Phoenix Sub Zero

Or his mind,” Rouni said, smiling. “They would be heading for the shallows at Ungava Ridge if they’re going west. If the torpedoes don’t kill them, running aground will. Wait …”

Rouni pressed the headset closer to his ears. “I think the weapons are speeding up to attack velocity, sir. Detonation should be in the next five minutes.”

Sharef nodded. The two threats were neutralized. It was time to launch. “Status of the Scorpion?” He looked at the weapons-control area with Sub.-Lt. Omar al-Maari at the console. Al-Maari had once reported to the weapons officer, Aboud Mamun, who had been killed in the initial torpedo detonation.

“Self-check is satisfactory. Warhead computer is functional at one hundred percent, target coordinates and waypoints confirmed. Hiroshima airframe navigational computer is functional at full capacity. Fuel cells are pressurized, turbine bearings are lubed and warm, winglet hinges articulation checks are nominal, circuit continuity to the solid rocket fuel is verified. Tube one is pressurized and open to sea, bow cap open, gas generator ready. Recommend recommencing countdown, sir.”

“Commence sixty-second automatic-countdown sequence.”

“Commencing now at launch minus fifty-nine seconds.”

USS SEAWOLF

“Conn, sonar, the last own-ship units have shut down. The explosion from bearing zero one eight was accompanied by hull-breakup noises. We’ve probably lost the Phoenix. And the incoming torpedoes are increasing speed, Captain,” Holt reported on the headphones. All the bad news, condensed into a nutshell. There was no time to elaborate, not with the Nagasakis on their way and in close.

The attack so far had been a complete failure, Pacino realized.

The fathometer read 280 fathoms beneath the keel as the water grew shallower at the rise of the ridge. Not shallow enough, not yet, he thought, but it would have to do.

Perhaps by the time he’d completed the work for his last-resort plan the ridge beneath them would be shallower than test depth. He could only hope.

“XO, I’ve got one last idea,” Pacino said, knowing now that Vaughn would have to go along. With the two Nagasakis coming in on final approach, what else could they do?

“Love to hear it. Skipper,” Vaughn drawled. Hope flashed momentarily across the hollow-cheeked faces in the control room, then slowly faded.

“We’ll launch the Vortex bank. We may only get one of them off, and they may breach the hull and make the tubes explode, but if the hull’s going to be breached in the next five minutes anyway … at least we can kiss Sihoud and the Destiny goodbye even if we can’t confirm a kill before the Nagasakis get to us.”

Vaughn understood immediately, but Pacino sensed he had known that his captain had foreseen this eventuality all along.

“We’ll do it, sir. I’ll evacuate the watchstanders outside the control room to the engineroom.”

“Weps, select the Vortex battery on the WCP, line up and pressurize all Vortex tubes, spin up all Vortex missiles and make preparations for launch of the battery.”

Court flipped through the weapon-control panel displays, selected the Vortex bank, flooded the tubes and opened the outer doors. The tubes were engineered so that all three could be opened at once, with large-bore piping for rapid flooding. While Court lined up the tubes he selected the Vortex warhead computers, fixing the presets for departure depth. He came to target bearing and stopped, jerking his head around.

“We have a bearing to the target?” “Select Target One from the firecontrol generated bearing,” Pacino said, knowing it wouldn’t matter if the bearing was off by several degrees.

“Aye, sir. Vortex missiles one, two and three are spun up and ready for launch. Launch interval, sir?”

Pacino had considered the answer. They couldn’t be launched simultaneously, or they would interfere with each other, the solid rockets blowing apart neighboring missiles.

Too far apart, the launching system would be gone, probably blown apart by the explosion of the first tube.

“Set the interval at 500 milliseconds,” Pacino ordered.

That, he figured, would give the system time to launch the second missile but would also allow the first-launched weapon to clear the tube and the ship. The third unit would probably never make it out of the ship.

“Vortex units are ready, sir.”

“XO, evacuate all watchstanders to the aft compartment.

Keep both hatches open. I’ll be right back.” “Aye, sir,” Vaughn said, not looking at Pacino. “You heard it, men. Everybody aft, now.”

The watchstanders dropped headsets, clipboards, pens, the lot of them stampeding aft to the passageway leading down the ship’s centerline. Holt and his sonarmen joining them from the forward door to the sonar room, Vaughn was last to go-By the time the men were gone the noise of the Nagasaki torpedoes could be heard through the hull, their whining propulsors sounding ghostly.

“Sir?” Vaughn had paused at the aft door to the passageway.

“Don’t be too long or I’ll have to shut the hatches.”

“I’ll be right there,” Pacino said, a phone in his ear.