Shattered Trident (11 page)

Simonis perched on the corner of his desk. “I’ve given you the hot spot, right off Yulin and Yalong Bay, because you’ve got the best boat and…” He paused for a moment, then said, “I’ve heard some stories, and I won’t ask which ones are true, but I have high expectations.”

Jerry wondered just what the commodore had heard. The submarine force might still be nicknamed the “silent service,” but that only applied to outsiders. Inside the community, sea stories spread faster than the speed of truth. Jerry had heard accounts of his own exploits that he hardly recognized.

“There’s no time to go over my command policies, but I encourage open discussion with my boat captains, and Jerry, I promise I will listen carefully to any recommendations you make—about your boat’s capabilities, the tactical situation, anything that you think I need to know.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jerry acknowledged. He had wondered what type of squadron commander Simonis was. He’d heard little before coming to Guam, and obviously there’d been no time to sound out the other skippers. But this was a good start.

“There’s one other matter.” Simonis’s tone had an uneasy note in it. Again, he didn’t meet Jerry’s eyes, his attention still fixed on his ribbons.

Simonis sighed, then walked back and sat down behind his desk. “I’m like most of the fleet. Politics is something you read about in the newspapers. Getting a squadron command meant learning a new skill set. I keep abreast of Asian politics. I have to, or I can’t effectively implement U.S. policy out here. I get a lot of guidance from PACOM and others, but it’s no different from knowing the acoustic environment around your boat.”

Jerry nodded and prompted, “Of course.” Was this fatherly advice? Jerry might command a squadron someday.

“This Dr. Patterson. You know her well. That’s very valuable to me, Jerry. I may be up to date about Asia, but I don’t understand Washington. You’re an insider. Your old skipper’s a senator, and his wife, the deputy national security advisor, has shown up here to give us a personal briefing on our mission. I’ll be honest. I’m not comfortable with this level of attention.”

Jerry wasn’t surprised. Some people enjoyed being in the spotlight, but many did not. Evidently, the commodore liked to keep a low profile. Maybe he wasn’t the type to take risks, or he might have doubts about his own abilities. What kind of boat captain had he been? Jerry was also a little irritated. Simonis wasn’t the first officer to think he had a hotline straight to Washington, but it always rubbed him the wrong way.

When Jerry didn’t respond immediately, the commodore continued, “Let me say this clearly. This is an important mission, and I’m worried that she hasn’t told us everything.”

He saw Jerry begin to react, and quickly added. “No, not in that sense. Of course Dr. Patterson isn’t deliberately sandbagging us, but what’s the background? Is there an agenda that we need to know about?”

Now Jerry looked confused, as well as a little irritated, and the commodore asked, “Do you think she could be looking for us to prove or disprove something? When you spoke with her, did she say ‘We’re looking for this,’ or ‘I need you to find out if this is true’?”

Jerry sighed. The commodore was asking an honest question, even if it implied an ugly truth. Still, Jerry resented being asked, and it was a question he never would have thought of.

“I understand, sir. No, I don’t believe so. She hasn’t shared anything special with me. I’ve known Dr. Patterson for a long time and she isn’t one to grind axes.”
Not anymore, anyway,
Jerry added to himself. He stated flatly, “In my opinion, sir, they’re looking to us for information, to help them understand what is going on. They don’t know enough yet to have an agenda—or shouldn’t, anyway.”

Simonis didn’t answer right away. Jerry realized that the commodore was now evaluating his credibility. In his mind, anything touched by Washington was suspect until proven otherwise.

*   *   *

Four days out from Guam, Jerry kept going over the conversation in his mind. He thought about Simonis’s worries, not about armed conflict between China and Vietnam, but about what his bosses wanted to hear. He was driven, at least in part, by fear, and Jerry resolved to remember that, both while he commanded
North Dakota,
and if he ever got a squadron. Fear replaced more useful motivations.

“Five minutes to launch, Skipper.” Lieutenant Kurt Franklin, the boat’s communications officer and current officer of the deck, had given him periodic updates, and Jerry acknowledged the report that began the launch sequence. Jerry wouldn’t say a word unless Franklin made some mistake. “Command by negation” was all about letting your officers practice their trade and become independent thinkers. It was ironic that one of Jerry’s most important duties as captain was to teach his people how to work without him being there.

