'On the AT battery,' Bell responded, 'target the second torpedo, aye.' A huge eruption shook the boat. Mines went off like strings of firecrackers — in front of Challenger, then to the sides, even back behind her.
'First 65 has detonated!' Sessions yelled. 'LMRS destroyed!' Jeffrey smiled. 'Helm, ahead flank smartly.'
'Unit from tube one has detonated on target,' Van Gelder shouted. 'Impact on the Seawolf at a depth of eight hundred meters!' There was a noise like rolling thunder, and endless concussions pounded the hull. 'Multiple secondary explosions from bottom mines as well!'
'Finally' ter Horst said. 'No one could live through that.'
'Concur,' Van Gelder said as surface reflections echoed and Voortrekker rocked. He glanced at his tactical displays. 'Captain, recommend we command-detonate the unit from tube two, to avoid endangering the Daphne and nearby surface craft.'
'Concur. Self-destruct the weapon.'
Van Gelder passed the order to the torpedo room. In moments the fiber-optic feed showed DETONATED and the other data ceased. The noise and buffeting hit, then more shivering bubble pulses and echoes from the surface.
'Sir,' Van Gelder shouted as he gripped his handrests, 'we're picking up target propulsion transients!'
'That's impossible!' ter Horst said.
'Captain, our sonar algorithms confirm the target not destroyed! Intermittent ambient sonar contact on her hull!' 'Target depth?'
'Now well past one thousand meters!…Passive sonar contact lost, course unknown, no bulkhead ruptures or implosion sounds.'
'Are you sure?'
'Sir,' Van Gelder said, 'the explosive rebound psheew of a steel sub past its crush depth is impossible to miss!'
'Challenger,' ter Horst gasped. 'We've found her, Gunther, yes! Warm up the nucleartipped 65s in tubes seven and eight.'
'Sir,' Sessions said, 'high-frequency mine-avoidance sonar indicates we're now clear of the minefield. Second incoming torpedo has detonated prematurely.'
'Very well,' Jeffrey said. 'Probably a self-destruct before they lost the wire from all the turbulence out there. How's our bow cap doing?'
'Real banged-up now, sir. Self-noise from boundary-layer flow is up by four more decibels.'
'Helm,' Jeffrey said, 'slow to ahead two thirds, make turns for twenty-six knots.'
'Ahead two thirds, make turns for twenty-six knots, aye,' Meltzer said. 'Maneuvering acknowledges ahead two thirds, making turns for twenty-six knots, sir.'
'I want to put some bearing separation between our attacker and the stirred-up water, throw Master 27 off our trail and let them think we're dead from progressive flooding. Helm, make your course one three seven. That'll also unmask our starboard wideaperture array.'
'Make my course one three seven, aye,' Meltzer said.
'At this point,' Jeffrey said, 'the best strategy's to head for deeper water at top quiet speed, dive beneath whatever limit Axis fish can handle. This course'll take us to the thousand-fathom curve a little faster, then we use full nap-of-seafloor cruising mode.'
'Our depth is three eight zero zero feet now, sir,' COB said.
'Very well, Chief of the Watch,' Jeffrey said. 'If Intel's right, we're more or less safe now, at least from nonnuclear devices, and A-bombs probably won't catch us so long as we don't give Hans another datum once we're well offshore of the latest one. At twentysix knots and with the stormy seas up there we can outrun any surface ships they have, and conditions aren't good for airborne dipping sonars either.'
'Captain,' Sessions said, using Jeffrey's formal acting title, 'intermittent passive sonar contact bearing two eight four on Master 27, reflections off her sail and bow sphere using reverb from the last torpedo detonation.'
'Range?' Jeffrey said, turning to face Sessions, who was busy eyeing data from his staff. Jeffrey almost started when he saw Ilse sitting there — somehow he'd forgotten all about her.
Jeffrey glanced aft. Captain Wilson and Morse were gone and the senior corpsman was working hard on Monaghan, now wearing a neck brace with his head taped to a backboard. The corpsman paused from giving artificial respiration to put a defibrillator to the navigator's chest.
'Clear!' he said, his forehead damp with sweat. Jeffrey realized he'd already done this several times — he smelled burned skin and hair. Tunnel vision, Jeffrey told himself. I got so fixated on the battle I forgot about my crew. I can't afford to do that.
'Captain,' Sessions said, 'contact bearing too far sternward to triangulate or range-gate by wide-aperture array, and no surface bounce range possible. Ambient sonar signal strength puts distance to Master 27 at roughly fifteen thousand yards. Cannot classify the contact based on ambient signature alone.'
'Very well,' Jeffrey said.
'Sir,' Sessions said, 'recommend another turn to starboard for a better wide-array incidence angle, a tighter estimate of contact range and possible capture of tonals.'
'Negative,' Jeffrey said. 'That would bring the contact's bearing closer to our beam, make us a bigger apparent target and also expose the starboard maximum in our radial self-noise profile.'
'Understood, sir,' Sessions said.
Jeffrey read his TMA display. The latest datum showed Master 27's course unchanged, still zero nine zero true.
'They haven't turned to follow,' Jeffrey said. 'I think they've lost us, Sonar, and we're both too close to other
Axis forces for them to go for area effect with an atomic warhead.'
'Concur, sir,' Sessions said. 'Doppler indicates the range is opening. No sign of weapon launch or loading transients on Master 27's bearing.'
Commodore Morse came back to the CACC. 'It looks like Captain Wilson doesn't have a broken skull, just a bad concussion. They say he's completely out of action for at least two days.'
'Understood,' Jeffrey said, then he glanced at Monaghan again.
'They put him in your rack,' Morse continued. 'They're stitching up his scalp now.'
'Why not the CO's state-room?' Jeffrey said distractedly.
'You need the data repeaters in his cabin, when you turn in for some rest…You know you're acting captain now.'
'I got a heartbeat,' the corpsman called.
'Can you keep him going?' Jeffrey said. Then he tried to stand. He could barely put weight on his leg now.
'I don't know,' the corpsman said. He inserted a plastic airway down the navigator's throat and started squeezing rhythmically on a breather bag. 'It's a nasty translation injury, like you'd expect from a torpedo hit. Neck vertebrae are crushed, his spinal cord's been damaged, maybe severed altogether. He needs to be on a life support respirator and we don't have one aboard.'
'Come on, Chief,' Jeffrey said. 'We've got a boatload of fancy pumps and spark-proof motors, a lifetime supply of pure 02, and some of the best engineers in the world. We'll make a respirator.'
'Sir,' the corpsman said, pressing down on Monaghan's chest to get him to exhale, 'that could take us hours.'
'Then we give him artificial respiration for hours…Phone Talker,' Jeffrey ordered, ' SEAL medic to the
CACC stat…They'll go in the hyperbaric chamber in the ASDS together, on oxygen, and the SEAL'Il breathe for Monaghan, however long it takes. When the respirator's done, we lock it into the chamber with them.'
Jeffrey eyed his weapons screen. Tubes one and three were loaded now with ADCAPs. Turn and rise and fire on Master 27? Get set to use one of the precious Mark 88s, a deepcapable nuclear torpedo, since Challenger's ADCAPs were conventional?
Jeffrey turned to Sessions. 'Sonar, can you tell me Master 27's depth?'
'Sir, passive contact lost as reverb dwindled. Doppler showed her moving but less fast than us.' Sessions worked his keyboard and conferred with Ilse. She worked her keyboard too. Sessions looked up. 'Sir, last elevation
