Armageddon

Chapter 20

Kazan was lavishly armed, with ten torpedo tubes, five on either side of the boat. Two tubes held smaller 533mm torpedoes, six housed the bigger 650mm fish that Gromyko had put in the water, and the last two had been armed with the deadly high speed underwater rocket known as the Shkval, the VA-111 Squall. It was a supercavitating torpedo that was actually a liquid fueled rocket that generated a gas bubble around it as it moved through the water, allowing it to reach a dizzying speed of over 200 knots. The smaller 210kg warhead was designed to find and kill enemy torpedoes, and the weapon could range out to 15,000 meters.

“Let me know the instant you believe that torpedo has found us, Chernov.”

“It’s still searching, sir…Active sonar, but I don’t think it has found us. They are circling near our firing position.”

In the time since Kazan turned, the boat had already moved some 3000 meters on its new heading. The nearest enemy torpedo would soon be that close when it reached the point where they turned, but still minutes away as it circled, trying to find its elusive quarry on active sonar.

“Will it acquire us?” asked Volsky, sweat dotting his brow. He was not accustomed to the more confined space of the submarine, or at all well versed in undersea warfare. An enemy weapon that close was cause for alarm, which is why Gromyko had the Shkval ready if necessary.

“Their sonar is looking for us, Admiral, but Kazan is a very slippery fish too. Even at this speed we make no more sound than typical ocean background noise. It might not acquire us at all. It’s those American Mark 48s I’m more worried about. They have good passive sonar, and they are listening to everything happening out there, and sending all that noise back along their control wire to a very good sonar man. If he’s smart, he will realize what we have just done, using those two big Type 65s to lure in the weapons fired by their helicopters. They’ve seen through that ruse already, but seeing is one thing-finding us is quite another. We still have some time, but I wonder what is happening in the reactor room?”

Dobrynin was listening, listening, listening. It seemed that all human awareness now was focused on sound, and the fate of the boat, their mission, and possibly the world itself was lurking in the subtle whispers, the vibrating quavers at the edge of infinity. The sound of the reaction was not the same as it might be on Kirov, or again on the Anatoly Alexandrov, but he could still hold the score in his mind and hear the song, just as the music of the great masters like Bach, Beethoven or Mozart had been played by different orchestras through the decades after the composers were long gone.

The trilling vibration had fallen as he expected, and now the deeper basso was asserting itself, tenuously at first, but gathering strength and direction, always descending. The water was very quiet here…until the undersea engagement began, and it was not long before the active pings of the oncoming Mark 46 torpedoes could be heard audibly as they circled like sleek sharks searching for Kazan.

Quiet down out there, he thought. I need to make an adjustment.

“Flux readings still green?” he said quietly to his technicians.

“Aye sir, Green and well within expected tolerances.”

“Then move to final phase, speed three, please.”

He listened again. The bass tones were still descending, but they needed to go lower, another half-octave down to a deeper register. Then something happened that upset everything, a loud boom shuddered in the deep silence of the sea as though a great kettle drum had been struck out of time. Dobrynin jumped at the sound, startled. Quiet down, he thought. A man must think!

“Detonation, sir! I think it was one of the Type 89s off the Tokyo-One bearing.”

Gromyko’s expression hardened. That was done deliberately, he thought. That torpedo did not have a lock on his boat. They detonated it manually over the wire to see what we would do, like a destroyer lobbing a few depth charges and then quietly listening.

“There were two torpedoes on that bearing,” he said to Chernov. “Is the other one on active search?”

“No sir, it is circling, but still on passive sonar.”

Gromyko nodded, knowing his hunch had been correct. The closest enemy submarine to their southwest did not have a good fix on them. They were just shouting at the sea and hoping we would shout back while their second torpedo listens. The tactic was futile. They would have had better results just leaving the fish in the hunt. He knew the second torpedo would not hear him, and have to go active soon in a fruitless attempt to acquire. Kazan had moved over 5500 meters since it turned. The other torpedo off Tokyo-One was still over four minutes running time away, easy prey for his Shkval, but the Captain knew his best play was to do nothing.

“Active search now, sir. It is circling, along with the Mark 46s off the helicopters. I think we’ve given them the slip, Captain. Those Mark 46s will be out of fuel soon.”

