Shattered Trident (12 page)

Jerry knew the Chinese weren’t practicing. He hadn’t shared the details of the briefing with all of his crew. Only the XO, department heads, and the COB knew the full story. But still, she’d raised a good point.

“Let’s make sure there isn’t another boat lurking around here,” Jerry remarked. “Sonar, keep a careful watch out for possible submarines,” he instructed. “We’ve been innocent bystanders once. I don’t want to be surprised by a diesel sub lying in wait. And make sure the Chinese aren’t trying to slip one of their subs out along with those surface ships.”

“Careful watch for submarines, aye, sir.”

“Q, give me an intercept course at eight knots that will get us in front of them, just inside their radar horizon. We’ll poke a mast up and see what there is to hear.”

“Aye, sir.” Lymburn glanced at the plotting board, but figured the angles in her head. “Recommend course three five zero. That will bring us within their horizon in … forty minutes.”

“Very well.” After Lieutenant Lymburn had ordered the course change, Jerry drilled her a little. “What happens next, Q?”

She considered for a moment, then said, “We should come up to periscope depth in,” she glanced at her watch, “thirty-four minutes. We extend a photonics mast for ten seconds, to see if there are any close-by radars. If the coast is clear, we raise a multifunction mast and take a quick look for any comm signals. After a few minutes, we head back down to one hundred and fifty feet.”

Jerry nodded his approval. “And what comes after that?”

That took a few moments for her to answer. “Close and get a periscope observation,” she stated firmly.

“Correct. Get to work on the best plan that can get us within five thousand yards and then out without being detected. Remember, we’re not making a torpedo approach. We just need to get close enough for a good beam-on video recording.”

While the OOD worked the angles, the sonarmen continued to analyze the sounds radiated from the ships. The screws, the turbines, the electrical generators on each ship produced sounds, or “tones,” that gave clues as to its identity. The thrum-thrum of the screws also let the sonarmen calculate the contact’s speed, vital for tracking.

“OOD, Contact Sierra-four three is a Type 053H3 frigate, and correlates with the active SJD-5.”

That got Jerry’s attention. “A 53H3 frigate? That’s the
Jiangwei II
. It’s old, but it can carry a helicopter. OOD, allow for dipping helos in your plan. Assume they’re dipping five to ten thousand yards from the ships.”

The sonar petty officer reported, “Sierra-four four is a Type 54 frigate. It matches the other active sonar.”

“Newer class,” Jerry commented, “but it could have a towed array along with the better bow sonar, as well as a helo deck and hangar. So now they’ve got two anti-submarine helicopters to play with.”

“Should I assume they have both up right now?” Lymburn asked.

“I would,” Jerry answered. “The harbor is a high-threat area for them—for us, too, for that matter,” he observed. “They’ll shoot first and check hull numbers later if they detect anything this close.”

Lymburn refined her solution. “Pilot, come right to zero zero zero. Sir, recommend coming to periscope depth in twenty minutes. Sonar, keep a sharp lookout for high-frequency dipping sonars.”

Jerry approved her recommendation. The helos would make it harder to close on this group. Ship-based helicopters usually carried a short-ranged sonar that could be “dipped” into the water while the helicopter was hovering. The sonar “ball” was on a long cable, so it could be used to listen first above the thermocline, then below. If the sonar operator on the helicopter didn’t hear anything passively, he’d then go active. If there was nothing to find, the operator would reel in the sonar and then move on to the next spot.

One helicopter could cause problems for them, but could be evaded. Two helos, using “leapfrog” tactics, could search, detect, and localize a submarine quickly. To stay quiet, a submarine has to creep at five or ten knots, but helicopters cruise at seventy.
North Dakota
’s only advantage would be that Jerry didn’t want to shoot a torpedo at the ships, just get close enough to take a peek.

“OOD, we’re picking up additional screws on that bearing. They were merged with the signals from the merchants, but the left bearing drift is giving us some separation now. New contacts Sierra-four five and four six.”

Jerry and Lymburn both looked at the port VLSD. More of the fuzz had disappeared, replaced by two new vessels in front of the other four. The sonarman continued, “Sierra–four zero and four one are the merchants
Hai Fu 18
and
Yu He,
both Chinese-flagged container ships.”

