Thunder In The Deep (02) (41 page)

The LMRS was being recovered, to get another battery charge; the ship slowed to four knots. Kathy's people tried to use acoustic illumination from surface noise now, to detect mines ahead of Challenger. It might work, it might not. They might still be in an Axis safety corridor, they might not.

Ilse jolted. She heard an awful scream .on her headphones.

"Torpedo in the water!" Kathy shouted. "Incoming torpedo bearing two four zero!"

"Fire Control," Jeffrey snapped, "stand by on the anti-torpedo rockets. Sonar, what's the weapon?" Had they tripped a CAPTOR mine after all? Had they crossed a fiber-optic listening grid too close, and vectored in a 212 or a Pubis?

"Gas-turbine-powered, strong tonals, a heavyweight... A Russian export wide-body Series sixty-five!"

"Deutschland," Jeffrey stated, "here. She's the only thing the Germans have that fires a sixty-five." Dammit. Jeffrey's mind raced.

"Sixty-fives are nuclear-capable," Bell said—Jeffrey didn't need the reminder. Ambushed. Out-psyched by that bastard already. Was Eberhard ruthless enough to go nuclear so close to neutral Sweden?

"Captain," Bell said. "Urge snap shot and turn away." Antitorpedo rockets were useless against a nuclear fish—their motors burned out well inside the atomic warhead's kill radius.

Jeffrey gave the snap shot orders for a high-explosive ADCAP fish. He had Bell launch a brilliant decoy, too. The 65 ignored the decoy.

"Helm, ahead flank smartly, make your course two four zero." Jeffrey wasn't turning away.

"Sir," COB said, "advise LMRS has not been recovered."

"Jettison the recovery gear."

The ship accelerated hard.

"Captain," Bell said, "we're aimed right at the inbound weapon. Jeffrey smiled. "I know, XO." The ROEs forbade a nuclear countershot here, and running away toward Sweden was a losing proposition in more ways than one. Bell knew it, too—he gave Jeffrey a quick glance, but it showed a predatory eagerness for battle, not disapproval. Bell had clearly learned a lot in independent command of Challenger; his run into the Baltic on the surface was as "cowboy" as anything Jeffrey had ever pulled.

"Sonar, do you hold contact yet on Deutschland?" The ride began to get rough as Challenger built up speed.

"Negative, Captain. No tonals or flow noise."

Jeffrey had Bell fire another high-explosive ADCAP snap shot, straight ahead on two four zero; Challenger could launch weapons from any point in her speed envelope—but so could Deutschland. Jeffrey told Bell to have his first ADCAP go active.

"Unit is pinging. . . . No target return."

Jeffrey forced himself to count to ten. He glanced at Bell.

"Still no target return, sir. No Doppler whatsoever."

"Then Deutschland's hovering bows-on to us, canceling the echo." Challenger reached thirty-two knots, on her way to fifty fast. "He must have swum out his weapon at stealth speed on a random starting dogleg." The pump-jet shook, but held together; the worst of the shaking died down.

"Concur," Bell said. "Inbound torpedo range now ten thousand yards. Net closing speed one hundred twenty knots." The torpedo's speed plus Challenger's. Jeffrey picked up the intercom mike for Maneuvering. "Push the reactor to one hundred twelve percent."

"Captain," Bell said, "unit from tube one still holds no target."

"Reload all empty tubes, conventional ADCAPs." This would take a while, and Challenger had very little time. Bell acknowledged.

"Oceanographer, match the gravimeter display with our most fine-detailed nautical chart. Find me something on the bottom that's not supposed to be there."

"Aye, aye," Ilse said.

"Hurry. Show me what you've got."

"Two mass concentrations, possible wrecks or SSNs, here and here." Ilse's light-pen markings showed on Jeffrey's and Bell's screens.

"Fire Control, when ready aim an ADCAP at each

point." The ship's slow rate of fire was really hurting now. Still, Challenger charged at the incoming 65.

"One minute to incoming nuclear sixty-five lethal range if set on maximum yield," Bell said.

"Still no contact on Deutschland," Kathy said. This is getting dicey. Is that 65 nuclear?

"Sir!" Ilse said. "One mass-con fading! Conjecture it's in motion now!" The gravimeter couldn't track a moving object.

"Concur," Kathy said. "Broadband contact bearing two five zero, range fifteen thousand yards. Designate as Master One. . . . Mechanical transient, reactor check valves. Master One is Deutschland, going to flank speed."

