Fatal Thunder

22 ENDGAME

“Captain, own ship’s units have enabled,” reported Thigpen.

“Very well, XO,” Jerry replied. The ambush had been perfectly executed. Chakra had remained oblivious until North Dakota’s weapons had gone active. He’d initially doglegged them to the south at slow speed, and after a four-thousand-yard separation from his boat, he turned the torpedoes to their intercept course and sped up to forty knots. Chakra knew where the torpedoes were, but she would still be clueless about the whereabouts of her assailant. And that was fine with Jerry, although he took little pleasure in the flawless attack. He could almost hear Samant’s teeth grinding next to him.

Petrov had watched the skilled torpedo attack with admiration. Mitchell’s crew operated like a well-oiled machine, a tribute to Jerry’s leadership. Feeling confident, he leaned over and whispered, “I’m sure you’re aware that this will be the third Russian submarine you’ve had a hand in sinking.”

Sighing, Jerry turned to his friend and grumbled, “Yes, I know. And I really didn’t need to be reminded, Alex. It’s not something I’m proud of. Besides, this battle isn’t over. Let’s not count our chickens just yet.”

“Captain!” called out the sonar supervisor. “Possible target zig by Sierra eight seven.”

“Countermeasures! Launch decoy! Counterfire tube three! Torpedo course zero six zero, high speed, minimal enable run!” shouted Jain as he shoved Kirichenko aside. The Russian staggered back, thrown against the engineering console, shocked by the unexpected attack.

“Helmsman, port twenty, steer course one eight zero. Half ahead, make one hundred seventy-five revs,” Jain barked. “Number One, what’s the position of the wreck to the south?”

“Sir?” Rakash replied, dazed.

“Snap out of it, Number One. How far to the damn wreck!?”

“Ah, three thousand two hundred meters, bearing red zero one zero, sir.”

“Helmsman, continue left to one seven zero,” commanded Jain. Then, hitting the intercom button, “Sonar, any contact on our attacker?”

“Negative, sir. We only hold the torpedoes bearing green one four five, zero bearing rate!”

Jain swore. He had no idea where the attacking submarine was. He’d been jumped completely unawares — the mark of a professional. He didn’t have time to wonder who the American was that was attacking him, or even why. He needed to get his boat out of this birdcage and into deeper water; to flee if he could, or to maneuver if he couldn’t.

Joining his first officer at the chart table, Jain stabbed at the wreck symbol. “I’m going to get as close to the wreck as I can and then turn east. Get on the Arfa sonar and stand by to go active.”

As Rakash jumped to the mine-hunting sonar console, Jain ordered, “Helmsman, make your depth forty meters and be quick about it!” He was getting as close to the bottom as he dared.

“Torpedo in the water! Bearing two zero eight, it’s moving away from us, drawing rapidly to the left!” reported the sonar supervisor.

Jerry smiled slightly and whispered, “I’m not there, Captain.”

“Skipper, new contact bearing two one eight, drawing right. Sierra eight seven is heading south.”

“Very well, sonar supervisor.” Jerry saw the new trace show up on the command workstation display; then, looking up at the starboard VLSD, he saw that the target was moving northwest at fifteen knots.

“That’s a decoy, Captain,” advised Samant. “Jain is following our evasion doctrine perfectly. The countermeasures are to obscure his movements while he counterfires, launches a decoy, and turns away from the attacker.” There was a hint of pride in his voice.

Jerry nodded his approval. “It’s unfortunate for him that I still have my thin-line towed array out. The acoustic countermeasures can’t affect it. And that decoy isn’t very convincing.”

“It’s an older MG-84 mobile decoy, Jerry,” Petrov volunteered. “It’s more effective against ships, submarine hull arrays, and…”

Suddenly, Thigpen burst out, “Detect. Detect. Detect. Homing. Torpedo number one is homing! Wait a second, it’s turning to the right. Shit, it’s locked on to the decoy!”

“…and torpedoes,” finished a smug Petrov. Jerry countered with an irritated look.

Before he could order the torpedo turned back to the correct target, Thigpen let out a loud groan. “Loss of wire continuity on torpedo number one. The wire must have broken when the weapon turned sharply to the right. We still have the wire on torpedo number two.”

