Piranha: Firing Point

At the clicking of the third minute on Demeers’ stopwatch, he spoke into his microphone. “Conn, Sonar, ready for leg two.” Dumping his processor buckets in the narrowband sector, he waited for the ship to come around, concentrating on the broadband contacts as the ship turned. His noises remained constant at their bearings, the approaching convoy, if possible, getting even louder as they approached.

“Sonar, Conn, steady course south.”

“Conn, Sonar, aye.”

Another three minutes, another search.

On 155 hertz, the spike of a narrowband frequency tonal kept growing. The bell tonal could only be manmade, a frequency put into the water by rotating machinery.

It was a turbine generator perhaps, spinning like a top blown by high-pressure steam, converting thermal energy to mechanical and mechanical to electrical, the high note as pure as an opera singer’s final note.

“Sonar, Captain, you ready to resume speed and base course?”

“Captain, Sonar, no,” Demeers said calmly into the microphone, dropping the bombshell. “Conn, Sonar, new narrowband contact, designate sierra two four, 155 hertz bearing zero seven five or two five five, low signal-to-noise ratio, possible submerged warship.”

SS-403 ARCTIC STORM

“Sir.” Xhiu’s voice from the sensor panel grew more urgent. “The enemy submarine contact is inbound at eighty clicks, distance unknown, but the bearing rate is steady. He’s barreling in at us, sir, distance to track is zero!”

Chu knew the tone for the entire battle would be determined by his initial response — would he put the crew on edge or reassure them?

“Very good. Navigator. Continue to track contact, tag number ST-1, and report speed, solution, and distance to track.” ST-1 stood for submarine target number one, Chu’s shorthand in case several contacts cropped up.

“Ship Control Officer, bring us around to the left, left ten effective degrees rudder, course north, speed twenty-two clicks, depth three hundred meters, and keep the angle gentle.”

“Aye sir, left ten degrees rudder, course zero zero zero, speed increasing to twenty-two clicks, diving to three hundred meters, flat angle.”

“Very good. Nav, get a Second Captain target solution.”

Chu was driving off the track of the target, getting a parallax computer solution to the target using only listening sonar, as the Second Captain’s on-line tactical manual recommended.

“Aye, sir, solution is crude but shows target ST-1 inbound, seventy-seven clicks, distance thirty-five kilometers.

Our distance to track is six hundred meters and opening very slowly. He’s going to pass very close, sir.”

“Very good, Nav. Ship Control, slow to five clicks.”

“Five clicks, aye. Admiral.” “But, sir,” Xhiu said, “he’ll be coming just a few ship lengths from us. We need to open distance.”

Be cool, Chu thought. “No, ship silence is more important than distance,” he said.

“Sir, are you still committed to letting the American submarines go? We never thought they’d come this close. This one may detect us. Maybe we should shoot at him now.” “No,” Chu said. “We’ll let them both go. Otherwise the torpedo noise and explosions will alert the fleet.

Now, listen up in the control room. Target ST-1 is coming at us like a freight train going full out, and he’s making just as much noise. I sincerely doubt he’ll ever look up to take notice of us. Everyone calm the hell down. Be alert for the second 6881. The fleet’s order of battle showed two escort subs. Also, watch the first one for any sign of a counter-detection.” Please let me know, he thought, if the 688 hears me.

For the next few minutes Chu waited. His lower left panel remained tuned to the face of Lieutenant Commander Xhiu Liu, the sensor-panel operator’s face as much an instrument as any Second Captain display. The excitable navigator’s eyes grew wide, one hand to his headset earphone, alarm growing on his face. Chu waited for what seemed an eternity for the man to speak.

“Nav, what is it?”

“Admiral, contact ST-1 signal is suddenly growing dim. He’s slowing down. Coasting down, screw turn count coming way down. Sir, I don’t — I don’t know what he’s doing. He’s—” The navigator had begun to sputter.

Odd, he had such a cool head when doing commando operations, but put a nuclear submarine under him with orders to fight and he grew as fidgety as a six-year-old.

Perhaps it was his frustration level — during a commando raid a man had control, but up against an enemy sub, only the captain had control.

“Just watch him,” Chu said calmly, trying to reassure Xhiu.

“Yessir, still slowing, still slowing.”

Seconds clicked by like molasses. Chu watched the raw sonar data appearing on the upper right console.