Empire Rising (48 page)

“Conn, Sonar. Sierra two-four is a Yuan class diesel submarine.” Ramsey acknowledged Sonar. The cat was back, searching for its mouse.

Annapolis
was at periscope depth now, its Type 18 periscope with its radio transmitter sticking above the water, along with the submarine's main communication antenna, scanning the skies in search of a signal and the torpedo software they desperately needed. But there was nothing. The submarine broadcast and all tactical data links were still down.

Ramsey retreated to the HDW fusion plot, aft of the periscopes. It was blank, lacking oceanographic, tactical, and even the basic navigation data it usually displayed. Thirty miles to the east, the
Reagan
Task Force was rapidly advancing. But without a submarine screen, the task force would have to turn around. The few surface ships and their anti-submarine helicopters would be insufficient to protect the task force.
Reagan
needed submarines, and the submarines needed the new torpedo software. That China had so thoroughly crippled the United States's military communications, robbing Ramsey of the software necessary to engage the enemy, was infuriating. He slammed his fist down on the HDW.

Seemingly in response to Ramsey's admonition, the HDW came alive. Red and blue icons began cluttering the display, and the submarine's GPS position appeared on the electronic chart. The Radioman's excited voice carried across Control.

“Radio, Conn. Communication satellites are back up. In sync with the broadcast. Download in progress!”

Ramsey stepped into Radio as the list of broadcast messages emerged from the printer. At the top of the list was the torpedo software download. It was a massive file by broadcast standards, and he'd been wise to raise the High Data Rate antenna. Once the download was complete, the file would be transferred to the BYG-1 Combat Control System via the submarine's SWFTS fiber optic tactical network, and from there to torpedoes loaded in their tubes, connected to Combat Control through a thick black cable attached to the torpedo tube breech door.

A few minutes later, with Ramsey back on the Conn, the Weapons Control Coordinator, Lieutenant Don Miller, announced, “Torpedo software update received and validated by combat control. Request permission to update weapons in tubes One through Four.”

“Update all weapons,” Ramsey ordered.

Lieutenant Miller acknowledged, and as he tended to the submarine's torpedoes, Ramsey prepared his submarine for combat. “All stations, Conn, proceeding deep. Dive, make your depth two hundred feet.”

As
Annapolis
tilted downward, the Officer of the Deck lowered the scope into its well. Turning to the Chief of the Watch, Ramsey ordered, “Lower all masts.” The broadcast was complete and the submarine's antenna no longer needed. Ramsey had skimmed through the several dozen messages, but none changed his immediate orders.

Sink all enemy combatants.

The one message Ramsey had scrutinized, however, detailed the changes to their torpedo software—and he had been pleasantly surprised. Not only had the malware been eliminated, making their torpedoes impervious to the Chinese sonar pulse, but the torpedoes were being reprogrammed to home on the pulse. The unique sonar frequency China had used to dud the American torpedoes would be used as a beacon.

The Weapons Control Coordinator called out, “Torpedoes in tubes One through Four have accepted the new software. Tubes One through Four are ready in all respects.”

Annapolis
was finally ready to engage.

CNS
JIAOLONG

Commander Zhao Wei stood between the Search and Attack periscopes, surveying the men in Control with pride. His crew had performed well, sinking three American submarines so far, two of them the vaunted Virginia class. True, it wasn't a fair fight. But it served the Americans right. They had no business interfering in the conflict between communist and nationalist Chinese.

This morning, Zhao and his crew had almost sunk a fourth submarine. The Atlantic Fleet fast attacks had arrived and had taken up stations along China's defensive perimeter east of the Japanese islands, probing to determine the density and composition of the submarines opposing them. The Americans were skilled; Zhao's sonarmen were able to detect only sporadic tonals, nothing they could lock on to. However, earlier today, a Los Angeles class submarine had ventured too close and Zhao's sonarmen had been able to place a tracker onto one of its frequencies. They had been close to a firing solution on three occasions, but the American submarine had deftly maneuvered each time, just before the XO had gained enough confidence. Finally, the 688 had slipped away, its tonal disappearing from their sonar screens.

