Fatal Thunder

18 PURSUIT

It had taken more time than she could afford to just get the videoconference organized. Although in theory, Submarine Squadron Fifteen was coordinating the military forces involved in the hunt for Chakra, the reality was far more complex.

China was insisting that any aircraft or ship employed in the operation be under their “positive control.” They refused to say what that meant. They also refused to say what ships and aircraft from their own forces would take part in the search, or what their capabilities were. After three days of Chinese turndowns, delays, and evasions, Commodore Simonis had finally brought Joanna Patterson into the loop. She’d agreed that the issue was something that needed to be addressed at a higher level.

In spite of the urgency, the defense minister couldn’t spare them any time until it was very late, Beijing time, and in Guam. When the teleconference was finally set up, General Shi We, the PRC’s Minister of National Defense, was late, and appeared impatient, dividing his attention between the teleconference and someone off to one side and out of view. It was not a good start to the meeting.

Shi’s image showed a man in his seventies, balding and thin. He was not sympathetic to Simonis’s concerns. “We don’t have time to deal with these requests. The Chinese government is currently concerned with mobilizing our forces to stop these criminals.”

“That is unacceptable, General.” Patterson’s tone was harsh, almost angry. “Many nations have banded together to assist in your defense, and China seems reluctant, even unwilling, to accept that help.”

“We might not need any assistance if our fleet had not been decimated by sneak attacks,” he spat.

“General Shi, we have good information about the losses to your fleet during the recent conflict. While your commercial tankers suffered grievous losses, China only lost about a dozen major warships and even fewer submarines. Are these enough to prostrate China’s navy?”

Shi looked ready to explode, then seemed to gather himself. He said carefully, “China is grateful for any assistance in this dangerous time.” Patterson thought his English was very good, especially if he could use it when he was so upset. He’d obviously been ordered to play nicely, but also obviously didn’t like doing it.

Commodore Simonis had been silent during this exchange, but Patterson had remained aware of his presence. He’d called her when he’d been unable to coordinate with the Chinese, and this meeting, arranged with such difficulty, confirmed his report. She was now as concerned as he was.

“General, Commodore Simonis reports he’s been unable to properly organize aircraft patrols, because your navy refuses to abandon the initial barrier patrol off the coast of Vietnam. It’s over three hundred miles from your base in Hainan, which means a lot of wasted time getting to and from the patrol line. He’s recommended a zone closer to your coast, which will maximize the time your aircraft spend on station.”

Shi nodded. “I am familiar with this issue.”

“The commodore says he’s been unable to get an explanation of the reasons for this, much less your navy’s cooperation.”

She nodded toward Simonis’s image, and the commodore added, “I’ve promised to put a P-8 Poseidon in its place, the most capable aircraft we have, with far better sensors than the SH-5 or Y-8s you’ve been putting out there.”

“It may be more capable,” the general responded, “but is it true that the Indian Navy is also operating P-8 aircraft from your base in Guam?”

“Yes,” Simonis replied. “They’ve provided four aircraft so far, all they have operational, and promise more within twenty-four hours.”

“And they will be patrolling throughout the area?” Shi asked.

“Yes, all along Chakra’s possible transit routes, as part of the overall search plan.” Simonis answered carefully, but Patterson could hear a question in his tone. Where was Shi going with this?

“Will there be American observers aboard the Indian planes, people other than the crews?”

Simonis’s expression on the monitor showed his confusion. “No, why would there be?”

“To ensure that if they detect the criminal submarine, they actually report it.” Patterson and Simonis both started to answer at the same time, and when they both paused, giving each other a chance to speak, Shi added, “We are amazed that the same country that owns the rogue submarine is sending aircraft to ‘help’ find it.”

Patterson countered, “We have no reason to doubt the dedication of the Indian crews. Their government is doing its best to arrest the conspirators, and has actually sent a liaison officer to provide information on Chakra’s specifications and tactics.”

“Very comforting. The Chinese government will be very surprised if an Indian aircraft reports the location of the Indian submarine, much less attacks and sinks it.”

On her laptop computer, a text message from Simonis appeared. “I can put a parallel barrier just behind the Chinese zone. It’s a waste of resources, but we can’t make them trust the Indians.” Shi couldn’t see it, and she typed a quick “OK, thanks.”

