Empire Rising (34 page)

“Conn, Sonar. Sierra four-five is classified Yuan class diesel submarine.”

Michigan
was defenseless.

That fact was not lost on Wilson as he loudly announced, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn. Lieutenant Commander Faucher retains the Deck.” He followed up immediately with, “Helm, ahead one-third,” slowing the ship to its lowest bell, reducing the amount of noise put into the water by the submarine's propeller and main engines.

After peering over Lieutenant Cordero's shoulder, studying the combat control console display, Wilson issued another order. “Helm, right full rudder, steady course north.”

The Helm twisted his yoke to the right and the submarine turned slowly to starboard, putting Sierra four-five on the port beam in an attempt to drive around it.

“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact, designated Sierra four-six, bearing zero-one-five, classified submerged. Analyzing.”

It looked like
Michigan
had turned directly toward another Chinese submarine. Wilson ordered his submarine to reverse course. “Helm, continue right, steady course two-zero-zero.” If they couldn't go around the first submarine on one side, they'd try the other.

Michigan
eventually steadied up on its new course to the south. Wilson stood next to the Engineer on the Conn, studying the sonar display. He was waiting for their towed array sonar to finish snaking back and forth from the turn, straightening out so it could transmit reliable bearings. While they waited, Sonar followed up.

“Conn, Sonar. Sierra four-six is also classified Yuan class submarine.”

Wilson acknowledged Sonar's report, and Christine's eyes shifted between Wilson and the XO, wondering if either submarine had detected
Michigan
yet. A torpedo in the water would be a clear indication, but could the crew figure it out some other way?

The XO spoke into his sound-powered phone mouthpiece, acknowledging a report from Sonar, and the three operators manning the submarine's combat control consoles began adjusting the parameters to the contact's solution.

A moment later, the XO announced, “Confirm target zig, Sierra four-five, due to upshift in frequency. Sierra four-five has turned toward own ship.”

Wilson called out, “Helm, ahead two-thirds.”
Michigan
was speeding back up, attempting to turn the corner around Sierra four-five. But then more bad news came across the 27-MC.

“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new submerged contact, Sierra four-seven, bearing one-eight-zero.”

Wilson acknowledged, assessing the position of the third submarine—almost directly ahead—for only a second before issuing another order. “Helm, ahead standard. Left full rudder, steady course one-zero-zero.”

With three submarines blocking
Michigan
's path, there was no hope of slipping through, so Wilson had reversed course, heading out the way they had come in. It looked like they would have to fall back and attempt to penetrate the Chinese submarine barrier at some other point. As Christine wondered whether they would have better luck next time, a powerful sonar ping echoed through the hull.

“Conn, Sonar! Sierra four-five has gone active. Ping-steal range, six thousand yards.” Seconds later, two more sonar pings reverberated inside control. “Conn, Sonar! Sierra four-six and four-seven have also gone active. Ping-steal range ten thousand yards each.”

Wilson stepped off the Conn toward the combat control consoles on the starboard side of the ship. “Geographic display,” he called out. The XO tapped Cordero on the shoulder and seconds later a geographic display appeared on the Lieutenant's console, displaying
Michigan
and the three Chinese submarines. They had
Michigan
bracketed, one behind with the other two on
Michigan
's beam. As Wilson studied the display, a 27-MC report blared across the speakers.

“Torpedo launch transients, bearing two-eight-five! Correlates to Sierra four-five!”

Wilson responded immediately, “Helm, ahead flank! Launch countermeasure!”

The Helm rang up ahead flank on the Engine Order Telegraph, and Christine knew that back in the Engine Room, the Throttleman was spinning the ahead throttles open as rapidly as possible, pouring steam into the Main Engine turbines. One of the Fire Control Technicians seated at his combat control console pressed a button on his display, ejecting a torpedo decoy into the water. Christine felt tremors in the submarine's deck as the ship's propeller dug into the water, accelerating
Michigan
toward maximum speed.

“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-eight-five!”

