Virginia Class

23

"Captain, Sonar! Target is blowing ballast. Damn, sir, he's surfacing!"

Garrett sagged back in his seat, shaky with relief. He'd played a long shot, and won.

During the Cold War, there'd been numerous incidents where Soviet submarines had wandered closer than American commanders liked to key naval tar-gets — an aircraft carrier, say, or a U.S. boomer. With live fire not an option — the two giants had not actually been at war, after all — it was tough to enforce a "back off" order when the other fellow had decided to play hardball. One of the few weapons American attack boat skippers had possessed — short of ramming a too-persistent Soviet sub — was to ping him, relentlessly and unceasingly, letting him know he was smack in the crosshairs of American antisubmarine forces until he either fled or surfaced.

By showing the Chinese sub skipper that he was in Virginia's sights and that he would not be able to get away, Garrett had delivered an ultimatum. Depending on his orders, the Chinese commander might have responded with a torpedo… but Garrett had been hoping that the man had more of an instinct for survival than that.

After all, China was not at war with the United States now, either.

"Captain! Sonar! Torpedoes in the water!"

"Where? Sierra One-oh-three?" Had the bastard popped a couple of fish as he blew ballast?

"Negative, sir! These are coming from our stern quarter starboard… bearing zero-eight-eight, closing at forty-five knots! Estimate range to be… thirty-five hundred yards!"

That Chinese sub ahead might not be at war with the United States… but someone was!

"Fire three!"

"Tube three fired electrically, Captain! Torpedo running hot, straight, and normal!"

Ul Haq clung to the periscope housing, feeling the exultation surge through his body. Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen had left Small Dragon Island moments after General Han had ordered the Yinbi de Gongji to investigate the silence of Al Qahir. Moving swiftly but silently, the Pakistani Kilo had approached the battle zone from the east in time to acoustically "see" the American submarine banging on Jian's vessel with sonar… apparently from some sort of small remote weapon or device. The sonar served to illuminate both vessels from Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen's vantage point. It hadn't taken long to distinguish the two targets, one from the other. A Kilo-class boat had an exposed screw which, though very quiet, still made a distinctive noise. The American submarine — presumably a Seawolf-class boat — possessed an eight-bladed propulsor mounted inside a shroud. It too was very quiet… but the noise it made was distinctive as well.

Besides, the Chinese, as far as ul Haq knew, possessed nothing like that small, remote sonar device that was hammering at Jian's vessel.

The American was in a broad, slow turn away from the oncoming Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen, providing ul Haq with a nearly ideal shot right up the Yankee sub's ass. Perfect! …

Both Khalili and the sub's exec, Muhammad Hassan Fitaihi, stood with him, waiting expectantly, Fitaihi with an expression of almost bored self-control, Khalili with the fanatic's flame of impatience. "How long?" Khalili demanded.

"Three and a half kilometers, at fifty knots?" the exec said. "Do the math."

"It depends on what the target does, my friend," ul Haq said gently. "But at fifty knots, a torpedo travels roughly a kilometer and a half in one minute."

"So, about two minutes and twenty seconds," Khalili observed.

"More," ul Haq said, "if the American tries to outrun our torpedoes."

Which he would do, running being the only viable strategy.

But it would do him no good. The outcome, ul Haq told himself, was assured.

"Now three, repeat three torpedoes in the water, Captain," Queensly said. "Estimate speed at fifty knots. Time to impact… I make it two minutes, fifteen seconds!"

"Ahead flank!" Garrett ordered. It would take time for Virginia to claw her way up to forty knots.

"Sir, new contact… designated Sierra One-oh-four! Probable Kilo-class boat at zero-eight-eight, range approximately thirty-five hundred yards, making revs for twelve knots!"

"Snapshot, two, four, target Sierra One-zero-four!"

"Snapshot, two, four," Carpenter acknowledged. "Target Sierra One-zero-four!"

A snapshot was shooting from the hip, loosing a torpedoe without lining up the shot ahead of time. If those incoming fish were wire-guided, it might make the other fellow blink and break off before the torpedoes had acquired their own targeting lock.

Chances were, though, that the incoming torpedoes were the usual old Soviet design, free-swimming 533mm fish that were completely fire-and-forget. If so, the snapshot was more an attempt to extract revenge than anything else, a way of possibly destroying the hostile after Virginia had already been hit.

