Fourth Crisis: The Battle for Taiwan (29 page)

Wolff sighed and looked to his executive officer.
 
The XO scrunched his forehead.
 
Both men knew that fighting a nuclear boat is
hard enough without adding a near-silent diesel-electric to the mix.
 
This took the melee to a completely new level
of danger.
 
The crooked smile on his XO’s
face told Commander Wolff what he already knew: that the decision rested on his
shoulders.

“Power up the active sonar,” Wolff said.
 
He had rationalized that the enemy already knew
California
was there.
 
The executive officer could only nod
agreement as his own mind swam with adrenalin-fueled aggressiveness plus an
equal part survival instinct.
 
The
spherical array in
California
’s bow
energized.
 
“Hammer.”

Steam bubbles formed on
California
’s
bow dome.
 
With a low frequency WHOMP,
the active sound signal sped through the black water,
 
its waves bounced off
Changzheng 6
and Chinese submarine
#330
, and then returning to
California
like a loyal dog.
 
California
’s sonar station received accurate enemy ranges,
bearings, and fire control solutions for her computer to chew on.

“Conn, sonar.
 
Shang
One is at zero-one-nine; bearing one-eight-five.
 
Sierra Two now at one-seven-zero; bearing
two-two-two.
 
Both are making turns for
about nine knots,”
California
’s
sonarman reported.
 
A red light flashed
on the submariner’s console.
 
“High
frequency sonar at zero-four-seven.
 
Dipping sonar in the water.
 
Designate as ‘Mike One,’” the sonarman added.
 
His voice betrayed the increased stress imparted
by the complex tactical situation.

At the dark surface of the East China Sea, high above the
sparring submarines steamed the
Liaoning
and her battle group.
 
The Chinese ships turned
away from the submerged enemy contact, although they left behind the destroyer
Qingdao
and her Helix anti-submarine
helicopter to run interference.

The hovering Helix churned the circle of sea below it as it raised
its dipping sonar.

“That would be a Chinese helicopter,” Captain Wolff remarked.
 
In his mind’s eye, he formed a
three-dimensional picture of the battle space: At a depth of 600 feet,
California
was 12,000 yards south of the
Chinese submarines that were staggered at depths of 300 and 600 feet, respectively.
 
Wolff had a Mark 48 on the wire.
 
It ran straight and true at 350 feet.
 
Shang One—the Chinese nuclear attack boat—fired
a torpedo right back their way.
 
In
addition, they had to contend with a helicopter overhead.

“Conn, sonar.
 
Surface
contact.
 
Probable destroyer.
 
Designate ‘Mike Two.’
 
Identify Mike One as a Helix anti-submarine
warfare helicopter.
 
Redesignating Mike
One as ‘Helix One.’”
 
Refined information
appeared on the control center board.

“We’ve really stepped on a hornet’s nest.
 
Recommend we back off, sir,”
California
’s executive officer gave
unsolicited advice.
 
After all, the XO’s
job was to be a cautious counter to the commander’s aggressiveness.
 
Wolff took a deep breath and explained that,
if they could pick their way through the enemy submarines, they would be able
to get at the carrier.

“If we sink that bastard—the carrier—we could end this whole
damn shooting match,” Wolff said, offering a bounty that softened the heavy
risk.

“I want to see my wife again,” the executive officer said.

“Really?” Wolff prodded his friend.
 
The XO chuckled and relaxed.

“I guess it’s a good day to die,” the XO surrendered with a
shrug.
 
The two old submariners shook
each other by the shoulders.
 
Wolff looked
around and saw fear in some of the young faces.
 
He knew he had to speak to them; to address their concerns…

“This ship is built to fight.
 
You had better know how,” Wolff quoted
Admiral Arleigh Burke.
 
These eleven
words, spoken by another man so many years ago, were the best Wolff could
muster in the speech-making arena.

Big black shadows, the American Mark 48 and Chinese Type 40
heavy torpedoes passed each other in the murk as
California
and
Changzheng 6
moved
about the deep.
 
California
’s torpedo was the first to start pinging, to look for
something to hit, as
Changzheng 6
guided her torpedo in.
 
All the while, Chinese
submarine
#330
crept along on
batteries and sidled for an attack.

“Damn, Sierra Two is quiet,”
California
’s sonarman grew frustrated.
 
“Sierra Two is now at two-zero-seven,
bearing: zero-three-four.”
 
The
submariner listened again and heard trickling water in pipes.
 
He knew this sound well, remembering it from
recordings presented in training.
 
Although
he was more versed in the subtleties of Beasties Boys sampling, he would swear
to God that he also knew the sounds of a Chinese submarine’s tank transfer
system.
 
Therefore, he declared, “Conn, I
am calling Sierra Two a Chinese
Yuan
-class
diesel-electric submarine.
 
Redesignating
Sierra Two as 'Yuan One.’
 
Yuan One is
doing revolutions for three knots.”
 
While he was in the zone, he also avowed, “designate Mike Two as a
Luhu
-class guided missile
destroyer.
 
Calling her Luhu One.
 
Shang One is at one-nine-one and making eight
knots and bearing zero-zero-zero.
 
Her
plant noise is coming up.
 
Screw noise,
too.
 
Enemy torpedo approaching at 37
knots and accelerating.
 
Shang One now
bearing zero-zero-two, depth coming down to 500,”
California
’s sonarman summarized.
 
Wolff ordered the wires cut on the Mark 48s he had out in the water,
leaving the torpedoes to their own devices.
 
The weapon’s machine brain took over and sought only to kill without
human input.
 
Captain Wolff ordered the
chief-of-the-boat to make his depth 250 feet.

“Make it a steep rise, and drop countermeasures,” he added.

“Aye, sir. Fairwater planes all rise.
 
