Shattered Trident (17 page)

Jerry quickly reviewed the forms, made a few minor changes, and initialed them. Finished, he had just closed the folder when there was a knock at his door. Looking up, Jerry saw his supply officer, Lieutenant Steven Westbrook, in the doorway.

“Excuse me, Captain,” said Westbrook, “but I have next week’s menu ready for your review.”

“Come on in, Steven,” Jerry responded, waving for his “Chop” to enter the stateroom. “You must have sensed that my inbox was empty.”

The supply officer was the only staff corps member on Jerry’s crew. Sometimes called the “Suppo” or “Pork Chop,” a reference to the Supply Corps oak leaf insignia that looked like a pork chop, on submarines they were usually just called the “Chop.” Responsible for everything from spare parts to food stores, the supply officer made sure the boat had everything it needed to go to sea and perform its mission. He or she was also responsible for managing the ship’s checkbook and ensuring the ship’s store was well stocked with ball caps, uniform patches, candy, and other creature comforts. When under way, the daily meals were an important morale booster for the crew, and the CO reviewed and approved the weekly menu.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Jerry said as he reached for the sheet of paper.

Westbrook handed his captain the menu and noted, “We missed you at lunch today, Skipper.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t very hungry,” replied Jerry solemnly as he started reading.

“We had your favorite, fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy.”

Jerry looked up. A tinge of disappointment briefly flashed across his face, then acceptance. “It’s probably for the better that I didn’t have lunch anyway. The scale in sickbay is a blunt, cold-hearted messenger. It said I’d gained four pounds already.”

The supply officer nodded. “I hear you, sir. I added another fifteen minutes on the bike to help keep my expanding borders in check.”

“I hate that accursed device,” Jerry growled with disgust. “I already have enough trouble sitting there for forty-five minutes, going nowhere.” As a runner and hiker, Jerry found the stationary bike to be a thoroughly unpleasant way to burn calories. Staring endlessly at the same pipes and valves was downright demoralizing.

Jerry continued reading, nodding his head on occasion, then stopped when he came to the last entry, the Wednesday dinner for the following week. His right elbow fell to the desk, his hand supporting his head as he groaned, “Aggh! Steven, you are an
evil
little man!”

“Sir?” questioned Westbrook innocently.

With a scornful voice, Jerry read the entry back to the supply officer. “Wednesday night is Italian night with creamy bacon chicken on penne pasta. Caesar salad, and tiramisu for dessert. What are you trying to do, give me a heart attack!?”

“Absolutely not, sir! But the kickbacks I get from the cardiologists is a sweet gig,” snickered Westbrook.

Jerry hurriedly scribbled his signature and threw the piece of paper at the Chop. As Westbrook snatched it from the deck, Jerry pointed forcefully toward the door and cried, “Get behind me, Satan!”

“Yes, sir. I’m glad you approve, sir,” Westbrook mocked.

“OUT!” thundered Jerry, rolling his eyes.

As Westbrook left the CO’s stateroom, he turned forward, toward the door leading to the control room, and gave Thigpen a thumbs-up. Smiling, the XO retreated back inside and quietly closed the door.

In spite of the wicked menu Westbrook had brought him, Jerry found his spirit buoyed by the exchange. He then recalled a piece of wisdom his XO on
Seawolf,
Marcus Shimko, had given him. “When you find yourself alone and depressed, tour the ship, talk to the men; it is a curative balm for a troubled soul.”

Jerry realized that he had voluntarily isolated himself from his crew following the dressing-down by Simonis. Sitting in his stateroom alone, stewing silently over his mistakes. True, useful work was accomplished, but in fact he was hiding in his room, pouting like a scolded child.
Wrong answer, mister,
he thought to himself. Heeding the advice from his old XO, Jerry left his stateroom and headed aft.

He started in the engine room, stopping to talk to the watchstanders, seeing how their day was going. The entire crew knew about the commodore’s rebuke within moments of it ending. In a ship so confined, there were few secrets. Jerry made sure he visited every watch station, and spent a little time with each individual. He had just finished chatting with the torpedo room watch when the 1MC blared.