"Torpedo room! Reload tube three, on the double!"

"Torpedo room, aye aye!"

Now, more than ever, Garrett was feeling the essential difference between a Virginia-class submarine and the Seawolf he'd last commanded. Virginia possessed four torpedo tubes, while a Seawolf-class packed eight. At the moment, Virginia's tube one was out of commission, since it was currently occupied by the retractable arm used to recover the LMRS. Tubes two and four were unavailable as well, since the guidance wires for those two torpedoes would be cut if the tube doors were closed. Until those torps acquired the enemy sub on their own, he couldn't cast them off without essentially throwing them away.

Tube three alone was empty and ready to receive a new fish. He'd held off on loading it because of the noise reloading made, but that was no longer important.

Damn the penny-pinchers in the budget office! Right now, Garrett would have been willing to do just about anything in exchange for a Seawolf's eight-tube salvo capability.

"Speed now thirty knots, Captain! Thirty-two knots…"

Those hostile torpedoes would be catching up fast, still incoming at a relative speed of twenty knots or a bit less. Once Virginia reached flank speed — about forty knots — they would be catching up at a relatively slow-paced five to ten knots.

Soviet 533-mm torpedoes had a listed range of about ten miles at forty-five knots. If these had been goosed up to fifty, the range would be a bit less. How much less? The answer might determine whether Virginia lived or died as she tried to outrun those highspeed fish.

"Speed now at forty knots, Captain."

"Sonar! How are we doing?"

"Estimate range to the nearest torpedo, Captain… I make it fifteen hundred yards. Estimate time to impact now at five minutes, ten seconds."

Not enough. If those fish had a range of ten miles at 45 knots, they could run for at least ten to twelve minutes before expiring. Not fucking enough …

"Enemy torpedoes in the water!" the sonar officer announced over ul Haq's headset. "I make it two torpedoes on opposite tacks, north and south."

"Have they acquired us yet?"

"No, sir. They appear to be swinging wide, so as to close on us from opposite directions."

Trying to hem us in, ul Haq thought, to make it so we can't evade. "How long before our torpedo hits them?"

"Target is now traveling at an estimated forty knots, Captain," the sonar officer replied. "Time to impact on torpedo one… five minutes."

Five minutes. An eternity in combat. He was beginning to have the uncomfortable feeling that he'd fired too soon. If he'd waited, if he'd gotten closer, close enough that the enemy couldn't run…

"We should close with them, Captain," Khalili said. "We must be certain of the kill!"

"I don't think so," ul Haq replied. "If we do that, we guarantee our own destruction."

"A martyr's death! And we assure the destruction of one of the American supersubs!"

"It is not yet time to speak of martyrdom." Ul Haq shook his head. "Maneuvering! Hard right rudder! Bring us to new course zero-nine-zero!"

Shuhadaa might yet survive this….

"Up planes two-zero degrees," Garrett said. "Bring us up to three hundred ten feet."

"Up planes two-zero degrees, aye aye, sir. Make depth three hundred ten feet."

Virginia tilted nose-up as the planesman pulled back on the joystick. The thermocline was at 280 feet, and he wanted to be just beneath it.

Minutes crawled past… an intolerable agony of waiting and growing tension. The oncoming torpedoes changed aspect slightly, rising to meet Virginia as she moved toward the surface.

"Captain? Sonar."

"Go ahead, Queenie."

"Sir, Sierra One-zero-three just broke through the roof. The noises are faint through the thermocline and at this speed, but it sounds like he's firing up his diesels."

"Very well. Keep half an eye on the bastard, just in case he wants back in the ring."

Possibly the Chinese boat's skipper had opted out of the fight… or possibly he would rejoin the battle when he realized Virginia was under attack. Either way, there wasn't much Virginia could do about it at the moment.

More minutes crawled past. Virginia continued racing through the ocean at forty knots, now just beneath that magical interface between the warm waters of the surface, and the frigid waters of the deep.

"Torpedo one is closing, sir. Range two hundred meters… "

"Range to torpedo two and torpedo three."

"Two is at approximately two hundred fifty meters. Three is at about two hundred eighty meters."

It would have to do. "Weps! Release countermeasures!"

"Countermeasures released, Captain."