“Let’s table that issue for a moment, General. Commodore Simonis is also concerned about receiving the hydrographic information near the target ports, and along the coast. He’s requested the information several times, and the only answer he’s received is that the information is being updated and isn’t ready yet.”

Simonis started to speak, but Shi cut him off. “I understand the importance of such information to antisubmarine searches,” he said sharply. “Salinity, temperature gradients, ambient noise, and so on.

“Another important feature marked on the charts are wrecked ships. Patrol planes searching for submarines use magnetic detectors to look for the submarine’s metal hull. A sunken ship could easily be mistaken for a submerged submarine, so even if the wreck is not a hazard to navigation, the location must still be marked on the chart.”

By now, Patterson was texting Simonis offscreen. She typed a “???” to which the commodore responded, “Their ASW charts must be worse than ours.”

Shi was still talking. “About six months ago, a large number of wrecks were added to those already present. If your pilots use the existing charts, they’ll discover that China’s coastal waters are full of submarines.”

Patterson was still trying to think of what to text Simonis when a message appeared from him: “WAPOBS.” She hadn’t seen that acronym before. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it probably wasn’t polite.

It turned out Shi was just getting started. “It is also vital that Commodore Simonis inform us of the flight plans and positions of all aircraft as they enter the South China Sea aircraft identification zone…”

Patterson had to stop herself from groaning out loud. Ever since the end of the war, the Chinese had “reestablished” the “air defense zone” to help support their territorial claim to the entire South China Sea. It was pure posturing, and accomplished nothing.

She cut Shi off in midsentence. “General Shi, is it possible that you do not understand the threat posed by this submarine to your country?”

“Do you mean the threat by the Indians to send nuclear torpedoes into five of our largest coastal cities, incinerating millions of Chinese citizens? That threat?”

Shi paused, then declared, “We have no intention of letting you turn the South China Sea into an American lake, or letting Littoral Alliance and American vessels operate freely in our waters. One reason why I’m meeting with you at this late hour is that the Central Military Commission just finished holding an emergency meeting. We are putting our nuclear forces on wartime alert. A message has been sent to the Indian government stating that if a nuclear weapon destroys a Chinese city, India will lose a city of the same size. Ports first, of course, but…”

“This is insane!” Patterson shouted. “The submarine has gone rogue. The Indians have been broadcasting recall messages nonstop.”

“Maybe they haven’t been trying hard enough,” Shi replied in a condescending tone. “I know you’re convinced it’s gone rogue, and you’re trying to stop it. But aren’t you also taking advantage of a crisis created by the Indians to extend your influence in the region?

“Think about it, Dr. Patterson. The Littoral Alliance’s goal in the recent war was to wreck our economy. They couldn’t manage it then, so the Indians concocted this plot to finish the job. Because this will indeed wreck my nation, and if only millions died I’d think we were fortunate. But if millions of Chinese do die, then India will suffer just as dearly.”

“But they have no control over it!” Patterson insisted.

“That remains to be seen. A demarche was sent to the Indian government about an hour ago. Many of use believe the ‘rogue’ submarine will have a change of heart. They may even put the captain through some sort of show trial along with the rest of the ‘conspirators.’ Certainly a failed plan of this magnitude will require some housecleaning.”

“And if Chakra doesn’t turn around?”

“China will defend herself. If your ships and planes find and sink the Indian, that is good news and we will be genuinely grateful. But our navy commander has assured us that they are concentrating their defenses to protect our ports. Since those operations are happening inside our own territorial waters, there is no need to coordinate with your forces. As long as your ships and planes stay outside our territorial waters, you may do as you please.”

“The navigation aid on Wenwei Zhou Island bears green zero nine one degrees, ten kilometers. We are on track, recommend turning to zero five five degrees in thirty seconds. That will take us between the two marked channels.” Although Lieutenant Commander Kumar Rakash had taken over Jain’s duties as first officer, before that he’d been Chakra’s navigator, and Jain had insisted that he take over his old job for the actual approach to the firing position.

“What’s the distance to the wreck ahead of us?” Jain asked.

