Eight hundred feet beneath the surface, USS Michigan rested on the ocean bottom, listing ten degrees to starboard. Seated on the Conn, bathed in yellow emergency lighting, Christine rubbed the arms of her thick green jacket. With the ventilation fans and heaters secured, the temperature inside the submarine had plummeted, dropping until it matched the temperature of the ocean bottom. Moisture from the air condensed on the submarine’s steel hull, trickling down the curved bulkheads, and the crew’s breath condensed into white mist when they spoke.
Standing on the Conn next to Captain Wilson, Lieutenant Commander Faucher had just arrived after completing another review of battery voltage and discharge rate, ensuring there was enough power remaining to complete a reactor start-up. They were pushing the battery to its limit, and Christine could see the concern on Faucher’s face, wondering if Wilson had pushed it too far. However, it didn’t seem like they had any choice. Sonar pings still echoed periodically through Michigan’s hull. At least one Chinese submarine was still out there, unconvinced the American submarine had been sunk.
“We need to commence a reactor start-up now,” Faucher repeated. “If we wait any longer, we won’t have enough power.”
Wilson shook his head. “We can’t afford to start up yet. Our feedwater and seawater pumps are too loud. We have to wait until the Chinese submarines depart.” A powerful sonar ping echoed through the submarine’s steel hull, adding emphasis to Wilson’s statement.
Faucher replied, his voice straining as he attempted to contain his frustration. “Then what is your plan, sir? How do we complete a reactor start-up without enough energy in the battery?”
Wilson hesitated a moment before answering. “We’ll do a Fast Recovery Start-Up instead of a normal start-up. That will buy us an hour.”
Captain Wilson’s words seemed to hit the Engineer like a physical blow. Faucher straightened his posture and cast a glance in Christine’s direction, aware she was sitting close enough to hear the conversation. He turned back to Captain Wilson, lowering his voice in a failed attempt to conceal his words. “That’s not allowed, sir. We’ve been shut down for too long. If we conduct a Fast Recovery Start-Up from such a low temperature, we risk fracturing the reactor vessel. We’re talking about a complete core meltdown if that happens.”
Wilson’s eyes locked onto his Engineer’s face. “I understand, Eng. That’s a chance I’m willing to take. It’s my call. Enter it in the logs.”
An uneasy silence hung in the air between the two men, interrupted by the submarine’s Weapons Officer arriving in Control with a second class petty officer whom Christine recognized as Sam Walsh, a Machinist Mate assigned to Torpedo Division. The Submarine Force had eliminated the Torpedoman rating, and Machinist Mates now manned the Torpedo Room. Wilson turned toward the new arrivals.
“Sir,” the Weps began, “Petty Officer Walsh may have a solution to our torpedo problem.”
Wilson’s eyes brightened as they shifted to the Machinist Mate. “What solution is that?”
Petty Officer Walsh explained. “The message we received said the algorithm that shuts down the torpedo is located on the primary Signal Processing card. I spent three years at our torpedo maintenance facility in Yorktown, and I know how to take apart the torpedo and remove the affected circuit card.”
Wilson replied. “Will the torpedo function properly without this card?”
“It should, sir,” Walsh replied. “There are two SP cards in each torpedo. They’re not completely identical, but each has the ability to take over for the other if one card fails. If we remove the primary SP card, the secondary card will assume the first has failed and take over. The message we received implied the algorithm was loaded only on the primary SP card, so the torpedo should function normally after we remove it, ignoring the Chinese sonar pulse. I don’t know that for sure, but I figure it’s worth a shot.”
“How long will it take to remove the card?” Wilson asked.
“With enough help and the proper tools, about two hours per torpedo. But I can do two torpedoes at once, one on the starboard side of the Torpedo Room and the other on the port side, without slowing me down too much.”
Wilson nodded thoughtfully. “Great idea, Walsh.” He turned to the Weps. “Get Walsh whatever help he needs. We’ve got another hour before we commence reactor start-up, and another hour before we’ll be coming off the bottom. We may need a functioning torpedo or two about the time Walsh is finished.”
“Aye, sir.” The Weps and Walsh stepped off the Conn, the two men already conversing as they headed down the ladder from Control.
