He’ll go absolutely crazy and blow to the surface and shut the ship down. The Vortex is set with ceiling mode enabled, so anything it sees that is at a depth above two hundred feet it’ll ignore. So Phillips will try to avoid the Vortex missile, and by doing that he’ll avoid the Nagasakis he can’t see. They’ll completely miss him and swim on by, deep.”

“Now all we need is to see what happens to the last two Rising Suns and Phillips,” Pacino said on his boom mike.

“Loss of battle control!” came over on his headset just as the system nickered out and died.

Pacino climbed out of station four, miserable. It had crashed yet again.

The explosion that came next was deafening. *

“Conn, Sonar, I have an incoming Vortex missile.”

“Looks like Devilfish wants part of the action,” Phillips said to Whatney.