"Maneuvering! Up planes, four-zero degrees! Hard right rudder! Stand us on our tail, Mr. Falk!"

"Up planes forty degrees, aye aye! Hard right rudder, aye aye!"

"Hold on to your stomachs," Master Chief Bollinger called from his post behind the helm station.

The deck tilted wildly, both nose high and canting sharply to starboard. Coffee mugs crashed and clattered across the deck. Nearby, a microphone dangled from its cord at an impossible angle out into the middle of the control room. The men were all strapped in, however, and stayed at their posts. Garrett heard a crash from forward, however, followed by a yell of surprise and pain. Another one for the Doc, he thought. He hoped it wasn't serious.

But the order was the mission, the boat, the plant, the crew. Right now the crew had to look after themselves.

Garrett had been wishing the Virginia was a Seawolf-class boat, and the extra four torpedo tubes would have been a nice asset. Now, though, he was able to bring Virginia's big strength into play… her maneuverability. With a third less the mass of the bulky Seawolf, Garrett could fly the Virginia like an aircraft.

At least, that was what he was going to try….

"I've lost him!" the sonar officer called, his voice nearly a wail. "I've lost him!"

"What? How?"

"I believe the target has punched up through the thermocline, sir. I'm not picking up his plant noises any longer!"

"Damn!" But there was nothing to be done about that now. Shuhadaa was fleeing for her life, trying to slip out from between the two American torpedoes fired five minutes earlier.

The good news was that both American ADCAPS were almost certainly being guided by wire — connected to their torpedo tubes by miles of thin filament. As soon as the enemy sub engaged in a violent maneuver, however, those wires would be cut. If the torpedoes hadn't acquired the Shuhadaa yet, there was a good chance the Pakistani boat would be able to run clear.

He hoped. Allah, the merciful, the compassionate! Protect us now from our enemy's wrath! Keep us unseen, unheard, protect us …

"What did you say?" Khalili asked.

He hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.

"Nothing."

The waiting was becoming intolerable.

"We're above the thermocline, Captain! Torpedoes have lost us!"

"Stay with it, Queenie." If the torpedoes popped above the thermocline and started circling, they might yet reacquire. By sharply turning Virginia and doubling back on her track, Garrett was closing the range on the torpedoes before they could reacquire, closing… then passing over them, leaving them hunting the Virginia off to the west.

They would also start to close the range on the enemy submarine.

"Torpedo room! Reload tubes two and four! Sonar! Have our fish acquired the target?"

"Sir, I can't hear a damned thing at this point. Nothing but splash." Of course. At forty knots, only the loudest noises would make themselves known to Virginia's sonar crew — that Kilo on the surface running on diesels, for example. Or the howl of an incoming torpedo a few hundred yards astern.

Damn. Garrett was willing to bet that the second Kilo out there was the terrorist sub out of Small Dragon. Kazuko's murderers.

And they were on the point of getting away again.

An idea…

"Weps!"

"Yes, sir."

"Do you still have a lock on Junior?"

Carpenter looked surprised. "Uh… yes, sir! Junior is above the thermocline… and about four miles away. He went into idle mode when things got exciting."

"That's one way to put it. Okay… does he still have enough juice for another mission?"

"I'll see what I can manage, sir," Carpenter said, grinning.

"Drop him below the thermocline. I want to try to track the other boat."

"We'll lose contact with him if we do, Captain."

"I know. But we'll reacquire in a moment."

More minutes passed. Finally, Carpenter announced, "Junior is below the thermocline, sir. We've lost contact."

"Very well. Mr. Falk! Take us to three hundred fifty feet!"

"Make depth three-five-zero feet, aye, sir!"

"Sonar! I want you to keep your ears sharp and polished… both for the enemy sub and for those torpedoes astern. I don't want them coming back to bite us!"

"Aye aye, sir!"

Moments later, as Virginia slid deeper, Queensly announced, "I hear two enemy torpedoes, Captain.

They're circling… trying to reacquire. Range approximately two thousand yards. I don't hear the third fish. It may have gone above the thermocline."

"Or run out of juice." I hope….

"We've reacquired Junior, Captain. He's responding to signals."

"Patch the visual from the UUV to the control room monitor."

"Done, Captain." There was a jump, but no marked change on the screen. Both sets of cameras were showing empty ocean.