Frustrated, Jerry took a deep breath. That was why he fired a salvo instead of a single weapon. “XO, command torpedo number two to turn fifty degrees to port.”

While Thigpen turned and ordered the fire control operator to make the course change, Jerry looked at the position of the Indian UGST torpedo. It was well past them, screaming out toward the northeast. He could safely turn. Turning toward Lieutenant Junior Grade Quela Lymburn, the battle stations OOD, Jerry instructed, “Q, bring us to the left. New course two zero zero, and increase speed to twenty knots.”

“Come to new course two zero zero, and increase speed to twenty knots, aye, sir,” acknowledged Lymburn. “Pilot, left full rudder, come to course two zero zero. All ahead standard.”

“Captain, one of the attacking torpedoes appears to have turned away. It may have been confused by the countermeasures and decoy,” reported Lieutenant Kirit from the Omnibus combat system consoles.

“Very well, but that still leaves one on our tail,” responded Jain. “Number One, activate the Arfa. Report bearing and range to the wreck.”

“Aye, aye, sir.” The first officer hit the transmit button, and after what seemed like an inordinately long time said, “Captain, the wreck bears red zero zero one. Range nine hundred meters.”

“Central post, Mark 48 torpedo has begun range gating! It’s got us!” cried Patil.

“Helmsman, full ahead! Stand by countermeasures!” Jain roared. “Number One, report range!”

“Range to the wreck is seven hundred fifty meters.”

Jain began a silent countdown; he needed to time his next move just right. Struggling to remain composed, the young captain glanced at the Omnibus display. The torpedo was just over three thousand meters away and closing rapidly. This was going to be close.

“Range?” he asked calmly.

“Range to the wreck is five hundred meters!” Rakash bawled.

“Steady yourself, Number One!” chastised Jain. He counted about twenty seconds, then, turning to Lieutenant Kota, commanded, “Deploy countermeasures!”

Jain quietly mumbled a fifteen-second count, then ordered, “Helmsman, port thirty! Steer east! All hands brace for shock!”

With the rudder over hard, and speed creeping past twenty-three knots, Chakra banked markedly into the turn. Jain clung to one of the periscopes for support while Kirichenko fought to keep his footing by the engineering consoles. The deck vibrated intensely as the speed increased and the sub heeled over in a stiff bank. Jain kept staring at the heading repeater, counting the seconds quietly, urging his boat to move faster.

After a tense minute, he yelled out, “Any moment now!”

Confused by the sudden appearance of the two countermeasures, the Mark 48 torpedo momentarily lost track of its target. Before it could begin a reattack search pattern, it blew past the stationary noisemakers and quickly reacquired a target dead ahead. But while the echo return was strong, the target wasn’t moving; the torpedo’s acoustic seeker detected no Doppler shift. The homing logic judged the target as invalid and began to turn the weapon to port, but it was too close now. The torpedo plowed into the sunken wreck and the high-explosive warhead detonated, sending strong shock waves out in all directions.

“Loud explosion bearing two zero zero!” sang out the sonar supervisor. The control room erupted in a cheer. Jerry saw his crew congratulating each other. To his right, Samant stood rigidly, his fists clenched, hardly breathing.

“Quiet in control!” bellowed Jerry. The celebratory clamor dropped instantly. Looking over at his exec, he inquired, “XO, status?”

“Torpedo number two has detonated in close proximity to Sierra eight seven’s location, sir. It looks like a hit.”

Jerry nodded his acknowledgment, turned, and stepped over to the sonar displays. “Senior chief, what do you hear?”

Senior Chief Halleck held up a finger, meaning, “Wait one.” After a long ten seconds, he shook his head and said, “I still have stable propulsion plant tonals, sir. I don’t think… Hold on! There’s a strong broadband contact on the hull array, drawing left.”

Leaning over the sonar supervisor’s shoulder, Jerry spoke softly. “Is it Chakra?”

Halleck nodded. “Confirmed, sir. Sierra eight seven is moving eastward at high speed, bearing rate is left five degrees per minute.”

“Range?”

