The Silent Sea (Oregon Files 7)

A cleverly hidden door at the bow crashed open, and the multi-barrel snout of the Gatling emerged. The cluster of barrels was spun up until they were just a blur. Capable of firing four thousand 20mm tungsten rounds a minute, the weapon had the capability of tearing through enough water to reach the torpedo as it homed in on the ship. They had stopped a similar attack in the Persian Gulf when an Iranian submarine had taken a shot at them.

“Contact. Sonar. Their fish has gone active. Oh, no!”

“What?”

“She’s at three hundred feet.”

Juan understood the implications immediately. Unlike their last fight with a Kilo-class, where the water had been shallow, here the Chinese captain had the sea room to order his torpedo deep and come up on them where a ship is most vulnerable—along the keel. A modern vessel can survive a massive explosion along her flank—witness the USS Cole—but a blast under the hull will snap its spine and usually result in it breaking into two pieces and sinking within minutes.

“Who’s going to win the race?” Cabrillo asked.

“Their fish is inside ours by a hundred and fifty yards and coming at us four knots faster. It’ll hit us a full minute before ours hits him.”

Juan considered and rejected option after option. There simply wasn’t enough time to maneuver away, and the seas were too rough for the Oregon’s unparalleled speed to be a factor.

“Wepps, sound the collision alarm. Eric, I’m transferring helm to my station.”

Over the electronic warble of the alarm came another mechanical sound.

Max, who knew the ship better than anyone, was the first to realize that Juan had opened the big moon-pool doors. He quickly grasped what the Chairman intended. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Got a better idea? So long as that torpedo uses a contact fuse rather than a proximity signal, there’s a chance we can pull it off.”

“And if he does detonate just under the keel?”

“Having the doors open or closed won’t change a thing.” Cabrillo turned to Linda. “You’re my eyes. Guide me into position.”

“What do you want me to do?” She still didn’t understand.

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“Thread the needle with that torpedo. I want it to come up directly below the moon pool. With a little, no, with a lot of luck, that thing will fly clear when it broaches. That should snap its guy wires. After that, it’s nothing but a big paperweight.”

“You are nuts,” she said, and looked at Max. “He is.”

“Yes, but it actually might work.”

She returned to her display. “Depth is still three hundred. Range, one thousand yards.”

The torpedo maintained its track, staying deep as it raced for the Oregon. Because of the guy wires running back to their sub, the Chinese couldn’t take evasive maneuvers against the two torpedoes tracking them. Juan had to hand it to the Chinese captain. If the roles were reversed, he would have gotten out of there as soon as he heard he was under attack.

“Range, four hundred yards. Depth, unchanged. Time to impact, about forty seconds.”

The Chinese commander wouldn’t alter the torpedo’s depth until it was directly under the ship, and then he would send it straight up on its killing charge.

“Range, one hundred yards. Depth, unchanged. Juan, it’s about twenty feet to starboard of our center line.”

Cabrillo kicked on the thrusters to push the Oregon laterally through the water. With the sea heaving so much, it was going to take more than the lot of luck he’d mentioned. It was like threading a needle, only the hand holding the needle was wracked with tremors.

“That’s good. Okay, she’s coming up. Depth, two-fifty. Range, twenty yards.”

The sonar dome on the underside of the hull was thirty feet back from the bow. Cabrillo had to keep that in mind. The torpedo was twenty yards from the sonar but ten from his ship. The moon pool was directly amidships of the five-hundred-and-sixty-foot freighter.

“Depth, one-eighty feet. Horizontal range from the bow is five yards.” A second later, she amended, and said, “Depth, one-fifty. Range, three yards.”

Juan ran the vectors in his head, calculating the torpedo’s glide slope as it arrowed in on them, his ship’s speed and position, and how the waves were affecting her. He had one shot or they were all going to die. There was no margin for error. And there was no hesitation. He slammed on full power for less than two seconds and then threw the impellers into reverse. The ship lurched forward, shouldered aside a big breaking wave, and slowed once again.

“Depth, fifty feet. Range is zero.”