He managed to keep his voice normal. “I know that, XO. I’m banking on him shooting with a doppler enabled torpedo this close to shore. If that's true, that torpedo won’t even see us. It will go for the MOSS because it's moving.”
Doppler is the frequency shift that sound makes as it comes from a moving object. By sensing and tracking only sonar returns that show doppler, the torpedo could sort out the moving submarine from the stationary erroneous returns. The MOSS was making ten knots almost directly toward the incoming torpedo.
Hunter queried, “Sonar, bearing to the torpedo?”
“Still bears two-six-five. Zero bearing rate.”
Weps yelled out, “Detect. Detect. Acquisition. Our weapon has acquired the KILO!”
Feedback along the hair thin copper wire connecting the ADCAP to the SAN FRANCISCO showed that the torpedo had found its prey.
Sonar reported, “Indication of our weapon acquiring. Weapon in close-in re-attack. Incoming torpedo still bearing two-six-five.”
The incoming torpedo was coming straight at them. There was no bearing drift.
The control room was absolutely silent. The normal bustle of men working had stopped. All eyes were glued on the sonar repeater watching the trace, praying for the slightest change in bearing.
“Shit, this is going to be close” Fagan groaned.
Hunter glanced over to see his XO, pasty white and shaking uncontrollably.
Everyone else bent intently to their tasks, mentally willing the incoming torpedo to accept the bait.
“Loud explosion on the bearing of the KILO. Breaking up noises.”
The sonar report was superfluous. The noise of the explosion came through the hull. It was a terrible sound to hear. Death had reached out and touched their adversary. Now it was dancing with them.
“Torpedo bearing two-six-five. It didn’t go for the MOSS. I think it has us!" Holmstad shouted, fear thick in his voice.
There was nothing between them and the incoming torpedo. Was there a way out? Hunter was stymied. Could he fool the torpedo or get out of its acquisition cone? The tendrils of uncertainty were starting to envelop his thinking. There had to be a way out. What was it?
Then it hit him. They couldn’t out race it horizontally, but if they timed it right, maybe they could out race it vertically. He would need to let the torpedo get close enough so that it did not have enough time to react and chase them to the surface. If he waited too long, the sub would not have enough time to get out of the acquisition cone before the torpedo hit.
"XO, range to the torpedo?" Hunter asked.
He expected immediate response and didn't hear it. Looking over at Fagan, he saw that the XO was clutching desperately to a pipe stanchion with tears streaming down his face, oblivious to everything except his fear.
Fagan was not going to be any help. Hunter would have to do this on his own. He figured that he had about two seconds of leeway. Not much at all.
What was it his old Skipper on WILSON always said? "Better lucky than good."
Looking at the sonar trace of the incoming torpedo, he waited stoically. Couldn’t let the crew see the emotions seething inside. That was the path to panic. Just a second longer, wait. Wait. Now!
Hunter shouted, “Shoot evasion devices from both signal ejectors. Chief of the Watch, emergency blow to the surface,”
The Chief of the Watch squeezed the releases and threw the two large brass handles up. A rush of high-pressure air deafened all other sound in control. The ship began to rumble. The diving officer reached up and sounded the diving klaxon three times, the signal for an emergency surface. The roar of high-pressure air drowned out all possibility of conversation in the control room. At first the depth gauge barely moved, then it began to accelerate, then accelerate more, as more 4,500 psi air dumped into the ballast tanks, forcing the water out. The depth gauge was going so fast that the numbers were a blur. The sub’s up-angle grew to forty degrees up when the bow finally jumped free of the surface and splashed back down with a stomach-churning crash.
No sooner were they on the surface than they felt an explosion beneath them. The sub jumped and shuddered.
“What happened? What was that?” could be heard around the boat.
To quiet the rising panic of the crew, Hunter announced over the 1MC, “The jolt you just felt was the incoming torpedo detonating on the evasion device below us. When we emergency blew to the surface, we came up fast enough to get out of the torpedo’s vertical acquisition cone before it could react. It went for the only target left, the evasion device. We are now on the surface with only the outboard for propulsion. We will establish communications with Alpha Xray on the NIMITZ and with the P-3s that are incoming. The engineers will be repairing the main engines so that we can continue on our mission. We're OK."
Loud cheers answered his words.
But the fight was not over yet.
Hunter directed in rapid-fire sequence “Raise number two scope and number one BRA-34 mast. Energize the IFF to squawk mode 4. Raise Alpha Xray on SATCOM secure voice. Officer of the Deck, man the scope and report any contacts. Be on the lookout for any low flying aircraft.”
Hunter replaced the microphone and stepped over to where Fagan was standing. Fagan was attempting desperately to regain his composure, tears streaming down his face while his whole body convulsed uncontrollably. Hunter quietly told the XO to go to his stateroom. Hunter would talk with him later.
Warran Jacobs jumped to the periscope, reached up and rotated the
