Night 2 --
Frey looked up to his XO with a frown. “Sonar, what do you
have?”
They could feel the vibration in the water as the torpedo
exploded one-hundred yards to starboard aft quarter.
“That was too close,” Torres said.
“Nothing Captain. Towed array shows nothing.”
“Run a diagnostic as quickly as possible.”
“It was fully functional at sea trial,” Torres commented.
“I’m aware of that,” Frey replied. “We wouldn’t have put to
sea if it wasn’t.”
Torres stepped back letting his captain have full access to
the console. He’d misspoke wanting to have something to say.
“Captain, all sonar systems seem to be functioning to
specs,” the operator announced. “Still no signal to detect.”
“How is that possible,” Frey muttered to himself.
“Whoever this is, they may have been waiting for us.”
“That’s a distinct possibility Commander. I can’t believe we
wouldn’t have heard something, anything.”
“Do was have any analysis of the torpedo?” Torres asked.
“Washing it through the computer now sir.” It took only
seconds before Torres had a reply. “Computer has it as a Russian 111 torpedo.”
“Russian!” Torres said. “Damn.”
“Contact aft. Eight-thousand yards,” sonar called out.
“Designate Alpha,” Frey ordered. “Signature?”
“Just a low hum so far Captain. Then it cut out.” The sonar
operator looked up toward the center of the boat. “Nothing now,” he replied as
he pressed his hands against his headphones again. “Wait ... hum again. Very
low frequency.” He looked up again. “Captain, this isn’t coming from the same
direction. Port beam, approximately ten-thousand yards.”
“Is that firm?”
“No sir,” Ensign Vic Marchi replied. “It was only there for
a couple seconds. I need a longer signal to dial it in.”
“Two boats. Damn.” Frey looked up to his Exec. “Options.”
“We move dead slow Captain. The pulse drive will have no
cavitation noise for them, whoever they are to draw in on. Right now, we’re as
big a hole in the water as they are.”
“And they’ve shown their hand,” Frey replied.
“Have they?” Torres looked directly at his commanding
officer. “Sir, we don’t know that there are only two. We’re guessing.”
“Point taken.” Frey turned back to the sonar operator. “Run
your acoustic signature through the computer.”
“Already done Captain. Nothing firm but best guess is
Russian diesel boats. Not enough to guess at a classification.”
“They could be boats sold off to China or worse, Korea,”
Torres said.
“A distinct possibility with the current state of affairs
above the water,” Frey replied. “I have a hard time thinking Russia would just
lay in wait to ambush a boat. They’ve got nothing to gain. Now North Korea, yeah. They’re just crazy
enough to do that.”
“How would they even know where we were?”
“A leak, Mr. Torres. Remember, this isn’t a military
mission. There are all kinds of ways this thing could have leaked out to
someone we aren’t friendly with.”
Frey looked around the control room of his boat. This was
the first time his command had come under live fire. Everything else had been
drills; so called live fire events that really weren’t live fire. You couldn’t
risk a 2.4 billion dollar piece of equipment with an accident. The tension was
thick. He could see the small drops of sweat running down the faces of nearly
everyone within view; except his XO.
“We go down,” Frey announced. “Con, ahead dead slow. Take
her down easy. No noise. Make your depth fifteen hundred feet.”
“Con aye,” came the reply. He could see his officer swallow
hard. “Helm, ahead dead slow. Making depth for fifteen-hundred feet.”
“Steer for heading one-five degrees.”
“Steering for heading zero-one-five degrees aye.”
“If they don’t read us we’ll be able to slip directly away
from them,” Torres said.
“If they don’t hear us Mr. Torres,” his captain replied. “If
they don’t hear us.”
“Popping noises aft Captain,” Marchi announced.
“That’s odd,” Frey said as he looked to his XO. “Distance.”
“Nine-thousand yards.”
“Either they don’t think we’re still here or they have an
older boat,” Torres said.
“I wouldn’t make the assumption we weren’t here if I just
fired on someone.” Frey turned back toward the sonar station. “Anything on
contact Bravo?”
“Nothing sir.”
“Eight-hundred feet,” the Officer of the Deck called.
“Coming up on heading zero-one-five degrees.”
“Heavy cavitation! High speed screws aft!” Marchi yelled.
“Full speed,” Frey called. “Left full rudder.”
“Nine hundred feet.”
“Screws are coming nowhere near us Captain.”
“Damn!” Frey yelled as he slammed his fist on the console.
“They needed us to let them know where we were and I walked right into it.” His
face reddened with a menacing scowl.
“High speed screws in the water starboard. Five-thousand
yards.”
“Ready counter measures. Launch at fifteen-hundred yards,”
Torres ordered.
“Counter measures aye,” came the reply.
“Steady on turn,” Frey announced. “Come to new heading
two-seven-zero degrees. He looked over his crew again. Gone were the initial
jitters he recognized when an action first begins. His crew was settling into
the jobs. Jobs they’ve been training for years to do.
“One-thousand feet,” came the call.
“Inbound screws at fifteen-hundred yards,” Marchi called
out.
“Torpedo room,” Torres said loudly into the mic, “launch
noisemakers.”
“Eleven-hundred feet.”
“Right full rudder,” Frey called.
“Right full rudder aye.”
“Screws fading away, passing aft seven-hundred yards.”
“Thank you Mr. Marchi,” Frey said. “Con, come to dead slow,
continue decent. Make your heading three-six-zero degrees.”
“Twelve-hundred feet.”
“All ahead dead slow,” the Officer of the Deck announced.
“Steering to heading three-six-zero degrees.”
“Making ourselves a hole in the water again sir?” Torres
asked.
“We
are.”
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