“CAPTAIN TO CONTROL.”

Jerry quickly scrambled up the ladder to the middle level and ran toward control. A sailor plastered himself against the bulkhead to make way for the captain. As he approached the door, the messenger of the watch opened it for him. Striding up to the command workstation he barked, “CDO, report!”

Sobecki was back on watch and he immediately pointed to the port VLSD. “Skipper, we have three new contacts. All are submarines sortieing from Yalong Bay, two Kilos and one Song. There could be more in the harbor that we just can’t see yet. It looks like the Chinese are starting to flush their boats from their bases.”

It certainly looked that way to Jerry as he evaluated the track data on the large screen. Two of the tracks were angled in their direction, the third to the southeast.

“CDO,” sang out the sonar supervisor. “There is at least one more boat, probably a Kilo by the sound of it, behind Sierra-nine two.”

“Very well, Sonar.”

“There goes the neighborhood,” remarked Covey. “It’s going to get a bit crowded around here.”

“Mm-hmm,” agreed Jerry. He was considering his options when Thigpen walked up behind him.

“Now what’s going on?” asked the XO. His voice sounded groggy. He looked like he had been taking a nap.

“We’ve got company, Bernie, lots of it,” Jerry replied, pointing to the port VLSD.

Thigpen focused on the large-screen display. It didn’t take him long to assess the situation. “Uh-oh.”

“That about sums it up.” Jerry turned and spun the trackball on the horizontal display. Thigpen and Sobecki joined him around the console. “Okay, let’s head to the south to give these guys some room. Eng, come to course … one nine zero, and goose us up to ten knots.”

“Change course to one nine zero, increase speed to ten knots, aye, sir.”

While Sobecki turned
North Dakota
around, Jerry and Thigpen started discussing how they should deal with the rapid influx of PLAN submarines. Suddenly the WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver started whooping an alarm.

“CDO! Two new active sonars, bearing zero one five and three five zero. High-frequency systems, probably helicopter dipping sonars.”

Jerry turned and saw the two datums on the port large screen. They were still over sixteen thousand yards away, but things were definitely getting out of hand. The situation wasn’t immediately dangerous, but it could get that way if he didn’t do something soon. Simonis’s voice echoed in Jerry’s mind, “You’re in a war zone, Captain, and you need to begin acting accordingly.”

“Mr. Sobecki, sound general quarters.”

8

ESCALATION

31 August 2016

1400 Local Time

August 1st Building, Ministry of National Defense Compound

Beijing, People’s Republic of China

The Central Military Commission usually received a carefully polished and rehearsed intelligence brief before each meeting in their posh conference room. This time, though, they’d assembled in the operations center, below ground level.

Admiral Wei Zi’en watched the near-chaos of the intelligence staff as they updated the screens and plotted what little data they had on the attackers. He appreciated what they were going through, and knew what they had to work with. The data was pathetically thin and conflicting; he shared their frustration. This was his problem, his fight, his responsibility, and he felt as helpless as the workers updating the master plot. Maybe more so. At least they had useful work to do.

Colonel Xi Ping, one of the deputy commanders of the intelligence service for the General Staff, was the senior officer currently in charge of the operations room. Xi explained, “General Bao regrets not being here to brief you personally. Unfortunately, he is still heavily involved in counterintelligence issues. I have just spoken with him, he sends his apologies and asks your indulgence in allowing me to brief you.”

Wei could hardly complain. Normally, the brief was presented by a major or an ambitious captain. But the general’s absence had been noted by several members of the commission.

The operations room walls were crowded with maps and flat-screen displays, as well as the obligatory portraits. The staff paid little attention to the visitors crowded in the back, although they must have noticed that some of them matched the pictures on the wall.

“The status boards there, and there,” Ping said, pointing to the opposite wall, “display merchant traffic and the movements of all known foreign naval vessels, including submarines. The white symbols on each board show where our merchant ships, all tankers, have been attacked.”

