Survivalist - 15.5 - Mid-Wake Page 23

  Richter was passed up first—his left arm was limp and his mouth was trickling blood. Koswalski—as Aldridge and Martha reached down to him, the deck guns of the monster subs opened up again, Koswalski’s body jerking, slamming against the Scout sub, then falling away.

  “Koswalski!”

  “He’s dead, Sam—come on!”

  Aldridge looked at Martha, then back to the water—he could see Koswalski, floating face down.

  Aldridge clambered to his feet, lurching toward the deck gun, shoving the Marine away from it, swinging it round. “Eat shit, you bastards!” he started pumping the deck gun, the pounding of it something he could feel inside himself.

  Martha—she was hitting him with her little fists. “Damnit, captain! You gonna stay up and swim?”

  He looked at her and started to laugh. “Lieutenant— you got balls!” He secured the deck gun, then headed for the main hatch.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Sonar’s picking up Soviet Scout subs, Captain. But the odd thing is that it looks as though their own Island Class submarines are pursing them.”

  Sebastian’s dark chocolate-colored hands were splayed over the illuminated plotting board which dominated the control station.

  “Sonar—talk to me.”

  “Sir, I’ve got four Soviet Scout subs proceeding at full flank speed but rather erratically, it appears. I have three Island Class—correction—four Island Class submarines in the classic Soviet pursuit formation. None of the Island Class submarines is dragging a sonar array.”

  “Very good, Lieutenant Kelly—keep on it.”

  He swung his chair left. “Communications—what are you getting, lieutenant?”

  “I’m starting to get low-frequency transmissions on the Soviet distress band, Captain. But the signal is too weak, sir. I can’t make anything out of it.”

  He turned his chair toward the Warfare Station. “Lieutenant Walenski—what’s the status on the torpedo tubes?”

  “Forward torpedo status—numbers one and four empty, numbers two and three loaded with High Explosive Independent Sensing, Captain. One and four can be loaded. Aft torpedo status—numbers one through four loaded with HEIS, Captain.”

  Louise Walenski had confirmed what he already knew. “Very well, lieutenant. Order forward torpedo tubes one

  and four loaded with HEIS as well.” “Aye, Captain.”

  He looked back to Sebastian. “Commander Sebastian— anything further?”

  “Negative, Captain—still monitoring.”

  “Order the ship to Battle Stations, Mr. Sebastian.”

  “Aye, Captain. Ordering the ship to Battle Stations.” Sebastian reached down the intraship communications microphone. “Now hear this. Now hear this. Battle Stations. I repeat, Battle Stations. This is not a drill.” The klaxon sounded.

  He got out of his chair and moved aft between the sonar and computer stations, Seaman First Class Tagachi at periscope station. “Mr. Tagachi—attack periscope.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Morris Tagachi responded, activating the control panel. He was already at the attack periscope, folding down, the tube rising. At this depth it was hard to see anything even with vision intensification and computer enhancement. But just off the starboard bow, he thought he could make out one of the great hulking shapes of the Soviet monsters. He snapped the handles back to closed, not bothering to tell Tagachi to lower the periscope.

  “Captain—I have their position. Precisely twenty-three degrees off our starboard bow, moving north by northeast at forty-one knots.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sebastian. Sonar?”

  “Aye, Captain?”

  “Tell me about their engines.”

  “Into overdrive, Captain. Not at maximum.”

  “Very well.”

  Sebastian looked up at him from control deck. He stood beside his chair at the con. “Navigation.” “Aye, Captain,” Lureen Bowman answered. “Plot an intercept course with those Scout subs. After you’ve brought her about, go to all ahead full, lieutenant.” “Aye, Captain.” “Engineering.” “Aye, Captain.”

