Scorpion in the Sea

SEVENTY-ONE

“Hydrophone effects, bearing 255! Multiple screws! Screamers inbound! Screamers inbound!” yelled an excited voice over the 29MC speaker from sonar control.

The report galvanized everyone in CIC, including Mike, who jumped out of his chair.

“What’s our course?!” he shouted.

“240!” yelled the surface supervisor.

“Bridge, Combat, torpedoes inbound! Come left with hard rudder, flank speed, to 210!” Mike yelled over the bitchbox to the bridge.

Basic rule: torpedo coming from ahead, turn across the bearing, and steady up within thirty degrees of the bearing. If the torpedoes were aimed ahead, they had to miss. Unless they were active homers or wire guided.

The report of torpedoes inbound was repeated over the ship’s announcing system, and Goldsborough shook herself violently as the snipes poured on the steam, her propellers kicking out huge gouts of white water from under the stern, the rudder barely able to hold over in the face of seventy thousand shaft horsepower beating the water. Men who were not strapped into their console chairs were tossed over to one side of CIC as the ship heeled and then dug in to come up to speed.

“Hydrophone effects increasing, sharp up doppler, bearing 253!” reported sonar control.

Mike had a horrifying thought. The bearing drift was now left, and he had turned left. He had assumed the fish were aimed at Goldsborough. Was he turning right into them?

“Mark your head!” he called.

“Sir, our course is 215, coming to 210, speed is twenty two, and increasing.”

“Captain!” yelled the weapons officer. “Recommend we fire one torpedo down the bearing, initial search depth 200 feet!”

The weapons officer held his finger over the firing button.

“Permission granted, fire one torpedo down the hydrophone effects bearing, set for 200 feet.”

There was a whooshing sound from the starboard side as the air flask propelled the MK 46 torpedo thirty feet over the side. “Hydrophone effects bearing 249, amplitude increasing!” reported sonar again, the speaker’s voice rising in pitch.

“Bridge, Combat, emergency flank bell. Tell the snipes what’s coming!”

“Bridge, aye, we did. We can’t see any tracks yet, but we’re looking!”

Mike felt a momentary surge of relief. If the torpedo tracks were not yet visible, they might have another minute to cross the tracks. The guy had fired way off. Unless. Unless — he had fired at the carrier!

“Bearing to the carrier,” he called.

“Sir, carrier bears 135 from us, range thirty six thousand and opening!”

Mike did the arithmetic. Shit! That’s what he’d done. Fired at the carrier. A pursuit shot! Mike grabbed the bitch-box switch.

“XO! Tell Coral Sea to make an emergency turn due north, torpedoes coming in his wake now!”

Then he punched in the bitchbox button to sonar.

“UB, prepare to roll three depth charges, set for shallow, repeat, set for shallow: fifty feet. Linc, I want to drop them in the path of the torpedoes — he’s fired at the carrier. Go, man, go!”

Goldsborough was shaking from stem to stern as she came up to 27, then to 28 knots. In his excitement, the helmsman had overshot the ordered course, and was throwing everyone around as he compensated.

“Hydrophone effects bearing 248, amplitude increasing!” reported sonar. “Charges set for fifty feet, ready, Cap’n.”

The hydrophone effects bearing had steadied. Goldsborough was crossing their track just about now.

“Roger, roll three in ten second intervals, now, now, now!”

“Sonar, aye; rolling one!”

Mike grabbed the 1MC microphone.

“This is the Captain speaking! We’re avoiding a torpedo attack. The submarine has fired torpedoes at the carrier, and we’re going to roll three shallow depth charges in their path to disrupt the attack. Stand by for—”

There was huge, blamming sound, and the ship vibrated even more violently as the first charge went off, close enough to punch a swell of hydrostatic pressure under the destroyer’s stern and lift her screws nearly out of the water. Astern an enormous blast of dirty gray water erupted into the sky.

“Rolling two!”

This time everyone braced, and were again treated to a wrenching whump, followed by the eruption in their wake. Over the noise, Mike heard the ominous sound of a forced draft blower winding down. Something must have given way down below under the shock of the depth charges.

“Rolling three!”

Mike closed his eyes in a tight grimace as the ship was hammered again.

“Combat, Bridge, Coral Sea acknowledges and is coming left. He says a helo is lifting off in three minutes.”

“Roger that, XO. Have the OOD get an OpRep out ASAP; tell the beach this guy is here, no shit. Positive sub!”

“Here, no shit, positive sub, aye!”

“Hydrophone effects bearing 255! Right bearing drift, we’re across—”

The 29 MC was drowned out by one, two, three booming blasts astern of the destroyer as three of the torpedoes ran into the boiling vortices of the depth charges, went tumbling out of control, and exploded as their guidance systems decided that they had made a contact hit on their targets. Goldsborough again lurched as the shock waves came in from astern, although they were not as powerful as the depth charges had been. The ship was vibrating badly now as the screws became unbalanced, one turning at twenty eight knots, the other losing power rapidly.

“Goddamn, Combat,” yelled the Exec from the bridge over the bitchbox. “End of the world back there, Cap’n!”

“What’s happened in the plant?” called Mike.

“Hydrophone effects, bearing 030,” reported sonar. “And we’ve lost the fanfare!”

“Shit! One got away,” Mike said through tight lips. He punched the bitchbox switch.

“XO, call the carrier. Tell him we intercepted three of the torpedoes, but one got away and is chasing him. Tell him to continue due north, emergency bell!”

“XO, aye, and we’ve lost vacuum in number two engine room after the depth charges went off; Cap’n, we’re gonna have to slow down and lock that shaft!”

“Combat, aye. Ben, he’s gonna fire at us next. Come to speed fifteen, and come back west to 250. We’ve gotta get contact on that bastard. Tell the Engineer to do what he has to.”

“Hydrophone effects diminishing to the east, Combat. That thing’s still running, but with marked down doppler.”

“Is our fish running?”

There was a pause, as the sonar operator below shifted focus to the west.

“Affirmative, our unit is in search mode, bearing 245. In search mode. Wait one, our unit has exploded, Sir!”

“Did it acquire?”

Mike waited while they checked with the acoustic operator.

“Negative, Sir, the unit’s sonar never changed mode. She’s probably hit the bottom, Cap’n.”

“All right, maybe it kept him off balance. Look hard, guys, and be ready for more torpedoes.”