by Joe Buff
console. Have the senior weapons chief relieve you at the special weapons console." Bell acknowledged.
"And take off that sound-powered phone," Morse said. "That's what the phone talker's for. Your job's to delegate."
"Direct hit, Commodore," Jeffrey said. He removed the bulky unit. He took a deep breath. "Phone Talker, repeat to all hands. Rig for depth charge, prepare for a close-in nuclear detonation."
"Set all three units for straight runs," ter Horst said. "Gyro angles thirty right, zero, and thirty left."
"Straight runs, thirty-degree triple fan spread, aye," Van Gelder said. "Torpedo room acknowledges gyro angles set."
"Set detonation depth one thousand meters."
"One thousand meters, aye. Torpedo room acknowledges one thousand meters set."
"Detonation yield one kiloton."
"One kiloton, aye. Torpedo room acknowledges one kiloton."
"Program all fish for maximum attack speed after a quiet runout of four kilometers on nonconflicting random starting doglegs," ter Horst said, "to disguise our own location."
"Twenty knots four thousand meters random doglegs, aye," Van Gelder said, "then seventy-five knots thereafter, aye."
"That just might make Wilson panic," ter Horst said, "when he hears one of those 65s come at him like a freight train. If he gives us a datum, we'll control the units through the fiber-optic wires, send all three in his direction."
"Understood," Van Gelder said. "Sir, for that matter why not shoot the weapons one by one? When they hear the first go off atomic, if they're still alive, waiting for the second and the third would be slow torture."
"I like your thinking, Gunther, but two problems. Wilson's not the type to buckle from slow torture."
"You know him, sir?"
"Not well, but we've met, at a Naval Submarine League banquet in Washington once. Didn't hit it off. Lack of chemistry, as the Americans would put it. From what I saw I wouldn't want to face him in a waiting game. Sudden shock, that's the thing, though slim chance enough that that would work. But more importantly, the first warhead would ruin sonar in this sector for a while, and would help Challenger guess what range from launch we're detonating at, so it's best to flush them everywhere at once."
"Understood, sir," Van Gelder said. He glanced ruefully at the TMA plot.
"Turn your key now, Number One."
Van Gelder took out his enabler, pushed it into the slot, and twisted. This is murder, he told himself. Those minesweepers have wooden hulls, each crew has forty men.
"Captain is enabling," ter Horst said. He turned his key.
"Torpedo room is ready," Van Gelder said. "Tubes six, seven, and eight prepared to shoot."
"Fire six," ter Horst said.
"Tube six fired," Van Gelder said.
"Fire seven."
"Tube seven fired."
"Fire eight."
"Tube eight fired."
"All units operating properly," the sonar chief said. "Time to detonations?" ter Horst said.
"Nine minutes, Captain," Van Gelder said, "unless the weapons find the target sooner."
"Torpedo in the water," Sessions said. "Another 65, Captain, bearing three four five, range about twelve thousand yards."
"Torpedo course?" Jeffrey said.
"Zero six zero," Sessions said.
"Well away from us," Jeffrey said.
"Second torpedo in the water! Also a series-65. . . . Torpedo course is zero nine zero, sir."
"A spread?" Jeffrey said. "He's using conventional warheads then, fanning them out with a passive sonar search."
"We'll see," Morse said. "If I were him, I'd make them go active at ten thousand yards."
"Third torpedo in the water," Sessions said. "This one's heading one two zero!"
"Coming toward us," Jeffrey said. "Phone Talker, relay to all hands. Repeat for emphasis, incoming torpedo, rig for ultraquiet, rig for depth charge."
"Aye aye, sir," the phone talker said.
"Sir," Sessions said, "most hostile contacts on our tactical plot appear to be changing course and heading Out to sea."
Jeffrey glanced at the TMA. "Good," he said, "we have them foxed. They must think we'
re further offshore than we really are."
"Time to detonations?" ter Horst said.
"Four minutes, sir," Van Gelder said.
"Signs of our quarry?"
"Nothing, Captain."
"Wilson isn't stupid. If he runs or launches countermeasures too soon, he'll just draw more fire and make our own job easier."