Lymburn zoomed in the VLSD to look at the formation. The two frigates were on either side of the merchants, which were steaming in column, with the two new contacts in front.

“Minesweepers,” Jerry guessed, “just like yesterday. They’re quieter than the others and we can’t hear their mine-hunting sonars this far out.”

“Seems likely, sir,” agreed Gaffney, “but my guys are still working to confirm it.”

“They really are treating it like the real thing,” Lymburn remarked.

Watching the VLSD, Jerry saw the shift the same time as the sonarmen. “OOD, possible target zig. All frequencies have shifted, down Doppler, bearing drift is also changing. Picking up changes in blade rates.”

On the big screen, symbols blurred and shifted as the fire control system struggled to predict the formation’s next move. Four course arrows swung to the right, while the front two pivoted to the west, lengthening as well.

“The formation’s turned east,” Jerry observed. “And the minesweepers have done their job, so they’re headed for the barn.”

“Skipper, you’re not leaving anything for my sonarmen to report,” Gaffney complained.

Lymburn was bent over the horizontal display. “Sir, I’m not going to be able to get inside their horizon with an eight-knot speed. They’ll pass by us to the north. If we increase to twenty knots, we can get in their forward hemisphere, but that’s where their helicopters like to search. Fifteen knots will get us in trail in approximately two hours, assuming they don’t maneuver again.”

“I don’t like either one of those options, OOD. We’re too detectable at twenty knots, and you’re right about the helicopters. And the trail position would be a long tail chase. We’ll be too close to the eastern edge of our patrol area. What will we miss while we’re running after these guys?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Jerry continued speaking before he put Lymburn on the spot. “Q, plot us a course to a spot well away from all surface traffic. We’ll report to squadron. We will give Captain Halsey and
Santa Fe
enough warning so they can get in position. They can get the periscope shots.”

*   *   *

The message upload went off without a hitch, without Jerry being anywhere near the radio room or the control. Once
North Dakota
had gotten some distance from the small convoy, he’d forced himself to go to the wardroom, get a cup of coffee, and chat for fifteen minutes before heading for his cabin.

The boat would run without him living in control. In theory, the less he was there, the more self-reliance his people developed. That was the theory.

But he didn’t want to miss anything! Most sub captains had only one, maybe two command tours before being promoted or retiring. No other ship in the navy gave its commanding officer such complete one-man control over its actions, and no other ship in the fleet was so often out of touch and on its own. It was exciting, and Jerry wasn’t shy about admitting that he liked being the “Guy in Charge.” But captains who lived in control could die there, too. “Or smell like they had,” according to Thigpen.

Immediately after taking command, Jerry and his new XO had spent a lot of time together, getting to know each other and working out Jerry’s policies as
North Dakota
’s new skipper. These conferences usually involved refreshing beverages and case studies often referred to as “sea stories,” but that did not diminish their value.

Prior to assuming command, Jerry attended “PCO school,” a grueling three-month course that starts in the classroom, but quickly moves to a real sub operating against other surface ships, subs, and aircraft. During the “free play” exercises, Jerry practiced torpedo approaches, trailing operations, laid a dummy minefield, and simulated launching Tomahawk cruise missiles. He’d even operated against another nuclear submarine, which sounded hard and proved to be much more difficult than that.

Three months of training and thinking about command had increased his skills and expanded his consciousness. But he’d worked for three very different commanding officers for years at a time, seeing what worked for each of them. Now he had to make up his own style. He just didn’t want to make it up at the last minute.

*   *   *

Jerry was lost in paperwork when the phone buzzed. It was Thigpen’s voice.

“Skipper, would you please join us in control? We have the results from the UUV’s latest data dump.”

“Interesting?” Jerry asked.

“You will want to see this,” the XO answered cryptically.

Lieutenant Russ Iverson, the main propulsion assistant, had the OOD watch, and gave Jerry the standard status report when he entered control, but there were no surprises. They were at depth and patrol speed, headed for the next waypoint. There were half a dozen sonar contacts, but all were civilian.