But they'd need time to accelerate from a dead stop and then reverse course. That's what Jeffrey was counting on.

"Maneuvering, Captain, push the reactor to one hundred fifteen percent. . . . Helm, put us in Deutschland's baffles if you can. Try to stay right on her ass." Deutschland knew the safe corridors, and at flank speed she'd act as minesweeper for Challenger—if Challenger survived long enough to get that close. If Challenger didn't survive, the closer Jeffrey could get to Eberhard, the more likely Deutschland might be damaged by her own atomic fish. . . .

Jeffrey watched his tactical plot. Both his ADCAPs converged on Master One, pinging, getting echoes off the back of Deutschland's pump-jet. The kill radius of the incoming 65 would touch Challenger any second . . . but it also still touched Deutschland. The 65

kept closing.

"Fire Control, show me the kill zone at their minimum yield, one-tenth KT." Bell typed; the circle shrank by half, to a diameter of less than five thousand yards. At that yield-setting, Eberhard was safe; Challenger wasn't. Jeffrey watched the screen. Challenger charged at fifty-three knots, the fastest she'd ever gone. The deck vibrated roughly. Console mountings jiggled; spring-loaded fluorescents bounced and squeaked.

"Incoming weapon is in one-tenth KT lethal range." If I've guessed wrong . . .

"Master One is launching noisemakers;" Kathy reported. "Second torpedo in the water, same bearing as Master One. Incoming, another sixty-five."

"Stand by on the AT rockets." There was nothing more Jeffrey could do. . . . The first 65

kept closing and closing. Jeffrey held his breath—was it nuclear? It got so close Bell destroyed it with two antitorpedo rockets; Challenger was pummeled by the blasts. It was conventional after all, but its high-explosive load was triple an ADCAP's. More than enough to kill us all if just one 65 connects. How many does Deutschland have?

The sea was rent by gigantic detonations, both close and further away, as more AT

rocket warheads burst and set off torpedoes sympathetically. Challenger shimmied and rocked.

Deutschland and Challenger kept exchanging salvos, even as Deutschland fled and Challenger chased; both ships defended themselves with antitorpedo rockets. Again and again the ocean heaved.

Both ships charged northwest as fast as they could, following the Trough around the southern coast of Norway. Deutschland would soon reach her own flank speed. Jeffrey knew from Intel her top quiet speed was faster than Challenger's—was her flank speed faster, too? Jeffrey tried to herd Deutschland toward the left side of the Trough, the nearer side.

The ships were separated now by barely two thousand yards, too close for Deutschland to go nuclear even if Eberhard wanted to.

Deutschland launched four more 65's. Challenger fired another nonnuclear ADCAP—

Jeffrey was down to only two remaining.

Two 65's veered left and hit the wall of the Trough intentionally. They blew and started an underwater landslide. Boulders disappeared from the gravimeter as they fell. They threatened to hit Challenger, and her AT rockets were no help. That clever bastard.

Meltzer had to veer right to evade the avalanche; rubble pelted the hull. Deutschland gained a hundred yards of precious separation. Bell destroyed the last incoming 65's, but now was down to the last of Challenger's rockets. Deutschland fired more AT rockets, and intercepted Challenger's latest ADCAP.

There were no more torpedo engine sounds. The high-explosive skirmish was over, a draw. Meltzer held Challenger in Deutschland's baffles; their utmost speeds were almost perfectly matched. Still both ships charged northwest.

Ernst Beck watched his screens as data poured in from Weapons and Sonar. "Last conventional sixty-five destroyed by enemy AT rockets."

Beck glanced at Kurt Eberhard. Even in the rig for black, he knew his captain was livid.

"We're out of high-explosive torpedoes, and we're stuck in a high-speed stern chase. Fuller is too close for me to use atomic warheads, even if the verdammt Axis ROEs would let us now. We've no choice but-to get well away from Sweden as fast as we can.

. . . And he has no choice but to stay with us, or we'll get adequate separation to open fire first, before he's far enough away from Norway to shoot back."

"Concur, sir," Beck said. This whole situation was an accident of geography—but as always in war the geography, and the rules of engagement, were real. Axis ROEs did not protect occupied countries from fallout; Allied ROEs did.

Eberhard palmed the intercom mike with a feral grin. "Time for competitive speed trials, Einzvo. Let's see if we

can outrun Fuller. Engine Room, Captain, push the reactor to one hundred fifteen percent."