  “Saul—notify me immediately if the starboard reactor

  starts acting up again and put everything into the port reactor. We’re going to need speed with that wolf pack out there.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  He took the three steps down onto the control and navigation level, not bothering to study Sebastian’s console, but rather staring forward onto the composite video screen which dominated the forward bulkhead. He could make them out almost as clearly as he had through the attack periscope, which wasn’t very clearly at all. He turned and looked back at Sebastian. “What do you think, Sebastian?”

  “I don’t have the data to support anything beyond sheer supposition, Captain.”

  “Gimme me some sheer supposition then.”

  Sebastian’s powerful shoulders shrugged and the corners of his mouth turned down. “Sheer supposition, Jason. All right. I’d say somebody—persons unknown—has stolen several of the Scout subs and is being pursued. At this juncture, that’s all I can discern.”

  He nodded. “Sonar!”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Have Soviet vessels fired torpedoes yet?” “Negative, Captain.” “Notify me immediately if they fire.” “Aye, Captain.”

  Jason Darkwood stared at the composite video screen, wishing that at least once in a while it would provide the impetus for some brilliant flash of insight. Especially now. It wasn’t cooperating. He stepped around Sebastian’s console and pulled down the microphone out of the overhead. “This is the Captain speaking. In answer to your unspoken questions, the answer is, ‘No, I don’t know what’s going on.’ We have several Soviet Scout subs which are apparently being pursued by Island Class submarines which we cannot outfight, but which we can outrun and definitely outmaneuver. I will keep you informed. Captain out.

  He secured the microphone, turned toward the con, and

  ascended the three steps, then sunk into his seat. The fingers of his right hand tapped on the armrest. He closed his seat restraint. “Navigator.” “Aye, Captain.”

  “How are we coming on the intercept course?”

  “We should be immediately astern of the four Scout ships in—make that three minutes and forty-five seconds, Captain Darkwood, at the present course and speed.”

  “Thank you, lieutenant.” Darkwood stared ahead into the composite video screen, all the hull-mounted cameras both fore and aft, above and below computer-controlled to produce a solid image. “Communications—bring up aft projection on the screen.”

  “Aye, Captain—you have aft projection.”

  The picture had changed almost instantly. He saw nothing else suspicious within visual range and there was no need to call for split-screen imaging. The intercept course would put them in the line of fire of the lead elements of the Soviet Island Class wolfpack—by his watch and the digital readout built into the left arm control of his seat—in a little less than two minutes.

  “Communications—forward visual display.”

  “Forward display now, Captain.”

  Forward display showed the four Soviet monsters clearly now, closing along their starboard side with the Scout subs. “Navigator.” He could never quite bring himself to calling a woman “Helmsman” and “Helmswoman” sounded downright ridiculous.

  “Aye, sir.”

  “On my signal be prepared to bring us hard about to port and cut speed to half flank speed.” “Aye, sir.” “Saul.” Aye, sir.

  “Have your people in Engineering deliver a pig of lubricant to aft torpedo room on the double, sealed just tightly enough she’ll burst when she hits the water.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant Walenski.”

  “Aye, Captain?”

  “Pull the HEIS out of aft torpedo tube four and make preparations to load the pig of motor oil.” “Aye, Captain.”

  “Sebastian—work with Lieutenant Bowman on a cripple course—g
et Mr. Rodriguez on it.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Sebastian answered. “Lieutenant Rodriguez—have computer plot a damaged-vessel course—I assume the portside reactor, Captain?”

  “What?” His attention had gone elsewhere. “Yes— portside reactor it is, Sebastian. You get my drift.” He hit the com switch on the right arm of his chair. “Sick Bay.”

  “Sick Bay, Doctor Barrow.”

  “Margaret, this is Jason. If what we’re doing works, we’ll be taking in those Scout subs into our own Scout sub bay. May be some injured personnel.”

  “I’ll be ready, Jason.”

  “Right.” He shut off, then back on to break the connection. “Security.”

  “Security, Lieutenant Stanhope.”

  “Darkwood.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I’ll want full security moving to the Scout Sub Bay on the double—be prepared for anything since I have no idea what to be prepared for.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Jason Darkwood clicked off. “Sonar—any word on torpedoes yet?”