* * *
An hour later, Christine was in the Torpedo Room along with the Weapons Officer, watching Walsh and five other petty officers gathered in the center aisle of the Torpedo Room. The six petty officers were disassembling two of the submarine’s MK 48 Mod 7 torpedoes, one on the inboard starboard stow and the other on the inboard port stow. Christine watched from the aft end of the crowded compartment, filled with eleven of the submarine’s thirteen green MK 48 warshot torpedoes. The other two were still loaded in Tubes Three and Four, ready for launch.
Both torpedoes Walsh was working on had been separated into two pieces. On each torpedo, Walsh had removed the joint band connecting the Guidance and Control section to the torpedo’s warhead, fuel tank, and engine. Thick black cables had been disconnected and were dangling from the torpedo innards, and Walsh and another petty officer were sliding a heavy, one-foot-long metal Guidance Control Box from the front half of the torpedo. The GCB was the torpedo’s brain, containing the two SP cards as well as a slew of other critical microprocessors.
The GCB was extracted from the Guidance and Control section and placed onto a rubber mat between the two halves of the torpedo. Walsh removed the hex screws from the front plate of the GCB and stared into the torpedo’s electronic brain. In the dim yellow emergency lighting, it was difficult to see inside, so the other petty officer grabbed a nearby flashlight, aiming the white beam into the GCB.
Walsh wrapped an electrostatic guard around his wrist, with the other end of the cord attached to the submarine’s metal hull. He reached carefully inside the GCB, working his hand back and forth, extracting a four-by-eight-inch circuit card. He examined it closely, as if he could visually detect the faulty algorithm loaded onto one of the several dozen chips embedded in the green circuit board.
He placed the card on the rubber mat, then replaced the GCB’s cover and tightened the fasteners. The Weapons Officer checked his watch for the hundredth time; it had taken just over an hour to get to this point. Walsh slid the GCB back into the Guidance and Control section, securing it in place with additional screws. Then he instructed the other petty officers to begin the process of rejoining the two halves of the torpedo. After observing their efforts for a moment, Walsh turned his attention to the torpedo on the port stow.
* * *
A powerful sonar ping echoed through Michigan’s hull, a stark reminder of the enemy awaiting them, and Christine decided to return to the Control Room. Wilson was still standing on the Conn, his arms folded across his chest, conversing with the Engineer and Navigator. As Christine approached the three men, the Navigator asked, “Why don’t we stay on the bottom after the reactor start-up is complete, then wait until the Chinese submarines depart.”
The Engineer shook his head. “Michigan isn’t designed to sit on the ocean bottom. Our main seawater intakes are near the bottom of the hull, and we sucked in a significant amount of silt during the short time it took to shut down the reactor. If we stay on the bottom more than a few minutes after start-up, we’ll foul the main condensers and lose all propulsion and electrical power.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the high-pitched chirp of the 2-JV sound-powered phone system. Wilson picked up the 2-JV handset, flipping on the speaker so his two department heads could hear the report from the Engineering Officer of the Watch in the Engine Room. “Conn, Maneuvering. The battery has begun reversing. Three cells have changed polarity.”
Three of the battery’s 126 cells had been drained and were now attempting to recharge themselves, adding an additional demand on the remaining cells. As more and more cells reversed, the situation would rapidly deteriorate until the battery was completely drained, leaving no power for the reactor startup.
“Maneuvering, Conn,” Wilson replied. “This is the Captain. Understand cell reversal has begun.” Wilson placed the handset back into its cradle, looking back at the Engineer. “Looks like we can’t wait any longer. Commence Fast Recovery Start-Up.”
The Engineer acknowledged the Captain’s order. As he left Control, Wilson approached the front of the Conn. His silver hair appeared almost blond in the yellow lighting from the emergency battle lanterns. He addressed all twenty-three watchstanders in the crowded Control Room, his breath condensing into fog as he spoke.
“Attention in Control. The battery has begun cell reversal, so we’re commencing a reactor start-up. As we bring up the seawater, condensate, and feedwater pumps, we’ll become more detectable, and we’ll be helpless until we get an electrical turbine and propulsion restored. However,” Wilson continued, “Petty Officer Walsh believes he can fix our torpedoes, making them impervious to the Chinese sonar pulse. He’s working on two now, and they should be ready by the time we complete reactor start-up.”
