Voyage of the Devilfish

“Well, we’ll just have to keep tabs on Target One on broadband.”

“Captain,” Rapier said, turning from the Pos Two console he’d been studying, “Target One’s in the baffles now. We can’t hear him. Recommend you come around right or left twenty degrees and bring him out.” Pacino shook his head. Rapier frowned, not understanding.

“Mark range to the collision,” Pacino ordered.

“Two thousand yards,” Stokes replied, looking at the geographic plot. Minimum weapon standoff range for the Russian’s torpedoes, Pacino thought.

“Conn, Sonar,” Pacino’s headphone intoned, “Uh, transients now from bearing zero seven zero, edge of the starboard baffles… Conn, Sonar, we have a detect on an active sonar… it’s a quick pulse-range check omega’s transmitting Blocks-of-Wood active sonar in a beam at us, verifying our range…” Good. The OMEGA had heard them and was responding. The range check was a classic Russian tactic immediately before a torpedo shot. The officers in the space, most of them wearing the same headphones Pacino wore, turned to look at him, waiting for him to get the ship out of trouble, or into it.

“Well, XO,” Pacino said, “it seems the OMEGA may be hostile, after all. Are we ready to shoot?”

“Sir,” Rapier said, thinking of the Russian submarines lurking in the seas off the coast of his hometown, “let’s kick his ass.”

FS KALININGRAD

The next few minutes seemed to go by in a blur, whether the result of the injury he had sustained in the collision or the stress of the moment, Novskoyy wasn’t sure as he watched Ivanov and the team of officers submerge the ship and head east away from the American submarine, trying to get enough distance from it so that the safety interlocks on the Magnum torpedo would allow warhead aiming — too close and it could home in on the launching ship. The conversation in the space seemed to swim by Novskoyy’s ears rather than register in them.

“REAR GUARD sonar range to target, 1500 meters,” Ivanov called out.

“Magnum torpedo loaded in tube six. Flooding tube six now,” said Weapons Officer Chekechev.

“REAR GUARD range to target, 2000 meters. Target range meets firing criteria. Target bearing 280, speed 65 clicks.” Ivanov.

“Magnum in tube six weapon power on, gyro at nominal RPM, computer self-check complete. Target solution locked in,” from Chekechev.

“Open outer door, tube six.” Ivanov turned to Lieutenant Katmonov, the Ship Control Officer. “To Engine Control, overpower both reactors to 110 percent power.”

Chekechev: “Tube six outer door open. Magnum fuel turbopump pressure increasing, increasing—”

“Engine Control reports both reactors at 110 percent power,” reported Katmonov. “Ship’s speed, 80 clicks.”

“Magnum fuel pressure in limits. Computer ready indication,” said Chekechev.

“Firing status?” Ivanov asked.

“Ready to fire.”

“Fire tube six on my mark,” Ivanov ordered. “Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Markf “Firing six!” The ship trembled, just slightly, as the heavy large-bore weapon left the tube.

“Engage the polymer system and report ship’s speed,” Ivanov ordered.

“Magnum turning to attack course.”

“Polymer system engaged. Ship’s speed increasing to eighty-five clicks,” Katmonov intoned. Chekechev: “Magnum steady on attack course.” Katmonov: “Ship’s speed increasing to ninety clicks.” Chekechev: “Magnum speeding up to attack velocity.”

Ivanov: “Status of the target?” Chekechev: “Target no longer registers on REAR GUARD. Must be on the other side of the Magnum now. Confirmed. Magnum is on the bearing to the target. Target noise masked by Magnum noise.”

“Very good. Range to the aim point?”

“Aimpoint range, fifteen kilometers. Ship’s speed, ninety-one clicks. A record, sir.” Ivanov took it in. The most a Russian submarine had gone before was eighty clicks, at least in his memory. Chekechev: “Aimpoint range, sixteen kilometers. Four kilometers to go till outside blast-damage zone.” Katmonov: “Ship’s speed, steady at ninety-one clicks.”

“Target status?” Ivanov asked. Chekechev: “Still masked by the Magnum.”

“Aim point range?”

“Range to aimpoint, sixteen point five kilometers.” They were going east at record speed, the polymer slipping down the metal of the hull, greasing their way through the cold water. With every passing minute they drove further from the aimpoint of the Magnum torpedo, closer to safety. But at the same time they also drove further from the polynya, pushing transmission of Novskoyy’s molniya order further into the future. He interrupted the smooth functioning of the three-man firecontrol team: “Deck Officer,” he said to Ivanov, “turn the ship around and drive us back west to the polynya.”

“But sir,” Ivanov shot back, shocked, “that will put us in the blast zone—”

“Turn the ship, course, due west.” Ivanov stared at Novskoyy. Then: “Admiral, I can’t do that. It means this ship will be destroyed.”

USS DEVILFISH

“Conn, Sonar, more transients from zero seven zero Conn, Sonar! Torpedo in the water! Large-bore weapon screw pattern! It’s… Jesus, it’s a Magnum!”