“Maybe eight or nine thousand yards, Skipper, but that’s an educated guess. She’s in the WAA’s baffles.”

Straightening up, Jerry announced, “Attention in control. It appears that we missed. Sierra eight seven is still alive and kicking. I want a new firing solution ASAP.”

“Skipper, if we missed Chakra, what the hell did the torpedo detonate on?” complained Thigpen.

Jerry motioned for his XO to look at the HLSD and pointed to the wreck symbol on the chart near Chakra’s track. Thigpen was incredulous. “We sank a wreck!?”

“Technically, XO, it was already sunk,” noted Jerry with a grin. He couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or relieved that the attack had failed.

Samant stared at the chart; his expression was unquestionably one of relief. “Bravo, Maahir, bravo!” he whispered softly.

“You trained that young man well, Girish,” complimented Petrov, just as impressed with Jain’s well-executed maneuver as the rest.

“I used to flog him relentlessly about not being as aware of his environment as he could’ve been. He always seemed to miss a critical detail that could have been used to his advantage.” Samant’s voice and face showed his pride. The kind of pride a headmaster has when a struggling student finally understands a difficult lesson.

“Well, it would appear that Jain did listen to you after all, Captain,” Jerry remarked. “Which means, unfortunately, that this fight will be more difficult than I’d like.”

Samant opened his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and just shrugged.

“Possible target zig, Sierra eight seven,” said Halleck. “Target has turned away or slowed down.”

Jerry looked up at the VLSD and saw the range of possible vectors. Facing Lymburn, he instructed, “Q, bring us to one one zero. Let’s see if we can’t figure out where he’s going.”

The jolt was tremendous. Loose items were thrown all over in central post; several of the occupants were also flung, colliding with each other or unforgiving consoles. While the lights did flicker several times, they stayed on.

“Damage report, all compartments,” Jain thundered. Reaching down, he helped Kirichenko get up off the deck. The Russian had a nasty bruise forming on his left cheek.

“Nicely done, Captain,” grunted Kirichenko as he regained his footing.

Jain ignored the man and hit the intercom button. “Sonar, any sign of that bastard?”

“Central post, no, sir, we’re going too fast. I can’t hear a thing,” replied a shaken Patil.

The report was exactly what Jain expected. He’d successfully evaded the ambush, but if he stayed at full speed, he’d be blind. If he slowed down, however, he’d become more vulnerable to another attack. Either way, the hidden adversary would have the advantage — at least temporarily. “Number One,” he beckoned, motioning for his first officer to join him at the navigation plot. But Jain wasn’t going to wait; he had to keep the enemy off balance. Since he didn’t have contact, all he could do right now was throw off the fire control solution with frequent course and speed changes.

“Helmsman, right fifteen, course one three zero. Half ahead, one hundred forty revs.”

Rakash limped over and reported, “Captain, minimal damage in compartments one, three, and six. Nothing critical, we retain full combat capability. The medical officer reports mostly minor injuries, although one crew member may have suffered a concussion.”

“Very well, Number One.” Jain then smiled wearily. “That was close.”

“A little too close for my liking, Captain. What do we do now?”

Jain sighed. “We certainly can’t proceed with the attack on Yangshan. I’d like to get out to deeper water so we can either lose this chap or gain some room to maneuver.” Pointing to the chart, he outlined their escape routes. “If we head in an easterly direction, we should be able to reach the eighty meter curve fairly quickly. Mark depth under the keel.”

Rakash looked at the fathometer. “There’s nine meters beneath us, Captain. That puts us in water forty-eight meters deep.”

“Very good. Number One, deploy the towed array as soon as we slow to twenty-five knots.”

“But, Captain, it’s not recommended to deploy the towed array at speeds over twenty knots.”

Jain stiffened, irritated by Rakash’s reminder. The speed limitation was a peacetime specification made by the Russian manufacturer — it didn’t apply to the current situation. “I realize that, Number One, but we don’t have the luxury of mindlessly following the manual right now. Get the array deployed, I have to know where this fellow is if we are going to fight him. Also, load the new mobile decoy in tube eight and bring it to action state immediately.”

