The SH-3H Sea King hovered low, its rotor wash churning the sea into a bubbling cauldron. A cable hung from under the helicopter, stretching down into the water.
In the Sea King’s cockpit, the pilot clicked his mike. “All right, Tommy. Activate the pinger. Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
The petty officer in charge of Bravo Six’s sonar gear reached out and flipped a single switch — activating the dipping sonar dangling thirty meters under the water.
“Comrade Captain! Active sonar on the port bow. Very strong.” The plotter’s voice climbed in pitch.
“Damn it! Release a decoy! Right full rudder.” Markov looked at the charge meter and tried to make a fast calculation. How much battery power could he spare? Not much. He sighed and issued the order. “Increase speed to ten knots.”
It was a depth-charge attack, close by. No warnings this time. “All compartments report damage.”
He was just starting to receive reports when the second salvo came in, with a third seconds behind. This time the Control Room lights went out and did not come on again. In the darkness he could hear men shouting orders and he spoke to those nearby, calming them.
His first lieutenant’s voice cut through the confusion. “Maneuvering room reports one of the shafts refuses to turn. Also, there is flooding in the crew’s quarters.”
Shit. Markov couldn’t see the plot in this blackness, but his head held the known elements of the situation
“We got good hits on those attacks, sir. It’s hard for him to dodge in this shallow water.” The ASW officer was cool even at the climax of the prosecution. His earlier case of nerves hadn’t prevented him from vectoring in several helicopters to attack the Soviet sub in rapid succession, and Brown was making a mental note about a medal.
“What’s he doing now?” Brown wasn’t confident that depth charges alone could kill the sub. It was almost impossible to get a direct hit with them. So instead of the simple deadly impact of a torpedo warhead, the Tango out there was being hammered by a series of shock waves from near misses. Or so they hoped. It was difficult to get good damage assessment amid all the roiled water left by the depth-charge explosions.
The ASW officer listened on his radio circuit and made some minor adjustments to his display. “Bravo Three and Five both have good contact with the Sov boat. He’s turning right, moving at about ten knots.” The officer paused. “That’s kind of slow for a Tango trying to evade attack, Admiral. We may have hurt him pretty bad.”
“All right, hit him again. Don’t give that asshole an inch.” Confident that the attack on the sub was in good hands, Brown turned his attention to the gravely damaged
The battery meter was unreadable in the dim red light thrown by the emergency lamps, but Markov knew what it must show. With less than ten percent of his charge and one shaft gone, there were few options left. He hoped to merge with the sounds made by the damaged American ship and then break away to the west.
“Sir, the torpedo room doesn’t answer!
Markov closed his eyes. That last depth-charge attack must have ruptured the pressure hull right over the torpedo room. He closed his eyes, trying to shut away images of the men now drowning amid their weapons. “Blow the forward ballast tank. We have to compensate for the flooding.”
The hissing release of supercompressed air brought the
He stumbled forward to where his first lieutenant stood braced against the deck’s tilt. “Blow all ballast tanks, Dimitri. We will surface.” He raised his voice, addressing every man in the Control Room. “Prepare to implement the destruction bill. We won’t give the Americans any prizes.”
Koloskov grabbed Markov’s arm, the fear evident on his face. “Captain! Remember our orders from Moscow. We must not allow the Americans to learn of our involvement. We must escape.”
Markov shoved the man away, unworried about any reports he might file. The odds were against either of them surviving long enough for Koloskov to retaliate.
“Listen to that, you idiot!” He jerked a thumb toward the hull. The deep
Koloskov stared at his captain, struck speechless with fear. Then he turned away and retched, fouling the
Markov ignored him and wheeled to the rest of the Control Room crew. “You heard my order. Surface!”
“Sir, after lookout reports a submarine surfacing!” Keegan’s bellow rang across the bridge. Levi had just ordered the whaleboat launched and had been thinking about what should go in the second load for the
He ran across to the
Another destroyer was already racing toward the enemy boat at flank speed, its guns trained on the crippled vessel. The onrushing destroyer’s five-inch barked, throwing a shell across the Tango’s bows to let it know that the slightest misstep would end in its destruction.
Men started to appear on the submarine’s sail and inflatable boats were thrown on the water. Levi suddenly realized what had happened and started grinning. With survivors and photographs, the Russians were going to have some explaining to do.
Admiral Brown was speaking into the scrambler phone again. “No, George, they scuttled as soon as their people were off. Explosive charges. We’ve marked the spot, but we’ll have to wait awhile to try to raise it. It’s the middle of winter and the middle of a war zone.”
The gravelly voice of Admiral George Simons, CINCPAC, rasped in his ear. “I understand, Tom. Now what about your own losses? Can still you carry out the mission?”
Brown didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely, sir.
Simons sounded relieved. “That’s good news, Tom. I’ll relay your report to the Joint Chiefs for their consideration. In the meantime, I’m authorizing you to take whatever measures you deem necessary to safeguard your command — up to, but not including, nuclear release. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly clear, sir.”
“All right then, Admiral. I’ll get out of your hair. Good luck.”
“Thank you, sir.” Brown listened as the transmission from PacFleet HQ in Hawaii ended in a series of clicks
