“Mark leg one, Coordinator.” Phillips tapped the soggy-ended cigar against his leg. Thirty seconds later the bearings were coming into the firecontrol screen and forming a rough line down the display.
“Got a curve, sir, recommend maneuver,” Whatney said.
“Helm, right ten degrees rudder, steady course east.”
Pacino waited, wondering how long it would be before the outbound Destiny heard them, wondering how long it would take a Japanese commander to put a torpedo in the water.
“Come on. Coordinator, you’ve got thirty seconds when steady.”
“Steady course east, sir.”
“Very well. Helm.” Phillips’s face seemed to be relaxing, lost in the situation, now seemingly unaware of Pacino’s observation.
“Weps, confirm torpedo settings tube one.” The weapons officer sat at the far right console, the panel replete with function keys and a large silver lever.
“Tube one, outer door open, weapon warm, immediate enable set, medium speed active snake—”
Whatney interrupted. “Gotta curve, Captain, and a firing solution, range seven thousand yards, target speed thirty knots, target course one nine zero. Recommend immediate launch.”
“Firing point procedures, tube one,” Phillips called.
“Ship ready,” the lieutenant next to Phillips reported.
“Weapon ready,” the weapons officer said.
“Solution ready,” from Whatney.
“Shoot on generated bearing,” Phillips commanded, shoving the cigar into his mouth.
“Set,” the officer at the middle firecontrol panel called, sending the target solution to the torpedo.
“Standby,” the weapons officer said from the weapons console, taking the large silver trigger all the way to the left.
“Shoot,” Phillips ordered.
“Fire!” the weapons officer said, his voice excited as he pulled the trigger to the far right.
Nothing happened. Pacino now realized what had been wrong when he had first walked into the room.
The crew around him seemed not to notice.
“Tube one fired electrically. Captain,” the weapons officer said.
“Unit one, normal launch,” sonar reported. “Unit is active.”
“Let’s get out of here, Coordinator. Sonar, prepare to monitor the caboose array, we’re putting the target in the baffles. Helm, all ahead flank, right ten degrees rudder, steady course south.”
Pacino waited for the deck to tremble from the power of the main engines running at flank speed, but the deck was whisper-quiet.
“Sonar, Captain, what have you got on the caboose array?”
“Captain, own ship’s unit is still in search mode. We no longer hold Target One on the caboose array. He’s also dipping below threshold on the towed array endbeam. Loss of contact. Target One.”
Phillips and Whatney shared a dour look. There was nothing now for them to do but get away from the Destiny and hope the torpedo hit him before he realized what had happened.
“Conn, Sonar, torpedo in the water! Rough bearing one two zero.”
Pacino felt the acid hit his stomach. The Destiny had just fired a torpedo, a large-bore Nagasaki Mod Alpha.
They had almost no chance of evading the torpedo. It would be easier to outrun a bullet aimed at your head from a foot away. Pacino concentrated on Phillips to see if he would continue to function.
Phillips reached up to the sonar-repeater monitor and repeatedly stabbed a fixed function key, the monitor view changing with each button press until the caboosearray display flashed up. The caboose array was a recent innovation designed to allow the sub to hear contacts directly behind, since the machinery and screw made too much noise for the spherical sonar array in the nose cone to listen astern. The towed array, a long cable towing a ropelike set of sonar sensors designed to pick up narrowfrequency sound energy, was some help but was not intended to hear broadband irregular noises such as the screw vortex from a torpedo running due astern. The caboose array was installed to fill the gap. The teardropshaped sonar hydrophone assembly was about a halfmeter across, big enough to detect some noises but not accurate in bearing because of the wiggling it did at the end of the towed array cable. And pulling the caboose caused drag on the ship, slowing her down.
Phillips would now need to make a decision — to continue to “drag the onion,” as pulling the caboose array during a flank run was called, or get rid of the unit and go deaf, unable to know if the torpedo was still on his tail but at least speeding up the ship.
“Sonar, Captain, jettison the caboose and retract the towed array. Maneuvering, all ahead emergency flank at one four zero percent reactor power. Weapons officer, shut the outer doors to tubes one and two.”
“We’ll have to cut the wire. Captain. We won’t know if the torpedo detonated on Target One.”
Phillips made a sour face. “Cut the god damned wire.”
“Aye, sir.” “Conn, Maneuvering,” a new voice said on the headphones! “making emergency flank turns now and one three seven percent reactor power, limited by overheating port and starboard main engine forward bearing temperatures.”
“Cut in more aux seawater to the lube oil cooler,” Phillips ordered.