“Captain, Sierra eight seven has steadied up, estimated course one three five, but its speed continues to decrease. Current speed is twenty-two knots,” stated Thigpen. The report sounded definitive, but Jerry heard the slight indecision in his voice.

“Understood, XO. Is it good enough to shoot on?” It had been only a few minutes since both submarines had last maneuvered and the target motion analysis solution had only just started firming up.

“Sir, I’d like another minute of data. I feel okay about the range, but I’d like to refine the course and speed a little more.”

“Very well, XO, one more minute.” Jerry looked at the current solution on his display. Chakra was to his south at eight thousand two hundred yards, slowly opening. Pivoting to Samant, he asked, “Captain, why is he slowing down? I would have kept on running.”

“I think he believes he needs to fight. Perhaps his mission orders don’t allow him to just walk away from a target, so he has to engage, either to sink us, or make us retreat. But he can’t fight without a sensor, and in this very shallow water the Skat-3 main hull sonar will be limited.”

“You think Jain is trying to deploy his towed array?” wondered Petrov. “He’s going a little fast for that; he could snap the cable.”

“True, but he really doesn’t have much of a choice now, does he?” Samant responded.

“How long does it take to deploy the array?” asked Jerry.

“Just a few minutes. It depends on the ship’s speed,” Petrov answered.

“XO! We’re running out of time. I need that solution now!”

“Central post, new towed array contact bearing red one three zero,” Patil announced over the speaker.

Jain lunged for the intercom box and punched the button. “Sonar, you’re sure of the single bearing?” He was puzzled by the report, as towed array bearings always came in pairs, requiring another course change to resolve the ambiguity.

“Yes, sir. The other bearing points toward the mud, the ten-meter curve. The contact has to be to the north. It looks like an American Virginia-class attack submarine.”

The sonar chief’s report caused the color to drain from both Jain’s and Rakash’s faces. For a brief moment, they looked at each other with hushed anxiety. Finally, the first officer broke the awkward silence. “Could it be the American we fought during the war?”

“The North Dakota?” Jain replied cautiously. He remembered the letter that Samant had received from the American right after the Sino — Littoral Alliance War asking for a draw. His old captain was initially furious, but then, after he had calmed down, took the letter as a sign of respect. Regardless, the man had bested Samant twice, and this sent shivers down Jain’s spine. Given the complete surprise of the ambush, and the tactical skills needed to pull that off, Jain could come to no other conclusion. “I’m afraid our nemesis has returned. We won’t be able to run away from this fellow, Number One.”

“You’re not seriously thinking of engaging a frontline fourth-generation American attack submarine, are you?” whined Kirichenko. “That’s sheer madness!”

“Shut up!” fired Jain. “I don’t recall asking for your opinion, Mister Kirichenko! One more word out of you and I’ll have you confined to your quarters!” Pivoting back to his first officer, Jain belted out a rapid series of orders.

“Number One, deploy countermeasures! Bring tubes four and five to action state. Launch decoy, course zero five zero! Helmsman, left twenty-five, steer north! Half ahead, one hundred five revs!”

“Possible target zig, Sierra eight seven,” said the sonar supervisor. And then almost immediately: “Countermeasures! Bearing one nine three!”

“Damn it!” snarled Jerry. “Snapshot, Sierra eight seven, tube four!”

“Solution ready,” Thigpen called out.

“Weapon ready,” followed the weapons officer.

“Ship ready,” Lymburn exclaimed.

“Shoot!” barked the fire control technician as he hit the button, followed by, “Normal launch. Torpedo course one eight five, speed five five knots!”

“Pilot, left full rudder. Steady course zero six zero,” Jerry commanded.

“Skipper, we’ll lose…” warned Thigpen.

“Understood!” Jerry shot back forcefully. He was well aware that a turn at this speed would almost certainly break the wire with the torpedo.

Sure enough, seconds later Thigpen reported, “Loss of wire continuity.”

“Close the outer door on tube four. Make tube three ready in all respects,” instructed Jerry.

“Captain!” yelled Halleck. “There are two contacts emerging from the countermeasures. One bears two zero seven, the other one nine seven. They look identical!”

