The Hunt for Red October - Tom Clancy [220]
In control, Ryan was soon back in his seat trying to determine if his instruments still worked. He could hear water splashing into the next compartment forward. He didn't know what to do. He did know it would be a bad time to panic, much as his brain screamed for the release.
"What do I do?"
"Still with us?" Mancuso's face looked satanic in the red lights.
"No goddammit, I'm dead—what do I do?"
"Ramius?" Mancuso saw the captain holding a flashlight taken from a bracket on the aft bulkhead.
"Down, dive for bottom." Ramius took the phone and called engineering to order the engines stopped. Melekhin had already given the order.
Ryan pushed his controls forward. In a goddamned submarine that's got a goddamned hole punched in it, they tell you to go down! he thought.
The V. K. Konovalov
"A solid hit, Comrade Captain," the michman reported. "His engines stopped. I hear hull creaking noises, his depth is changing." He tried some additional pings but got nothing. The explosion had greatly disturbed the water. There were rumbling echoes of the initial explosion reverberating through the sea. Trillions of bubbles had formed, creating an "ensonified zone" around the target that rapidly obscured it. His active pings were reflected back by the cloud of bubbles, and his passive listening ability was greatly reduced by the recurring rumbles. All he knew for sure was that one torpedo had hit, probably the second. He was an experienced man trying to decide what was noise and what was signal, and he had reconstructed most of the events correctly.
The Dallas
"Score one for the bad guys," the sonar chief said. The Dallas was running too fast to make proper use of her sonar, but the explosion was impossible to miss. The whole crew heard it through the hull.
In the attack center Chambers plotted their position two miles from where the October had been. The others in the compartment looked at their instruments without emotion. Ten of their shipmates had just been hit, and the enemy was on the other side of the wall of noise.
"Slow to one-third," Chambers ordered.
"All ahead one-third," the officer of the deck repeated.
"Sonar, get me some data," Chambers said.
"Working on it, sir." Chief Laval strained to make sense of what he heard. It took a few minutes as the Dallas slowed to under ten knots. " Conn, sonar, the boomer took one hit. I don't hear her engines . . . but there ain't no breakup noises. I say again, sir, no breakup noises."
"Can you hear the Alfa?"
"No, sir, too much crud in the water."
Chamber's face screwed into a grimace. You're an officer, he told himself, they pay you to think. First, what's happening? Second, what do you do about it? Think it through, then act.
"Estimated distance to target?"
"Something like nine thousand yards, sir," Lieutenant Goodman said, reading the last solution off the fire control computer. "She'll be on the far side of the ensonified zone."
"Make your depth six hundred feet." The diving officer passed this on to the helmsman. Chambers considered the situation and decided on his course of action. He wished Mancuso and Mannion were here. The captain and navigator were the other two members of what passed for the Dallas' tactical management committee. He needed to exchange some ideas with other experienced officers—but there weren't any.
"Listen up. We're going down. The disturbance from the explosion will stay fairly steady. If it moves at all, it'll go up. Okay, we'll go under it. First we want to locate the boomer. If she isn't there, then she's on the bottom. It's only nine hundred feet here, so she could be on the bottom with a live crew. Whether or not she's