However, they now knew what frequency to look for, and Zhao had pushed his submarine to the forward edge of his operating area, searching for his American foe. The next time they detected it, the American submarine would not get away.

USS
ANNAPOLIS

Ramsey peered over the shoulder of Lieutenant Armando Hogarth, examining the solution to Sierra two-four.
Annapolis
had gone deep to five hundred feet and turned to the north, and they were waiting for the towed array to stabilize after the turn. Unfortunately, they didn't have much time to refine their target solution once it did.

The Japanese Self-Defense Force perimeter around the last remaining beachhead was collapsing, and
Reagan
and the Marine Expeditionary Forces were headed toward Japan at ahead standard. Ramsey figured he could get one leg in with Sierra two-four on his beam, and then he would have to push forward aggressively to stay ahead of the advancing surface ships. Such a high speed of advance was problematic, as it hampered
Annapolis
's ability to search the surrounding waters and increased her detectability. But Ramsey had no choice. He'd been put between a rock and a hard place with the last-minute download of the new torpedo software.

The Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Mike Land, approached, unable to conceal his concern. “Sir, we received an update to our Common Operational Picture while at PD. The
Reagan
Task Force is only ten miles behind us now.”

“I understand,” Ramsey replied. He checked the clock on the combat control console. The array should be stable by now. He called out to the overhead microphone.

“Sonar, Conn. Report time to array stabilization.”

CNS
JIAOLONG

“Control, Sonar. Detect nuclear reactor coolant pump frequency, bearing zero-eight-zero. Correlates to Los Angeles class submarine.”

Commander Zhao smiled. They had found their adversary. He turned to the Helm. “Left standard rudder, steady course zero-eight-zero. Ahead full.”

Jiaolong
was a diesel submarine, normally maneuvering at slow speed to conserve the battery. Perhaps he could surprise his American foes and close to within firing range before they figured things out.

As Zhao and his crew prepared to send yet another American submarine to the bottom of the Pacific, he wished for a greater challenge. This Los Angeles class submarine, compared to the two Virginia class he'd already sunk, was a relic. A Seawolf—one of the three Cold War behemoths built when money was no obstacle, with eight torpedo tubes and even faster than the new Virginia class—now that would be a challenge. But for now, sinking an old 688 would have to suffice.

USS
ANNAPOLIS

“Fire Control Coordinator, PRI MATE. Possible target zig, Sierra two-four. Upshift in frequency.”

Ramsey listened to the report Lieutenant Hogarth made over the sound-powered phones. Hogarth had shifted to the Time Frequency display on his combat control console, analyzing changes in the contact's frequencies over time. Sierra two-four had either turned toward them or increased speed. Or both. Lieutenant Commander Ted Winsor,
Annapolis
's Executive Officer, in charge of the Fire Control Party, would have to sort through the possible new course and speed combinations.

The two Fire Control Technicians and Lieutenant Hogarth were already adjusting their solutions, utilizing frequency and bearing information. Lieutenant Hogarth passed his assessment to the XO, who examined all three combat control consoles.

Winsor spoke into his mouthpiece. “Confirm target zig. Sierra two-four has turned toward and increased speed. Set range … ten thousand yards.”

Ramsey stepped off the Conn, examining the new solution over Hogarth's shoulder. His solution had the contact on a course of zero-eight-zero, speed fifteen. It was headed directly toward them. Ramsey glanced at the other two combat control consoles. Their contact solutions varied by as much as thirty degrees in course and five knots in speed. The XO didn't have a firing solution. Even worse, with
Reagan
advancing toward them on one side, and now Sierra two-four headed toward them on the other,
Annapolis
was being squeezed from both sides.

Ramsey evaluated his predicament. He needed to sink Sierra two-four quickly. There wasn't enough time to prosecute the Chinese submarine the way he had been trained. After sorting through the options, he decided to throw everything he'd been taught about prosecuting enemy submarines out the window. “Helm, left fifteen degrees rudder, steady course two-six zero. Ahead full.”