Jerry quickly leaned over the supervisor’s shoulder and looked at the two contacts. Their narrowband profiles were indistinguishable, acoustic twins. Checking their speed, he saw that both contacts were at fifteen knots; there was no clear way to tell Chakra from the decoy she’d just launched. Surprised, Jerry turned to Samant and Petrov, who’d joined him at the sonar displays. Both men examined the side-by-side display of the two signatures. Neither one could tell them apart.

“It’s a perfect replicate,” said Samant, astonished.

“Looks like a later-model decoy, either an MG-104 or MG-114,” concluded Petrov. Turning to Samant, he remarked, “I didn’t know we had sold these to the Indian Navy.”

“I had two during the war. Never got a chance to use one, though. The signature simulation is simply amazing!”

“Senior Chief,” interrupted Jerry. “Make sure you’re recording the data. We’ll examine it more closely later.”

“Skipper,” called Thigpen. “Own ship’s unit has enabled. Slowing to forty knots. It’s searching.”

“Incoming torpedo has gone active!” squawked the intercom. Chief Petty Officer Patil’s voice was strained. The acoustic intercept receiver echoed the dire report.

“Bearing drift!?” demanded Jain.

“Nearly zero!” Patil yelled.

“Number One, deploy countermeasures!” Jain then counted to ten and barked out more orders. “Helmsman, starboard twenty, steer zero four zero, full ahead. Sonar stand by to go active on the main hull array.”

Two more cylinders popped out from Chakra’s hull, and as soon as the seawater-activated batteries were brought up to power, the devices began shrieking like banshees. The Mark 48 torpedo had initially been in a quandary. It had two valid targets, one to the left, and the other to the right. Which one to home in on? Suddenly, the right-hand target disappeared behind a wall of sound. Seeing only one valid target, the torpedo veered left and began range gating, homing in on the decoy.

“More countermeasures, Skipper. Sierra eight seven is the contact to the left, bearing two one zero,” announced the sonar supervisor.

Jerry looked down at the command display and then up at the starboard VLSD; the countermeasure symbol was blinking near Chakra’s last reported position. He also saw the torpedo begin tacking to the left, toward the decoy. They’d missed again.

“This is starting to get old,” he grumbled. The hull array was completely blinded by the noise from the acoustic jammers, but the towed array still had a tenuous lock. The jammer didn’t have a lot of power at the lower frequencies. He’d just switched back to the narrowband display on the command workstation when Senior Chief Halleck shouted out, “Possible target zig, Sierra eight seven. Contact has turned toward us and is increasing speed.”

Jerry wasn’t quite as fast as his leading sonarman, and it took him a few more seconds to verify that Chakra had indeed maneuvered again. Still, Jain’s maneuvers showed he wasn’t confident about his estimates of North Dakota’s position. That meant Jerry still held the advantage. An advantage he intended to exploit. “XO, get me a new firing solution, pronto!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Thigpen, watching one of the displays. It was clear the Indian Akula was changing course and speed. That she was turning toward them was beyond question, but what would her final course and speed be? Recalling Jerry’s admonition, he gave the operator an initial “best guesstimate” for the computer to chew on. “Put in course zero five zero, speed thirty-three knots and see if the machine barfs.”

After a minute of data, it was apparent that the solution was off. With a few adjustments for a more northerly course, and a slightly higher speed the TMA solution seemed to hang together. The contact was closing; the range was down to about seven thousand yards.

“Skipper, I have an initial firing solution. It’s up on the starboard VLSD,” said Thigpen.

In looking at the fruits of Thigpen’s labors, Jerry became more and more perplexed. Chakra was pointed, more or less, in the right direction and was ramping up to high speed. “What is he doing?” whispered Jerry. Then, looking at Samant, he added, “He’s going too fast, and we’re in the towed array’s forward end fire beam. He won’t be able to track us at all!”

Samant shook his head. Jain was either impatient or afraid; he was trying to force the issue. “He’s attempting to charge into a position so he can use his active sonar to get a good solution. He doesn’t feel confident firing on the sparse towed-array data.”

“But in this water, a Skat-3 sonar will sound like a kettledrum in an empty closet. The reverberation will be horrendous,” Jerry observed.

