The Trident Deception Page 36

  Wilson examined the display over the Weapon Officer’s shoulder. The green ∧, rapidly closing the red half-circle representing the Kentucky, blinked, then fell behind.

  They had sent the first torpedo toward the Kentucky at high speed, not because he wanted it to reach the Kentucky quickly, but because he wanted the Kentucky to hear the torpedo coming and notice the course changes toward them. The purpose of the first torpedo was to keep the Kentucky at ahead flank so it could be tracked on the Collins’s sonar. Like a good bird dog, flushing the quail from heavy cover, the first torpedo’s job was to set up the kill.

  The killing would be done by their second torpedo. Wilson had shifted it to medium speed so it would proceed toward their target undetected, and also so it would consume less fuel during the long transit, ensuring it could finish the job once it detected its target. The Collins’s second-fired torpedo still had its sonar turned off, and the Kentucky wouldn’t hear it coming.

  Not until it was too late.

  The Weapons Officer delivered the first report Wilson anticipated. “First-fired unit has shut down. Zero percent fuel remaining.”

  Wilson examined the sonar display on the port side of Control. The bright white trace representing the Kentucky slowly dimmed, then disappeared.

  Sonar announced, “Master One has slowed. Loss of Master One.”

  That was the other report he expected. Wilson responded instantly, shouting to Humphreys. “Enable second-fired unit. Now!”

  USS KENTUCKY

  “Torpedo in the water! Bearing one-six-zero! Range, one thousand yards!”

  Malone spun toward the Conn, the bright white trace burning into the sonar display.

  The Kentucky’s adversary was extremely good. He had placed his second-fired unit perfectly, waiting until the torpedo was practically on top of them before enabling its sonar.

  “Launch countermeasure!” Malone shouted. “Helm, ahead flank, right full rudder, steady course zero-nine-zero!”

  A torpedo decoy was ejected from the submarine, and Malone reversed course to the east, hoping the torpedo would lock on to the countermeasure before it detected the larger ballistic missile submarine speeding away.

  Malone stopped by the geographic display, examining the icon depicting the location of their countermeasure and the red bearing lines of the approaching torpedo. Had they ejected the countermeasure quickly enough, or had the torpedo already locked onto them? Malone listened to the reports from Sonar over the 7-MC.

  “Conn, Sonar. Up Doppler on incoming torpedo. Torpedo is turning toward.”

  Malone shook his head.

  Their countermeasure had failed to distract it.

  Before he could formulate his next plan, Sonar followed up.

  “Torpedo is increasing speed. Torpedo is homing! Range six hundred yards!”

  The torpedo had locked on to them. There was little more he could do now except turn or launch another countermeasure. At this distance, launching another countermeasure would be futile; the torpedo would speed past it before it activated, and turning the ship would fail to shake the nimble MK 48. And unlike the last torpedo, Malone figured this one would close the distance; at six hundred yards and homing, there was no chance they could outrun it.

  There was only one option remaining.

  “Emergency blow all main ballast tanks! Dive, full rise on the stern and fairwater planes!”

  The Kentucky’s Chief of the Watch stood and pulled down on the emergency blow levers. High-pressure air spewed into the submarine’s main ballast tanks, pushing water out through flood grates in the bottom of the submarine. Malone held on to the Conn railing as the ship’s angle reached thirty up, while the other men grabbed onto consoles near their watch stations. The air finally finished pushing the water out of the ballast tanks, then spilled out through grates in the ship’s keel. As the Kentucky sped toward the surface, it left massive air pockets in its wake, exactly as Malone had planned.

  * * *

  As the MK 48 Mod 4 torpedo sped through the Kentucky’s aerated wake, it lost contact with its target. Its search algorithms decided to continue straight ahead, not realizing its target was rising rapidly above. By the time the torpedo emerged on the other side of the turbulent bubble, the Kentucky was behind it. The MK 48 torpedo sped onward, unaware it had just passed a hundred yards beneath its target.

  * * *

  “Torpedo bears three-four-zero!”