Franklin ordered, “Pilot, all stop, prepare to hover.”

A senior petty officer automatically repeated the command, and changed the speed setting. “Officer of the Deck, Maneuvering answers, all stop, indicated speed is four knots.”

The UUVs could be launched at low speeds, less than five knots, but the smoothest launches occurred when the boat was stationary, or “dead in the water.” Jerry didn’t like the latter term, and discouraged its use, one of the prerogatives of command.

Franklin keyed the intercom. “Torpedo Room, Conn, we’re slowing. Flood payload tube one.”

“Flood payload tube one, Conn, Torpedo Room, aye.” The trick was to spend as little time at a standstill as possible. Jerry had emphasized that the evolution didn’t need to be done quickly, just smoothly. “Conn, Torpedo Room. Payload tube one is flood and equalized with sea pressure. Minot is ready for launch. All indications green.”

“Speed two knots and falling,” reported the pilot.

“Torpedo Room, Conn. Speed is two knots, unlock and open the hatch on payload tube one.”

“Unlock and open the hatch on payload tube one, aye. Payload tube one hatch indicates open.”

The two payload tube hatches in
North Dakota
’s bow were big, about seven feet in diameter, but tube one’s now-open hatch was edge-on to the flow. It wouldn’t cause much drag. The
Virginia
s were big boats, with a lot of momentum, and it took a few minutes to coast to a stop.

“Sonar?” Franklin’s question wasn’t shouted, but the operator heard it clearly in the quiet control room. Unlike earlier U.S. subs, the sonar operators on
Virginia
-class boats were no longer sequestered in their own little space, but located in control. A controversial design change, it was done to improve the flow of information to the captain and fire control team.

“Three contacts, the closest is Sierra-three three, bears one seven zero, range eleven nautical miles and opening, course one nine zero at twelve knots.” That matched the information displayed on the big screen. They’d set up their UUV deployment box with some flexibility, so they could pick a spot with the thinnest merchant traffic.

“Speed one knot and falling,” the pilot called. Jerry studied the trim indicators, although the OOD and chief of the boat were both watching them as well. Jerry knew the last knot would come off quickly. He’d actually taken time to practice coasting to a stop, timing how long it took from different speeds. Conning a sub should not involve guesswork.

“The boat is stationary.” Franklin took just long enough to verify the pilot’s report, then passed the word over the intercom. “Torpedo Room, Conn. We’re hovering. Launch Minot.”

The big ISR UUV, nicknamed “Minot,” was designed for quiet launch. Using its own electric propulsion, it simply pulled itself out of the vertical tube, pitched over into a level attitude, and swam off to the west at three knots. The vehicle’s entire track was programmed, along with several alternative plans that could be triggered by satellite downlink, acoustic modem, or on its own, depending on what its sensors detected.

North Dakota
’s two UUVs, Minot and Fargo, allowed Jerry to extend his patrol area. While the vehicle’s sonar wasn’t as good as a
Virginia
’s, the UUV was a hair quieter and much smaller than the sub, making it harder to detect than the submarine.

By the time Minot was headed to the west, the payload tube hatch had closed and the torpedo room watchstanders began pumping down the flooded tube. Franklin had ordered the boat back to her eight-knot patrol speed and turned it toward the next patrol waypoint, all without Jerry having to say a word.

Three or four days from now, in a different spot along the western edge of their zone, they would recover Minot and replace it with Fargo, the second UUV. Until then, the submersible robot was on its own, to listen and report.

*   *   *

“Next waypoint bears zero seven five, twenty-two miles.” Lieutenant Ed Rothwell, the navigator, had made the announcement almost as a formality. The waypoint was marked on the starboard big screen and also showed as the indicated course on the pilot’s console.

The waypoints had been carefully chosen to be as random as possible, while also taking into account the current weather, the acoustic conditions at that time of day, and the likely movements of the ships they were supposed to be listening for.

North Dakota
prowled and listened inside a bent rectangle wrapped around the southern end of Hainan Island, with the UUV’s zone an angled box at the western end.
Santa Fe
’s area lay to the east, separated by a buffer zone. Although this was only a surveillance mission, it was vital that if
North Dakota
or
Santa Fe
heard another submarine, there would be no time wasted making sure it wasn’t an American boat.