"Yes, sir," Van Gelder said. He looked again at the tactical display. Every surface unit was fleeing for open water, heading away from the area where all the mines and torpedoes had been going off. Obviously someone in higher headquarters who knew ter Horst took his "Stand Clear" very literally. But even at their maximum speed of sixteen knots, the little minesweepers were doomed.
"Watch carefully for a hole-in-ocean contact just before the sonar whiteout hits," ter Horst said.
"Acknowledged, Captain," Van Gelder said. He spoke with the sonar chief.
"If we localize Challenger as we destroy her," ter Horst said, "it'll speed up the salvage operations. Crypto gear and other good intel are time sensitive, you know."
"Yes, Captain," Van Gelder said.
"While we're waiting," ter Horst said, "reload tubes six through eight with nuclear torpedoes. Use deep-capable units now."
"Third torpedo closing," Sessions said. "This one will pass us close to port."
"Torpedo status?" Jeffrey said.
"Still in passive search mode, sir, still straight running."
"Lying doggo was a good idea," Morse said, almost whispering. "They might not go active till they're past us."
"Good," Jeffrey said. "On this sandy bottom we'd stand out like a billboard at close range, our sail and control surfaces especially, our active out-of-phase masking notwithstanding. We're deep enough the pressure's squashed our anechoic tiles to the point of uselessness."
"Torpedo at closest point of approach now," Sessions said. "Range nine hundred yards.
"One minute to detonations," Van Gelder said. "Still no fresh datum on Challenger."
"Very well, Number One," ter Horst said.
"They've run for over fifteen thousand yards already," Jeffrey said. "What are they waiting for?"
"They may have overestimated how much ground we'd cover at top quiet speed," Morse said. "That's bad. It suggests Voortrekker's faster."
"The torpedoes might be programmed for circular searches," Jeffrey said. "They'd loop back this way on active after a dash ahead to cut us off."
"We'll see," Morse said. "If so, we'll be right in the search cone of the fish on one two zero."
Jeffrey nodded. "I—"
A dreadful concussion jarred the boat and a doomsday cacophony washed over Challenger.
"First torpedo had a nuclear warhead!" Sessions shouted as the deep bass roar went on and on.
The bubble pulses caught the sail, tilting Challenger to starboard. She stayed that way against the sand, listing six degrees.
A second volcanic boom went off, much closer, shaking Jeffrey to his bones. He tasted copper in his mouth—the gum at one capped tooth had started bleeding. More hard blows struck the ship, dwindling as the fireball throbbed and plummeted for the surface. Challenger listed ten degrees to starboard now.
"Both of those were one-KT explosions!" Sessions yelled.
"Third time's lucky," Morse said.
"I told you," Ilse said.
The third torpedo blew, pounding Jeffrey's core. Challenger slammed sideways, grinding across the bottom. All the nerves in Jeffrey's teeth felt on fire, and his left leg twisted painfully. Relentless reverb banged and banged, the ship listing more and more—
fifteen degrees, twenty degrees, thirty degrees and rising. Jeffrey's eardrums hurt again, like at Umhlanga Rocks but worse, his tortured hearing assaulted by endless unearthly rumbling.
"T
hird torpedo has detonated!" Sessions shouted, sticking to procedure when it was barely possible to speak again. "The range from us was seven thousand yards!" Jeffrey shook his head to clear his brain. He noticed Ilse and the crewmen in the CACC
did the same, looking at each other wide-eyed, amazed to be alive. Jeffrey studied the automated damage control reports. Minor problems only. "Hah! This boat's incredible!"
"There's a reason we named ours Dreadnought," Morse yelled in Jeffrey's ear.
"You always use that for your first of types," Jeffrey shouted, smiling, pitching his voice above the constant roaring from outside.
"At least we're consistent!" Morse yelled back.
"Chief of the Watch," Jeffrey said as the decibel level and ugly vibrations diminished, " lift us off the bottom." Jeffrey turned to Lieutenant Bell. "XO, have the engineer blow water through the sea pipes, clear out any sand we just picked up. And tell him not to worry about the noise."
"Aye aye, Captain," Bell said. He spoke to the phone talker, relaying Jeffrey's instructions.
"Sonar," Jeffrey said, "how's our bow cap?"
"Still there, Captain," Sessions said.
"Wide-aperture arrays?"