  As the Kentucky surged toward the surface, Malone examined the torpedo bearing, verifying it had passed underneath the submarine and was now heading away. He now turned his attention to the next critical problem. The Kentucky was heading toward the surface, where she would be trapped and vulnerable.

  “Chief of the Watch. Secure the blow! Vent all main ballast tanks!”

  The Chief of the Watch complied, shutting the valves from the high-pressure air tanks, stopping the flow of air into the main ballast tanks. He immediately followed by opening the main ballast tank vents, allowing the trapped air to escape. Water began to flood back into the ballast tanks.

  Malone checked the ship’s depth on the Ship Control Panel. They were at six hundred feet and rising rapidly. The question was—could they vent the air fast enough and stop their ascent before they reached the surface?

  500 feet

  With so much air in the ballast tanks, they were extremely buoyant.

  400 feet

  “Full dive, both planes,” Malone ordered. He directed both the fairwater planes on the submarine’s sail and the stern planes near the rudder to full dive, to help drive the submarine downward.

  300 feet

  They were beginning to slow their ascent.

  200 feet

  The Kentucky’s depth began to level off.

  100 feet

  The submarine’s depth steadied at ninety feet, then began to increase as air continued to vent from the main ballast tanks.

  Malone called out, “Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth four hundred feet.”

  As the Kentucky slowed from ahead flank, the Diving Officer took control of the planes, and the Kentucky settled out at four hundred feet.

  * * *

  Malone’s adversary was good. Extremely good. One thing he knew for sure was he had better take him out fast. He had no idea how many more torpedoes were incoming or what other tricks he had up his sleeve.

  He turned his attention to the Kentucky’s outgoing torpedo, launched almost a half hour ago. He turned to the Weapons Control Coordinator. “What have you got?”

  “Own ship’s unit detected a countermeasure and has entered secondary search pattern, but so far hasn’t detected the target. Twenty-one percent fuel remaining.”

  Malone examined the sonar displays on the Conn, then spoke loudly so Sonar could hear him over the open mike. “Sonar, we need something to guide own ship’s unit. We don’t need a solid trace, just some indication of where the target is.”

  “Conn, Sonar. Aye. We’re looking, sir, but so far we’ve got nothing.”

  Malone returned his attention to the Fusion Plot, studying the initial bearing of the first torpedo.

  Lieutenant (JG) Carvahlo, manning the Fusion Plot, looked up. “What is it, sir?”

  “We’re going to make an educated guess on where the target is. Let’s assume the contact was at twenty thousand yards when it fired. Assuming it’s a diesel, it probably evaded at four knots at that range. At a course of…”

  This was the critical part. The bearing was solid. The range was reasonable and good enough since the torpedo sonar could sort out range inaccuracies if you placed it close enough. But if you picked a wrong evasion course, you could end up in left field instead of right. The direction the submarine evaded was critical. And, of course, a complete guess.

  “Use an evasion course of … three-zero-zero.”

  Carvahlo complied, laying out a course to the northwest.

  Looking at the Weapons Console, Malone verified they still had the wire g
uide to their torpedo. He turned to the Weapons Control Coordinator. “Insert torpedo steer, right one hundred.”

  HMAS COLLINS

  As Wilson examined the sonar displays in Control, the bearings to the Kentucky’s incoming torpedo gradually fell aft. He could tell from the torpedo’s run geometry that it was an MK 48 ADCAP Mod 6, two generations newer, with thirty thousand times more processing power than the Mod 4 torpedoes the Collins carried. Thankfully, it had been fired from long range and the Collins had been able to move out of the torpedo’s sonar range. The only question was—did the Kentucky still have the wire, and would they send a lucky steer to the torpedo?

  Not only was the Mod 6 torpedo more sophisticated, it was also significantly faster than the Mod 4. A sophisticated and fast weapon, a slow diesel submarine, and a lucky steer were a deadly combination.

  Seemingly in response to Wilson’s thoughts, the Sonar Supervisor called out, “Torpedo is turning toward us. They’ve inserted a steer.”

  Humphreys responded immediately, ordering his submarine back toward the west and increasing speed, hoping they could move out of the way fast enough.

