Voyage of the Devilfish

Commander Harrison Toth IV stepped up to the periscope stand of the USS Billfish, shouldering aside the heavy curtain surrounding the periscope stand that was used to screen out the glow from the controlroom instruments when the room was rigged for black. The space outside the curtain was never completely black, illuminated as it was by the light from the firecontrol consoles, the gages of the ship control panel and the light from the meters on the ballastcontrol panel. Together, the light leaks were enough to interfere with the Officer of the Deck’s night vision. The OOD was pressed up against the number-two periscope peering into the black night. Although it was 0900 Zulu, Greenwich Mean Time, the local time was 0400, and dawn in December came late even this far at sea. 0703 was the time the status board stated for sunrise. Billfish rocked in the rough seas, trailing the AKULA Russian attack submarine Vladivostok at periscope depth 153 miles east of Norfolk, Virginia. The AKULA, designated Target One, was also at periscope depth.

“Very well, FT,” the OOD was saying to the Firecontrol Technician of the Watch, who had come up to the Conn. Toth tensed, knowing this could be a precursor to a problem with firecontrol, something he didn’t need now with the AKULA so close.

“Captain, sir,” the OOD said, not removing his face from the periscope eyepiece, “weapon power has been applied to the Mark 49 torpedoes in tubes three and four for over an hour now, sir. The gyros are heating up. The FT wants to deenergize them.”

“What’s the status of tubes one and two?” Toth was reluctant to turn off the torpedoes with the Russian in weapons range.

“Dry loaded, Mark 49 Hullbuster Mod Alphas, both tubes, sir.”

“Get a recommendation from the Weapons Officer. I want my six shooter loaded when I’m in the same corral with this guy.”

“Should we flood one and two, sir? We could spin up their gyros—”

“No. Flooding the tubes will just make noise. Could alert our friend up ahead—”

“Conn, Sonar,” the headset to sonar boomed in Toth’s ear, “transients from Target One… water noises… flooding a tank… hull popping… Target One’s probably going deep… Conn, Sonar, confirmed. RPM’s going up on Target One’s screw. He’s speeding up and going deep.”

“Sonar, Conn, aye,” Lieutenant Culverson replied into his own headset’s boom microphone, glancing at Captain Toth. “Sir?” Toth stared at the line of dots on Pos Two.

“Take us down below the thermal layer and rig control for white.”

“Diving Officer, make your depth five four six feet,” Culverson called out. “Lowering number-two scope.” The OOD put on his red goggles and ordered the room lit. The curtain was pulled aside, and blinding white light flooded the room. The ship’s angle increased to ten degrees as Culverson ordered the Diving Officer to go down to 546 feet. As the ship passed 300 feet, the thick steel hull emitted a creaking groan, punctuated by a loud pop. Target One was a mere 1500 yards ahead on the port bow.

FS VLADIVOSTOK

The deck of the Vladivostok took on a steep angle as she departed periscope depth for her 50-meter missile-firing depth. Captain Krakov was furious that he still had not received the expected message from Admiral Novskoyy to execute missile launch.

“Captain,” Tupov said, “we should come back up to periscope depth and await a transmission.”

“Anatoly, this must be a transmitter problem. An American ship may have gotten to Novskoyy on the Kaliningrad. There won’t be a transmission. We can’t contact the other ships in the fleet without violating radio silence. I know the admiral’s intent. We must proceed. Execute launch on primary target as per the 0850 GMT preparation order.”

USS BILLFISH

As Billfish levelled out at 546 feet the broadband sonar trace on the video repeater winked out. Target One had just vanished. Commander Toth frowned as his headset earphone crackled.

“Conn, Sonar, deflection/elevation to Target One is very high, plus ten degrees. Signal-to-noise ratio is dropping fast. We’ve lost him…”

“Sonar, Captain, is it possible Target One is still above the thermal layer?”

“Conn, Sonar… yes.” Toth gestured to Culverson with his thumb. Get back up.

FS VLADIVOSTOK

“Depth fifty meters, sir,” the Deck Officer reported.

Krakov turned to the weapons console. “Status of the 27?”

“Run check complete,” Weapons Officer Vasily Geronmyy said into his console. “System checks are satisfactory. Chronometer input satisfactory. Navigation fix input satisfactory. Gyro spinup complete.”

“Mark the target readback,” Krakov ordered. Geronmyy typed into his console and read the computer reply.

“Norfolk Naval Station, Submarine Piers, ground zero. Airburst at fifty meters.” Krakov nodded.

“Variable yield setting?”