“Eight thousand, two hundred meters, bearing red zero two five,” Rakash responded instantly. “After the turn we will be opening the range. Mark the turn.”

“Starboard fifteen, steer new course zero five five degrees.” Now it began. Jain was nervous, and fought to keep his voice calm. Although they’d been warned to watch for signs of hostile activity, it appeared the Chinese were not expecting them. All he had to do was focus on the navigation. That was the only thing that could get him into trouble, but that was enough.

Hong Kong was a world-class deep-water port, but only for surface vessels. Thirty meters of water was more than enough for the largest supertanker, but Chakra needed eighteen meters just to submerge. Splitting the difference gave her only six meters over her sail and six between her keel and the bottom.

“Lieutenant Kota, report.” Jain tried to speak softly, to project the calmness he wished he felt.

“There are five ships ahead of us in the Lema Channel, three heading northeast ahead of us, the other two approaching on southwest courses. Closing speeds on both approaching vessels are ten knots. All contacts show appropriate bearing drift.”

Lieutenant Harish Kota, the usual navigator, had been assigned the sole task of tracking the heavy merchant traffic in the channel, using passive bearings from Chakra’s hull sonars.

“Drafts?” asked the captain.

“We’ve identified two, both container ships: Xin Ning Bo, nine meters, northeast at ten knots and Wanhai 317, eleven meters, southwest at ten knots. There’s also a small tanker, and two even smaller vessels, all doing about ten knots.”

That was the regulated speed in the channel, which was divided into two lanes, northeast toward the harbor and southwest toward the open sea. While it was theoretically possible to pass another ship in your lane in the channel, the authorities judged it unwise and required all vessels to maintain the same speed, as well as a healthy separation between each ship in the lane.

Jain was taking Chakra, submerged, up the two-thousand-meter-wide buffer between the inbound and outbound channels. Like a bicyclist pedaling on the median between opposing lanes of traffic, drifting too far to either side meant disaster.

But all he had to do was steer straight on course 055 degrees for eighteen and a half miles. At five knots, that would take almost four hours, but he didn’t dare go any faster or Chakra would leave a V-shaped wake on the surface, pointing like an arrow to his exact position. Merchant sailors were not the most observant lot, but Jain was sure that with all the traffic up there, somebody would ask embarrassing questions.

And that would be a problem. From this point on, he was committed to a four-hour run to the northeast, to the firing point in the center of the channel. If he was spotted, he could not maneuver or dive deep to evade pursuit. Speeding up would be pointless.

“First Officer, keep us biased toward the outbound channel. It’s the inbound channel I worry about.”

“Only if they don’t stay in the channel, sir.”

“Exactly my concern. A merchant traveling at ten knots and us at five knots, and blind in our stern arc, with no way to see him coming? Do you trust civilian navigators to stay in the lane?”

“No, sir!”

Jain turned to Kota, working at the next console. “And any time there’s a sizable gap in the outbound traffic, tell the first officer and me so we can slide Chakra over even farther to the left.”

Jain saw the Russian Orlav enter the central post from forward. He waited for the captain to turn away from the chart table before reporting. “Prefiring checks are complete, Captain. The weapon is loaded in tube number one, as ordered.” His navy reflexes had kicked in. He might as well have been one of the crew.

“Very well,” Jain remarked automatically. He turned to look at Rakash, who without prompting reported, “Sixteen and a half miles, three hours and twenty minutes.”

“Very well.” Jain nodded, then asked Orlav, “Where is Kirichenko?” He didn’t bother with the Russian’s title. He might have been an admiral once, but he wasn’t anymore, as far as Jain was concerned.

“In our stateroom,” Orlav answered.

“Poring over maps, no doubt,” Jain said, laughing. Orlav frowned at his tone, but said nothing.

Theoretically, Orlav didn’t need to make any checks, but if there was a problem that prevented the torpedo from working as intended, he wouldn’t get paid. The two Russians had actually finished their assembly work two days ago. In addition to installing the last two torpedo warheads, they had reset the timers on all five weapons to April 23, since they were leaving two weeks earlier than Operation Vajra had originally planned.