  “Nothing happening, sir. They have us on their sonar, that’s all.”

  “Still keep me informed.” He rotated his chair forward and his eyes met Sebastian’s. His black first officer was laughing. “Yes, Sebastian?”

  “It was the battle of Miners Reef, wasn’t it? Your father—”

  “Yes—my father against Admiral Suvorov. But that was forty years ago and I doubt seriously that any of our friends out there are heavy into American History. At least let’s hope not, hmm?”

  “Then you are planning your father’s maneuver.”

  “The ‘Ruptured Duck’ was what he liked to call it, Sebastian.” He checked the timepiece in his chair console. Thirty seconds until intercept. “Navigator—be ready for that maneuver.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant Walenski—ready with that oil pig in aft torpedo tube four?”

  “Aye, Captain—ready to fire on your command.”

  “I’ll be giving that command shortly.” He looked forward. “Navigator—do it now.”

  “Aye, Captain—hard to port and reducing to half flank speed. Cutting in Mr. Sebastian’s computer program.”

  “Very well. Communications?”

  “Aye, Captain?”

  “Those signals any clearer?”

  “They’re being jammed, sir—but what I’m making out sounds like it might be English.”

  “After all this trouble, I certainly hope so. Broadcast this message to the Soviet Scout subs. ‘United States Attack Submarine Reagan calling Scout subs. We’re attempting to come to your aid but must break off. Godspeed.’ Sign it Jason Darkwood, Commander, Captain of the Reagan. And send it quick. Keep repeating it until I say otherwise.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  He looked at Sebastian. “Think we could make one of the Island Classers come after us? How about two?”

  “Then you have embellished your father’s famous ma-

  „__ .

  “About to embellish, actually.”

  “We could fire at one of them—but of course unless we move out quickly we’ll be—”

  Darkwood let himself smile. “Engineering. While keeping revolutions at current speed, gradually bring off line starboard reactor, then at my signal bring both reactors to maximum and kick into overdrive on the screws.”

  Saul Hartnett pushed both hands back through his thick, black hair. “You want us to take off like a bat out

  of hell, don’t you, Captain?”

  “More or less.” He looked away, saying, “Navigation, hold present course but on my signal take us straight through the middle of the concentration of enemy vessels. You won’t have time for computer—make sure we get it right, Lureen, or I’ll have the people that own this boat really pissed with my estate.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Sebastian spoke. “If my calculations are correct, we will reach a speed of forty-five knots in seventeen point nine seconds. May I advise Collision Quarters?”

  “Good idea—alert all hands.”

  “Alerting all hands to Collision Quarters, Captain.” Sebastian pulled down his microphone and gave the order, the klaxon sounding again, but with a different series.

  Darkwood cranked his chair to his right and back, looking over Julie Kelly’s shoulder at the sonar display. Sonic impulses were translated into computer imaging and made visual on the various screens before her. He could see the Soviet wolfpack, tighening up on the Scout subs, apparently little interested in the Reagan. “Sonar—be ready with some crippled-ship noises.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Jason Darkwood turned his chair around to face forward, his eyes riveted to the composite video screen in the forward bulkhead of the Command Deck. “Navigator— implement the maneuver.”

  “Implementing maneuver, Captain.”

  “Engineering—start taking that starboard reactor off line.”

  “Starboard reactor coming off line.”

  “Warfare—you have the order to fire that pig.”

  “Aye, Captain. Firing pig through aft tube four.”

  Tom Stanhope’s voice came over Sebastian’s speaker. “Lieutenant Stanhope to the bridge. Please notify the Captain that Security is in place in the Scout Sub Bay.”

  Sebastian glanced up at Darkwood and Darkwood nodded, his eyes intent on the video display. “The Captain has the word, Mr. Stanhope,” Sebastian said.

