Straits of Power

There was just one catch. The 214’s first set of weapons closed constantly from the side, even as Challenger led Ohio northeast. The Seehechts might be slow compared to ADCAPs, but their high-explosive warheads were nearly as large.

I can’t ignore them forever.

A new sound came over the speakers. Dull rumbles rose to heavy roars.

“Assess Masters Two and Three have fired antitorpedo rockets!” Bell said.

“Let’s see how effective they are.”

Jeffrey and Bell waited. Ohio’s four weapons ran on, their wires undoubtedly broken now. Torelli had his technicians make Challenger’s torpedoes from tubes three through six jink to try to evade the rockets. But the antitorpedo rockets were more nimble.

There were dull thuds and tremendous cracks as each rocket fired its warhead, a high-explosive shaped charge full of depleted uranium pellets, like a shotgun blast; Parcelli’s and Jeffrey’s ADCAPs were smashed, and two of their warheads were set off by the effects of the U-boats’ defensive rockets. Echoes finally died away, and the torpedo engine noises were lessened compared to before.

This won’t do…. We need to use more fish, in quicker succession, from much shorter range.

“Fire Control, reload tubes one through six, high-explosive ADCAPs.”

Jeffrey hadn’t reloaded before, because doing so would cut the wires to the weapons already in the water. Jeffrey’s first two fish, aimed at the 214, were on their own now. Sinking Master One was Parcelli’s job, and a salvo of four of his ADCAPs was already on the way.

Both class 212s pinged. Milgrom used active out-of-phase emissions to suppress the echoes off Challenger’s bow and the front of her sail. “Assess echoes successfully suppressed.”

“Very well, Sonar.” The Germans had to be wondering where Ohio had gone. Good. Perfect. Let them wonder.

The reloading of all empty tubes was done very quickly, thanks to Challenger’s torpedo-room hydraulic autoloader gear. Six tubes were soon ready to fire.

Enemy torpedoes began to draw too close for comfort. Jeffrey ordered Bell to have Torelli open fire with Challenger’s antitorpedo rockets.

Once more, roars and rumbles began and raced through the sea. The rocket detonations, and the sympathetic explosion of several Axis high-explosive torpedoes, were much louder this time, close enough to rattle Challenger bodily.

It was time to try to give the 212s’ captains the biggest surprise of their lives.

Hopefully the last surprise of their lives. They’ll think Ohio just fired those rockets, while sitting stationary, maybe behind a big fold in the terrain.

“Helm, ahead flank.”

Challenger accelerated.

Jeffrey ordered more snap shots fired, three each at Master Two and Master Three. They closed the range toward the pair of 212s very rapidly, since Master Two and Master Three had been lured before by Jeffrey’s sudden disappearing act into charging straight toward his quiet, invisible presence. The net closing rate of 212s and ADCAPs was almost 100 knots.

Jeffrey ordered the six tubes reloaded. As soon as they were ready, he fired another six fish.

They’ll know that I’m not Ohio, and they were fooled before. Ohio can’t shoot six fish in one salvo.

The melee was in its end stage now; a stand-up slugfest at barely arm’s length. There was nothing subtle about it. Antitorpedo rockets flew back and forth through the water. Torpedo engines screamed, moving away or coming nearer. Homing sonars pinged at different pitches, all of them high and now seeming strident, not sweet. Noisemakers gurgled. The hiss of Challenger’s own flow noise made a continuous backdrop over the speakers.

The 212s, in desperation, fired more antitorpedo rockets, and launched more Seehechts, and turned away to attempt evasive maneuvers. But they were running out of ammo, and Jeffrey’s gigantic torpedo room was still more than half full. Even in a stern chase, Jeffrey had a speed advantage of over thirty knots. And in these shallow waters, where the sonar layer had never once come into play, the 212s had scant room in which to evade.

This is where I find out if the German captains go nuclear.

Torelli’s technicians struggled to follow the action, and control their fish through their joysticks and the guidance wires. Three ADCAPs ran at each 212, homing in independent mode, drawing the fire of German antitorpedo rockets. Three more ADCAPs ran behind each first triplet, a second wave of weapons taking commands through the fiber-optic wires. This was Jeffrey’s final offensive fire.

But defense counted too.

One Seehecht through Torelli’s screen of rockets and we’re doomed.

There was a sharp crack and a merciless pummeling.

“Most recent unit from tube one has detonated!” Bell shouted. “Assess direct hit on Master Two!”

Crewmen cheered.

“Quiet in Control,” Jeffrey shouted. It seemed an absurd request, given the decibel level, but he needed his people to stay steady, and concentrate.

More roars and blasts resounded outside the hull. Inbound torpedo icons vanished as Torelli’s antitorpedo rockets scored hits.

An erupting vroom enveloped Challenger’s hull, the worst noise and physical punishment yet. Jeffrey was shaken in his seat so hard his vision was blurred.

“Most recent unit from tube seven has detonated!” Bell called out, projecting his voice above the cacophony. “Assess direct hit on Master Three!”

That abruptly, the whole feel of the ocean outside changed. There were no more rockets, and no more torpedoes. Instead there was the terrible sound of the sea slamming into fractured hulls. The 212s had no subdivided internal watertight compartments. The water-cannon noise subsided soon. There was a final gush of escaping bubbles, and both dead U-boats thumped into the bottom mud.

“Sonar,” Jeffrey ordered, almost whispering in the sudden quiet, “melee ping.”

Another acoustic fist probed everywhere on an arc in front of the ship.

Jeffrey waited.

Milgrom reported no submerged contacts.

“Helm, slow to ahead one third, make turns for four knots.”

Meltzer acknowledged.

Jeffrey waited for Challenger to slow. As her speed came off, the steady vibrations of her own movement diminished, then grew still.

“Helm, right ten degrees rudder, make your course zero-nine-zero.” Due east, to bring Ohio into the field of view of the starboard wide-aperture arrays, and into the effective coverage of the secure acoustic link. The turn would also avoid a potential collision, until the fast-moving Ohio realized that Jeffrey had slowed and was talking to them.

“Fire Control. Signal Ohio: ‘What is your status, and what is status of prosecuting Master One?’ ”

Bell typed. It took a few moments for the response from Parcelli to come back and be decoded.

“ ‘Master One destroyed while you were sinking the class 212s.’ ” Parcelli had sunk the 214. “ ‘Status my ship is outstanding. Why? Were you really concerned about the outcome?’ ”

Jeffrey forced himself not to curse. He was drenched in sweat, and starting to shake as the overdose of adrenaline wore off. He felt horribly thirsty and drowsy. Looking around in the red-lit control room, his crew seemed in no better shape. They all knew they had barely survived, and only because Jeffrey’s split-second decisions had changed all the terms of the battle more than once. They also knew that they’d saved Ohio’s backside from a lethal bushwhacking just in the nick of time.

And then I get this message from Parcelli. That snide son of a bitch.