The crew sat up at their consoles as Wilson spoke, but when he finished, there was little for them to do. Their consoles were still dead, staring back at them with dark displays. Christine pulled back the left sleeve of her thick green jacket, checking the time. The reactor start-up would be complete in about an hour. She settled into the Captain’s seat on the starboard side of the Conn, preparing to wait as the minutes ticked by.
* * *
Christine shivered inside her foul-weather jacket, observing Lieutenant Kris Herndon, the Officer of the Deck, standing between the two lowered periscopes, supervising the dormant Control Room. Michigan still tilted to starboard at a ten-degree list, but no one seemed to notice aside from the Night Baker, who entered Control carrying a tray of coffee mugs held at a slight angle. Petty Officer Sam Meade had somehow managed to brew hot coffee without any electrical power. Steam rose from the ceramic mugs as Meade made his round, exchanging twelve empty cups for full ones. He delivered the last three to the Conn before retreating down the ladder toward Crew’s Mess.
Christine wrapped her cold hands around the hot mug as she took a sip of black coffee, savoring the heat more than the flavor. Wilson flipped on the 2-JV speaker, listening to the communications between Engine Room watchstanders and Maneuvering, where the Engineering Officer of the Watch directed reactor plant operations. They had commenced withdrawing control rods from the reactor core, adding a significant drain on the battery as the Control Rod Drive Mechanisms lifted the rods inside the uranium fuel cells. Additional battery cells began reversing, and Christine glanced at Wilson each time to assess his reaction. His face was placid, exhibiting no reaction to the news. Suddenly, an announcement came across the 2-JV.
“The reactor is critical.“
Christine glanced at Wilson again, wondering if something had gone wrong, but there was still no response from the submarine’s Captain. Lieutenant Herndon noticed the concerned look on her face, and spoke softly. “That’s normal,” she said. “It means the neutron fission rate in the core is self-sustaining, exactly where we want it. Neither too few fissions, eventually shutting down, nor too many, escalating out of control. Just like Goldilocks.” Herndon smiled, and Christine almost laughed at the unexpected simile.
A few minutes later, another report emanated from the speaker. “The reactor is in the power range. Commencing reactor plant heat-up.”
The minutes ticked away as the reactor plant increased temperature until another report came across the 2JV. “Opening Main Steam One and Two.”
While the Engineering watch section worked quickly to bring up the electrical turbine generators, the emergency battle lanterns in Control continued to fade. Sonar was still down, and the combat control, navigation, and ship control consoles remained deenergized. The only indication of electronic life aboard Michigan was the Ballast Control Panel, the red and blue indicating lights casting an eerie glow on the Chief of the Watch’s face. Another loud sonar ping penetrated Michigan’s hull, followed by a report over the 2-JV speaker.
“The port and starboard turbine generators are ready for electrical loading.“
Upon hearing this report, the watchstanders in Control straightened in their seats, turning back toward their dark consoles, and one of the Fire Control Technicians cracked his knuckles in anticipation. A moment later, the bright white fluorescent lighting overhead flickered on and the emergency battle lanterns extinguished.
There was a chirp from the 2-JV circuit, and Lieutenant Herndon picked up the handset. “Conn. Officer of the Deck.”
“Conn, Maneuvering. The electric plant is in a normal full power lineup. Main Engine warm-up in progress.“
Herndon acknowledged, then turned toward Wilson, who ordered, “Secure the rig for reduced electrical.” Herndon passed the order, and moments later, the Control Room sputtered to life, start-up screens appearing on the combat control consoles. The Ship Control Panel illuminated, as well as a plethora of displays and indicators on the Conn, and the ventilation fans began blowing welcome warm air from the vents.
The XO turned to the Captain. “Sonar reports cold start-up in progress. Six minutes remaining.”
Wilson acknowledged, ordering Sonar to resume making reports over the 27-MC.
The combat control consoles completed their start-up before Sonar’s, and the Weapons Officer peered over the Fire Control Technician’s shoulder at the Weapon Launch Console, monitoring the status of their torpedoes. Weapons appeared in two of the submarine’s four torpedo tubes. Tubes One and Two remained empty.
