son. Ahead two thirds.”
“Zero-one-five, ahead two diirds, aye, sir.”
Biddle heeled sharply to port as she went into a hard turn.
1652 hours, 23 March
NSS Kalvari, 100 miles west of Bombay
“Contact!” the sonar operator called. “Single screw to port! It sounds … it sounds like a Perry, sir!”
A Perry-class frigate. That could mean American, or …
“Go active! Range!” Khandelwal clung to the brass grip on the periscope well, his eyes on the depth gauge. Ninety meters. Too deep yet to see what was going on.
He heard the chirp as die sub’s sonar operator began probing the water around them with sound. The ping of the echo followed close behind.
“Contact! Bearing one-nine-five, range two thousand meters! Closing at two-five knots!”
His boat’s survival would be determined by the decisions he made within die next minute, Khandelwal knew. He picked up an intercom mike and held it to his mouth. “Torpedo room! Stand by!”
“Torpedoes standing by, sir. Tubes one and two loaded, wire-guided.”
The Oliver Hazard Perry-class frigate was an American design, but in this modern age of arms sales and weapons package diplomacy, that meant nothing. Only the year before, two had been purchased by Pakistan.
He listened to the chirp of sonar, his experienced ear noting
38
Ketth Dougiass
the decreasing intervals between ping and echo. If this was one of the Pakistani frigates, as its aggressive pursuit suggested . . .
“Captain, sonar! Splashes to port, close\”
Splashes! Depth charges or ASW torpedoes! He clicked the switch on the intercom mike. “Torpedo room! Fire one! Helm, evasive!”
1653 hours, 23 March Bridge, U.S.S.ffiddfe
“Bridge! Sonar! Torpedo launch at zero-one-five, range one-eight hundred!”
Parrel’s fist came down on the console. “Left full rudder! Ahead Hank!”
The guided-missile frigate leaped across the water, sea spray lashing across the bridge windscreen. It was possible to outrun a torpedo, but the range was damned tight for a stunt like that Biddle could make thirty knots. A torpedo might do forty or more, depending on the type.
“Bridge, sonar. Torpedo is maneuvering. Looks like it might be wire-guided, sir.”
That might be a break. “Where’s our LAMPS, Bill?” he asked his Exec.
“Sonobuoy run. He’s right over the bastard!”
Fairel faced a terrible choice: try to outrun that incoming torpedo—probably impossible when it was less than a mile away—or try to break the concentration of the men directing it. Wire-guided torps were homed on their targets by commands sent down a thin wire unreeling behind the weapon. Once the torpedo acquired its own sonar lock the wire was cast off … or the sub could steer the thing all the way to the target.
If he could force the sub to turn away he might break me wire, but he had only seconds before the torpedo locked on by itself.
“Pass the word to the LAMPS,” Parrel said. “Fire on (he target.”
He’d taken the step, and it was a terrible one. But by loosing the torpedo, that sub skipper had just forced Captain Parrel to choose between his ship and the submarine.
ARMAGEDDON MODE
39
1653 hours, 23 March Over the Arabian Sea
The location of Biddle’s sonar target had already been relayed to the circling Seahawk, which was further pinpointing the contact by dropping a chain of sonobuoys around the sub’s suspected position. Target data was fed into the two Mark 46 ASW torpedoes slung from the Seahawk’s hull.
At the command to fire, one of the torpedoes dropped away, a drogue chute opening at its tail to position it at the correct angle for entering the water. Arming when it hit the surface, it picked up the submerged Foxtrot almost immediately, circled onto a new heading, and dove.
1654 hours, 23 March Control room, INSS Ka/vari
“High speed propeller to port!” The hydrophone operator’s voice was sharp with fear. “Very close!”
“Hard to port!” Khandelwal’s knuckles whitened on the periscope railing. The maneuver might make them lose then-own torpedo, but perhaps the launch alone might make Kalvari’s attackers back off. If they could just elude this new threat . . .
At forty-five knots, the lightweight Mark 46 torpedo slammed into Kalvari’s hull just forward of her conning tower. The detonation of ninety-five pounds of torpex ripped a gaping hole through both the inner and outer hulls.