And then her name vanished from his mind, willed away by another name—Imperator, the most dangerous of all, the immense weapon that posed such a threat to his homeland.
“Range to Imperator?” Danilov called out.
“We’re at approximately six kilometers and opening slightly. Should be on her port quarter,” Sergoff added. “I don’t think she’s moved.”
“Well, there’s no doubt that she probably holds us,” Danilov remarked softly. The active sonar from the American submarine echoed continuously through Seratov. It was an astonishing instrument, the largest ever built, so powerful that it was piercing the boiling water, where Houston had disappeared. Its sheer power was evident by the terrifying sound heard clearly by every man aboard.
Seratov had reloaded immediately after firing on Houston, but there was little point in wasting a torpedo at this stage. There was too little chance of accurate homing as long as the target remained on the surface with all that ice surrounding it, scraping against the hull; too much that would confuse or distract a homing device. No, they had to wait until Imperator was getting underway. Let her begin to drop below the ice and commence some sort of movement. Then Danilov would make sure they fired everything in their power before she could maneuver freely.
“Those noisemakers . . . will they have any effect?” Lozak inquired cautiously. He was unable to fully grasp the admiral’s tactics at this stage. Everything seemed to be the opposite of what he might have done.
“Their only effect is to confuse . . . maybe to anger just a little bit. No, they don’t really have a specific effect on what Imperator is going to do. The only purpose I can imagine is to antagonize them a little bit.” Danilov’s countenance grew hard as he spoke. “If there is one sonarman, or one person in their control room, or perhaps even an individual involved with their computer who hesitates for a split second longer than he should have, then there is a definite reason for those noisemakers. And”—here he grinned at Sergoff, who he knew would appreciate his grim little joke—“if they have no effect at all, then we are all dead and there is no further need for them—we will have justified the government’s expense for them.” He chuckled long after Captain Lozak had given up trying to understand his humor.
“Admiral, Id say we’re at the range to turn. Snow is aware of our location and he’s got to commence his dive anytime. The smoke has to be gone by now.” Sergoff had planned the details of this attack himself, following Danilov’s outline. They would fire the moment there was any indication Imperator was preparing to dive. The noisemakers should mask Seratov’s preparations. The additional noise generated by Imperator’s diving—the sound of the props, the flooding of ballast tanks—hopefully all of that would combine to hide the sounds of the torpedoes enabling run.
Danilov placed an encouraging hand on Lozak’s shoulder. “Make your turn and commence your run. Sergoff will assist. And, Captain—the Americans expect you to make a run at them. Accept the fact that they’re going to take evasive action and use equipment you are unfamiliar with—and probably fire back at us. It’s a fact of life. Do you agree?”
Lozak understood. This was what he would have done earlier—bore in on that giant submarine, fire everything . . . destroy it as soon as possible. There was no reason to wait. “Yes, Admiral.” He was exultant now. He would be patient, just as they insisted, until the sounds of Imperator getting underway came to them. Then it was full speed, right down the throat!
“Standby to get underway,” Snow called down to control. “We’ll submerge in four . . . no, less than that . . . about three minutes. Where the hell is Carol Petersen? Has she got an estimate for us yet?” He had to have some sort of confirmation. Even if Caesar wasn’t back on line . . . something . . . anything to justify. . .
“Negative, sir. They’re jury-rigging a line now . . . should have communications with the computer room pretty quick.”
The XO interrupted from control. “Captain, those aircraft are at ninety miles now. Definitely unfriendly . . . just painted us with target acquisition radar.”
“Then do the deed . . . illuminate them.” Snow heard his orders repeated in the background. “Anything else out there to worry about?” Anything else to confuse the issue? To keep Imperator helpless?
“There’s some others, but they’re a hell of a distance. Nothing to be concerned about if we’re pulling the plug.”
“Have radio try to raise the nearest friendlies. Tell them to sanitize this area. Weil be back to pick up Houston survivors.” Never before had so many extraneous factors . . .
The light indicating sonar appeared on the speaker. “Captain, Seratov has turned. He’s on an intercept course . . . maybe making six to eight knots . . . range under five thousand yards.”
“Fire control, have a solution ready. We’re about to submerge. Weapons Officer, prepare torpedoes. Target closing from astern. As soon as we have the sail below the ice, I will be turning to port for attack. They will have fired on us by then. Now, dammit, where the hell is my line to the computer?”
“Still rigging, Captain. Messenger reports there’s no way you’re going to have Caesar on-line for this attack—” The last words were drowned out by the roar of the helo landing forward. Snow watched as three men were gently lifted out onto the elevator. Andy Reed waved up at him weakly. Then the helo was lifting off again, banking toward the remaining survivors.
The gull-wing doors slowly began to fold back into Imperator’s hull.