Making my depth two-five-zero feet,” the
chief-of-the-boat confirmed, and then repeated the order.
 
The planesman pulled back on his yoke.
 
California
pitched up and began her climb through the water column.
 
“Watch your trim; keep her on keel,” the
chief coached.

Wolff studied the center’s tactical display and ordered a
speed of 12 knots.
 
A high-pitched ping
bounced off
California
’s hull.
 
Wolff’s sonarman reported Helix One was in
the hover and had dipping sonar in the water at zero-nine-seven some 5,000
yards away.
 
The executive officer made a
mark on the table chart, and observed that the helicopter and Chinese destroyer
now had enough data to triangulate
California
and fire upon her.

“Got a splash.
 
High-pitch
screws.
 
Torpedo in the water,” the
sonarman confirmed the executive officer’s projection.
 
“Torpedo at one-zero-one on a spiral
descent.”

“Just what we need to spice things up,” Wolff said.
 
He made calculations on ranges, speeds, and
convergence points in his head.
 
“Okay,
chief. Drop countermeasures and take us on a speed course straight at that
torpedo,” the commander’s voice seemed to lack the conviction or confidence it
usually portrayed.
 
The chief-of-the-boat
noticed the lacking, but acknowledged nonetheless.
 
Then, he turned the prescribed tactics into
action.
 
California
’s reactor and electric motor were pushed to their
limits.
 
Two noisemakers were dumped
behind as the American nuclear attack submarine made a high-speed dash for the
torpedo.
 
Sonar reported the Chinese
weapon closing rapidly from 2,000 yards out.

“Sir, if that torpedo goes active before we close the
distance--” The executive officer was cut off by the skipper’s ‘don’t tell me
what I already know’ look.

“Enemy torpedo approaching.
 
One-thousand yards and closing,” the sonarman
declared.
 
The chief-of-the-boat reported
the boat was doing 40 knots on a course of zero-nine-zero.

“Sound collision,” Wolff demanded.
 
Inside
California
’s
cylindrical pressure hull, crewmen prepared to fight fire, water, or both.

“Torpedo ahead,” the chief-of-the-watch called out.
 
Then he looked to his stopwatch and stated,
“Twenty seconds to merge.”
 
Time was some
comfort; a potential to overcome before the inevitable.
 
The sonar station announced that the second
enemy torpedo had acquired
California
’s
noisemakers and turned for them.
 
“Fifteen seconds.
 
All
compartments report ready for collision,” the chief-of-the-boat proclaimed.
 
Wolff patted the loyal, patriotic man on the
back.
 
He quietly ordered him to take the
enemy weapon down the port side of the machine within which they rode, the
machine that sustained them; kept them alive.
 
The chief spoke to the pilot and copilot.
 
He coaxed them to gingerly adjust their
controllers.
 
Their actions maneuvered
the submarine below and to the right of the torpedo’s track.

The whining sound of the Chinese torpedo grew louder in
California
’s control center.
 
Some of the American submariners fidgeted,
while others sat still.
 
One man closed
his eyes, choosing this way to await death.
 
The sound generated by the Chinese torpedo filled the entire
compartment.
 
Its din moved down the long
length of
California
before it faded
away.
 
The executive officer let out a
nervous chuckle.
 
As the Americans
relaxed for a bit, the Chinese torpedo activated some one hundred yards behind
California
.
 
Commander Wolff had gotten safely behind one
torpedo and far away from the other.
 
The
remaining pursuing weapon began to run out of fuel.
 
As it dipped in its course and began to sink,
both
California
’s chief-of-the-boat
and executive officer congratulated Commander Wolff, smacking him on the
shoulders, congratulating him for turning a dangerous tactical situation
around.

Changzheng 6
released decoys and crash-dived into the icy blackness.
 
Kun took his submarine down to 1,200 feet,
close to his hull’s official crush-depth.
 
The submarine squeaked, and a low resonance vibrated.
 
Steel in
Changzheng
6
’s
sail warped.
 
It banged and popped, reshaping under growing
sea pressure.
 
Desperate to enter, water
punished the blasphemy of such a manmade void.
 
Hold together for me just a bit
longer
, Kun prayed, while his crewmen twitched nervously with every sound.
 
Despite their overwhelming fear, they nonetheless
kept their stations.
 
Kun turned to his
sonarman.
 
He watched intently as the
young person listened to the American torpedo that searched some 700 feet
overhead.

“The enemy torpedo
i
s
losing speed; likely at the limits of its range,” the boy reported.

“Find our submarine, number
330
. Where is it?
 
And find
me that damned American, too.”
 
After
evasive maneuvers, Captain Kun needed to rebuild his tactical picture, and he demanded
the information.
 
Kun ordered that
Changzheng 6
double back while slowly
decreasing depth.

California
’s
control center became quiet.
 
Commander
Wolff, the executive officer, and the chief-of-the-boat all paced behind
technicians seated at terminals lining the curved wall.

“Conn, sonar.
 
Luhu
One is at zero-four-three and bearing one-nine-three.
 
Speed: 30 knots,” the sonarman informed the
officers.
 
Active sonar slammed the ocean
and reverberated through
California
’s
hull.
 
Like a prison guard throwing a spotlight
on a nighttime escapee, the Chinese destroyer
Qingdao
had illuminated
California
with sound, pinpointing the elusive American with the powerful sonar housed in the
ship’s bow stem.

Qingdao
’s warfare
center lay deep within the destroyer’s pyramidal superstructure.
 
Paneled with glowing flatscreens, the center
was manned by sailors seated at terminals that showed anti-air, anti-ship, and
anti-submarine warfare data.
 
Standing on
a small pedestal beside a fold-down table,
Qingdao
’s
watch commander ordered the anti-submarine helicopter in for another attack.