Wilson called out to the Weps, “Report status of Tubes One through Four.”
The Weps turned toward the Captain. “Tubes Three and Four are loaded, flooded down, outer doors open. Weapons powered up. Still reassembling the torpedoes for Tubes One and Two. Estimate twenty minutes before we’re ready to load.”
Lieutenant Stewart’s response was followed by a report over the 27-MC. “Conn, Sonar. Start-up complete. Hold a new contact, designated Sierra four-nine, bearing two-eight-zero. Analyzing.”
Sonar bearings appeared on three of the combat control consoles, and the two Fire Control Technicians and Lieutenant Cordero began manipulating the trackballs by their keyboards, their hands moving faster than Christine’s eyes could follow. The men flipped through various multicolored graphical displays, adjusting the contact’s course, speed, and range. Behind them, the submarine’s Executive Officer reviewed the three different solutions, eventually tapping one of the Fire Control Technicians on the shoulder.
“Promote to Master.”
The Fire Control Technician complied as the Executive Officer read off the contact’s estimated solution. “Sierra four-nine bears two-eight-five, range six thousand yards, course zero-one-zero, speed four.” The XO turned toward Wilson. “But’s that’s a rough solution. We’ll have a better estimate once we can maneuver and drive bearing rate.”
“We’ll come off the bottom once the main engines are ready,” Wilson replied.
As the XO acknowledged, the overhead lighting in Control flickered, followed by another announcement from the 2-JV speaker.
“Loss of vacuum, starboard main condenser.”
The report from the Engine Room was followed by the chirp of the 2-JV. Wilson retrieved the handset, and Christine listened to the conversation over the speaker.
“Conn. This is the Captain.”
“Captain, Engineer. The starboard main condenser is fouling and we’ve shifted to a half-power lineup on the port turbine generator. We need to come off the bottom so we can restore vacuum and bring up the starboard side of the Engine Room.”
“Understand,” Wilson replied. He replaced the handset, turning to Lieutenant Herndon. “Hover at seven-six-zero feet.”
Herndon gave the order. “Dive, engage Hovering. Set depth at seven-six-zero feet.”
The Dive relayed Herndon’s order to the Chief of the Watch seated beside him, manning the Ballast Control Panel. The Chief dialed in 760 feet and energized the submarine’s Hovering system. Blue circles illuminated on the Ballast Control Panel, indicating valves in the hull were opening. The Chief of the Watch called out periodically as the submarine’s hovering pumps pushed water from Michigan’s variable ballast tanks, increasing the submarine’s buoyancy.
“Ten thousand pounds out.”
The Chief of the Watch reported every ten thousand pounds out, and at the forty-thousand mark, Michigan began tilting to port, righting itself from its starboard list as it lifted off the ocean floor. A sonar ping echoed through Control just as Michigan began drifting upward, a stark reminder that at least one Chinese submarine was still searching for them. Christine shivered involuntarily from the combined cold and nervousness. She didn’t know how sophisticated the Chinese sonar systems were and whether they could detect a submarine hovering forty feet off the ocean floor, or whether Michigan would still look like a rock on the ocean bottom.
“On ordered depth, seven-six-zero feet,” the Dive announced.
Wilson removed the 2-JV handset from its holder. “Maneuvering, this is the Captain. We’re forty feet off the bottom. Recover the starboard side of the Engine Room.”
The Engineering Officer of the Watch repeated back the Captain’s order, and as Wilson slipped the handset into its holder, another sonar ping echoed through Control. Sonar followed up a few seconds later, the Sonar Supervisor’s voice emanating from the speaker. “Active pings bearing two-nine-zero. Correlates to Sierra four-nine. Classified Yuan class submarine.”
The Executive Officer monitored the three men at their combat control consoles as they continued adjusting the contact’s course, speed, and range. The contact solution was updated, followed by an announcement from the XO. “Hold Sierra four-nine on a course of zero-three-zero, speed three, range five thousand yards.”
Before Wilson could acknowledge, the Sonar Supervisor’s voice echoed from the 27-MC speakers again. “Upshift in frequency, Sierra four-nine. Contact has zigged toward.”
