SSN

    Mack leaned forward, interlocking his fingers beneath his chin. "I'm not sure on this one," he said. "It's a different ballgame going after a convoy. There's no one primary target to focus on, planning how to attack it and avoid getting caught. Instead, we're going to have to make an attack, break off to reload as necessary, and then get back into position to re-attack. And keep on doing it until all the ships in the convoy are sunk or turn around."

    "Too bad we don't have a deck gun like the old boats." The executive officer sipped his coffee as he set the other cup in front of Mack. "But at least we've got range with both weapons and sensors against these guys. And we're faster, so getting back into position should be fairly easy. It shouldn't be any problem as long as we don't get too cocky." He looked down at the captain's untouched coffee. "But you're still not comfortable with it. What's wrong?"

    "The escort squadron commander is what's wrong," Mack said.

    The executive officer looked up at his captain, "Why does he bother you?"

    Mack paused as the messenger of the watch entered the wardroom and, standing at attention in front of his captain, reported professionally, "Captain, the officer of the deck sends his respects and reports the hour of 2000." He then handed the 2000 report sheet to the captain.

    When Mack had acknowledged the report, the messenger of the watch left the wardroom as quietly as he had entered.

    When the messenger had departed, leaving the two of them alone once again, Mack straightened, took a long drink of coffee, and carefully set the cup back down. Getting to his feet, he moved toward the wardroom door and then paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Because their commander is reportedly a previous submarine commanding officer, one of their best," he said. "Why would a submariner be in command of a surface escort group and baby-sitting the convoy?"

    As the captain left the wardroom, the executive officer began to worry, too, and to wonder what would happen when Cheyenne located the convoy.

    "Diving officer, make your depth 247 feet," Mack ordered. Cheyenne had met up with the Chinese merchant convoy and had maneuvered into position. "Fire control, have you got a firing solution on the lead escort?"

    "Yes, sir," the executive officer replied. "We've got firing solutions on almost all of them, but the best solutions are the lead escort and the front two troop transport ships. Masters 54, 55, and 56, respectively. Should I select a fourth target for torpedo tube four?"

    "Negative," answered Mack. "I want to keep tube number four standing by for a snap shot in case another submarine shows up like before, or one of those escorts gets too close and damned lucky."

    "Aye, aye, sir."

    "Has anything changed with regards to their defensive posture?"

    "No, sir. The escort ships, except for one, are still in a ring around the convoy at an estimated distance of eight to ten thousand yards. All escorts that have an active sonar system are pinging away for all they're worth, but we're still beyond their detection range."

    Mack thought to himself that the Chinese submariner, the escort squadron commander, was wisely shielding himself on board his Jianghu class frigate by steaming in the middle of the convoy.

    "Very well," Mack said. He took a deep breath and slowly turned to survey the entire control room. Everyone was at their battle stations and primed for action. A sense of tense anticipation hung in the air. Not a nervous anticipation, but the kind that came from the pit of the stomach, awakened every nerve, and expanded the senses. The hunter had found his prey and it was time to kill.

    "Torpedo room, fire control. Make tubes one, two, and three ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors."

    The standard repeat back came over the sound-powered phones crisp and clear. Captain Mackey himself acknowledged and then crossed to the chart tracking the convoy's route while he waited for the crew in the torpedo room to carry out their duties.

    Before long the executive officer reported, 'Tubes one, two, and three are ready in all respects. Captain. Outer doors are open."

    "Very well." Mack went back to the BSY-1 fire-control and weapons-control consoles in "Fire-Control Alley." "Firing point procedures, tube one, Master 54."

    The combat systems officer reported the target's current course, speed, and range from the weapons-control console.

    Captain Mackey acknowledged the information and then announced over the open microphone. "Sonar, conn. Stand by."

    "Conn, sonar. Standing by."

    "Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 54."

    "Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 54, aye, sir."

    As lights lit up on his console, the combat systems officer reported, "Captain, tube one fired electrically."

    Moments later the sonar supervisor said, "Conn, sonar, unit from tube one is running hot, straight and normal."