Slipping quietly through the water at three hundred feet, there was little for most of the watchstanders to do: no maneuvers except turning from one waypoint to the next, not even many depth changes. All the action was at the sonar watch station, as they listened and waited.

Lieutenant Stuart Gaffney, the sonar officer, watched his troops at work, making sure they and their gear were in top shape. They were, but even the best sonarman has to wait for something to hear.

*   *   *

“So she really hugged him? In front of everyone?” Lieutenant Lymburn’s question was directed to the XO, also standing near the sonar station. She gestured toward Gaffney. “I can’t believe either half of what this guy says.” Gaffney, surprised at being identified as the rumor’s source, did his best to fade into the bulkhead.

Thigpen nodded sagely. “I heard it from two guys on the squadron staff when they ‘came by to check on our supply status.’” He gave a short laugh. “Right. What they really wanted was to pump me about how the skipper knew Dr. Patterson. I said they’d been shipmates and longtime friends, back to when he’d solved that bomb plot at the Naval Academy when he was a midshipman.”

“You know, I’m right over here,” Jerry remarked acidly. They’d been speaking softly, of course, but not that softly, and the well-run control room seemed even quieter than normal. “And I never did anything like that!”

“Well, sir, you did go to the academy. There could have been a bomb plot, and of course it was kept out of the papers. They thought it was fascinating.”

Jerry rubbed his face and groaned. Thigpen was having far too much fun at his expense.

Turning back to Lymburn, the XO answered, “In this case, Lieutenant, Stuart is correct. The deputy national security adviser did, indeed, hug our beloved captain.”

Gaffney studied the sonar consoles carefully, conspicuously ignoring the conversation.

“Wow,” Lymburn exclaimed. “Did she kiss him?”

“No. He’s not that beloved.”

She turned to Jerry. “Sir, does Mrs. Mitchell know about this relationship?” Lymburn looked serious, and a little worried.

“Dr. Mitchell, who was Dr. Davis at the time, was the maid of honor at Dr. Patterson’s wedding,” the XO interjected. “Emily used to work for her. Isn’t that right, Skipper?”

“
That
part of what the XO said is true,” Jerry replied. He did his best not to smile, and added, “XO, didn’t you have to inspect something, somewhere?”

“Yessir, I was just on my way to do that.”

*   *   *

To her credit, Lymburn had kept one eye on the control room during the conversation, but two eyes were better. She and Gaffney remained by the sonar consoles. Since it was daytime, they weren’t running with the multifunction mast up, which listened in on the local airwaves. The first sign of a contact would appear on sonar.

The southern end of Hainan Island held a large commercial port, two busy naval bases, and was home to many fishing boats and smaller craft.
North Dakota
’s sonarmen constantly sorted man-made ships from the abundant sea life, and then naval from civilian vessels. They depended on a computer library of marine sounds, as well as a database holding acoustic information on warships and merchant sound signatures. Even then, the final call often came down to a petty officer’s experience and judgment. Sometimes, though, the Chinese made it easy.

*   *   *

“Sonar contact bearing three one two, multiple sources, high blade count. Correlates with active sonars on same bearing.” After a moment’s pause, the petty officer added, “Sonars are SJD-5 and 7.”

The sonar bearing, actually a cluster of white lines, appeared on the port VLSD.

“Pointing straight at Yalong Bay,” Jerry observed. “The same time as yesterday.”

A few moments later, the fire control system changed the cluster of lines to a blurry point twenty-six miles away, and added an arrow pointing almost due south. “Just leaving the eastern naval base,” Jerry remarked.

The petty officer reported, “Base course is one seven zero, speed ten knots. But we’re getting high-speed beats as well as slower screws that sound like merchants.”

“With active sonars, they have to be escorts,” Lymburn remarked. “Looks like they’re still worried about submarines.”

“But we’ve seen lots of merchant traffic in and out of Yulin that wasn’t escorted,” Gaffney commented.

“Could be part of the exercise they’ve announced,” Lymburn suggested. “They’re practicing wartime procedures, just as if there was a sub waiting for them to leave harbor. And maybe there’s a Chinese submarine, waiting to conduct mock attacks against them.”