Beck watched his speed log. Slowly the ship sped up, then held at 53.3 knots. The ride was surprisingly smooth, except for the usual fishtailing.

"Sir," Beck said. "Allied nuclear torpedo warhead yields are smaller than ours. Challenger's can be set as low as one-one-hundredth kiloton. If we draw apart too late, when we're far enough from Norway, they'll gain adequate separation for a shot at us before we can shoot back."

"Don't you think I know that?"

Beck studied the large-scale nautical chart. The Trough followed the Norwegian coast, north-northwest and then north, for two hundred fifty miles. Only then would Deutschland and Challenger reach open, truly deep water: the Norwegian Sea.

"Einzvo, I intend to follow the left-most safe corridor in the Trough. We need strong echoes from the escarpment wall, with short time delay, to keep an eye on Challenger astern."

"Concur, Captain." This was no time or place for a towed array. "Sir, enemy appears to have ceased firing."

"Out of conventional ammo, just like us. . . . Einzvo, what's enemy speed?"

"Fifty-three and one tenth knots."

"Separation?"

"Their bow dome to our pump-jet, eighteen hundred meters."

"With a speed difference of one-fifth knot, it'll be hours before either of us can open fire without a self-kill."

Beck nodded. "At least our close proximity discourages surface forces from interfering." Eberhard pounded his console in undisguised anger. "It's an outrage our weaponry is so limited. Our Sea Lions are all nuclear, and the yields are much too large!"

"Captain, no one envisioned a scenario like this."

"The torpedo designers should be court-martialed and shot. When we return to base, I'll make sure that's what happens."

Beck shuddered. Eberhard would do it, too. Then Beck realized something. "Sir, Challenger may have more high-explosive torpedoes, saving them for some contin, gency"

"If so, Fuller's smarter than I thought. But he's not smart enough to get them past our antitorpedo rockets."

TWO HOURS LATER,

ON CHALLENGER.

Jeffrey sat at the command console, starting on another mug half full of coffee. The vibrations at 53.1 knots were so extreme, a full cup would've splashed. Jeffrey glanced around the CACC. His dark-adapted eyes showed some console seats were empty; the crew was having breakfast, or grabbing catnaps, or using the head, in shifts, of sheer necessity.

On the tactical plot, Deutschland raced through the Trough ahead of Challenger. Eberhard's ship was everso-slightly faster, and the separation grew to twenty-eight hundred yards. The enemy was in the sweet spot of Challenger's bow sphere—advanced signal processors filtered out the own-ship flank speed flow noise. Jeffrey could see from the tonals and broadband how hard Deutschland's power plant was working. He could see from his status screens the strain on Challenger's systems, too.

"Captain," Sessions said. "Advise we are two hundred nautical miles from Sweden."

"Very well, Nay."

If we have a propulsion failure now, it's all over.

This was the moment Jeffrey feared. He turned to Bell, and tried to study the other man's face by the glow from the screens. "Here Eberhard can go atomic anytime he likes." Bell shook his head. "We're too close behind him, sir. With a tenth-KT warhead, he'll want eight thousand yards between, at least, or he'd suffer serious damage."

"It's not that simple, XO. He could loop a weapon back behind us, outside our AT rocket range, then catch us from astern, more or less right now. We'd be in the lethal envelope; he wouldn't be." AT rockets only reached out to one thousand yards.

"Er, concur, sir. Sorry, I wasn't thinking. . . . But wait, it's not that simple either, Captain. A loop-around shot, set to come at us from behind, would have a long run to detonate, and a net overtaking speed of only twenty-some knots. He'd give us too much time to think, and we might fire a nuke right up his stern, and kill him for sure."

"You're right. Against our tenth-KT max-yield warhead, he'd be a goner. Even if he fired a nuclear torpedo to try to smash ours, with these geometries his own blast would take him with it... . And if we tried to loop a unit ahead, to catch him from off his bow; he'd have plenty of time to turn back at us and we'd just waste the weapon, we'd have to safe and abandon it."

Jeffrey took a deep breath. ROEs, geometries, geography, and tactics. It was mindbending, an unforgiving mental and physical marathon that could have at most one winner. This was undersea -warfare at its best and worst.

"Hmmm," Bell said. Jeffrey could see he was thinking hard. "Are you suggesting, sir, we take Eberhard with us if he does shoot now?"

"Consider the alternative, XO. We die, he lives. The U.S. is left with no ceramic-hulled nuclear submarine. With the new SSGN they're building, and Deutschland, Germany has two."