Then it happened, that stubborn bearing in the turbine room decided it needed just a little more lubricant on one side, and the wobble in its housing was just enough to make a small noise, faint and short lived, but audible, even to the Captain where he stood on the bridge. It was as if someone had squealed, though the information was only useful for passive systems that were still listening intently for any sign of their location… And they were listening.

Far to the east, aboard the SGN Mississippi, a pair of very good eyes and ears were on the sonar system, and they heard that fleeting squeak after the Type 89 detonation had subsided, just a scratch in the groove of the vinyl, a ripple in the waterfall of data on the screen, but enough to matter to a well trained operator on some of the most sensitive and accurate sonar equipment ever designed. The Mississippi could sit off New York harbor and hear shipping in the English Channel. It was that damn good.

“Con, sonar,” said Campanella. “I just picked up a transient, and it sounded like that noise I heard earlier. I think our bird just chirped.”

“Get me a location,” said Captain Donahue.

“Working now, sir… it’s farther on from the initial position. I think they turned on 270.”

Donahue looked at his XO, and Chambers nodded his agreement. “Makes sense,” he said. “You turn away from the long shots to open the range and buy time. Then he pulled that stunt with the torpedoes to lure in the weapons off the Seahawks.”

“What was it they put it the water, Campy?” the Captain asked.

“Sounded like a pair of Type 65s, sir. But I thought the motors failed.”

“One failure I could buy,” said Donahue, “but not both. The bastard just dropped a couple turds in the toilet bowl to bait those close in torpedoes like Mister Chambers has it.”

“Agreed, sir.”

“Why did the Japanese detonate one of their fish? Somebody is getting damn restless out there. You’d think there was a war on here.”

That brought a grin to the XOs face, but the Captain was quickly serious again. “Keep listening, Campy. Feed everything you have to the Weapon’s Officer. My guess is that they dropped those turds and then ran due west. If that is so we’ll keep our two Mark 48’s running on that heading, and listen real good. How long before we crap out on the range?”

“Sir, at 74KPH we can run 50,000 meters.”

“Can we catch up at that speed?”

“Yes sir, but it will take time. I’m going to assume they may be running at twenty knots, though I have no firm data on that. Anything faster and I probably would have a good fix on them by now, but they’re damn quiet up to 20 knots. That said, our fish will reach the initial contact point in another three minutes, but if the target has been running west away from that point as we suspect, then we won’t catch up with them… for another fifteen minutes, sir. Our Mark 48s will be in the hot zone at 19:00 hours.”

“Let’s hope we have the legs for this, gentlemen.”

“Oh, we’ll get there,” said Campanella. “After a thirty minute run they will only have traveled about 36,900 meters, with plenty of fuel left in the tank for an active search if we need one. We could even crank ‘em up to 55 knots, Captain. That would put them over a hundred KPH and they would be on the target much sooner.”

“No, keep them at 40 knots. They have better ears that way and I also I want that time in the fuel tanks for active search.”

XO Chambers leaned in. “That range has opened up, skipper, and you know they can pour it on if they want to and damn near double their speed over that estimated 20 knots Campy has in his equation. We may not get another shot unless we take it now.”

Donahue thought about that. “We’re moving fast, XO. They probably don’t have a fix on our position yet, as we hit them with a lot of noise at 18:30 when everyone joined the conference call and put weapons in the water at the same time. If we fire solo now, however, they will hear us, and you can be damn certain of that. All they might have now is our approximate bearing.”

“The Russian sub Captain is a pretty cool customer, sir. That was a nifty trick with those two Type 65s. They spoofed the 46s off the Seahawks, if only for a moment.”

“A moment is all that matters,” said Donahue. “It doesn’t sound like they’ve acquired.”

“We might fire another pair of Mark 48s now, sir.”

“Yeah? And what if he gets a hair up his ass he could puts four Type 65’s in the water heading our way at 50 knots? No thanks, Mister Chambers. It’s up to the two fish we have running now. Stay on the trail and get me in the hot zone, Campy, that’s all I ask.”

“Roger that, Captain.”

Admiral Volsky heard the detonation, and felt the vibration gently shake the ship, his eyes betraying obvious fear.

“Don’t worry, Admiral,” said Gromyko. “That was a shot in the dark. If I’m not mistaken that was Tokyo-One to our southeast, correct Mister Chernov?”