Kirichenko had complained nonstop about the lack of proper lighting, the lack of enough tools, and especially the cramped working conditions, but they had to work in the torpedo room. In addition to the five special weapons, Chakra carried thirty-three UGST-type torpedoes — a full load. Dhankhar had made sure that if they had to fight their way in or out, they had the wherewithal to do it.

So, although it had taken longer than expected, they had still finished with time to spare. The moment Jain had inspected their work, and announced that he was satisfied, Kirichenko turned over the code cards and asked for the money Dhankhar had promised them.

“Is there somewhere you plan to spend it?” Jain asked. He was smiling at the man’s foolishness, even while he was repelled by the Russian’s greed. Kirichenko started to protest, but Jain cut him off. “You will get your money as was agreed, once we are away and the weapons have exploded. As promised, we will then put you two off in rubber rafts with your money.”

Knowing that there was nothing else to be done, Kirichenko had asked for a nautical chart and a port directory. Since then, he had appeared only for meals, which he ate silently, brooding.

Orlav had been more cooperative, or maybe Kirichenko wasn’t the best company and he preferred the companionship of the crew. He’d borrowed a pair of coveralls and proceeded to thoroughly check over the firing circuits and all the other modifications that had been made.

“Sonar contact close aboard, starboard side aft!” The urgency of Kota’s report almost made everyone glance over their shoulder. It was only a moment later that they actually heard a thrum-thrum-thrum through the hull.

“Bearing rate!” Jain demanded, which Kota acknowledged with a quick nod as he looked at the Omnibus display.

The navigator-turned-contact-coordinator held out a hand for a moment, then reported “Rapid left,” meaning that the ship which had suddenly emerged from their blind arc aft was passing down their starboard side, as it was supposed to, and was not in danger of ramming into the submerged submarine.

Kota reported, “Contact evaluated as a medium-sized tanker.”

“You could have fooled me,” Jain replied, smiling.

Most of the crewmen in the central post laughed, and Jain with them.

“Let me guess: speed ten knots, headed northwest.”

Kota nodded agreement.

“Tell the sonar operator well done.”

There were five more overtakes in the next three hours, each as sudden as the first, and just as terrifying, until it could be confirmed that their bearing drift showed that they were passing along the sub’s starboard side as they headed into port.

If the bearing had stayed constant, and knowing that the ship was likely five knots faster than his boat, Jain would have ordered a sudden zig out of the way. The problem was that ten-thousand-ton submarines didn’t zig quickly. He’d actually had to consider the size of Chakra’s turning circle at five knots, which was huge, as well as the width of Lema Channel, which was not all that roomy. It would be a desperate, risky maneuver, but better than being ground down into the bottom under a merchant’s keel.

Orlav had gone forward to the torpedo room. There was nothing else for him to do there, but it seemed the best place for him to wait.

“Firing point in six minutes,” the first officer reported.

Jain acknowledged the report. He wouldn’t use the periscope. They didn’t need periscope bearings to launch the torpedo, not unless Stonecutters Bridge had shifted its position. The massive suspension bridge linking Stonecutters Island to southern Hong Kong was his aim point, and they couldn’t see it anyway, not at twenty-plus miles away and with Lamma Island blocking the line of sight. Besides, the surface traffic was insane. He’d be lucky if someone only spotted the scope head, and didn’t run him over.

“Tube one at action state,” Rakash reported, now wearing his first officer hat. “Two thousand meters to firing point.”

“Very well.” Jain was watching the time and distance carefully, but launching the weapon was only the next step in a continuing process. Actually, he was already thinking about the turn, which would be just a little to the right. That would take them toward the northern exit from the channel, another five miles ahead.

“Confirm the settings,” Jain ordered.

Kirit, the combat system officer, reported, “Turn to zero zero zero degrees, due north, for seventeen nautical miles, one waypoint with a turn to zero three two, then five point two miles. Constant depth of fifteen meters until the dive at the end.”

Jain followed along on the chart as the combat system officer read off the torpedo’s ordered course. It was all correct. The weapon could actually swim as far as twenty-seven nautical miles, and could turn more than once, but once was enough for this port. Not only did the torpedo’s long range shorten the time he had to spend in a hostile location, but the harbor shallowed rapidly to the north, with depths of much less than thirty meters. Twenty meters was average, in some spots less than that. The torpedo could operate freely at fifteen meters, but Chakra would need wheels to stay submerged in water that shallow, if she could do it at all.