Hands began moving again at the three combat control consoles as the operators updated their solution.
The Executive Officer called out, “Confirm target zig. Contact has maneuvered to a new course of one-one-zero.” The XO stopped behind Lieutenant Cordero, directing him to shift to the geographic display. After a quick glance at the target solution, the XO looked up at the Captain. The Yuan class submarine had turned directly toward them.
Wilson picked up the 7-MC microphone. “Maneuvering, Captain. How much longer before the starboard side of the Engine Room is recovered?”
“Captain, Engineer. Estimate five minutes.”
Another ping echoed through the Control Room, this one stronger than the previous ones. Wilson replaced the handset, his eyes scanning the combat control displays. Christine could feel the tension in the air, but the conversations in Control remained subdued. Lieutenant Cordero and the two Fire Control Technicians continued their target motion analysis, adjusting parameters, refining the target’s new course, speed, and range.
After a moment, Wilson called out, “Designate Sierra four-nine as Master One. Firing Point Procedures, Master One, Tube Three. However,” Wilson added, “we will not shoot unless fired upon. We will continue hovering near the bottom and hope we look enough like a rock outcropping that Master One won’t expend a torpedo to find out.”
As Wilson fell silent, the watchstanders began preparing to fire the torpedo in Tube Three. The Executive Officer stopped briefly behind each of the combat control consoles, examining the target solution on each one, finally tapping the middle Fire Control Technician. The Technician pressed a button on his console and the XO called out, “Solution Ready.”
The Fire Control Technician at the Weapon Launch Console sent the course, speed, and range of their target to their MK 48 torpedo in Tube Three, along with applicable search presets, and a few seconds later, the Weapons Officer announced, “Weapon Ready.”
Lieutenant Herndon followed up, reporting, “Ship Ready with the exception of full propulsion. Ready to answer bells on the port main engine only.”
Michigan was cocked and ready, a single button push away from firing its torpedo.
* * *
Another sonar ping echoed through the Control Room, increased again in intensity. A report from Sonar followed shortly thereafter. “Sonar ping received at plus ten D-E. Corresponds to a depth of four hundred feet.”
There was bright white trace on Michigan’s port beam, growing stronger by the minute. The XO cast frequent glances in Wilson’s direction, waiting for the order to shoot. Christine knew what the XO was thinking. If they shot first, maybe they could surprise their target.
But that was risky. At this range, the Chinese submarine would detect Michigan’s torpedo launch. Walsh’s modified torpedoes weren’t ready yet, and the Chinese submarine might have enough time to dud their unmodified torpedo, then return fire. Wilson’s alternatives were to either shoot first and almost guarantee their own destruction, or sit tight and play the odds their target would pass by without firing. Neither option seemed to offer a high probability of survival.
Another sonar ping penetrated Michigan’s hull, but this one was followed by two more pings in rapid succession. There was no visible reaction from Wilson, even though Michigan had apparently been detected and the Chinese submarine was refining its firing solution. A moment later, Wilson glanced at the clock above the Quartermaster’s stand. It had been exactly five minutes since the Engineer’s last update on the Engine Room start-up.
As if in response to Wilson’s glance, the Engineer’s voice emanated from the Conn speaker. “Conn, Maneuvering. Ready to answer all bells.” But before Wilson could respond to the Engineer’s report, the Sonar Supervision’s voice blared across the 27-MC.
“Torpedo launch transients from Master One, bearing two-nine-zero!”
Wilson shouted out, “Helm, ahead flank! Launch countermeasure!”
The Helm twisted the Engine Order Telegraph fully clockwise, and Christine felt the submarine’s engines spring to life, sending tremors through the deck. A few seconds later, a Fire Control Technician manning one of the combat control consoles called out, “Countermeasure away!” The torpedo decoy was launched none too soon, because Sonar followed up with a second announcement.
“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-nine-zero!”
The XO turned in Wilson’s direction, awaiting the order to counter-fire. However, Wilson simply stood there, evaluating the sonar display on the Conn. After a moment of silence, interrupted only by Sonar’s updated bearing to the torpedo over the 27-MC, the Executive Officer spoke. “Sir, recommend counter-fire.”
