Barracuda: Final Bearing

The deck abruptly tilted twenty degrees to the right, almost throwing Tanaka into a row of Second Captain consoles. He grabbed a handhold to steady himself, watched the computer driving the ship. The ventriloquist SCM sonar system kicked in then, which meant the Second Captain’s calculations were complete and it could begin its work of confusing the incoming torpedoes.

Surely the system could fool two, perhaps three torpedoes — but eight? A terrible moment of doubt, but he shook it off.

USS PIRANHA

Bruce Phillips was back in his submarine coveralls. Scott Court was stationed as officer of the deck with an augmented section-tracking team.

Phillips strapped on the battle-circuit headset in time to hear the sonar chief saying something about torpedo pings and” odd sonar groaning sounds coming from the southwest and more pings in a different frequency from the southeast. Phillips checked the bearing separation, realizing that he was closer to the action than he’d originally thought.

“Man silent battlestations,” he told Court. “One last time.” (USS Barracuda

“Attention in the firecontrol team,” Kane said. His voice was steady, authoritative, but Pacino knew he was probably more frightened than he’d ever been in his life.

“We’re running from two Nagasaki torpedoes fired by the Destiny II class astern of us. The torpedoes are on the edge of our port baffles. I intend to jettison the caboose array to gain some speed, then turn fifteen more degrees westward. We have countermeasures loaded in the forward and after signal ejectors and we’ll launch those at the appropriate time. Carry on.” Kane turned to Jeff Joseph, the skinny, odd-looking navigator and officer of the deck. “Make that happen, O.O.D. Cut the wires, shut the doors and jettison the caboose. Move it.” Pacino bent over the plot, wondering about the Piranha.

SS-810 WINGED SERPENT

Tanaka held onto the handhold, his knuckles white as the ship executed the second loop of the figure-eight maneuver, the computer trying to determine the range to the incoming torpedoes. Finally the maneuver was complete, the ship now heading south at maximum turns.

The SCM sonar countermeasures were making so much noise and the pump jet propulsor was putting out so much turbulence that the rear-facing passive sonar system was unable to detect the arrival in the area of the second Seawolf ship.

USS PIRANHA

“Captain, Sonar,” Gambini said to Phillips, “here’s the picture. At bearing one nine eight, southsouthwest, we have Target Seven, Japanese Destiny II class. Target Seven is turning max revs getting out of town because at bearing south I’ve got multiples Mark 50 torpedoes, all of them in pursuit of the Destiny II. At bearing one seven five, south-southeast I have at least two Nagasaki torpedoes in pursuit of the contact at bearing one six zero, southeast, which I’m classifying as a US Seawolf submerged submarine, designated Friendly One.”

“Skip the Friendly One bullshit. Master,” Phillips said. “Call it the Barracuda.”

“Aye, sir. So what we have here is that the Destiny II and the Barracuda have fired at each other. Tough to say who shot first, but since the Barracuda got off eight shots I’m guessing she fired first.” “Doesn’t matter,” Phillips said, staring at pos one, the geographic plot, the God’s-eye view of the sea. The three ships, the Destiny, the Barracuda and the Piranha formed a triangle with Piranha at the top, coming in from the north. At the bottom left the Destiny was running southwest away from eight Mark 50s. At the bottom right the Barracuda was sprinting to the northeast trying to get away from two Nagasaki torpedoes. An image came into his mind of the Barracuda being chased by two sharp-teethed black muscular dogs. He had to do something.

The first order of business was the Destiny II. “Attention in the firecontrol team. One crisis at a time. We’re going to put Vortex unit seven down the bearing line to Target Six, the Destiny bearing southsouthwest. Let’s get that out of the way now. Firing point procedures.

Vortex seven. Target Six, bearing one nine eight.”

“Ship ready.”

“Weapon ready.”

“Solution ready.”

“Shoot on generated bearing.”

“Set.”

“Standby.”

“Shoot!”

“Fire!” The roaring of the missile ignition was once again deafening. The watchstanders had all plugged their ears with their fingers as the solid-rocket-fueled underwater-missile launched and sailed off to the south. “Attention in the firecontrol team,” Phillips shouted over the roar of the missile. “I intend to try to do something for the Barracuda. Everyone just hold on for a second.” Phillips leaned over the weapon-control console, where round-headed Tom McKilley sat looking up at him. “Weps, is there any way we can program the Vortex to detonate at a particular bearing and range without it homing on a target?”

“You mean disable the blue laser and have it count seconds until it’s at a certain bearing and range to own ship, then go off?”

“Right?”