Wilson stepped back onto the Conn, unfazed by Sonar's report, alternately studying the sonar and combat displays. The torpedo was chasing
Michigan
from behind, but with a Chinese submarine on each side of the ship, there was nowhere to turn. Unless the torpedo was distracted by
Michigan
's decoy, it looked like the Trident submarine was headed to the bottom.

A bright white trace burned into the sonar display, but Christine found her eyes glued to the geographic display in front of Lieutenant Cordero. The torpedo chasing them was just now reaching their decoy. She watched intently as the torpedo passed by
Michigan
's decoy, her heart sinking into her stomach. But then the torpedo turned around and headed back toward the decoy.

It worked. Christine watched as the torpedo swam in circles around the decoy, attempting to destroy the small countermeasure. But just when her spirits began to lift, another report echoed across the 27-MC.

“Torpedo in the water, bearing two-eight-three! Sierra four-five has shot a second torpedo!”

Christine looked up at Captain Wilson, still standing on the Conn, studying the Sonar display. A moment later he announced, “Launch second countermeasure.” However, he issued no new orders to the Helm. With a Chinese submarine on either side,
Michigan
was constrained on course, so another torpedo decoy would have to do, along with the submarine's speed.
Michigan
was slow by American submarine standards, but she was nuclear-powered and could easily outrun the three diesel submarines chasing her. Outrunning their torpedoes was another matter.

Every ten seconds, Sonar called out the bearings to each torpedo, with red bearing lines annotated on several of the displays. A minute passed and the Navigator, supervising the various electronic plots, called out, “Second fired torpedo has been vectored around our decoy.”

Wilson stepped off the Conn again and stopped by the geographic display, examining the bearing lines to the second torpedo. The torpedo had been steered forty-five degrees to the right, then back to base course chasing
Michigan
, passing to the right of the submarine's decoy. The Chinese torpedo was obviously wire-guided and the Chinese crew well trained. It would be a race to the finish, hinging on whether the torpedo ran out of fuel before it reached
Michigan
. The Trident submarine was already at ahead flank, so Christine figured they had a fighting chance. But as a glimmer of hope appeared, a series of reports echoed across Control.

“Torpedo in the water, bearing one-nine-zero! Correlates to Sierra four-seven!” A few seconds later, another report followed. “Torpedo in the water, bearing zero-one-zero! Correlates to Sierra four-six!”

Two more bright white traces appeared on the sonar monitor on the Conn, one on each side of the display. Every ten seconds, Sonar called out bearings to the three torpedoes chasing them, and not long after, solutions for the three torpedoes appeared on the geographic display on Lieutenant Cordero's console. The first torpedo was chasing them from behind, headed directly toward
Michigan
. However, the two on each side were fired at a lead angle, taking into account
Michigan
's ahead flank speed, traveling to an intercept point ahead of the Trident submarine.
Michigan
was completely bracketed. They couldn't slow down and had nowhere to turn.

Christine sensed the restrained panic in the Control Room. The low murmur of orders and reports between watchstanders had ceased, the quiet in the Control Room pierced only by Sonar's announcements reporting the bearings to the three torpedoes. One by one, the watchstanders in Control looked toward Wilson, wondering if he would find a solution to their dilemma.

Wilson studied the geographic display on Cordero's console for a moment, his arms folded across his chest. The torpedo behind them had closed to within three thousand yards and would catch up to
Michigan
in four minutes. The torpedoes on each side of the submarine weren't far behind, only five minutes from impact. There was nowhere
Michigan
could go to evade the torpedoes, except up or down. The XO reached the same conclusion.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Greenwood called out, “recommend Emergency Blow.”

“That won't work,” Wilson replied. “We're too big and we won't change depth quickly enough. Even if we do, we'll be a sitting duck on the surface. However…” Wilson rubbed the side of his face as he stared at the geographic display, tapping Lieutenant Cordero on the shoulder a second later. “Overlay bottom contour.”

Cordero complied, and after several push-button commands, depth contours appeared on the display. Each level of the ocean bottom was displayed in a different color, increasing in brightness from a dark blue to bright yellow, as the water depth decreased. Up ahead, to starboard, was a small patch of bright yellow.