“I want rig-to-dive reports on the double,” Snow called down to control. He watched the helo return the short distance to the patch of ice where the forlorn figures huddled. At least they’d be inside the helo until he could get back.
“Helo deck hatch, secure . . . engineering ready to answer all bells . . . diving officer says give him the word to submerge.”
Snow strained his eyes in the direction of the approaching enemy planes. “How about the aircraft?” It would be foolhardy to dive if there were incoming missiles loose.
“Gave ’em five seconds irradiation twice, sir . . . just to make sure. We counted six incoming. There’s four heading in the opposite direction. Two just plain dove into the ice.”
“Roger, I’m securing.” I’m doing exactly what they used to do fifty years ago, dammit!
Snow double-checked each of the sail hatches as he slid down the ladder. Jumping the final half dozen feet into the control room, he called out, “Submerge this ship . . . double fast. Prepare decoys . . . stand by defense systems . . . we have to be under attack.”
A variety of orders echoed through the control room in rapid succession as Imperator began settling. The sail had to be under before they could maneuver. Without the computer, there was no picture in the imager. Each station in the giant submarine was functioning on its own, reporting directly to Snow, taking their orders from him as he evaluated the situation. Once again, they were operating like the old attack submarines he remembered from years before, except this one was four times bigger and much more difficult to maneuver.
Then Snow felt power surge through his entire body—this was as it should be! He was no longer competing with a computer. They were diving . . . toward security.
Unlike the attack boats of the past, there was no rumbling as Imperator’s tanks filled, no tilt of the deck as she settled. Snow waited calmly, once again at peace with himself, until the words he was waiting for came: “Sail is clear of the ice . . . ready to maneuver.”
“Left full rudder. All ahead full . . . firing point procedures . . .” He was captain—there was no question in his mind who controlled Imperator.
To each man—Stevan Lozak, Pietr Sergoff, Abe Danilov—Seratov’s approach was the culmination of their careers. They had been offered the opportunity to take part in the final action that would decide the fate of their country’s national strategy.
While the closing rate of the two submarines increased rapidly, the three men pictured the event as if they were involved in a movie. It
was a slow-motion race for each of them, the film seemingly halting at each frame rather than portraying the impending battle as a high-speed duel.
Lozak heard each of the reports from his battle stations team, responding to each with a curt “very well.” He was unaware that they were strung together in rapid fire. Each of his men had been ready and their responses matched the speed of the weapons system they commanded. While Lozak was sure that he took the time to evaluate each report and ensure that it was proper, his responses were synchronized with their own. His breathing became rapid as he gave the order—“Shoot!”—for each weapon. When the final torpedo was in the water, he was sucking in deep gulps of air.
Pietr Sergoff studied the process with a detachment that surprised even himself. He had done everything possible to prepare for this moment, and it was not his place to interfere as Seratov’s captain fought his ship. There was no thought in his mind of surviving this action. And, he surmised as he reflected on the crisp efficiency of the attack, there is really no reason to return home since I have served my country as I was trained. Perhaps it was an honor . . .
Abe Danilov experienced a feeling of warmth coursing through his body. It was a pleasant sensation and he attributed it to the fact that his hunt was over. The culmination of his efforts was the destruction of Imperator, which would be final in the next few moments. Lozak had run a picture-perfect attack . . . and now there were four torpedoes racing for the American submarine. There was still a chance that he would be home in time . . .
“Torpedoes in the water, Captain. They’re locked on. Four of them . . .” Imperator’s sonar officer shouted into the control room.
Snow let the defense stations take individual action. Decoys would already have been fired. They would be followed by the tiny ATMs. Anything that got through would still have to survive the laser.
“How’s your solution?” Imperator was turning to face her enemy.
“Target closing at three nine zero zero yards, broad on our beam now . . . she’s still picking up speed. We have a solution . . . just need to get the bow around faster so we have the right firing angle.”
“Engineering, give us all you’ve got. We’re not turning fast enough.” More than twelve hundred feet of submarine . . . more speed . . .
A voice from sonar pierced the control room. “Torpedoes are in a three-second ping interval . . . antitorpedo missiles deploying . . .” There was a pause and then, in a higher voice, sonar added, “That submarine is coming right at us at flank speed, Captain . . . following those torpedoes like they were dogs in heat . . . like he was going to ram us.”
Carol Petersen’s voice came over the speaker. “Captain, computer equipment room’s a mess. The main unit next door is okay, but it’s going to take more than an hour to cross-patch some of these cables just to get back in working order—”
Snow depressed the switch to cut her off. “Can it. Save it till we’re finished up here. We’re under attack.” He had no use for a computer now.
“Almost there,” the XO called out. He was peering over the weapons officer’s shoulder. “Another ten degrees and we’re clear to fire.”
“Still coming at us?” Snow yelled.
“No change . . . flank speed. He’s no more than a thousand yards behind his fish. . . ATMs are almost on top of them and . . . bing . . . scratch one fish . . . scratch two.”
