Leap of Faith

 “Estimated range is seventy two hundred yards sir,”

“Estimate angle on the bow to be port zero six zero, speed seven knots,” he continued.  “Chief of the Watch.  Stand by to raise number one BRA-34.”

Tim could feel his stomach twist instantly into knots from the sound that came through his headphones.  A sharp “THUMP THUMP” noise caught his attention while his ears tried to make his brain register the sound.  It took a second or two for his mind to sort through its years of experience until it finally registered.  But the next sound brought terror to his voice as he screamed out the words that no one wanted to hear.  “Torpedo in the water!  Torpedo in the water!”

“Oh my God,” someone said in the Sonar Shack.

The loud voice pierced the tension of the Control Room like the shot of a pistol in a metal drum.  “Conn Sonar.  Torpedo in the water.  I repeat, torpedo in the water.”

The high pitch sound from the counter rotating screws was undeniable as the noise from the incoming weapon was patched over the Control Room loud speaker.  Sounding much like the same high speed kitchen blender, the disturbing noise grated against the gentle sound of the ocean much like fingernails on a chalk board.

At first Christine didn’t understand what it all meant, but by looking at the faces of the men within the room she could actually see the color drain from them, suddenly knowing that this wasn’t good.

“Sonar Conn,” Sutton yelled into the microphone.  “Give me a bearing to the weapon.”

“Conn Sonar.  There is one weapon in the water bearing.......  Oh God....  Zero two zero sir.”

“Sonar do you have any opening or closing bearing rate on the weapon,” Sutton questioned in hopes that the weapon might be traveling either right or left.

“Negative Conn.  Zero bearing rate.  Its coming directly for us.  Conn.....  We have another torpedo in the water now, same bearing sir,” he said with his voice an octave higher.

“Helm.  Hard right rudder come to course one nine zero all ahead flank, signal Maneuvering to cavitate.  Dive make your depth eight hundred feet.  Forty degree down angle.  NOW!”  Sutton fired orders one right after the other to his men.

“Depth five eight feet sir coming to eight hundred,” the Diving Officer announced.

Christine could feel the knot in her stomach tighten as she tried to remain in control of her senses, her first instinct was to run but what kept her from doing it was that she had no place to run too.  She had always prepared herself to be killed someday maybe in a drug bust gone bad or something like that, but to be blown up by a torpedo?  Everything around her began to take on slow motion as she observed the Captain lower the scope while men moved about the small room performing their jobs.

“Sonar any updates on the weapons,” Sutton called out as the deck below him slowly began to take on the down angle from the Stern planesman.  With the slower speed from their transition to periscope depth, the Memphis was sluggish to respond to the imputs from the control surfaces.  Steeling a glance to the forward portion of the room, he could see that both Planesmen had jammed their controls forward into the mechanical stops in prayer of more angle. 

“Conn Sonar.  No updates sir,” the Supervisor replied hastily.  “Weapons are still tracking with a zero bearing rate.”

Glancing at the speed indicator on the bulkhead above him, Sutton was disappointed that the Memphis was only at seven knots.  Looking quickly at the indicator light beside the gauge, he witnessed that all three of them were lit up like a Christmas tree, indicating that the propeller was thrashing violently at the water trying to gain speed.

“Six zero feet,” the Diving Officer called out.

The Soviet Torpedo’s sliced through the water at over fifty knots.  Their acoustical nose cones parted the water listening for any subtle changes in the targets propellers.  Imputs from the acoustical cone were then relayed to the processor giving the position of the target while small adjustments were fed into both the rudder and elevator control surfaces as the lethal weapons closed in on their prey. 

Water streaked aft along the body into the counter rotating screws and violently thrashed, mixing with the exiting exhaust gasses that bubbled aft behind the charging weapon.  The first weapon raced towards its target in front of the second one by over ten seconds.

“Chief of the Watch.  Prepare to launch countermeasures.”

“Prepare to launch countermeasures aye sir,” he replied as the man stood up and poised over the small control panel awaiting the order.

“Six two feet,” the Diving Officer called out again.

“Weapons Officer.  Snap shot two two,” Sutton ordered.

“Snap shot two two aye sir.”

“Six four feet.”

Punching the button to the 1MC Sutton repeated the order.  “Snap shot two two.”

It took several agonizing seconds