Voyage of the Devilfish

“Attention in the firecontrol team,” Pacino said. “It looks like Target One still doesn’t know we’re here. Let’s hope he won’t until it’s too late. I intend to fire two torpedoes in a horizontal salvo. Be ready to evade if Target One fires back and be alert in case he runs from the torpedoes. If Target One zigs we’ll do a quick maneuver to get his new solution and turn the weapons… Firing-point procedures — tube one Target One, tube two Target One, horizontal salvo, thirtysecond firing interval, ten-degree offset.” Officers at the panels checked the target solution and locked it in. The final program was readied for the two Mark 49 Mod Bravo Hullbuster torpedoes twenty feet below on the lower-level deck of the operations compartment. The torpedo tubes of the Devilfish were twenty-one inches in diameter and twenty-one feet long. All four were set in the lower level of the operations compartment amidships. Unlike previous submarine classes, the Piranha boats had the main sonar gear in the nosecone and the torpedo tubes amidships, each tube canted eight degrees outward from the ship’s centerline. Tubes one and two were the upper tubes; number one on the starboard side, number two on the port. Each tube was flooded and equalized with sea pressure, and the torpedo tube outer doors were open. At Pacino’s order to man battle stations, the Mark 49 Hullbusters had received power to spin up their navigational gyros. Their central processor computers came up after a self-check and reported back to the firecontrol computer.

With their central processors, each torpedo had roughly the same intelligence as a golden retriever, which for a weapon was near-genius level. As the central processors reported the results of the self-check, the Weapons Officer at the controlroom firing panel began to load the run instructions, which sounded like an alien language: “Unit one, you are in tube one. The mother ship is on course 180, depth 546 feet. When you’re launched, turn to course 240 at 45 knots and dive to 800 feet depth. Arm the warhead when you are 6000 yards away from mother ship, your run-to-enable. Then start your 25-knot active sonar search at depth 300 feet. The enemy sub. Target One, is currently at bearing 225, and will drive into your search cone at a range of 2000 yards. When you get three confirmed return pings in a row, accelerate to your 50-knot attack speed. When you detect the iron of the enemy hull, detonate your explosives. If you turn more than 180 degrees, you may start homing in on the mother ship. If that happens, shut down your engine, flood and sink. If the target zigs we will turn you toward him with further instructions using your guidance wire.” With each downloaded instruction the Hullbuster torpedoes acknowledged. Two faithful golden retrievers, wagging their tails and panting near the master’s hand, waited for the command to go. In the control room, the furthest forward space in the three-deck-high operations compartment. Captain Mike Pacino watched the firecontrol solution and the red television sonarrepeater screen on the port side of the periscope stand conning-console. The Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Scott Brayton, reported! “Ship ready.” The Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Commander Steve Bahnhoff, called out, “Weapons ready.”

“Solution ready,” said Commander Jon Rapier, the Executive Officer. Pacino opened his mouth to speak as Lieutenant Stokes, the officer on the central firecontrol panel, said, “Possible zig. Target One.”

“Zig confirmed,” Rapier said. “Time-frequency plot. Possible maneuver to starboard—”

“Check fire, tubes one and two,” Pacino told the executive officer, aborting the launch sequence. Target One had turned and would no longer be where Pacino had been about to send the torpedoes. Launching a torpedo was something like throwing a touchdown pass — the torpedo was sent to where the target would be. If the target changed course, zigged, the firing solution was no good and the torpedoes would miss.

“XO, get a curve and get it quick.” Into his cordless boom microphone he spoke to the sonar chief in the sonar room aft: “Sonar, Captain, do you confirm a zig on Target One?”

“Conn, Sonar,” came the reply in Pacino’s single headphone, a custom configuration allowing him one ear for the sonarphone circuit and one for the control room. “We’re investigating…” Pacino waited impatiently. “Conn, Sonar, zig confirmed. No change in engine RPM. Target One is at the same speed, turning to his… starboard.”

“Any sign of a counterdetection by Target One?” Did the son of a bitch hear us? he thought, trying to read the mind of the opposing commander.

“No… he’s steady on course now, sir.” Pacino spoke to Rapier. “XO, you got a curve yet?” Rapier, the most senior executive officer on the Squadron Seven pier, was about Pacino’s age, thin, with silver hair and the same crow’s feet around his eyes that Pacino had from hours of squinting out of the periscope.