“No,” Wilson replied. “It’ll be a wasted shot unless we can get close enough so they don’t have time to dud the torpedo.”
Wilson stepped off the Conn, stopping next to the Navigation table, examining the display. A bright white dot representing Michigan marched away from a scalloped circle annotating their torpedo decoy. A half-dozen red lines were drawn out from the submarine’s track, recording the torpedo bearings called out by Sonar every ten seconds. Wilson attempted to determine whether the torpedo was headed toward Michigan or their decoy. It was difficult to assess because Michigan was still close to their countermeasure.
“Torpedo range, one thousand yards. Impact in one minute.”
Christine’s stomach tightened, realizing their fate would be determined by the effectiveness of their decoy. She felt helpless, sitting on the Conn as they counted down what might be the last minute of their lives. After the next announcement, her stomach settled low and cold in her gut.
“Torpedo is range-gating! Torpedo’s homing!”
The torpedo had increased the rate of its sonar pings to more accurately determine the range to its target, so a refined intercept course could be calculated. The important question was whether the torpedo was about to intercept Michigan or their decoy behind them.
“Thirty seconds to impact!”
Michigan was approaching ahead flank and was a decent distance away from their decoy now.
“Fifteen seconds to impact!”
The torpedo’s high-pitched pings could now be heard through Michigan’s hull. Conversation in Control ceased, the silence interrupted only by the periodic sonar echoes, which increased in intensity as the torpedo closed the remaining distance. Throughout Control, the crew braced themselves for the impending explosion as they counted down the remaining seconds.
Michigan shuddered as an explosion roared through the Control Room. Christine tensed, as did everyone in Control, listening for an emergency report. The seconds on the clock by the Quartermaster’s stand ticked upward in slow motion as the crew waited.
After an agonizing fifteen seconds, Wilson ordered, “Helm, all stop, right full rudder.” Michigan hadn’t been hit. The torpedo had been distracted by their decoy, eventually locking on to the same rock outcropping as the previous Chinese torpedo.
Christine felt the tremors in the deck fade as the main engines fell silent. As the torpedo explosion echoed through the water, she wondered why Wilson had ordered all stop.
Wilson called out, “Attention in Control. I’ve secured the main engines so we can blend back into the ocean noise, masked by the echoes of the torpedo explosion. If Sierra four-eight continues down our trail, we’ll have a nice surprise for him. We’re not going to be where he expects us to be.” Wilson looked at the Weapons Officer. “Speaking of surprises, how long until Tubes One and Two are loaded?”
The Weps answered, “Ten more minutes before both torpedoes are buttoned up, then we’ll begin loading. However,” Lieutenant Stewart added, “we won’t know if the torpedoes are operable until we power them up and attempt to assign presets.”
“I understand,” Wilson replied. “We don’t have ten minutes anyway. I intend to prosecute Master One with the unmodified torpedo in Tube Three once we regain contact.” Wilson turned to the watchstanders in Control. “Check Fire, Tube Three. Resume tracking Master One.”
Christine wondered what Wilson was up to. How were they going to employ an unmodified torpedo without it being dudded?
The geographic display on Lieutenant Cordero’s console showed Michigan curling to the right, back toward the Chinese submarine, which was maintaining a straight course. Christine realized Wilson was attempting to circle around behind the Chinese submarine, their approach masked by the torpedo explosion still reverberating through the water. Michigan was temporarily invisible, and Captain Wilson was using that to their advantage.
The Helm called out, “Request orders to the Helm. Rudder remains right full, no ordered course.”
Stopping behind the geographic display, Wilson evaluated the solution for Master One. Michigan had traveled almost in a complete circle, its speed bleeding off to five knots and still decreasing, with the submarine still hugging the ocean bottom at 760 feet, blending into the occasional rock outcroppings. The Chinese submarine was directly behind them again, steady on a course of one-one-zero at ten knots, depth four hundred feet.
Wilson finally answered the Helm’s request for orders. “Steady course one-one-zero.”