Wilson turned toward the Quartermaster. “Report bottom type.”

The Quartermaster replied, “Silt bottom, with intermittent rock formations.”

Wilson suddenly ordered, “Helm, right full rudder, steady course one-seven-zero. Dive, make your depth seven-five-zero feet.”

The Helm and Dive acknowledged, followed by another report from the Quartermaster. “Sir, charted water depth is eight hundred feet.”

“Understood,” Wilson replied. Stepping onto the Conn,
Michigan
's Captain called out loudly, “Attention in Control. I intend to drive
Michigan
toward the bottom, searching for a rock outcropping along the way. If we detect one, we'll bottom the submarine on the opposite side, hoping the torpedoes chasing us lock on to the rock formation instead. Carry on.” Turning toward the Quartermaster again, Wilson ordered, “Energize the Fathometer.”

The Quartermaster complied, and seconds later the submarine's Fathometer began sending sonar pings down toward the ocean bottom, measuring the water depth beneath the submarine's keel. On the Fathometer display, Christine watched the depth steadily decrease as
Michigan
sped toward the ocean bottom. The Dive called out the submarine's depth change in one-hundred-foot increments, finally reporting, “On ordered depth. Seven-five-zero feet.”

The Quartermaster followed up, “Eight fathoms beneath the keel.”

The first torpedo was only two minutes behind them.
Michigan
would reach the shallow patch of ocean bottom in about the same time. Wilson's eyes shifted between the display on Cordero's console and the Fathometer readout as the three torpedoes sped toward them.

“Conn, Sonar.” The Sonar Supervisor's report echoed across the quiet Control Room. “Torpedo bearing two-seven-zero has increased ping rate. Torpedo is homing!”

Wilson said nothing, his eyes fixed on the Fathometer. Suddenly, water depth began decreasing rapidly, reported by the Quartermaster. “Six fathoms beneath the keel … Five fathoms … Four fathoms…”

They were passing over a rock outcropping. But how high would it rise? Any higher than fifty feet and
Michigan
would slam into the rocks. With the submarine traveling at ahead flank, the rocky bottom would inflict significant, if not fatal, damage.

As the Quartermaster called out, “Zero depth beneath the keel,”
Michigan
shuddered, knocking some of the personnel standing in Control off balance. Wilson grabbed on to the Conn railing, his eyes still fixed on the Fathometer. The Dive turned toward the Captain, looking for direction.
Michigan
was barreling along the ocean bottom at ahead flank speed, receiving who-knew-what kind of damage. Meanwhile, the torpedo behind them continued to close.

“Conn, Sonar. One minute to torpedo impact.”

Sonar's report was barely audible above the racket as
Michigan
plowed along the ocean bottom, but the loud scraping sounds suddenly ceased.

Wilson immediately called out, “Helm, back emergency! Dive, bottom the submarine! Don't break the bow dome!”

Wilson had just ordered the Dive to perform something they had never trained on or even simulated. He would have to trust the Dive to figure out how to do it without wrecking the submarine, especially its bow-mounted sonar.

The Dive cast a worried glance at the Captain before turning back quickly toward the Ship Control Panel, simultaneously ordering the two planesmen in front of him, “Three down, Full Dive fairwater planes.”

Christine felt tremors in
Michigan
's deck as the ship's massive seven-bladed propeller began spinning in reverse.
Michigan
tilted downward three degrees as it slowed, and seconds later, a shudder traveled through the ship's hull as
Michigan
rammed into the ocean bottom again.

As the submarine's speed approached zero, Wilson called out, “Helm, all stop!” and the Helm twisted the Engine Order Telegraph to the ordered bell. The tremors beneath Christine's feet ceased, and
Michigan
came to rest at a ten-degree tilt to starboard. The racket of the submarine's grounding was replaced by a serene silence, penetrated only by the high-pitched pings of the torpedo behind them.

“Thirty seconds to torpedo impact.” The Sonar Supervisor's report echoed across the quiet Control Room.