“Agreed, Captain, but if he can get close enough, it could still work.”

Jerry pulled up the line-of-sight diagram and looked at the range rate. Chakra was closing, but slowly, about 330 yards every minute. Facing Samant, he pointed to the diagram and said, “Jain’s guessing. He’s not sure where we are.”

“I concur, Captain. I believe he’s trying to run down the bearing from your last torpedo, but I don’t think he’s factored in the effects of the decoy on the torpedo’s course — his estimate will be off.” Samant looked pained as he spoke; then he began to fidget. It looked like he was mentally arguing with himself. Finally, he just spit the words out. “Captain, I request that you transmit the recording I made.”

Astonished by the appeal, Jerry looked Samant straight in the eyes. “Captain, we’ve exchanged weapons fire. Do you seriously believe he’ll respond positively to your message? Assuming of course he can even hear it.”

“Honestly, I do not know. But it’s something we haven’t tried yet. You have his complete and undivided attention, and a little time before you have to shoot another weapon. I’m just asking that you try.” Samant’s face and voice were strained with emotion. He desperately wanted to try anything that could save his crew. Glancing over at Petrov, Jerry saw him nod in agreement.

Rubbing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Jerry weighed Samant’s plea. He was right, they had a little time, but it also meant transmitting — putting a string of strong acoustic pulses into the water. But even if the Indian crew couldn’t understand what was being said, they’d sure as hell get a good bearing. Jerry would be voluntarily giving up his advantage. Sighing loudly, he turned his head toward the sonar watchstanders and said, “Senior Chief, transmit Captain Samant’s message over the main active array. Point it directly at Chakra.”

The sonar supervisor initially balked as he struggled to comprehend the order. But a quick look at his CO’s face removed any doubt. “Aye, aye, sir. Transmit Captain Samant’s message.” Halleck’s fingers worked hesitantly over the keyboard, and after a brief moment, he hit the last one and reported, “Transmitting.”

Jerry saw Thigpen’s disbelieving expression and raised his hand, signaling his XO to wait. Thigpen turned back toward the fire control consoles, whispering softly, “This will get interesting.”

“Central post. I’m picking up what sounds like a UWC transmission, bearing red zero one zero. It’s in the direction of the American submarine,” Patil declared, not quite convinced that he had heard correctly.

Jain and Rakash looked at each other with utter bewilderment. Why would the American be trying to contact them? He’d already fired three torpedoes at them, what purpose could there be in attempting to communicate? Before Jain could respond, Patil’s voice came over the intercom again.

“Central post. The transmission is in Hindi!”

Now Jain was really curious. He acknowledged the bizarre report and then went to the sonar shack; he had to hear this transmission for himself.

Patil was waiting with a set of headphones in his right hand. “It appears to be a recorded message, sir, as it is being repeated.”

Jain put on the headphones and listened. The reception was extremely poor, owing to Chakra’s high speed and the shallow water, but the voice was most definitely speaking in Hindi. He couldn’t understand much of the transmission, it warbled and broke up often, but he did make out the words “Dhankhar,” “illegal,” and “return.” The voice also sounded strangely familiar, but the distortion made it difficult to pin down.

The Indian captain pulled the headset off and handed it back to the sonar chief. He struggled to understand the message and its meaning. Then Jain remembered Vice Admiral Dhankhar warning him that several foreign governments had discovered the plan. Could the United States be one of them? Were they trying to deceive him now, as they seemed unable to sink him? Then Jain recalled his orders; the attack on the Chinese ports was the first act in an elaborate strategy by the Indian military to defeat Pakistan once and for all. Chakra’s pivotal role in the plan stiffened his resolve.

While Jain was trying to make heads or tails of the transmission, Patil hit him with an unthinkable question: “Sir, didn’t that voice sound like Captain Samant’s?”

Anger suddenly flooded Jain. The very thought of their former captain cooperating with India’s enemies was blasphemous. “Mind your bearing, Chief! I will not tolerate any insult of our old CO. Lash that bearing with the main hull array and get me something to shoot on!”

Still seething, Jain returned to central post. Rakash could see something was dreadfully wrong, but before he could even ask the speaker squawked again. “Central post, weak return bearing red zero zero six, range five thousand two hundred meters.”