  “Helm, ahead flank. Left full rudder, steady course two-three-zero.”

  Wilson watched tensely as the Mod 6 torpedo closed rapidly on the Collins. The torpedo was charging forward and hadn’t yet detected the diesel submarine, which was angling away on the new course Humphreys ordered. Would the Collins put enough distance between the torpedo as it sped by? The answer became apparent a few seconds later.

  “Watch Leader, Sonar. Up Doppler on incoming torpedo. Torpedo is turning toward us!”

  Wilson watched the trace stop falling aft, now steady on a constant bearing. The Kentucky’s torpedo had detected them.

  “Watch Leader, Sonar. Torpedo is homing. Shifting to high speed!”

  “Launch countermeasure!” Humphreys ordered.

  The Collins’s crew ejected another decoy into the ocean, placing it between their submarine and the trailing torpedo. But the Mod 6 torpedo had already identified this type of countermeasure as a fake target and it sped past the stationary decoy.

  The torpedo calculated the range, course, and speed of its target, shifting its sonar pattern to the highest fidelity mode.

  “Watch Leader, Sonar. Torpedo is range gating! Impact in one minute!”

  The torpedo’s pings echoed through the Collins’s hull.

  “Hard right rudder!” Humphreys ordered. “Steady course north!”

  Humphreys kicked the submarine’s stern around hard, completing a 130-degree turn to the north, trying to create a knuckle of turbulent water the torpedo would have to pass through. Hopefully the knuckle would blind the torpedo long enough for the Collins to slip out of its sonar range. If that didn’t work, they would be almost out of options.

  The torpedo passed through the knuckle just as the Collins steadied on her new course. Wilson prayed the torpedo bearings would start drawing aft, evidence the torpedo had lost track of the Collins.

  The torpedo bearings remained constant.

  “Watch Leader, Sonar. Torpedo has turned north, continuing to close. Thirty seconds to impact.”

  Humphreys turned his head toward Wilson, then glanced at the emergency blow levers.

  They had only one option left.

  Wilson nodded.

  “Emergency Blow!” Humphreys bellowed. “Full rise all planes!”

  The Watch Leader pulled down on the emergency blow levers, and high-pressure air began spilling into the Collins’s main ballast tanks, pushing water out the flood grates. The Collins tilted upward and began shooting toward the surface.

  * * *

  As the HMAS Collins streaked toward the surface, the MK 48 Mod 6 torpedo steadily closed the remaining distance to its target. Torpedo 200348, built, oddly enough, by the Hughes Aircraft Company in its Forest, North Carolina, plant, was a seasoned underwater veteran. It had been shot over a dozen times in an exercise configuration, its warhead temporarily replaced with a Fleet Exercise Section.

  However, upon its last return to the Heavyweight torpedo maintenance facility in Pearl Harbor, it received a warshot turnaround, emerging with a warhead in place of an exercise section. Although its body was old, it was durable and dependable, and it had done its job, closing on its target as commanded. The torpedo’s sonar detected a large metal object rising though the myriad of small air bubbles, and the guidance algorithms directed a vertical course change. The tail fins twitched, and the torpedo tilted upward. As Torpedo 200348 closed on its target, its exploder rolled into position.

  * * *

  As the Collins sped toward the ocean’s surface, Wilson studied the torpedo bearings on the display. He didn’t need to hear the Sonar Supervisor’s report to know their Emergency Blow had failed.

  “Watch Leader, Sonar. Incoming torpedo is still homing! Impact in ten seconds!”

  Humphreys turned to Wilson, standing beside him. “We’re screwed, mate.”

  Wilson said nothing, looking at Humphreys with knowing eyes. There was no way to evade the incoming torpedo. In a matter of seconds, the warhead would detonate, blowing a hole in the Collins’s pressure hull. Cold water would flood into the submarine like a geyser due to the intense sea pressure, and the Collins would sink to the bottom of the ocean.

  Although his heart went out to Humphreys and the crew of the Collins, Wilson breathed a sigh of relief. The burden he’d dealt with the last few days was lifted from his shoulders, and he was unexpectedly pleased with the outcome. Like on Mount Moriah as Abraham prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac, God had intervened, sparing the life of the son.

