Shattered Trident (25 page)

“You are only authorized to fire after every possible option has been taken to evade a vessel that is deliberately attacking you. This is a weapons hold provision, gentlemen. Your first line of defense is your speed, countermeasures, and anti-torpedo hard kill systems, not Mark 48 torpedoes. Is that clear?”

Every commanding officer answered in the affirmative, but Dobson and Halsey looked the least pleased with this aspect of their orders. Jerry was sympathetic to their less than desirable position; they had the two older, less advanced boats.

“Finally, gentlemen,” Simonis concluded, “exercise extreme diligence and caution in executing these orders. You’ll need to plan each encounter carefully. Make the maximum use of the environment and your superior stealth; only reveal yourselves when you are in the best possible position to spoil an attack,
and
you have a clear avenue of escape. Questions?”

Of course there were questions, and every one was a “what if” situation. Simonis dealt with each in stride, but became noticeably impatient after the sixth one. As Dobson started off on this third hypothetical question, Simonis cut him off.

“Gentlemen, you are
commanding
officers, and I expect you to command. I can’t clarify every possible scenario. This is a new situation with too many unknowns. There will always be situations that fall outside your guidance. The navy spent a lot of time and money training you to develop good decision-making skills—use them!

“I won’t try and blow sunshine up your skirts. These orders are … difficult. Interfering with another boat’s attack is far more complicated than your standard approach and attack evolution. I appreciate that it’s not something that we’ve specifically trained for; however, you have all the skills necessary to fulfill this mission. I suggest you get with your wardrooms and chiefs and figure out how to get the job done.”

Admonished, Dobson and the others acknowledged the commodore’s instruction. Simonis then personally bid each skipper good luck. He initially started to say “good hunting,” but caught himself. As soon as he finished each farewell, Simonis had that CO dropped from the VTC. Jerry wasn’t surprised that he was the last one that the commodore got to.

“Captain,” Simonis opened sternly, “I trust you’ve realized that your actions have had significant, if unintended consequences.”

Although embarrassed by the commodore’s statement, Jerry was still grateful that Simonis hadn’t aired this in front of his peers. “Yes, sir. And I regret overstepping my orders earlier. It won’t happen again, Commodore.”

“Good. Your reputation is exceptional, Captain, and even though I was quite upset over your unusual tactics, you handled yourself well.”

“Uh, thank you, sir,” Jerry replied, confused. This wasn’t what he expected at all.

A brief smile flashed across Simonis’s face. “We didn’t have a lot of time to get to know each other, to learn how each other thinks, so I have to assume some of the responsibility for what happened earlier. And if I was less than clear when you were here in my office, I hope that you now have a better appreciation for my expectations.”

“Yes, sir. I do.”

“Very good.” Simonis nodded. “And now, Captain, I have one last item for you.”

“And what would that be, Commodore?” asked Jerry.

“All our intel says the Indian Improved Akula is still in your neck of the woods. I want you to find him, and dog him. That boat is far and away the best one in this Littoral Alliance, and its superior capabilities in stealth, mobility, and firepower make it a greater threat than three of their conventional submarines. If you can contain his actions, that will go a long way to meeting the president’s goals.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll stick to her hull like a barnacle,” Jerry stated confidently.

Simonis smiled again. “Good luck, Captain. Squadron Fifteen out.”

3 September 2016

1400 Local Time

PLAN Frigate
Sanming,
hull 524

East China Sea

Commander Ma Hongwei was a frustrated man. For the last two days his frigate had been running from one reported periscope sighting to another. So far they’d found a floating log, a chair, even a dead seabird, but nothing that looked remotely like a submarine’s periscope. Part of him wanted to throttle those merchant mariners who constantly radioed in false alarms. The other part of him realized that they were all running scared, and with good reason. So far, unknown assailants had sunk eighteen tankers. Eight of them had been torpedoed in the East Sea Fleet’s area of responsibility, and the fleet commander was incensed that not one prosecution had taken place.

Ma raised his binoculars and looked at the merchant ship on the horizon. It was the tanker
Lian Xing Hu
en route to the port of Shanghai. The navigation radar operator on the bridge said she was making just a hair under fifteen knots, which would be flank speed for this vessel. Her master was obviously in a hurry to reach the safety of the harbor. Smart move.

“Captain, the helicopter has been stowed in the hangar. The flight crew has begun repairs and refueling,” reported the officer of the deck.

“Very well, Lieutenant. Let’s head over toward that tanker before we go to the next supposed periscope sighting,” said Ma, pointing to
Lian Xing Hu
.

“Aye, sir.”

As
Sanming
’s bow started swinging to starboard, Ma took another look at the tanker. The two ships had been closing, and the merchant’s hull was now fully above the horizon. She wasn’t a VLCC, but she wasn’t small either. She was riding low in the water; full of crude oil that China’s economy lusted for. Ma frowned as he looked the ship over, there was a lot of rust on the tanker’s hull.
She could use a little attention,
he thought critically.

Suddenly, a sharp glint caught his attention, a bright flash from the sea surface. It was from something between him and the tanker. Searching the area carefully, he soon found a small wake trailing behind a tiny fuzzy object—a periscope! It had to be from a foreign submarine; no Chinese subs were authorized to be in this area. And judging by the flash of sunlight off the periscope head, this submarine had an inexperienced commander.

“Submarine off the starboard bow! Sound Combat Alert!”