"Minor dropouts in the complex, sir."
"Can you compensate?"
"Affirmative, no substantial degradation, but our chin-mounted HF system is destroyed."
"Projector and receiver both wiped off ?" Jeffrey said. "Not surprising. Chief of the Watch and Helmsman, how's the boat handling?"
"Normal in all respects," COB said, studying his screens.
"Concur," Meltzer said, testing his control wheel.
"That's the spirit," Morse said to Jeffrey. "You're their CO now in every way that matters. Let the crew just do their jobs."
"Helm," Jeffrey said, "make your course one zero zero. Ahead two thirds, make turns for twenty-six knots."
"Make my course one zero zero, aye," Meltzer said. "Ahead two thirds, make turns for twenty-six knots, aye. . . . Maneuvering acknowledges turns for twenty-six knots, sir."
"Time for us to do a disappearing act," Jeffrey said, "and sneak out past the Boer SOSUS." He listened to the ocean's rumbling, burbling whoosh. "We'll head right through the blast area, cloak ourselves in the aftermath of all the steam and bubbles. Chief of the Watch, keep your eyes glued to our buoyancy and trim, and shut unneeded sea valves."
"Aye aye," COB acknowledged.
"Assistant Navigator," Jeffrey said to the chief now filling in for Monaghan, "set the secure fathometer to maximum power, and you keep your eyes glued to the reported depth below the keel. This is gonna be one heck of a ride."
"All units detonated," Van Gelder said, sticking to procedure. A bit redundant saying it aloud, he thought, his ears still aching.
"Any sign of Challenger?" ter Horst said.
"Negative, sir," Van Gelder said. "No hole-in-ocean or ambient sonar contact, and it's impossible to detect any breaking-up noise now."
"Very well," ter Horst said. "Helm, steer one two zero. Make your depth twelve hundred meters smartly, then follow the bottom."
"Steer one two zero, aye aye, sir," the helmsman said. "Make my depth twelve hundred meters smartly, then follow the bottom, aye aye."
"We'll sweep from south to north," ter Horst said, "and do a salvage search. We'll go active with our chin-mounted HF sonar when we reach ground zero of the last torpedo."
"The bottom's sand or mud," Van Gelder said.
"Exactly," ter Horst said. "Even with bad acoustic conditions we should find some wreckage easily. Their reactor vessel's a third of a meter of manganese-molybdenum carbon steel on every side. Parts of that thing would survive a direct hit from an H-bomb.
"
Challenger finally seemed back on an even keel. Ilse was ready for another shower—
after that roller-coaster ride through the atomic blast zone her body was damp with sweat. She'd gone beyond exhaustion now, long past feeling tired. Anaerobic respiration, she told herself, my second wind. Toxins are building up throughout my body. I just can't feel them yet.
"Good job, COB and Meltzer," she heard Jeffrey say.
"I can see the new gray hairs already," COB said.
Jeffrey chuckled. "New London ought to add this problem to the simulator training. Assistant Navigator, make a note in the deck log. Egress through the sonar whiteout seems a natural tactic, regardless of a boat's depth capabilities. . . . You do need a strong stomach, though."
"Aye aye sir," the assistant navigator said.
Ilse studied the local bottom charts, trying to make herself useful. Through the CACC
speakers she could hear the constant gurgling, hissing roar outside the hull, the noise level dropping only slowly with the range because the three ground zeros formed an extended linear source—she'd been doing her homework on sonar. Interlaced with the lingering explosion effects was maddened pinging by surface units in the distance.
"Oceanographer," Jeffrey said.
Ilse turned to face him.
"What would Jan ter Horst be thinking now?"
Ilse gave Jeffrey a funny look. "I didn't know him in a
professional capacity, Commander." She immediately
regretted the choice of words. She saw Jeffrey blush. "Extrapolate," he said. "Anything's better than nothing. He'll be doing the same with us."
"He'll try to make sure we're dead."
"He won't just take it for granted, after that atomic ruckus?"
"No," Ilse said. "Jan takes nothing for granted." She made a face.
"What do you mean, exactly?" Jeffrey said.
"Rumor had it, when he was at sea he had people checking up on me."
"The jealous sort, you mean?"
"
"Very.