“Aye, sir. They detonated one of their Type 89s and the other is running passive for a listen.”

“They’re just beating the bushes, Admiral. They don’t know where we are.”

“The Mark-48s are still running true, Captain,” Chernov warned.

Gromyko thought about that for a moment. “How long before I need to worry about them?”

“I have them at 40 knots, sir. So about another fifteen minutes.”

“They don’t know where we are either. Otherwise they would be running full out at 55 knots. But they have taken a very good guess that we turned away from their line of fire. Now let’s see just how good their sonar man really is. Helm, come left ten degrees.”

“Sir, my rudder is left ten degrees and coming to 260.”

Gromyko looked at the Admiral, explaining his maneuver. “If they do have us, then they may alter course as well, or fire a second salvo. If so I get my chance at taking down this American submarine.”

“What about the Japanese submarines?” said Volsky.

“I think we have a solution on Tokyo-One, do we not Mister Chernov?”

“I can get you red on that one, sir. Close enough to leave it to the torpedoes.”

“Not unless they fire at us again, or it appears they have our new bearing. If not, we ignore them. If we engage we just give the enemy more information, and believe it or not, that information is what decides this issue, the weapons just follow suit. Now then… the torpedoes fired from Tokyo-Two… are they still on their initial bearing?”

“They are, sir. Still running on 240.”

“So they have not altered heading, and they have not gone to active sonar. I believe they will not acquire us either. But listen for those Mark 48s Chernov. What are they doing? That is where the real game is now, a game of shadows, dancing in the sea.” He smiled at Volsky, clearly unrattled and in command of his situation.

“Mister Gromyko,” said Volsky. “I can see now why you were given command of this vessel. But I hope to God you are correct.”

“Captain…” Campanella looked up at his skipper, a smile in his eyes. “I think the other fellow just blinked. Something just turned off 270. It wasn’t a whale, sir. I picked up just the barest trace of that chirp again.”

“Where’s our bird flying, Campy?”

“I have them bearing 260 now, and diving, sir.”

Schettler, John

Kirov Saga: Armageddon (Kirov Series)

“Running for cold water,” said Donahue.

“Shall we stick it to them?” Chambers was still thinking they should put two more torpedoes in the water.”

“No…” Donahue waited. “Don’t even move our fish running now. I want the bastard to think we still don’t see him. Get me a predictive plot on where he would be in ten minutes on that heading, and then get flash traffic to the Seahawks. They can get over there a lot faster than we can. In a few minutes we’ll shift our Mark 48s into his wake. But for now, I want him thinking all is as it was before.”

The dance of shadows continued, with each boat Captain trying to second guess the other, and outsmart him in the murky stillness of the sea. They were like blind men with daggers, groping, listening, one arm taught with the cold edge of steel in its hand as they probed for one another in the dark.

I think I’ve found you now, Donahue thought. Why did you move? You had a good game going there on 270. I was wondering if you were up there, above the thermocline, but I wasn’t sure. Why make a depth change now? You’re looking to find the Shadow Zone, aren’t you. Crafty fellow…You want me to move my goddamned torpedoes too! Well, no sir. I won’t tip my hand just yet. If you’ve got the balls to show me your backside in exchange for a little information, then I’ve got the balls to wait you out, as long as I’ve got the wire.

“Can we still get a command out to our fish?”

“Sir, we’ve already spun out our first wire and we’re using the reserve in the fuel tank now.”

The Mark 48 had 9,700 yards of wire in the Torpedo Mounting Dispenser, and an additional 20,000 yards in one of the fuel tanks. That gave them 29,700 yards, or a little over 27,000 meters of wire guided control, but they were rapidly reaching the end of that long, thin tether.

“Another five minutes, sir. We either have to move ‘em or cut ‘em loose to freelance.”

“Then we wait. The boat will run steady on 270 as before. Same for those Mark 48s. Nobody bats an eyelash, understood? We’ll let the Seahawks take another look and see if they can sniff the bastard out. By the time he realizes what we’re doing, it will likely be too late for him to do anything about it. Turn the Mark 48s on the contact’s new heading and unleash them in… four minutes.”

For the next four minutes Mississippi was going to make it seem that the Russian sub had turned unseen in the shadows, safe behind the furled cape of the sea. But the bull was watching from the corner of his eye, and he was about to lower his head and charge.