happen when Cheyenne located the convoy.
'Diving officer, make your depth 247 feet,' Mack ordered. Cheyenne had met up with the Chinese merchant convoy and had maneuvered into position. 'Fire control, have you got a firing solution on the lead escort?'
'Yes, sir,' the executive officer replied. 'We've got firing solutions on almost all of them, but the best solutions are the lead escort and the front two troop transport ships. Masters 54, 55, and 56, respectively. Should I select a fourth target for torpedo tube four?'
'Negative,' answered Mack. 'I want to keep tube number four standing by for a snap shot in case another submarine shows up like before, or one of those escorts gets too close and damned lucky.'
'Aye, aye, sir.'
'Has anything changed with regards to their defensive posture?'
'No, sir. The escort ships, except for one, are still in a ring around the convoy at an estimated distance of eight to ten thousand yards. All escorts that have an active sonar system are pinging away for all they're worth, but we're still beyond their detection range.'
Mack thought to himself that the Chinese submariner, the escort squadron commander, was wisely shielding himself on board his Jianghu class frigate by steaming in the middle of the convoy.
'Very well,' Mack said. He took a deep breath and slowly turned to survey the entire control room. Everyone was at their battle stations and primed for action. A sense of tense anticipation hung in the air. Not a nervous anticipation, but the kind that came from the pit of the stomach, awakened every nerve, and expanded the senses. The hunter had found his prey and it was time to kill.
'Torpedo room, fire control. Make tubes one, two, and three ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors.'
The standard repeat back came over the sound-powered phones crisp and clear. Captain Mackey himself acknowledged and then crossed to the chart tracking the convoy's route while he waited for the crew in the torpedo room to carry out their duties.
Before long the executive officer reported, 'Tubes one, two, and three are ready in all respects. Captain. Outer doors are open.'
'Very well.' Mack went back to the BSY-1 fire-control and weapons-control consoles in 'Fire-Control Alley.' 'Firing point procedures, tube one, Master 54.'
The combat systems officer reported the target's current course, speed, and range from the weapons-control console.
Captain Mackey acknowledged the information and then announced over the open microphone. 'Sonar, conn. Stand by.'
'Conn, sonar. Standing by.'
'Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 54.'
'Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 54, aye, sir.'
As lights lit up on his console, the combat systems officer reported, 'Captain, tube one fired electrically.'
Moments later the sonar supervisor said, 'Conn, sonar, unit from tube one is running hot, straight and normal.'
'Sonar, conn, aye.' Turning to the fire control party, Mack said, 'I don't want to shoot tubes two and three until after the other escorts, especially the Luhu class destroyer with the ASW helicopters, have settled down a bit. They're bound to chase their tails for a few minutes after their lead escort goes down.'
'Aye, aye, sir,' the fire-control coordinator answered for his operators. In a softer voice, speaking off line so that only Mack would hear, he asked, 'Excuse me. Captain, but why not take the other shots at the two merchants now before they get wind that we're here, or even go after more of the escorts?'
Mack smiled. That was a good question, and he answered it out loud so that everyone could hear him. 'This first torpedo is for effect,' he said. 'I want them scared. Our orders are to prevent them from reaching the Spratlys. I'd rather force them to turn tail and run than have to kill every sailor and soldier on those ships. But until they do turn and run, I intend to focus our weapons on the primary targets-the convoy ships. It's a poor showing for an escort to arrive with minimal damage and no ships left to be escorted. Now, time to acquisition?'
'Thirteen minutes, twelve seconds, sir,' reported the combat systems officer.
When the torpedo closed on its target, it would turn on its active sonar and, after locating the target, would then shift to attack speed. At that range, the lead escort ship would have very little chance to react, and no time at all to escape. The only chance the ship would have was if it detected the initially silent inbound torpedo with its own active sonar pounding through the water.
If that lead escort ship made a rapid course maneuver or a sudden increase in speed, Cheyenne would know that the torpedo had been detected. But when the Mk 48 acquired its target, both the convoy and the escorts were still maintaining their course and speed.
'Conn, sonar. We have a detonation on the bearing to Master 54. All escort ships are increasing speed, continuing to ping with active sonar.'
'Sonar, conn, aye. Fire control and sonar, keep a steady track on Masters 55 and 56. I want to shoot as soon as things settle out. Shut the outer door on tube one and reload with an Mk 48.'
Several minutes ticked by slowly while the crew of Cheyenne waited for the response of the ships overhead. 'Conn, sonar. Escorts have settled back into their stations. Master 54 had several secondary explosions and it sounds like it's going down.'
'Sonar, conn, aye. Sonar, any indications of assistance or rescue efforts provided to Master 54?'
'Conn, sonar, that's negative, Captain. They all just steamed right passed it without slowing.'
'Sonar, conn, aye.' That bothered Mack. The Luda hadn't exploded or sunk suddenly, so there was no reason why one of the convoy ships shouldn't have at least slowed to pick up survivors. Something was wrong, but Mack wasn't sure what.
'Captain, we still have solutions for Masters 55 and 56 being passed to tubes two and three.'
Mack looked over at the executive officer. 'Very well, fire control. Firing point procedures, tube two, Master 55, and tube three, Master 56.'
Once again the deadly drill was carried out and two more torpedoes sped from Cheyenne toward their targets.
'Conn, sonar. Units from tubes two and three running hot, straight, and normal.'
'Time to acquisition will be sixteen minutes, forty seconds,' reported the combat systems officer.
Again Cheyenne's officers and crew waited. The torpedoes knifed through the water, but this time toward ships that were dependent upon others for protection-a protection those others could not provide.
'Conn, sonar. One of the escort vessels closest to us, the other Luda, Master 57, has started to increase speed and is executing a rapid turn!'
'Sonar, conn, aye. Which way is Master 57 turning?'
'Conn, sonar. It's turning right toward us, Captain. Back along the torpedoes' paths.'
'Sonar, conn, aye. Have the torpedoes acquired yet?'
'Conn, sonar, yes, sir, both torpedoes have gone active.'
'Cut the wires, shut the outer doors, and reload tubes two and three.' Mack looked over toward his executive officer. 'We're going to get out of here. I want to clear this area and be back in a shooting position within the hour.'
'Conn, sonar. Both torpedoes have detonated. Masters 55 and 56 have stopped their screws.'
Mack doubted either ship had been killed. He didn't think that a single Mk 48 each would sink the troop transport ships, but he knew that they must have been crippled.