“Stand by for torpedo attack. Open bow caps on tubes four and five,” thundered Jain. Rakash moved quickly to follow his captain’s orders.

Leaning over Lieutenant Kirit’s shoulders, Jain blurted, “We’ll bracket the bearing! Set tube four to course zero two five, and tube five to zero four zero! High speed, minimal enable run!”

“Bow caps on tubes four and five are open, sir,” cried Rakash.

“Torpedo course set,” Kirit called out.

Jain stood with an unwavering air, paused for a few seconds, and then shouted, “Fire!”

The WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver’s chirping beat Senior Chief Halleck’s warning by a second or two. “Sierra eight seven has gone active. Skat-3 transmissions bearing two one five.”

“Secure transmissions,” Jerry ordered. Then, looking at Samant, he said, “I’m sorry, Captain. Jain’s made his choice.” The Indian’s face was burdened with pain, his only response a slight nod.

“Torpedoes in the water!” yelled Halleck. “Same bearing as Sierra eight seven!”

“Execute starburst maneuver to starboard,” snapped Jerry.

“Starburst to starboard, aye, sir,” Thigpen responded. “Countermeasure station, deploy starburst pattern!”

As soon as countermeasure symbols started popping up on the starboard VLSD, Jerry commanded, “Pilot, right full rudder, steady course one three zero!”

The countermeasure pods near North Dakota’s stern launched two stationary sonar jammers just before she started to turn. Now, two mobile jammers were kicked out, heading away from the submarine on reciprocal courses, building a wall of intense sound — essentially a barrier, opaque to any acoustic sensor. Finally, a mobile decoy was deployed and it continued down the course North Dakota had just turned away from — a maneuver that had been completely hidden from the onrushing Chakra.

“Central post, contact has deployed countermeasures, I’ve lost contact,” shouted Patil.

Jain had expected as much. The commander of North Dakota had demonstrated that he was no fool. “What was the last good bearing and range?” he demanded.

“Bearing red zero zero five, range, four thousand eight hundred meters. He was still on course zero six zero at last contact.”

Looking at the Omnibus display, Jain saw that the American was running away from the countermeasure barrier. Excellent, he thought proudly. The salvo should catch him. “Steady on course!” he cried out, smiling.

Two minutes after making the run, Jerry deployed another stationary ADC Mark 5 countermeasure. Between this new addition and the mobile jammer, there was another wall of sound hiding North Dakota from the oncoming UGST torpedoes. The only legitimate target in their field of view would be the mobile decoy that was now running away from the scene at twenty knots.

“Skipper, one of the torpedoes has begun range gating! It’s past CPA and opening, it’s locked on to the decoy!” said Halleck with noticeable relief.

“Gotcha,” Jerry whispered, followed immediately by, “Firing point procedures, Sierra eight seven…”

“Wait, Captain!” howled Samant.

Jerry turned, taken aback by the Indian’s sudden interruption. He looked at the man’s face and saw the tears welling in his eyes.

“Please, Captain, Jerry, allow me to issue the order to fire,” choked Samant. Both Jerry and Petrov looked at him with amazement.

“I appreciate the offer, Captain,” replied Jerry. “But you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if you gave the order.”

Samant gave a cynical chuckle, then responded, “I won’t be able to live with myself now as it is, Jerry. But if my crew has to die, then I prefer it be at my hands. An Indian started this nightmare, it’s only proper that an Indian end it.”

Jerry paused, considering Samant’s emotional appeal, then nodded. Turning forward, he announced loudly, “Attention in control, Captain Girish Samant has the conn, Lieutenant Lymburn retains the deck.”

All the stations acknowledged Jerry’s pronouncement and then watched as Samant stepped over to the fire control consoles.

“Which control launches the torpedo?” he asked the fire control technician quietly.

The petty officer looked toward his XO. Thigpen gave a curt nod signaling it was okay. “This one, sir,” answered the young sailor.

Straightening himself, Samant gave the order. His voice was firm and professional. “Stand by torpedo attack, target, INS Chakra, tube three.” Reaching over, he pushed the button and thundered, “Fire!”