"Captain, Sonar. I've picked up both of our fish, sir. Bearing zero-two-one and one-two-five. Sierra One-zero-three is right between them, at zero-nine-eight."

"Very well. Weps, steer Junior toward the target. Active pinging."

"Aye aye, sir!"

"Mr. Falk, make depth two-five-zero feet. Take us back up above the thermocline."

"Make depth two-five-zero feet, aye, sir."

"Playing tag, Skipper?" Jorgensen asked.

The exec's quiet voice startled Garrett. He'd not known the man was standing behind him and to his right.

"That's the idea. I don't want Junior to illuminate us for the bad guys. But maybe he can light up the target for our torpedoes."

"Maybe…. "

ADCAP torpedoes, for all their sophistication, still possessed idiot-grade brains. Their wires to Virginia's weapons console cut, they would circle until they acquired a sonar target to home on, or until they ran out of fuel. At the moment, they were too far from the enemy submarine to pick up its noise signature, too far to go active and home on the target for themselves.

But they were close enough to the LMRS to pick up its sonar pulse, close enough to hear the pulse and begin following it, Pied-Piperlike.

And the LMRS had been aimed at the enemy by a human brain, not the simple-minded yes-no, on-off literalness of a computer chip, however high-tech.

If Junior's batteries could hold out just a little longer….

"Another torpedo, Captain! It's gone active!"

"Where?"

"Almost directly astern, sir. Speed thirty knots, range estimated at twelve hundred meters!"

"So close!"

"I couldn't hear him until he went active, Captain. Our speed…."

"Never mind that. What of the other enemy torpedoes?"

"They… sir! They appear to have broken off circling and are tracking the third torpedo. Sir! It's leading them to us!"

"I don't believe it!" Khalili snarled.

Ul Haq sighed. "Believe it." There was one chance left… to lose the enemy torpedoes above the thermocline. "Diving Officer! Take us up! Make depth ninety meters!"

The deck tipped. They rose….

"Torpedoes appear to be following us, sir! Range one thousand meters!"

Too far for countermeasures to be effective. What was that third American torpedo, anyway? They weren't supposed to be able to do that.

A little longer, now. He still had two torpedo tubes loaded and ready to fire. If he could evade this American salvo, he would be able to close for the kill….

"Take us below the thermocline, Mr. Falk. Let's see how we stand."

"Aye aye, sir. Depth?"

"Make depth three hundred fifty feet."

"Three hundred fifty feet, aye, sir."

"Captain, Junior is just about dead. He's losing speed."

"Have the torpedoes acquired the target?" A pause. "Torpedoes have acquired! Yes, sir!"

"Recall Junior, then. Cease active pinging and bring him back in."

"Yes, sir!"

"I think Bill is getting attached to that machine," Jorgensen commented.

"If I could give it a medal, XO, I would. Sonar! What's the target doing?"

"I think he may be trying to evade, Skipper. I'm hearing sounds of blowing ballast."

"Is he going up to the roof?"

"It's not a full emergency blow, sir. Sounds like he's just trying to get above the temperature gradient."

Exactly what I would do. "Stay with him." But he's doing it too little, too late.

"Both torpedoes are closing fast, now, sir. Time to target now… twenty seconds."

Wait for it…

"Fifteen seconds…"

"Range to incoming torpedo… three hundred meters! Two hundred fifty! Two hundred!.."

"Release countermeasures!" ul Haq barked. "Emergency surface!"

"Countermeasures released!"

"Blow main ballast! Emergency surface!"

Shuhadaa Muqaddaseen shuddered as high-pressure air blasted into her ballast tanks, tanks already partially emptied during her attempt to get above the thermocline. The submarine rose, but sluggishly… sluggishly…

"One hundred meters!.. Fifty meters!.."

"Hard right rudder!" Maybe he could still twist them aside. The American ADCAPs must be nearly out of fuel by now…

The nearest ADCAP went dead, its fuel supply exhausted. Automatically, its active sonar switched off and, slowed by friction with the water, it began to sink, having missed the Shuhadaa by scant meters.

The second ADCAP still had another twenty seconds of fuel left when it punched through the cloud of countermeasure bubbles and, rising sharply, reacquired the target and drove itself home.

The torpedo struck just forward of the aft diving planes and exploded.