Jain walked over to the torpedo control console. Kirit had selected “Arming Code” on his display, and the cursor hovered over an empty box. A new keypad, part of Chakra’s modifications, sat on the upper left corner of the console, and Jain looked at the card he’d taken out of his shirt pocket. He slowly punched in the eight-digit code on the keypad, checking each number as he entered it, and as he typed the last digit, the numbers changed from white to red, and were then replaced with “Armed.”

“Firing point in one minute.”

Jain ordered, “Open bow cap on tube one.” Operating the mechanism that opened the outer tube door would make some noise for a short time, called a “transient.” In open water he might worry about a hostile sub hearing it, but in the bedlam of a harbor it was just one more hammer in a boiler factory.

“Bow cap open on tube number one,” Kirit reported. “Standing by.”

Jain watched Rakash, and Rakash watched the clock and the chart display. Jain could see him counting down, and the first officer said, “Fifteen seconds,” and then, “Firing point.”

“Firing sequence, tube one.”

“Firing sequence tube one, aye,” Kirit responded, then announced, “Torpedo is away.”

Jain was ready. “Close bow cap on tube one, starboard fifteen, steady on new course zero three seven.” He watched Rakash as he gave the order. The first officer nodded, confirming that the preplanned course was still good.

Five miles to the exit. He was tempted to increase speed, like a thief leaving the scene of a crime, but a wise thief would know to walk, and not run, lest he draw attention to himself.

Once they were steadied on their new course, and clear of any traffic using the northern part of the channel, Jain picked up the microphone for the general announcing system. “Attention, all hands, this is the Captain. You have all performed your different duties extremely well, without asking questions. That doesn’t mean you don’t have questions, and I can now tell you that our mission is to strike deep at the heart of Pakistan’s patron and supplier, China. We have just launched a single torpedo which, about twenty minutes from now, will reach the heart of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbor and dive down, burying itself in the mud at the base of Stonecutters Bridge. In eight days, at exactly noon, the nuclear warhead the torpedo carries will detonate, destroying the heart of one of China’s largest ports.

“We have four more such weapons, and will visit four more ports before we leave Chinese waters. We will be well out to sea by April twenty-third, when all five torpedoes explode at the same moment, crippling our old enemy and signaling the start of a new surprise offensive by our ground and air forces in Pakistan. Without the Chinese to prop them up, the Paks will turn tail and their lines will crumble. By the time we return home, China will be in ruins and the war will be over, with the Pakistanis in front of us on their knees!”

He hadn’t intended to put that much emotion into the speech, but the thought of an end to not just the current war, but the decades-long struggle with Pakistan, had fired his mind since Vice Admiral Dhankhar had given him his orders. He’d do his utmost to knock out the supports that had kept Pakistan fighting long after she should have given up.

Besides, he must have struck the right tone, because while the crewmen in the central post were quiet, he could hear cheering coming from the fore and aft passageways.

Although reaching the firing point and launching the weapon was a major accomplishment, the reality was anticlimactic. There was no explosion, and would not be for several days, thank goodness. For all the excitement, they could have just as easily delivered a gallon of milk. He took some comfort in the fact that there were now only four nuclear weapons aboard his boat, instead of five.

Although the northern part of the Lema Channel was also divided into two lanes, there was considerably less traffic here, and it was a much shorter run, just five and a half miles to the turn point past Dangan Island on the southeast side. The greatest hazard was still navigational, and while they’d had to be careful around several submerged wrecks in the channel on the way in, the northern passage was littered with them, which might explain the lighter traffic. The biggest problem were three wrecks spaced like the posts of a picket fence, roughly one mile apart across the six-mile-wide exit. They were too deep for a merchant ship to worry about, but they lay square in his path.

Forty-five minutes after they had turned, and in accordance with the plan they’d worked out long before entering the harbor, Jain said, “Energize the Arfa sonar.”