Admiral Wei barely listened to the brief. He’d already received the bad news over the course of the day, and in more detail than it was being presented here. He knew the real reason the intelligence staff had brought them to the operations center. It was to show the Central Military Commission that the intelligence section, so surprised by the earlier Vietnamese mining of
Liaoning
, was now making every effort to avoid further embarrassments. And if there was so much bad news, it wasn’t their fault.

After an unsatisfying report, the council’s twelve members, including the president and the entire General Staff, elected to stay below ground level, and trooped across the hall. There was no point in going back up five floors just to have a meeting.

The utilitarian conference room was less opulent than their normal meeting place. It was large enough, and obviously well used. Posters on the walls showed comparisons of Chinese and foreign military hardware. The classroom-like setting seemed to encourage the colonel to use a more casual manner than he might have otherwise.

“Please, ask your questions,” Xi prompted.

General Shi was head of the political department. He said, “During the brief, you continually referred to the ‘unknown attackers.’ Why can’t you tell us who is sinking our tankers?” Shi’s frustration was clear.

The colonel answered, “As long as they only attack unescorted merchant ships, we have no way of detecting them, making identification impossible. Passive sonar could pick up a submarine’s acoustic signal, enabling us to identify the class, and thus the nationality of the attacker. But they have avoided our warships so far. It’s a clever strategy.”

“So you approve.” Shi’s tone was almost threatening.

“Only of their tactics,” Xi quickly responded. “They attack anonymously with no risk to themselves. We don’t know where to strike back.”

“There is one obvious choice,” Shi replied.

“If we attack Vietnam now, without proof, we become the villain,” Vice Chairman Li Ju countered.

“They’re behind it,” Shi affirmed.

“If it is the Vietnamese,” Xi was careful to say, “they cannot be acting alone. They only have three Project 636 subs in service. It’s physically impossible for only three submarines to cause this much destruction over such a wide area.”

“More than one nation? Has Vietnam shared its information with others? Is it the Americans?” Wei could hear genuine fear in Shi’s voice. He wasn’t as concerned as Shi, but American naval superiority was still a fact of life for China. If they threw their full weight against his PLAN, the outcome might be grim. Just their submarine forces alone …

“How can they know which ships to attack?” Vice Chairman Li asked.

Xi answered patiently. As a PLA general, Li Ju was unfamiliar with the maritime environment. “There are automated communication systems in place that allow the real-time tracking of virtually all merchant vessels. The information is widely available. Unlike during World War Two, when submarines had to search for their targets, now they can steer straight to them.”

Xi sighed. “In a way, we’re lucky our enemies are concentrating on tankers. It takes them some time to move from one to the next. If they were to simply attack all Chinese merchant ships, the losses in the last thirty-six hours would have been far greater.”

“This is quite bad enough,” replied Admiral Wei. “And of course we can’t easily suspend our participation in the system while our ships are at sea.” His voice was full of irony. “With only Chinese tankers being targeted, the rest of the world’s merchant fleets will make doubly sure they are clearly identified.”

“What about introducing false data, altering their identification?” Shi asked.

Xi shook his head. “Hostile naval intelligence would be quick to pounce on a ship that suddenly appeared in the same place a tanker disappeared. General Bao’s people in the cyber warfare section are investigating ways to switch two ships’ identities, but it’s not trivial.”

“Then should we be escorting our tankers?” Wen Feng, the minister of defense, asked Admiral Wei. He was careful to include General Su, the chief of the General Staff and Wei’s superior, in his question, but Su deferred to the admiral. Wei was the expert.

The admiral sighed. “It’s the obvious counter to a submarine campaign, but it would mean deploying escorts to many commercial ports, then waiting for enough merchants, or in this case tankers, to arrive before sailing. Once they have been convoyed across the danger area, the escort group must either return to the first port or exchange roles with another group that takes its place.”

Looking around the room, Wei saw everyone nodding understanding, including General Su. Wei continued, “It’s resource-intensive, requiring large numbers of escort vessels—numbers we currently lack. It would also reduce oil imports by as much as twenty-five percent because of the delays inherent in the convoy system. And that’s assuming no more ships are lost.”