“Fire control, open bow caps on tubes one and three.”
“Captain, we have a firing solution,” declared Harper confidently, while extending his hand with a fire control chit in it.
Guthrie grabbed the piece of paper and looked at it closely. “Course two seven three, speed five knots, range two eight hundred yards. Boy howdy, he’s close!”
“Yes, sir. And getting closer, I might add,” observed Simmons.
Guthrie gave his navigator a sour look and handed the chit back to Harper. “Plug it in, Eng.”
Harper gave the data to Zelinski, who read it off to the fire control technician. Soon the Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo in tube one would have all the data it needed to find and kill the Kilo.
“Conn, Sonar, transients from Sierra five seven. Sounds like he’s opening torpedo tube outer doors,” reported Buckley.
Guthrie’s heart sank. Had they been detected? Before he could acknowledge the report, the WLY-1 receiver began chirping. The Kilo had gone active.
“Snapshot, tube…” shouted Guthrie, but he was interrupted by Buckley before he could finish his command.
“Conn, Sonar, Sierra five seven has gone active, but we are not in the main beam. Repeat we are not in the main beam. WLY-1 is picking up a side lobe.”
“Belay my last,” barked Guthrie. “We’ll stick to our original plan. Get those weapon presets in pronto, Weps.”
“Contact, Captain, range to target thirty-two hundred meters.” The sonar operator’s tone was understandably excited. They were much closer to the target than the first shot.
“Rapid salvo fire, tubes one and three!” cried Mehr determinedly.
“Tubes one and three fired, sir!”
“Conn, Sonar, torpedoes in the water. Bearing one nine one. Torpedoes are drawing right rapidly. They’re going away from us.”
“Sonar, Conn, aye.” Guthrie smiled. He’d taken the bait. The Iranian captain had fired on the mobile decoy.
“Firing point procedures, Sierra five seven, tube one,” he said calmly.
“Solution ready,” answered Harper.
“Ship ready,” replied Simmons.
“Weapon ready,” responded Zelinski.
“Shoot on generated bearings,” ordered Guthrie.
Zelinski nodded to the fire control technician, who grabbed the firing handle and rotated it to the left. “Set… Stand by… Shoot!” called out the tech.
On the word “shoot” he rotated the handle all the way around to the right, completing the firing circuit. Down in the torpedo room, the firing valve on the starboard tube nest opened with a pop, allowing high-pressure air to run through the blades of a turbine. The turbine drove a titanium pump impeller that spun very rapidly, driving hundreds of gallons of seawater into the torpedo tube. The force of the seawater literally threw the 3,700-pound Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo out of the tube with the acceleration equal to three Gs. Once clear of the submarine, the Mark 48’s Otto fuel engine kicked in and propelled the deadly weapon toward its target.
“Normal launch,” announced the fire control tech. “Torpedo course one nine five, medium speed, four zero knots, run-to-enable one five hundred yards.”
Nelson immediately had the plotting team place the torpedo’s course and designated enable point on the geoplot. Guthrie hopped down from the periscope stand and looked at the tactical situation displayed on the paper plot. He liked what he saw.
“If we’ve done this right, he’ll be completely surprised when the torpedo enables ninety degrees from where it’s supposed to be,” stated Guthrie.
The captain watched as Porter and Hogan drew out the bearing lines to the Mark 48. At forty knots, it would take just a little over a minute to reach the enable point.
Mehr was puzzled as he looked at the tactical display on the fire control console. The target he fired at wasn’t doing anything! No reaction whatsoever. He surely couldn’t have missed the active sonar pings bouncing off his hull. What was that man doing? Suddenly, his blood went cold with realization. That wasn’t a submarine they shot at. It was a decoy! He had to get out of here, now! Pivoting toward the helmsman, he was about to give his orders when an alarm went off.
“Detect. Detect. Detect. Homing,” the fire control technician sang out. “Own-ship’s unit has acquired the target. Bearing to target one nine three, range nine double oh yards.”
“Bull’s-eye, Skipper,” said Harper.
“We haven’t won yet, Eng,” remarked Guthrie. Then raising his voice, “Helm, all ahead standard. Weps, stand by countermeasure station.”
“Launch countermeasure,” shouted Mehr. He didn’t bother waiting for his first officer’s response. Mehr had other things to do if they were going to survive. “Helmsman, hard left rudder, steady on course two three zero, all ahead flank! Fire control, steer torpedo number one ninety degrees to the right!”
“Sir?” stammered Kashani with confusion.
“He’s on our starboard side, you dolt! Turn the torpedo!”
Kashani started inputting the turn commands, but the elderly Russian fire control system was slow and klutzy. He had to execute one turn, wait for the weapon to respond, and then do it again.
Mehr could feel the vibrations as the boat accelerated. But he knew that if the countermeasure failed, it wouldn’t matter.
“Conn, Sonar, target zig, Sierra five seven. Contact is cavitating and has deployed a countermeasure.” Buckley’s voiced boomed from the intercom speaker.
“Sonar, Conn, aye,” Guthrie replied. “Any indication the countermeasure is affecting our weapon?”
Zelinski looked at the torpedo control panel, and asked his technician before he responded, “No, sir. It doesn’t look like own-ship’s unit is being affected at all by the Kilo’s countermeasure.”
“Time to impact,” requested Guthrie.
“At six five knots, impact in two zero seconds,” answered the fire control tech.
“Conn, Sonar, one of the torpedoes is turning toward the right. Bearing two four nine.”
“Sonar, Conn, aye. Keep an eye on it. I need to know if it keeps turning toward us,” said Guthrie. Glancing at the plot, it wasn’t a threat, yet.
“Incoming torpedo still closing.” The sonar operator was sobbing as he spoke. Mehr didn’t respond. It no longer mattered. The countermeasure had failed to decoy the American’s torpedo, and at its maximum speed it was three times faster than his submarine. The whale would swallow them after all. He closed his eyes tightly and prayed for Allah’s mercy.
Five seconds later, the Mark 48 ADCAP’s 650-pound high explosive warhead detonated right next to the Kilo’s hull, crushing it like a sledgehammer hitting an empty soda can. The twisted and mangled hull plowed into the bottom of the Persian Gulf.
“Conn, Sonar, loud explosion bearing two one six!” Buckley announced gleefully.
The fire control party erupted into a loud cheer, while Guthrie placed his head on the plotting table. They’d done it.
“Sonar, Conn, aye,” replied Simmons. “Do you hear anything else?”