The action was in the aft starboard corner of the control room. Lieutenant Dave Covey, the weapons officer, had taken over a spare console and used it to display a plot of the UUV’s activity. The XO watched over his shoulder, and made room for Jerry when he appeared.

A map was overlaid with the irregular shape of the vehicle’s patrol zone. Different tracks drew colored lines through the zone, marking the progress of ships detected and tracked by Minot’s sonars. One of the tracks was different, though, a tangle of lines that looked like a coil of rope.

The track of the UUV showed on the display as a different-colored line, with small deviations, for the first two-thirds of its patrol, but then it became irregular, zigging one way and sharply angling back the other in what looked like a random pattern. Only Jerry’s experience with the UUV in the simulators told him this was not a malfunction.

“It’s reacting to this contact,” Covey reported. He highlighted the tangled track and a window with details about the vessel appeared. Time of first detection, bearings, signal strength, identity …

“It’s a submarine,” Covey explained. Jerry wasn’t sure whether it was pride or excitement in the lieutenant’s voice. “Just like it was supposed to, as soon as Minot figured out it wasn’t a surface vessel, it started maneuvering to localize the contact, but not getting too close. What’s interesting is that the contact isn’t transiting.”

Jerry studied the track’s data carefully. It had a low blade rate, as well as low signal strength. Covey volunteered, “The acoustic data’s already been sent over to our sonarmen. They’re running it through the system right now.”

Jerry looked up at the port VLSD. The sub was loitering to the west of Hainan Island. Minot had gotten close enough to get elevation data on the signal, which allowed them to calculate the contact’s depth. The water wasn’t terribly deep there, and it looked like the boat was almost hugging the bottom, creeping at bare steerageway, conserving its battery power, drawing large ovals in the water.

Lieutenant Gaffney came over from the sonar consoles. “My guys say it’s a late Kilo, a Project 636. Blade rate’s consistent with three knots.”

Jerry had an uneasy feeling. Why would a Chinese diesel boat be hanging out to the west of Hainan Island? It was out of the exercise area the Chinese had declared, and away from the shipping lanes. “XO, did we update the intel plot during the last comms window?”

“Of course,” Thigpen replied. “Squadron Fifteen’s update is about three hours old.”

“How many of the Chinese Kilos are we tracking?”

Thigpen sat down at the next console and called up the intelligence summary. “They have twelve Kilos, all Russian-built, purchased in ’94 and ’97. Two are older Project 877s, the remaining ten are the later models, Project 636.” He paused for a minute, scrolling.

“And as of three hours ago, two were reported as being in the yards, and the rest in harbor. Three are assigned to the sub base at Yalong Bay, and they’re still there, if the intel is right.”

“Assume it was right three hours ago,” Jerry said. “There’s no way one could have taken station that far to the west without us seeing it.”

“Not without it having a warp drive,” Thigpen added. “At a top speed of nineteen knots for one hour, it would have a flat battery a third of the way to that location.”

“Then we have to assume it isn’t a Chinese boat. Stu, go back and tell your techs to take that signal apart. XO, punch the intelligence database and see who else might be operating a Kilo, besides the obvious answer.”

Jerry studied the screen with Covey, trying to pull more information out of the display. Was the sub skipper following a pattern?

Five minutes later, Thigpen reported back to Jerry. “Aside from China, India’s got ten and Vietnam currently has three. The Indian boats are early marks, Project 877. Vietnam’s are Project 636s. The latest unit was just delivered this year.”

Jerry nodded solemnly. “That’s what I remembered, but I was hoping there was another possibility.” He turned around, toward the sonarmen, with Gaffney standing behind them. Gaffney noticed the movement and hurried over.

“Nothing yet, sir,” the sonar officer reported. “It’s definitely a 636 Kilo. It doesn’t match any of the recorded signatures, but then we don’t have all the Chinese boats in the library.”

“Do we have any signatures at all on the Vietnamese subs?” Jerry asked.

“No, sir. The library would have automatically…” He paused, processing the question. “You think this is a Vietnamese boat? Payback for
Vinaship Sea
? But why are they way over here?”

“Damfino, Stu. We need more data.”