First Strike by Keith Douglass

Author:Keith Douglass [Douglass, Keith]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

USS Jefferson

CVIC

0308 local (GMT-4)

“Come on, Jeff,” Coyote said softly. He wasn’t sure if it was an order or a prayer.

Beneath his feet, the deck was now tilted as hard over as he’d ever felt it. He had to give her credit, the old girl was strong, but she just couldn’t maneuver like the smaller boys could.

On the screen in front of him, the torpedo symbols inched closer and closer, their positions reported by the Lake Champlain from the cruiser’s sonar detections.

No time, no time. We’re not even all buttoned up—if it hits directly under the keel, we’re in serious trouble.

Outside the compartment, Coyote could hear feet pounding down passageways as sailors scrambled for their general quarter stations. The damage control crews were the most critical part of the entire evolution, since they would be the ones who determined whether or not Jeff stayed afloat.

If it hits. Just turning now—we may be able to confuse it.

Evasive maneuvers worked—at least in theory. How well depended on what type of torpedoes had been fired. The acoustic homers would have no difficulty tracking her, although a straight wake homer might be confused by a sudden change of course.

Suddenly, Lake Champlain skipper’s voice came over the circuit, ferocious joy in his voice. “Jeff, Champlain—they’re gone! My sonarmen said they simply slowed down then stopped. Massive explosions under the water, too, sir, immediately before. They were probably still on wire guidance, the Seawolf took out the submarine, and the torpedoes went stupid.”

Cheers broke out in TFCC, and Coyote drew in a deep, shuddering breath. So, the Seawolf was on the job—and just how had she accomplished this? Everything Coyote had read said that the Seawolf was tasked only as an intelligent asset pending relief on station.

The details spelled out in the P4 had been far more alarming. Coyote had whistled softly as he read it, unable to believe that the submarine’s watch section had gotten her underway without the captain or the XO on board. In fact, the senior line officer present on board was a lieutenant commander.

Coyote folded up the message and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Good on you, Seawolf,” he said. He shuddered at the thought of being shorthanded so far below the surface of the ocean, while marveling at the man who had managed to pull it off. No, they weren’t aviators—but, for the first time in his career, he was awed by someone whose max speed was just over thirty knots.

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