  “They’re following us …” Two of the Soviet Island Class submarines had broken off from the wolfpack to outflank the Reagan. “Navigator—tell me when we’re right between them.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Lieutenant Walenski—have cluster charges ready to fire off port and starboard sides amidships on my command.”

  “Preparing cluster charges to fire off port and starboard sides amidships on your command, Captain.” “Sonar—give ‘em our noise.” “Making noise now, Captain.”

  “Captain.” It was Lureen Bowman. “We are exactly equidistant to all four Soviet Island Class vessels.”

  “Hold her steady, Lieutenant. Louise—ready with those cluster charges?”

  “Aye, Captain—cluster charges are ready.”

  “Fire cluster charges now. Engineering—give me everything you’ve got now. Navigator—complete the maneuver.”

  A ragged chorus of assents began and ended, the Reagan already accelerating, Darkwood slapped back by the G-force as if it were some invisible hand, the display on the composite video screen a gray blur for an instant while the cameras adjusted focus. Darkwood shouted, “Communications—belay that fake message and signal the Scout subs to draw out of our immediate vicinity and be ready to dock with us and abandon ship.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Mr. Sebastian. Plot a firing pattern based on our present trajectory utilizing aft torpedo tubes one, two, and three. Warfare—what’s the status on those cluster charges.”

  Sebastian started to respond, didn’t. Louise Walenski called out, “Eighty-two percent impact ratio on starboard package, eighty-one percent impact on portside package.”

  “Good. Engineering, how we holding out? Anything melt yet?”

  “Pretty good, Captain.”

  Margaret Barrow’s voice came over the com line. “Jason—what are you doing up there?”

  “Taking a ride, Margaret. How’s Sick Bay?”

  “I almost had a patient throw up all over me.”

  Darkwood didn’t know what to say to that. He clicked the com line to kill it, called to Saul Hartnett, “Engineering—complete that report.”

  “Both reactors on line, Captain, starboard reactor getting a little hot but nothing even near critical.”

  “Navigator—cut to full flank speed and bring us hard about to port. Don’t bother responding.”

  He turned his chair left. “Warfare—aft torpedo tubes ready?”

  “We have Mr. Sebastian’s program, sir. Ready on your command.”
/>
  “Excellent. Navigator—full overdrive—right through the middle of them again.”

  “Aye, Captain, going to full overdrive.”

  “Warfare—I want forward torpedo tubes one through four ready to fire on my signal—you’ll have it in …” He glanced at the video screen and at the digital time display on his console, “… ten seconds.”

  “Aye—”

  He cut her off. “After firing forward torpedos, give me another set of cluster charges just like before. Then on my signal fire aft torpedos with Sebastian’s program.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. “Navigator—on my firing command, that is your command for every ounce of speed we’ve got.”

  Lureen Bowman started to respond. He cut her off. “Warfare—fire forward torpedoes now!”

  “Firing forward torpedoes, Captain.”

  “Now the cluster charges.” The G-force came again, this time harder than before.

  “Firing cluster charges, Captain.”

  “Sonar—watch your ears.”

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Let’s have Sebastian’s aft torpedo program—now!” “Aft torpedo program implementing, Captain.”

  “Navigator—get us the hell out of here before the concussion ruptures us.”

  “Aye Captain, employing evasive maneuvers.”

  The Soviet Island Class submarines were taking cluster charge hits and simultaneously beginning their own evasive-action patterns.

  “Sonar—back on line?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Tell me how our friends are doing.”

  “Island Class submarines off our stern have sustained what sounds like at least one direct hit—torpedo. There’s—I think two of them are in trouble, sir.”

  “Captain,” Andrew Mott called out.

  “What is it, Communications?”

  “Two of the Island Class submarines have just collided, sir, according to their transmission.”

  “Ha, ha, ha!” Darkwood leaned forward in his seat, despite the G-force, saying through his laughter, “Mr. Mott—please convey our compliments and condolences to the commanders of the Island Class submarines so afflicted.”

  “Aye, Captain.”