The Arfa was the exact opposite of Chakra’s main Skat-3 search sonar, which was a big, low-frequency set that lined the sub’s flanks and filled the bow. Arfa was much smaller, and fit on the front of the sub’s sail. It also operated at a much higher frequency, well above human hearing. While it couldn’t see more than a couple of miles or so out in front of the sub, it gave a clear image on the display, not quite an underwater camera but good enough to make out what was in front of them. Its earliest ancestors had guided submarines through minefields in World War II, and it could locate mines or obstructions, like wrecks, in a sub’s path.

Although it sent out an active high-frequency ping, high-frequency sound didn’t go as far as lower frequencies. An active pulse from the Skat-3 sonar transducer would carry dozens of miles. The Arfa’s signal would weaken quickly. Besides, he wasn’t going to leave it on all the time.

“No sign of obstructions,” Rakash reported, or rather confirmed. Jain could see for himself that the Arfa’s display was clear. “Recommend cease transmissions, next transmission in ten minutes.”

“Very well,” Jain acknowledged. They’d be fifteen hundred meters farther along, with a good chance of spotting the wrecks. He was beginning to feel impatient. His mind was already out past Dangan Island, wondering again if there was any way to shave more time off the trip to the next port.

“Tube one has been reloaded with a conventional UGST torpedo,” Kirit reported.

“Very well.” They would have to pull the weapon out when they reached the next target so they could load a nuclear-armed torpedo, but until then, he wanted all eight tubes ready for a fight.

Traffic was lighter in the channel, but there was still one ship approaching, and another almost out. The departing ship had been much closer when they turned, but with them still creeping at five knots, it had pulled steadily away.

“Recommend energizing Arfa sonar again.”

“All right, First Officer, go ahead.”

Thirty seconds later they studied a white-on-green image of the seabed and the objects ahead of them. It resembled a false-color television picture, but strangely shadowed, unless you understood what it represented. Things that reflected sonar well were bright, while softer or porous materials were dimmer. Rocks and new metals were brightest, then sand and corroded metal were a little dimmer. Mud and masses of plant life showed as dark spots. There was enough resolution to not only see the three wrecks, but also their condition. One was little more than a skeleton, one an angular mass of metal, while the third was almost intact. Passing too close to any of them would risk damaging his boat.

A bearing readout across the bottom of the screen gave Jain exactly what he needed. “Starboard fifteen, steer zero three four.”

The helmsman acknowledged the order, and Jain said, “Rakash, I intend to go to the left of the center wreck. The gap between left and center…”

“Torpedo propellers bearing green zero one four! Seeker is active!” shouted the sonar operator over the intercom. The acoustic intercept receiver, a device designed to listen for and warn them about hostile sonar transmissions, began beeping loudly just as sonar gave their report.

“Release countermeasure, release decoy!” Jain gave the order almost without thinking. “Rapid fire procedures, tubes one and two, torpedo course zero four six, zero five zero! Full speed, minimal enable run! Fire!”

Jain barely heard Kirit acknowledge the firing order. “Helmsman, increase speed to twenty knots, change depth to eighteen meters.” His maneuvering orders were punctuated by two dull shocks he could feel through the deck as the torpedoes were fired.

He looked around the central post. The decoy and countermeasure were out there, hopefully muddying up the water, and he’d counterfired two weapons back down the bearing of the approaching torpedo. The deck was vibrating under their feet as the prop spun, churning the water into froth as Chakra built up speed. For the moment, that was all they could do. Was it enough?

“Sonar, report.”

“Seeker is active, constant bearing.”

Rakash was watching the sonar display next to Jain. They were still heading for the gap between the wrecks, although Chakra seemed to be going slower, not speeding up.

The first officer observed, “Turning really isn’t an option here…”

“In the channel?” Jain observed. “Besides, that would mean turning back the way we came. Open water and safety is out ahead of us. Kirit, what about our torpedoes?”

“Both running at speed, their seekers are still searching.”

Sonar reported, “Hostile torpedo has shifted from short scale back to search! Steady bearing rate!”

“It’s lost us?” Jain wondered hopefully.

“The countermeasure…” Rakash suggested.

“Hopefully the weapons we sent back will force our attacker to maneuver, breaking any guidance wire. And when the weapon searches for us, it will hopefully home in on either the decoy or maybe even one of the wrecks we are rapidly closing on.”

