“Aye, aye,” the USWE said. He keyed his mike. “Sonar — USWE. Go active on sonar. Commence your search. Remember how shallow the water is and adjust your depression angles accordingly.”
“Sonar, aye.”
“UB — USWE. I expect to gain contact within the next few minutes, and the water is too shallow for ASROC. We don’t know what side of the ship this guy is going to show up on, so go ahead and prep an over-the-side shot for the port and starboard torpedo tubes.”
“UB, aye. Recommend we configure both weapons for shallow runs, minimum initial search depths, and minimum ceiling depths.”
“Good call, UB,” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman said. “Make it so.”
He watched the CDRT, waiting for the first sign of the submarine.
“We’ve got you now, you son of a bitch,” he said softly. “The fat lady is about to sing, because this opera is over.”
But twenty minutes later when
Captain Vargas laid her hand on Lieutenant (jg) Sherman’s shoulder.
“How did he get past us, Alex?”
Her USWE stared at the CDRT, still devoid of submarine contacts.
“He didn’t, ma’am. He
“Then he’s still here.”
“I don’t think so, Captain. We would have picked him up.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Alex,” the captain said. “The sub is either still here, or it got past us. Which is it?”
“He’s here, Skipper.”
“Then maybe he’s under the oil platform, blending in with its sonar return,” the captain said.
Sherman furrowed his eyebrows. “I don’t think he can do that, Captain. Between the scaffolding, and the piping, and the pumps, there’s an awful lot of equipment down …” He stopped. “What did you just say, ma’am?”
“I said, ‘He might be under the oil platform … ’”
Lieutenant (jg) Sherman shook his head rapidly. “Not that part, ma’am. The other part.”
Captain Vargas shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I said something about the sub blending in with the oil platform’s sonar return.”
Sherman snapped his fingers. “Not the oil platform, the
“You think the sub is sitting on the bottom?”
“Could be, Skipper.”
“Wouldn’t sonar have picked him up when we ran over the top of him?”
“No, ma’am,” the USWE said. “The SQS-53D’s automatic gain control clips the bottom return out of the signal when it processes it. If it didn’t, the system would show a sonar return in all directions; our scopes would be saturated. If the sub is sitting on the bottom, his signal could be getting clipped out along with the bottom signal.”
“Can we just shut the automatic gain control off, or bypass it?”
“No, ma’am. The bottom return would saturate our scopes, and we’d be completely blind.”
The captain stared at him. “You’re telling me that the American people spent millions of dollars on a sonar that
“I’m afraid so, Skipper.”
“And that submarine could be directly underneath us at this very second?”
“That would be a hell of a coincidence, but yes, ma’am. It’s certainly possible.”
“
Lieutenant (jg) Sherman’s eyebrows went up. “That’s not a bad idea…”
“Great,” the captain said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Now all we have to do is find someone who speaks German.”
Sherman smiled. “Actually, Skipper, what we need is someone who speaks
“USWE — Sonar. Yes, sir. It does.”
“Sonar — USWE. Can you patch an audio signal from the OBT into the underwater telephone?”
The reply took several seconds. “Uh … yes, sir. I guess so. Is that what you want me to do?”
“Affirmative, Sonar. Go ahead and rig the patch and load the Mark-54 recording, but do not transmit until I give the word.”
“Sonar, aye.”
The captain nodded slowly. “You’re going to broadcast a fake torpedo signal and scare the sub off the bottom?”
“That’s the idea, ma’am. When the sub hears that torpedo start up, he’s going to assume that we’ve detected him somehow, and that he’s about to get a high-explosive enema. He’ll be off the bottom, running his torpedo evasion maneuvers in nothing flat.”
“He’s going to launch a counter-battery attack as soon as he detects our weapon.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s how we’re going to locate him. As soon as he shoots, we’ll put a torpedo down his firing bearing.”
“So we have to draw fire from his torpedo to get a firing solution for our own torpedo?”
“I know it’s a risky plan, Captain. I just can’t think of a better one.”
Captain Vargas didn’t speak for over a minute. Finally, she said,
“Neither can I. Looks like we do it your way, Alex.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Lieutenant (jg) Sherman keyed his mike. “Sonar — USWE. Commence transmitting your recorded torpedo signal and keep it up until I tell you to stop.”
“Sonar, aye. Transmitting now.”
The next two reports came back-to-back, less than thirty seconds later.
“USWE — Sonar has active 53 Delta contact off the starboard quarter, bearing one-five-five. Initial classification: POSS-SUB, confidence level high!” Before the USWE could acknowledge, the Sonar Supervisor started in on his second report. “All Stations — Sonar has multiple hydrophone effects off the starboard quarter! Bearings one-five-five and one-five-seven. Initial classification: hostile torpedoes!”
“Holy Christ!” the USWE shouted. “This guy is right up our ass.” He keyed the net. “Bridge — USWE. Crack the whip! I say again, crack the whip!”
“Bridge, aye!”
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the 29-MC. “The first torpedo has acquired! Torpedo is close aboard!”
The turbines began to spin up, and the ship started to turn.
It was too late.
The DMA37 torpedo slipped under the hull and detonated directly beneath the destroyer’s after fuel tanks. The shallow, hard-packed sand bottom reflected a great deal of the shock wave back toward the surface — toward
The blazing steel hulk had barely settled back into the waves before a second torpedo darted in and hammered the ship again.
When the smoke and spray from the base surges of the explosions cleared, all that remained to mark the last position of USS
