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SEA OF SHADOWS 335
Over the 29-MC, the Sonar Supervisor shouted, “Hostile torpedo is still
locked on!”
“Crack the whip!” Chief McPherson said into her mike. “Crack the
whip!”
The ship heeled again as the bridge threw the destroyer into a second
set of switchback turns.
“It’s not going to work,” a voice said from over her shoulder.
The chief turned to see Captain Bowie standing behind her, his eyes
glued to the CDRT’s tactical display. “It’s not going to work,” he said
again. His voice was quiet, almost as if he was talking to himself rather
than her.
The captain swung the microphone of his comm-set up to his mouth
and keyed into the tactical net. “Bridge—Captain. Bring the port screw
on line! I want all engines ahead flank right now!”
The OOD’s voice came back over the net immediately. “Bring the port
screw on line, all engines ahead flank—Bridge, aye!”
A metallic groan resonated through the ship, and the damaged port
screw began to turn. The sound gained rapidly in pitch and volume as the
mangled propeller came up to speed, rising from a groan to an ear-splitting
shriek that rivaled even the explosive hammering of the now-silent guns.
The sound turned Chief McPherson’s blood to ice water. In torpedo
evasion, sound was the enemy. An acoustic torpedo could home in on a
sound source like a bloodhound sniffing out a fox.
“Captain!” Chief McPherson said. “The torpedo can hear that!”
“I know,” the captain said. His eyes never wandered from the flashing
torpedo symbol on the tactical display.
“Sir! Speed won’t help us now! We can’t outrun this thing! And it’s
going to follow that howling screw right up our ass!”
“Let’s hope so,” the captain said. He keyed his mike. “Bridge—
Captain. Starboard engines all stop! Port engines maintain flank speed!”
Chief McPherson stared at her commanding officer in abject disbelief.
“Sir! What are you …”
“We can’t stop this torpedo from hitting us,” the captain said. “But
maybe we can control where it hits us.”
The chief frowned. “You’re saying it’s safer to get shot in the gut than
in the head?”
“That’s the idea,” the captain said, his gaze still not wavering from the
flashing red torpedo symbol. “Of course, a gut shot can kill you too, but
it’s the only chance we’ve got.” He punched his comm-set into the 1-MC
general announcing circuit. When he spoke, his voice came out of every
speaker on the ship. “All hands, this is the Captain. Brace for shock!”