plagued by onboard fires, when they worked right they were formidable. The Russians called the Udaloy class a “Large Antisubmarine Ship,” and to Jeffrey this said it all. The other was a Grisha-V antisubmarine corvette, much smaller than the Udaloy.
At low altitude, on a racetrack-oval course that ran east-west beyond the strait, the plot also showed sonar holding intermittent contact on an Ilyushin-38 four-engine turboprop plane, NATO code name May. The Mays had been modernized since their introduction in 1969. Finally due for retirement just when the war broke out, Russia kept them in service. Each one could carry a dangerous mix of air-dropped torpedoes, sonobuoys, and depth charges. They also bore a magnetic anomaly detector—MAD—on a boom behind their tail, which if properly calibrated could find Challenger in water this shallow. Though her hull was made of nonmagnetic ceramic composite, there was enough steel and iron inside to register at short enough range.
Challenger could easily outrun an Udaloy or a Grisha, but not the Udaloy’s two antisubmarine helicopters. She might or might not manage to escape their lightweight torpedoes. The May maritime patrol bomber, Challenger could never outrun. If that aircraft was carrying APR-2 or APR-3 rocket-propelled torpedoes, and her crew drew a bead and chose to drop the weapons armed, in such confined waters Challenger was finished.
Chapter 5
J effrey was staring tensely at the pictures from outside.
“What’s that?” COB hissed.
Through the murky water ahead, Jeffrey saw a long and thin object projecting high off the bottom.
“Helm left thirty rudder,” Bell snapped, the risk of collision too real. “Back one third.”
“Aye, sir!” Patel said, his voice cracking, too panicked to acknowledge properly. The ship swung left. In front of them were more of these towering objects. Challenger had too much momentum to be able to stop or turn out of their way.
“Helm maximum rise on autohover!” Bell kept his voice deep with great effort. The only thing remaining was to try to go up and over the obstacles.
“Autohover, aye, rise!”
“Chief of the Watch, pump all variable ballast!”
COB acknowledged crisply. His hands worked his console controls and keyboard like a concert organist giving the performance of his life. Bell was doing everything he could to get the ship going straight up on an even keel. To use the bow and stern planes would make her pivot about her center of buoyancy too much, especially with a jittery helmsman, and her rudder and pump-jet propulsor would smash into the bottom’s muck and stones. The autopilot computer assists could aid Patel only so far.
Challenger ’s depth began to decrease. The unexpected spires were still there.
They must be forty or fifty feet high, Jeffrey thought . What the hell are they? . . . We’re going to hit them.
“Helm back two thirds!” Bell’s order came out at a higher pitch this time. “Chief of the Watch, on the sound-powered phones, rig for depth charge.” As a modern expression, this meant to prepare for possible shock and damage from enemy weaponry, including not just depth charges but mines, torpedoes, cruise missiles, or bombs. No one knew what might happen next.
“Propulsor is cavitating,” O’Hanlon announced, his Boston Irish accent especially thick. The power Bell had demanded, with the comparatively low sea pressure at such mild depth, meant that the pump-jet turbine blades, thrown hard into reverse, began to suck vacuum, fighting Challenger ’s nine thousand tons of inertia.
“Chief of the Watch, on the sound-powered phones, silent collision alarm.”
COB acknowledged. Phone talkers in each compartment, monitoring the circuit, would pass the word to all hands.
The ship’s rise began to accelerate, even as her forward speed slowly came off. Everyone braced themselves and watched the photonics imagery, and prayed. A crash would be disastrous for stealth, and could
At low altitude, on a racetrack-oval course that ran east-west beyond the strait, the plot also showed sonar holding intermittent contact on an Ilyushin-38 four-engine turboprop plane, NATO code name May. The Mays had been modernized since their introduction in 1969. Finally due for retirement just when the war broke out, Russia kept them in service. Each one could carry a dangerous mix of air-dropped torpedoes, sonobuoys, and depth charges. They also bore a magnetic anomaly detector—MAD—on a boom behind their tail, which if properly calibrated could find Challenger in water this shallow. Though her hull was made of nonmagnetic ceramic composite, there was enough steel and iron inside to register at short enough range.
Challenger could easily outrun an Udaloy or a Grisha, but not the Udaloy’s two antisubmarine helicopters. She might or might not manage to escape their lightweight torpedoes. The May maritime patrol bomber, Challenger could never outrun. If that aircraft was carrying APR-2 or APR-3 rocket-propelled torpedoes, and her crew drew a bead and chose to drop the weapons armed, in such confined waters Challenger was finished.
Chapter 5
J effrey was staring tensely at the pictures from outside.
“What’s that?” COB hissed.
Through the murky water ahead, Jeffrey saw a long and thin object projecting high off the bottom.
“Helm left thirty rudder,” Bell snapped, the risk of collision too real. “Back one third.”
“Aye, sir!” Patel said, his voice cracking, too panicked to acknowledge properly. The ship swung left. In front of them were more of these towering objects. Challenger had too much momentum to be able to stop or turn out of their way.
“Helm maximum rise on autohover!” Bell kept his voice deep with great effort. The only thing remaining was to try to go up and over the obstacles.
“Autohover, aye, rise!”
“Chief of the Watch, pump all variable ballast!”
COB acknowledged crisply. His hands worked his console controls and keyboard like a concert organist giving the performance of his life. Bell was doing everything he could to get the ship going straight up on an even keel. To use the bow and stern planes would make her pivot about her center of buoyancy too much, especially with a jittery helmsman, and her rudder and pump-jet propulsor would smash into the bottom’s muck and stones. The autopilot computer assists could aid Patel only so far.
Challenger ’s depth began to decrease. The unexpected spires were still there.
They must be forty or fifty feet high, Jeffrey thought . What the hell are they? . . . We’re going to hit them.
“Helm back two thirds!” Bell’s order came out at a higher pitch this time. “Chief of the Watch, on the sound-powered phones, rig for depth charge.” As a modern expression, this meant to prepare for possible shock and damage from enemy weaponry, including not just depth charges but mines, torpedoes, cruise missiles, or bombs. No one knew what might happen next.
“Propulsor is cavitating,” O’Hanlon announced, his Boston Irish accent especially thick. The power Bell had demanded, with the comparatively low sea pressure at such mild depth, meant that the pump-jet turbine blades, thrown hard into reverse, began to suck vacuum, fighting Challenger ’s nine thousand tons of inertia.
“Chief of the Watch, on the sound-powered phones, silent collision alarm.”
COB acknowledged. Phone talkers in each compartment, monitoring the circuit, would pass the word to all hands.
The ship’s rise began to accelerate, even as her forward speed slowly came off. Everyone braced themselves and watched the photonics imagery, and prayed. A crash would be disastrous for stealth, and could
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