"Was he married?"
"Commander," Ilse said, giving him a dirty look. "Sorry" Jeffrey said, "I'm not too good at this." "That's all right. No, I used to tease him he was a bigamist, married to his career and to his ego."
"Very funny," Jeffrey said, obviously not meaning it. "He'll want to gloat over the carcass now," Ilse said,
"Challenger's remains. . . . And he won't want to share
credit for locating the kill with another captain."
"So he'll come looking for the wreckage right away" "Yes, I think so," Ilse said. "And he won't find any,
will he?"
Jeffrey frowned. "XO, take the conn."
"Aye aye, sir," Bell said. "This is the acting XO, I have the Conn."
"Aye aye," the watch standers said.
"Ilse, Commodore," Jeffrey said, "join me at the navigation plotting table, please." Jeffrey hobbled over. Ilse rose and followed him.
She and Morse and Jeffrey conferred with the assistant navigator. The local nautical chart was already up on the main horizontal flat screen. The assistant navigator brought a copy onto the smaller working screen.
"Overlay the locations of the nuclear blasts," Jeffrey said, bending over the table, using it to help support his weight. The assistant navigator worked the keyboard and three red Xs popped onto the working screen.
"Okay Chief," Jeffrey said, "now add the torpedo tracks." Three lines appeared, leading back from the Xs toward an area nearer the shore.
"Hmm," Jeffrey said. "If I were ter Horst, I'd search the arc along the Xs, on the inner edge of the sonar whiteout zone. Use my HF gear to look for Challenger's debris."
"Makes sense," Morse said.
"Whichever end he starts at," Jeffrey said, "north or south, he'll have to go slow. Sonar conditions are still pretty awful. There'll be high attenuation loss from bubbles and stirred-up particles. Right, Ilse?"
"Absolutely."
"And high-frequency sound sheds its energy the fastest," Jeffrey said, "so his search will cover fairly narrow swaths."
Morse smiled. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking . . . Captain?" Ilse looked up. "You're going to shoot at him."
"Does that bother you?" Jeffrey said. "If you're emotionally i
nvolved, I need to know it now."
Damn you, Jeffrey Fuller, Ilse thought. After everything we've been through together on this mission. "My whole family's dead or disappeared because of him."
"Sorry," Jeffrey said. He sounded like he meant it. "Here's my plan," he said. "We have four Mark 88s left. It's time to use one. We'll program it to run along the arc through all the Xs, starting near our end, the south. We
preset it to move just over the bottom, using slow speed, twenty knots, until it locks on Voortrekker."
Morse nodded. "That'll give it plenty of cruising range to turn back and try again if needed."
"Affirmative," Jeffrey said. "We'll make the unit ping on active at low intensity so it won'
t be blind, and at the same time Voortrekker won't hear it coming till too late."
"They may think its pings are their own garbled side-scan echoes," Morse said, "or stray signals from a friendly. Doppler will be chaotic out there now."
"All the better," Jeffrey said. "We'll preset the frequency to forty-five kilohertz, since some of their frigates use that for mine avoidance. We'll have the weapon do a wigwag search, to help disguise its base approach course. We'll preset the warhead for maximum yield."
"Decimal one KT?" Morse said.
"Best we can do," Jeffrey said. "Ilse, you know these waters. Am I missing something?"
"No," she said. "We have to strike back quickly. But why not use two fish? Send one to search down from the north end of the arc."
"We're awful low on ammo," Jeffrey said quietly, "and awfully far from home. The Mark 88s are the only weapons we can operate at depth. ADCAPs and ISLMMs will fail much past three thousand feet, and that's on a good day. And to launch our Tomahawks we'd have to be much shallower than that."
"Okay," Ilse said. "I was just curious." She noticed Jeffrey's eyes were strangely hooded for a moment. Is he concerned I challenged his authority, or is this some personal quirk?
I noticed it when we first met, he's the sensitive type outside of purely military circles. . .
. Could it be he has trouble making shop talk with a woman . . . or that he likes it? Still single at his age, and so damned good-looking too, I wonder what's the deal.
"Fire Control," Jeffrey said, "I aver that ROEs apply for hot pursuit in enemy territory, authorizing use of tactical nuclear weapons undersea."