As Michigan lined up on the identical course of its adversary, the Chinese submarine remained steady on course, attempting to regain track of the American submarine as the echoes from the torpedo explosion faded. Just as Michigan completed it full circle, Christine heard the loud churn of a propeller through Michigan’s hull as the Chinese submarine traveled overhead at four hundred feet, apparently unaware of the American submarine lurking below.
* * *
As the Chinese submarine passed above, a determined look settled on Wilson’s face. He called out, “Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth four hundred feet. Use five up.”
The Helm rang up ahead two-thirds on the Engine Order Telegraph as the Dive ordered full rise on the fairwater planes and a five-degree up-bubble on the submarine. The Outboard watchstander, seated on the Helm’s left, tilted the stern planes until the submarine was pitched upward to the ordered angle.
The main engines returned to life, increasing Michigan’s speed to ten knots, matching its target. At the same time, Michigan drifted up toward four hundred feet. Christine glanced at the geographic display. They were only a thousand yards behind Master One, directly in its sonar baffles. Assuming the Chinese submarine wasn’t employing a towed array, Michigan would remain completely undetected.
“On ordered depth, four hundred feet,” the Dive announced.
Wilson stepped back onto the Conn as he called out, “Firing Point Procedures, Master One, Tube Three. Set tactics to Low speed/Low speed, passive search only. Extend enable point to intercept range.”
The Weps acknowledged Wilson’s order and relayed it to the Fire Control Technician at the Weapon Launch Console, who modified the presets of the torpedo in Tube Three. The Executive Officer stopped briefly behind each of the combat control consoles, examining the target solution on each one, finally tapping Lieutenant Cordero. Cordero pressed a button on his console and the XO called out, “Solution Ready.”
Immediately following the XO, the Weapons Officer announced, “Weapon Ready.”
Lieutenant Herndon followed up, reporting, “Ship Ready.”
Wilson replied, “Shoot on generated bearings!”
Christine heard the whirr of the torpedo ejection pump as the four-thousand-pound torpedo was ejected from Tube Three. The Sonar Supervisor announced the torpedo milestones.
“Own ship’s unit is in the water, running normally.
“Fuel crossover achieved.
“Steady on preset gyro course, Low speed.”
Wilson’s eyes shifted to the Weapon Launch Console, depicting their torpedo as a green inverted V heading toward a red semicircle representing Master One, which remained steady on course and speed—giving no indication it had detected the incoming torpedo. Thirty seconds after launch, Michigan’s torpedo had closed to within five hundred yards of its target. Wilson called out, “Wire guide Tube Three. Shift search speed to High-One and Enable the weapon.”
The Weapon Launch Console operator sent the new commands to their torpedo over the thin copper wire trailing behind it. The Fire Control Technician reported, “Unit Tube Three accepted commands.”
Sonar confirmed the torpedo was responding properly, announcing, “Own ship’s unit has shifted to High-One and has gone active.”
A few seconds later, the Weapons Officer called out, “Unit Tube Three is homing! Telemetry range, four hundred yards.”
Their torpedo was sending data back to Michigan over its guidance wire, and the Michigan’s crew could adjust the target solution if the contact evaded. However, no adjustments would be necessary. The torpedo had begun homing and would adjust course on its own.
The Weps followed up. “Unit Tube Three still homing! Two hundred yards to contact.”
Christine watched as the torpedo’s track on the Weapon Launch Console merged with Master One.
A few seconds later, an explosion rumbled through Control.
Michigan shuddered as a shock wave passed by, followed by Sonar’s report. “Explosion in the water, bearing one-one-zero!” Cheers erupted in Control, quickly dying down as Sonar followed up. “Conn, Sonar. Breaking-up noises, bearing one-one-zero.”
Michigan had survived, and now they had to clear the area quickly. If there were other Chinese submarines nearby, they would converge on the explosion.
Wilson ordered, “Helm, ahead standard. Right full rudder, steady course two-eight-zero.”
Michigan began reversing course to the west, away from the explosion reverberating through the ocean depths. Christine took in a deep breath, realizing only now how shallow her breathing had been. However, as the tension eased from her muscles, a powerful sonar ping echoed through Control.
Seconds later, the Sonar Supervisor’s announcement struck fear back into her heart. “Torpedo launch transients, bearing three-one-zero!”