  But not the father.

  The result wasn’t exactly what Wilson had hoped for, but it was something. At least he wouldn’t be responsible for Tom’s death.

  Wrapping one arm around the Search periscope, he braced himself for the explosion.

  * * *

  Torpedo 200348 closed the remaining one hundred yards, and its electromagnetic coils detected the large steel object it chased. Once within range, it fired the initiating charge, igniting the six hundred pounds of PBXN-105 explosive in the torpedo’s warhead. The MK 48 torpedo disintegrated as the equivalent of eight hundred pounds of dynamite detonated, splitting open the three-inch-thick steel hull of the Collins like papier-mâché, blowing a gaping hole into the Engine Room.

  * * *

  Wilson’s firm grip wasn’t enough to keep him from being knocked to the deck as the torpedo exploded. He pulled himself to his feet as Humphreys likewise climbed to his. Wilson knew they were in trouble when the Flooding Alarm sounded; in jeopardy when he felt the stern squat down from the added weight of the inrushing ocean; in extremis when the stern planes had to be pushed to full dive in an attempt to keep the submarine’s angle from tilting out of control.

  The equipment in the Engine Room began to fail in a crescendo of alarming indications. The lights flickered; Control was momentarily drowned in darkness when the motor generators went off-line, and then emergency lighting energized a second later. But as the submarine surged toward the surface, the Collins received the nail in its coffin.

  The Engine Room rang up all stop.

  There was no more propulsion, nothing available to drive them upward except for the Emergency Blow that had already done its work. They were almost there; almost to the surface.

  Not that it would do them much good.

  As the submarine’s speed bled off, Wilson knew they would be able to carry less weight and would begin to sink. Even if they reached the surface, it would be only a few seconds before they submerged beneath the waves again; insufficient time for the hatches to be opened and for any of the crew to escape.

  The red numbers on the digital depth meter, which had been changing rapidly as the Collins sped toward the surface, stopped at forty meters. The numbers began changing again, this time in the opposite direction, slowly at first, then increasing speed as the ship passed through one hundred, then two hundred meters
. The numbers began changing so quickly that Wilson could estimate the ship’s depth only to the nearest hundred meters, and the Collins soon passed below Test Depth.

  As Wilson stared at the digital depth gauge, the numbers stopped changing, and he wondered if the ship’s depth had stabilized. But he soon understood the meaning of the immobile numbers. The submarine hadn’t halted its descent—it had descended beyond the maximum range of its depth gauges; it could no longer report the depths to which the Collins sank. The frozen numbers stared back at him, and he wondered how the ship managed to hold together below Crush Depth.

  Looking around Control at the men and women whose lives would soon be extinguished, their faces illuminated by the eerie yellow emergency lighting, Wilson realized it was all his fault. He was the one who had dragged them into this. His thoughts turned to the families who would wait in vain on the pier for the Collins’s return home from her long patrol. They would no longer have the comfort of a husband or wife, mother or father.

  As the men and women in Control stared at him, with fear on their faces yet their eyes still harboring a faint glimmer of hope the American captain would somehow save them, it was all too much. Wilson turned his head away, avoiding their gaze. With a flooded Engine Room, their submarine would travel in only one direction.

  Down.

  There was nothing more he could do.

  A loud, wrenching metallic sound tore through the ship, and the stern began to tilt downward. Wilson slid across Control, grabbing onto the Attack periscope as the submarine reached a ninety-degree angle, descending stern first. The hull groaned from the rising sea pressure, and the piping systems in the compartment began to give way, water spraying across Control as the Collins plummeted into the dark ocean depths.

  79

  USS KENTUCKY

  The Kentucky shuddered as a shock wave passed by, followed by Sonar’s report. “Explosion in the water, bearing one-eight-four!” Cheers erupted in Control, dying down as Sonar followed up. “Conn, Sonar. Breaking-up noises, bearing one-eight-four.”

  Malone didn’t share the enthusiasm as he thought solemnly about the men who would never return from sea. It could just as easily have been them.