“Normal launch, torpedo course, two seven zero, speed four zero knots,” reported the petty officer. He was looking at Samant when he spoke.

The torpedo ran straight out from tube number three to clear itself and the guidance wire from the submarine. It then began a wide turn to the right, its movement screened by the mobile sonar jammer. By the time it had passed in front of the countermeasure field it had already gone active. And once it was past the intense sound barrier, its seeker was pointed straight at Chakra, barely fifteen hundred yards away. The torpedo locked on and began accelerating.

“Torpedo alert! Starboard side!” screeched Patil.

Jain’s head spun as he looked at the Omnibus display. The incoming weapon was very close. “Deploy countermeasures!” he screamed.

It was too late. Before the countermeasures were ejected from the Akula, the Mark 48 torpedo’s warhead detonated, devastating compartment three and violating the bulkhead with compartment two. The submarine heeled sharply over to port and pitched downward. At thirty-four knots she slammed into the shallow bottom with tremendous force, crushing some of the torpedo tubes and the weapons loading hatch. Water began gushing into the torpedo room.

The submarine’s momentum carried it forward, lifting its stern clear of the water as it rotated about its shattered bow. Slamming back down into the water, the boat jumped a bit and then settled quickly. The aft part of the boat came crashing down onto the ocean floor; the harsh impact caused the shaft seals to fail, and water began pouring into yet another compartment. Skidding to a stop, Chakra lay still, bleeding to death.

“Loud explosion bearing two six zero! There’s breaking-up noise, loss of propulsion plant tonals!” reported the sonar supervisor. But unlike the last time, there were no cheers, no congratulatory backslapping. Just silence.

Thigpen finally broke the stillness. “It looks like we got her, sir.”

Jerry nodded and sighed; he felt relief and sadness at the same time. A lot of brave men had just been killed, betrayed by their fleet commander, and executed by their former skipper — the irony couldn’t have been more tragic. Jerry watched as Samant walked slowly out of control, spots of water appearing on the deck as he headed aft.

Petrov had started to move toward him when Jerry grabbed his arm. “Let him go, Alex. He needs some time alone. He has to deal with this on his own terms. It’s what he wanted.”

The Russian fought initially, then stopped, heeding Jerry’s counsel. Petrov knew exactly how Samant felt; he’d lost a boat and some of his men as well. He knew that his friend would never get over this day. Sometimes doing the right thing can be personally devastating.

Facing Jerry, Petrov remarked quietly, “That was the most courageous act I’ve ever witnessed. I don’t know if I could do what he had to.”

Jerry shook his head, struggling with his own emotions. “I know I couldn’t.”

The pounding of his head dragged Kirichenko to a state of semiconsciousness. He tried to move, but found he was pinned under a console. The central post was dimly lit by the battle lanterns; wisps of smoke floated through the beams. No one moved.

Off to his right, Kirichenko saw Jain’s body draped over the navigation plotting table, his neck at an unnatural angle. The Russian felt his eardrums pop and he heard the noise of rushing water. He could feel the cold liquid as it crawled up his legs.

Unable to completely understand what was going on, Kirichenko did realize that Chakra was dead, and that he would be soon enough. Weary and racked with pain, he couldn’t summon the strength to try and move the console off of him. Then he saw a shadow move, or thought he did.

At first, he couldn’t make it out. But then it looked like men slowly making their way toward him. He tried calling out to them, but all he could manage was a faint gurgle. As the nebulous figures got closer, Kirichenko thought they looked odd. They didn’t seem to be Indian. Then two of them moved into the light. They were pale, vague images, dressed in Russian naval uniforms. Straining to focus his eyes, he finally caught sight of the billet patch on the closest individual; it was in Russian, and it read COMMANDER.

Panic gripped Kirichenko as the muddy seawater lapped upon his face. More and more of the wraithlike images huddled around him, waiting patiently. Soon the seawater covered his mouth and he struggled to breathe through his nose. The apparitions were now all smiling, and began reaching out to him. And just before the murky water covered his eyes, he saw the commissioning pin on the commander’s uniform — the name on the pin was Gepard.