The XO, leaning over the shoulder of one of the Fire Control Technicians, stood erect, a surprised expression on his face. Winsor walked over to Ramsey.

“What are you doing, sir? You're heading straight toward the contact, taking our towed array out of the picture. And at this speed, with the flow noise over the bow, we might lose him on the spherical array.”

“We don't have a choice, XO.
Reagan
and the amphibs are moving ahead. We have to push forward and clear a path.”

“What's your plan?”

“This is probably the same guy we slipped away from earlier today, and he's being more aggressive. Let's give him what he wants.” Ramsey called into the overhead mike. “Sonar, Conn. Line up to transmit mid frequency active, short pulse, forward sector, ten-thousand-yard range scale.”

Sonar repeated back the order, then a moment later reported, “Conn, Sonar. Ready to transmit MF active, short pulse.”

Ramsey ordered, “Sonar, Conn. Transmit MF active for ten seconds.”

CNS
JIAOLONG

“Target maneuver confirmed. Contact One has turned toward and significantly increased speed.”

Zhao Wei listened intently to the report from his Executive Officer. A turn toward a contact was not unusual—submarines maneuvered frequently to sort out their target's course, speed, and range, occasionally pointing their target when held solely on the towed array. But a significant increase in speed made no sense. However, before he could contemplate the situation further, the Sonar Supervisor's report carried across the speakers in the Control Room.

“Control, Sonar. Contact One has gone active. Ten-second duration.”

Zhao was perplexed by the new tactics of his American adversary. It was almost as if this American had grown tired of the cat-and-mouse game, and was taunting him. Daring him to shoot his torpedo and sink his submarine. It seemed the American believed his superior tactical skills and the speed of his nuclear-powered submarine could somehow save him and his crew.

Commander Zhao smiled. The American submarine would not get away this time.

He took his position on the Conn. “Prepare to Fire, Contact One, Tube One. Open muzzle doors, all torpedo tubes.”

USS
ANNAPOLIS

“Range to contact, six thousand yards,” the XO announced. The two submarines were headed directly toward each other and closing rapidly. He tapped Lieutenant Hogarth on the shoulder. “Promote to Master.” Turning to the submarine's Captain, he said, “I have a firing solution.”

Ramsey reviewed the contact solution on the geographic display on the top panel of Hogarth's console. It was a risky plan, giving away
Annapolis
's position with a non-covert pulse. But he had to increase the submarine's speed to stay ahead of
Reagan
, and would have been counter-detected anyway. Better to control when and where that detection occurred. The geometry was exactly what he wanted.

“Firing Point Procedures, Sierra two-four, Tube One,” Ramsey announced.

The final preparations to shoot their torpedo, with its new software, began.

The XO verified the best of the three solutions was promoted to Master, then called out, “Solution ready!”

The Office of the Deck calculated the best torpedo evasion course and verified the submarine was ready to launch its torpedo decoys. “Ship ready!”

Finally, the Weapons Control Coordinator delivered the most crucial, and yet unverified report. “Weapon ready!”

Their MK 48 torpedo had accepted its target and search presets. But whether the torpedo was
truly
ready, its revised algorithms now impervious to the Chinese sonar ping, was still unknown. The two submarines were barreling toward each other, and Ramsey had little time to ponder the issue.

“Shoot on generated bearings!” He turned to the Helm. “Ahead flank!”

CNS
JIAOLONG

“Torpedo launch transients, Contact One!”

The Sonar Supervisor's report blared across the speakers in Control, but Commander Zhao Wei listened calmly, waiting patiently for his crew to complete firing preparations. They were processing the orders smoothly and efficiently; there was no sense of urgency. The crew shared their Captain's confidence. Their opponent was impotent, and his torpedo would be dealt with once they had launched theirs in return. The outcome was not in doubt.

The XO turned to Commander Zhao. “All launch preparations are complete. Tube One is ready to fire.”