Terminal Run

Pacino clicked a remote, and a display flashed up on the screen. “I’ve sketched out the approach of the Snare to the rendezvous point. We’ll start along his point of intended motion, his PIM, to the east, and we’ll deploy Tigersharks as if they’re stationary mines. They won’t have propulsion, so we’ll have to stop, hover, launch, and move gently out of the way to make sure our wake does not spin or capsize the torpedo. We’ll lay these units left and right of the Snare’s PIM, then withdraw further to the west. As we move out of sensor range of the eastern Tigersharks, they will be waking up, because we don’t want to overdose them, so we’re only giving them enough of a sedative to allow us to clear the area. We’ll withdraw to a point twenty miles to the west of the westernmost Tigershark, which will be deployed here, ten miles west of the rendezvous point. We’ll hover here, rigged for ultra quiet on battery power alone with the reactor scrammed. This ship will not be putting out tonals or transients from reactor re circ pumps, steam turbines or generators, air handlers or anything else. The only systems that will be on-line will be the cooling units for the Cyclops sonar suite, the Cyclops system itself and its displays, and minimal ship’s lighting. Atmospheric control will be off, the ventilation systems will be secured, and it will be damned hot in here, but we will be quieter than a hole in the ocean until we kill the Snare and we’ve accounted for every Tigershark either detonating or flooding itself and sinking to its crush depth. At that point, and only then, will we start up the reactor, return ship systems to nominal, and do a battle damage assessment to the east. Any questions?”

Rick Bracefield, the absurdly young-looking chief engineer, raised his hand as if in a classroom.

“Yes, Eng,” Pacino said patiently. “Sir, with the reactor and steam systems secured, how will we evade a Tigershark detecting us or a Mark 58 launched by the Snare?

Pacino frowned, annoyed at how obvious the answer was. “We’ll make sure the ship is pointed so that the threat vector is astern, on the edge of the baffles, and if we detect a torpedo in the water we’ll activate the TESA, the torpedo evasion ship alteration.” Pacino stopped as he saw the downcast looks of the engineer and weapons officer. “What?”

“Captain, the shipyard never completed the TESA,” the engineer admitted.

“And we haven’t wired it up, sir, because we’ve never figured out if it’s a weapons system or a propulsion system,” the weapons officer, Elaine Kessler, said.

“Clear the room,” Pacino ordered, his angry tone bringing the officers to their feet. “Everyone out but the XO, the engineer, and the weapons officer.”

The officers left, tiptoeing out of the room. The remaining three officers acted like family dogs caught stealing steak off the dinner plates.

“In twenty seconds I’m walking out that door and returning to the torpedo room,” he said in quiet fury. “In ten hours, however the three of you decide, the TESA evasion system will be fully functional, and I don’t care if we have to surface to make a ballast tank entry, that system will work. I want an update every thirty minutes from you, XO, and that update had better not contain the words ‘impossible’ or ‘too late.” Does everyone have that? You will succeed or I’ll have your commissions, assuming we live through this mission. Questions — XO, speak up.”

“Sir,” Vermeers said tentatively, “perhaps we should change the mission. It’s suicide without the TESA, and we may not have it running in time. Sir, hear me out. It’s not just wiring it up so the solid rocket motors ignite in the correct sequence at the right time, it’s the Cyclops ship-control system. The Cyclops time constant could kill us, Captain. If the computer doesn’t control the bow planes with the right response rate, those solid rocket motors going off could plunge us down to crush depth in a second. Or we could rocket out of the sea and break in half smashing back down to the waves.”

Pacino glared at the three officers, wondering what he could do to get this can’t-do attitude erased from their personalities.

“You three and your men get this system working. If you fail, the mission won’t change, and I will deploy the ship exactly as if I’m counting on the TESA. So this is literally door die.” He narrowed his eyes at them, trying to look even angrier than he felt. “Get out,” he said quietly, but all three stood as if bolted to the deck. “Get out! Get the hell out!” he roared, and the three of them scurried out, bumping into each other and the doorjamb.

Pacino shook his head, hoping their fear of him would help them overcome their failure to imagine the system working. One thing was certain — he would not spare the ship. Novskoyy was coming with a bellyful of cruise missiles and torpedoes, and Pacino would stop him, even if it cost him the ship and every life aboard.

Victor Krivak pulled the interface helmet off and wiped the sweat out of his hair.