“Passing fifteen knots,” the helmsman reported. Jain knew that by looking at the Arfa’s sonar display; the sonar didn’t work well at high speed, and the image was blurring and washing out.

He made one last adjustment. “Starboard ten, steer zero three six.”

The wrecks were just a few hundred meters ahead, barely more than a boat length.

Jain announced, “After we’re past the wrecks, I’m going to go active for one ping. Hopefully we will see him. Stand by for sharp maneuvers and to fire another pair of torpedoes. Open bow caps on tubes three and four.”

Jain saw heads nodding. Both Rakash and Kirit said “Understood” softly.

“Sonar, what about the torpedo?” he demanded.

“It’s gone, Captain. Constant bearing all the way. It must have passed directly under us. It’s in the baffles now.” He could almost hear the man’s shrug over the intercom.

“One of our torpedoes has shifted to short scale!” The sonarman’s excited report was almost a shout.

They were past the line of wrecks by now. Part of him wanted to slow down, but the more distance they put between them and the hostile torpedo, the better. It had to be turning by now…

“Explosion!”

“Where away?” Jain demanded.

“Off our starboard bow. Solid hit.” The sonar operator, Chief Petty Officer Patil, had seen enough attacks on merchants during the war to know what one should sound like. But what about the weapon searching for them?

It came an eternity later, almost thirty seconds by the clock. “Sonar reports a low rumble, evaluated as reverberation from an explosion.” Their enemy’s weapon had found something to home in on, and attacked it, all of it happening in their blind zone aft. Still, an echo was all they needed to hear.

“Rakash, can we turn now?”

The navigator only had to glance at the plot. “Yes, Captain! Recommend course one seven five, new depth twenty-five meters. We can increase depth to forty meters in fifteen minutes — twenty minutes if we slow to fifteen knots, which I strongly recommend.”

Jain realized he was gripping the edge of the chart table, hard, and told his hands to let go. They did, which was a relief, and he realized he had fought and won his first battle as Chakra’s captain.

He gave the helmsman the new course, speed, and depth, then turned back to the chart table. He studied the chart and did the math.

“He fired an active weapon, which meant he was close, no more than five thousand meters. That’s how I knew I could fire active weapons back,” Jain remarked to Rakash.

Jain then asked, “Sonar. Did you ever see more than one torpedo fired at us? Did you identify the type?”

“Yes, Captain. Only one weapon was fired and it was a TEST-71 on the high speed setting.”

Jain nodded knowingly. The TEST-71 was a Russian-made torpedo. Chakra had been equipped with similar weapons in the past, but they’d been replaced a few years ago with the newer UGST torpedoes, also Russian-made, but a smarter, more dangerous weapon.

“And they only fired one torpedo,” Jain observed. “That means the shooter was one of their Kilo-class diesel boats. They can only fire one wire-guided torpedo at a time.”

Jain shook his head disparagingly. “He should have fired two and just depended on the torpedo’s seekers.”

Rakash argued, “But the seekers wouldn’t be able to tell us apart from the wrecks.”

“You’re right,” Jain agreed. “So he had to go for positive control and bet on a single shot being enough.”

“But how did he hear us in the harbor? There were at least two merchants between him and us, both as noisy as cement mixers. And active sonar wouldn’t help him search with all that junk on the bottom.”

“But it did,” Jain countered, smiling. “Our own active mine-hunting sonar, that is. When we used our Arfa to search for the wrecks, he heard the pings, but not on his passive search sonar.”

Jain looked at the other officers. They were listening, trying to understand. In fact, the central post was perfectly silent. Everybody was listening.

“The Russian Kilo-class subs the Chinese bought are fitted with the same Arfa collision-avoidance sonar we use. Our first transmission, just for a short time, probably showed up as a spike on their display. That warned them we were out there. Then, we ran it continuously as we approached the wrecks, it not only confirmed our presence, but gave him a beacon to line up his shot.”

Jain admitted, “I made an assumption about the mine-hunting sonar that almost killed us. I failed to ask a very important question about who or what might be searching for us. Well, we know they’ll be searching for us now.”