Page 138 of Enemy Within
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USS Honolulu
THE CONN LOOKED MORE like a traffic accident than the command center of a warship. Flashing and flickering lights pulsated, barely clinging to power. Alert-red and fading-green tried to shine from damaged displays. The plotting table flickered and died. Shouts rose, sailors hollering damage reports and status updates almost faster than Captain Anderson could keep up.
Almost.
Right after they had fired on theVeduschiyand K-27, a second submarine had dropped from the ice—the SSBN Sasha had detailed on his map. They hadn’t been able to fire on her.
The Russian sub had sunk into the depths, descending far too close for a submariner’s comfort. ABorey-class ballistic missile submarine, she’d turned on a dime and pointed straight atHonolulu. With both of them hovering in the depths, it was as close to a Mexican standoff as two submarines could get.
And then, she’d blastedHonoluluwith a high-pulsed active sonar ping through the waters. Pure sound waves, sonic energy, burned through the sea, louder than a train horn. At such a close range, the ping was a roar, a weapon all on its own, a spear that slammed intoHonolulu’s hull. Her metal buzzed and hummed, screaming through the decks and the bulkheads as if cymbals had crashed together. Fluorescent bulbs fizzed and popped as electronics consoles exploded, shattering glass across the deck. Lights flickered wildly.
In submarine warfare, there was only one reason for an active ping: locking on to an enemy vessel’s coordinates for an immediate strike. The prelude to an annihilation.
Anderson opened his mouth, and the Conn fell silent instantly. “Helm, left full rudder and give me everything you’ve got!”Honoluluwas still limping, barely powered, and her rudder hadn’t been fixed. Left full rudder was only a quarter of a turn. “Take us down to two hundred feet, now!”
Honolulushuddered and shook as she sluggishly responded, lurching to one side as she plunged into the depths. She left a trail of bubbles behind her, a churned wake.
“Conn, Sonar!” Boomer’s voice went high and tight. “Torpedo in the water aft! Torpedo in the water aft!” A bright beacon appeared on the flickering overhead screen, a visual representation of the torpedo chasingHonolulu.
“Fire a noisemaker!”
“Aye, sir!” Lieutenant Munoz, weapons officer, jammed the button for torpedo countermeasures. A canister shot from one of the torpedo tubes, and as it entered the water, a seal burst and the chemicals within created a raging bubble storm. Hopefully, enough to draw a torpedo’s attention.
“Second torpedo in the water!” Boomer’s voice went higher. “Third torpedo in the water, Captain!”
“Two hundred feet, Captain.” The diving officer’s voice shook as he called outHonolulu’sdepth.
“Helm, right full rudder! Drop us down to three-fifty! Make it loud!” Anderson gripped the railing asHonoluluplunged deeper and twisted, arching away from her original course. More water churned, a turbulent wake as she groaned and shifted hard. Anderson heard the rudder creak right throughHonolulu’s hull.
If they dropped low enough, the thermocline could shield them from the torpedoes’ passive sonar, and if their wake was loud enough, the torpedoes could mistake the churning forHonolulu’s own rudder and engine noise. He watched the fathometer, the depth gauge onHonolulu, tick off the feet as they plunged.
“Three hundred feet, Captain!”
The hull screamed, popping and crunching. They’d taken heavy damage fighting Sierra One beneath the ice and were in no position to be in a shootout with another Russian sub.
“The first torpedo hit the noisemaker, Captain! It detonated!”
“And the others?” His fingers clenched down around the railing. They had maybe a few more moves.
Silence, as everyone waited for Boomer’s response. The ocean hummed beyond the hull. Lights flickered and danced across nervous faces and wide eyes.
“All detonated, Captain. All torpedoes are a miss.” Relief rang through Boomer’s voice, and muted cheers rose. “Captain, they didn’t follow us.”
Anderson frowned. “What are they doing?”
“If I had to guess…” Boomer’s voice trailed off. His guess was a calculated interpretation of his sonar array, his screens and what they painted for him. “Sir, they’re starting a launch.”
“More torpedoes?”
“No, Captain. RSM-56 Bulavas. Cruise missiles.”
“Shit.” Anderson cursed as he stalked forward. “Helm, bring us back up to ninety feet. Weapons, make ready your torpedoes.”
Lieutenant Munoz paled. “Captain, we took a blow to the forward torpedo bay in the last battle. If we launch torpedoes, we could blow the bow off and flood the boat.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Anderson’s gaze locked on to Munoz’s wide eyes. “We have to stop them from launching, or those cruise missiles will ignite the atmosphere, and everything that the president has done here will have been for nothing.”