“Ship is in position,” the XO called out.
“Match generated bearings and shoot!” Snow’s voice rose over the other sounds in the control room.
The weapons officer’s voice echoed Snow’s as each torpedo left the tubes. He counted them off, “One . . . two . . . standby three and four . . . Christ, right down the throat. He can’t be more than two thousand yards away . . . there’s hardly time for them to finish the enabling run and arm the way he’s closing.” There was a pause, then, “Three and four clear . . .”
“Right full rudder,” Snow called. “Six hundred feet—use a thirty-degree down angle.” It seemed the only choice if the Russian really intended to ram them . . . but it took so much longer to put twelve hundred feet of submarine into a steep dive. He could still catch the after section . . . possibly.
“All our torpedoes are running properly. Two of his got through the ATM barrage. . . too little time. Stand by lasers . . .” The weapons officer was ready to employ his last resort when he noticed the bow angle on Imperator. “We’re swinging away from him too fast. We can’t use the lasers, Captain.”
Oh, my God, Snow muttered to himself. Caesar would have picked that up! The lasers were trainable only on a limited azimuth. When he threw his rudder over, he’d forgotten that he was pulling his lasers away from the closing torpedoes. “Shift your rudder.” Caesar . . . Caesar would never have done that. Another shudder . . .
“Two Soviet fish at eight hundred yards . . . closing. I’ve got a wall of decoys out there . . . don’t know if it’s going to—” His voice was interrupted by an explosion close enough to shake the control room. “That’s one of them . . . second one’s through . . . coming right up our port quarter.”
Caesar and his systems had been designed to survive heavy casualties to the ship. It had been automatically assumed that Imperator could take a certain number of torpedoes, experience flooding and power loss, and still regain almost total capabilities within a reasonable amount of time. The computer contained residual backup systems to compensate for loss of ship’s power so that Caesar could go back on-line at the exact stage required.
Smoke damage affected only the external elements: instruments, display units, and the giant screen. The only casualty that could critically damage Caesar would be water, and Carol was more aware than ever of the water rising ever so slowly. She called for one of the damage control party to help her.
Together they covered the compartment inch by inch until the water source was located. Carol was the first to discover the tiny bubbles welling up from a crack in the bulkhead near the deck in one comer of the space. The sailor found the other, in the same location on the opposite end of the bulkhead. It was the same type of weld. Sometime during the construction of this compartment, there had been a welder who was having a bad day—he had made the same mistake twice. Now his error was endangering the heart of the ship—Caesar. But of even greater concern was the adjoining space, a void between the compartment and the hull. Somehow water was seeping through the hull into the ship from that last torpedo, enough to build pressure in the void and force water into the adjoining compartment.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the sailor explained. “I have to seal off this compartment again—just in case . . .” His voice trailed off. The just-in-case was the possibility of another torpedo exploding nearby. If the hull was weakened that much more, this space might also flood. It had to be sealed to protect the rest of the ship.
Carol understood immediately, but time was precious. Snow needed the computer. “That’s all right. After you seal it, let control know I’m still here.”
The harsh sound as the hatch was sealed from the outside sent a chill down her spine. Its resonance was transmitted by the metal, then magnified into a dirge as she noted the water lapping around her feet. Had the depth increased some more? Or perhaps there was no change from last time. Knock it off, she commanded herself silently—no time for such thoughts.
But it was hard to think of anything else as she went through the mechanical procedures that she knew she could complete if she were blind. The last she remembered before leaving the control room was that the Russian was closing—he would be shooting at them anytime. It could be minutes . . . maybe just seconds. The defense systems would have to be activated manually until she had Caesar back on-line.
There! She wasn’t imagining things. There was no water around her feet. But it was a short-lived reprieve, because she saw that it was now all in the forward section of the compartment. Of course . . . they were diving! But, at an angle like that, Imperator must be evading—a torpedo!
The blast knocked her off her feet, hurling her against the main console. Something in her back snapped with a report that seemed to deafen her . . . or was that sound her back? There seemed to be no pain . . . but she couldn’t move. Then she saw the outer bulkhead open inward. There was no feeling as the torrent swept down on her.
Captain Sergoff was positive that he had become a human missile as Seratov raced toward its target. In the last seconds, he had dismissed the possibility of ever again seeing his family. Seratov was hurtling along at flank speed, following its own torpedoes toward their target. The resolute Danilov remained perched on a stool, lost in his own thoughts, eyes shut tight as he once again envisioned the world beyond the hull. He’d remained absolutely silent since the torpedoes had been fired, lost in the picture he saw developing as he listened to the reports about him.
Danilov saw his four torpedoes launched as Imperator sank below the ice. They were well on their way before the giant submarine could begin to challenge him. He knew Imperator was turning to shoot and smiled inwardly at his wise decision to come in from astern.
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