The loud ringing of the alarm galvanized the crew into action. Men ran to their positions on the bridge while Ma kept his eyes firmly on the submarine’s periscope, one arm pointing toward the spot. The intruder was clearly moving into position to attack the tanker. He had to stop it!

“Activate the sonar, sector search centered on bearing one one five! Signalmen, tell that tanker to alter course to starboard! Inform fleet headquarters we are attacking! Provide our location!” barked Ma.

“Captain! Sonar contact bearing one one six degrees, range four point three kilometers,” shouted the OOD.

“Very well. Stay on this course. Helmsman, ring up ahead full. Prepare anti-submarine rocket launchers for firing.”

Ma watched as the wake faded and then disappeared. “She’s going deep!” he cried.

Fear for the tanker gripped the frigate captain. They were still too far away to attack with the rockets; they’d need at least another three minutes before they were close enough. The submarine would certainly shoot long before then. He needed to do something now, or that tanker was doomed, but what?
Sanming
wasn’t equipped with ASW torpedoes, and her helicopter would never be able to take off in time.

“Fire ASW rockets!” Ma shouted in desperation.

The OOD looked up, surprised. “But sir, we aren’t in range yet.”

“I know that, damn it! Fire anyway!” roared Ma. He could only hope that the submarine’s inexperienced captain was a little gun-shy and would choose to evade rather than press home the attack.

From the ship’s bow, the two six-tubed launchers started spewing rockets at regular intervals. Arcing gracefully in the air, they pitched over and struck the water in a preset oval pattern a little over a kilometer ahead. Acrid smoke billowed around the bridge until the wind of the ship’s passage swept it away. Seconds later, the water boiled as the twelve depth bombs exploded. As the smoke cleared, Ma could see his crew busily reloading the launchers.

“Captain,” sang out the bridge phone talker, “sonar reports they are being jammed. Last good bearing to the submarine was one one nine, range two point five kilometers.”

Ma swore but nodded. The submarine had dropped a noisemaker. He’d expected this, but it still made his job considerably harder. Running back into the bridge, he stopped at the plotting table and looked at the sub’s reported positions. She had been drawing right, it was reasonable for a submarine to change course after deploying countermeasures, but her commander would also want to disengage. After a moment of assessing, he acted. “Helmsman, come right to course one two five.”

“Captain!” shouted the phone talker. “Sonar reports multiple passive contacts clearing the jamming zone! Moving at high speed, drawing left, bearing zero nine eight!”

Ma hung his head in despair—torpedoes! He bolted for the port bridge wing, and raised his binoculars. He didn’t have to wait long. Less than a minute later, a huge column of water formed under the tanker’s bow. A second weapon detonated just a little aft of the first. The bow, torn free from the rest of the ship, was pushed under by the force of the tanker’s momentum. Giant geysers of black oil erupted from ruptured tanks. A third blast jumped out of the water farther aft, under the bridge. The damaged hull buckled from the explosive shock and the heavier aft section was literally wrenched free. Flames ignited around the stern of the tanker, sending a huge column of pitch-black smoke skyward.
Lian Xing Hu
was dead, murdered by the underwater assassin.

Seething, Ma screamed into the bridge, “Where is the submarine!? Find that bastard!”

“Sir, sonar reports an active contact bearing one two eight, range one point one kilometers,” announced the phone talker.

Ma smiled. The enemy was right where he thought she’d be. And this time she was within range. “Fire ASW rockets!” he bellowed.

The bow of
Sanming
was once again covered with fire and smoke as the two launchers disgorged their contents. Ma watched with satisfaction as the bombs exploded, heaving the water up in a neat chain of white circles. He had just turned to head back into the bridge when he felt his body being lifted from the deck. Confused, he struggled to find his feet, but before they touched back down, the ship lunged again and Ma was slammed into one of the bridge wing frames. Dazed, his head wracked in pain, Ma attempted to stand, but his left hand slipped off the railing. He stopped to look at his hands, and after straining to get his eyes to focus, he saw they were covered in blood.

In the distance, he could hear someone shouting, “Mayday, Mayday…” Ma thought it sounded like the officer of the deck, but he wasn’t sure. Finally fighting to his feet, the captain found it difficult to stand. The ship had a pronounced port list. Still confused, Ma looked aft. What he saw left him quivering. The ship had been torn in two, just forward of the stack. The aft portion was taking on water fast, as he could see huge bubbles of air around its shattered hull. With an almost perverse fixation, Ma stared as the aft section first went vertical, then plunged beneath the waves. He was still watching the swirls when the rest of the ship jerked to port. Between the dizziness and his slippery hands, Ma lost his grip and was thrown over the railing. He hit the water flat on his back, knocking the air out of him. The pain in his head was excruciating.

Ma fought his way back to the surface; his body in agony with each stroke. It seemed like an eternity before he finally cleared the water. Coughing and gasping, he grabbed a life preserver that was floating nearby. Safe for the moment, he struggled to turn in the water and see what was going on. As Ma turned around, he was just in time to see his beloved frigate roll over and come crashing down upon him.

3 September 2016

0225 Local Time

By Water

Halifax, Nova Scotia

Mac had fallen asleep at his desk for the third day in a row. He was barely semiconscious when he heard the electronic
ding
signifying the arrival of a new e-mail. Groaning, he began searching for his glasses with his right hand. They had to be somewhere on this desk. After failing to find them, he patted his head and discovered his glasses hanging precariously from his ears. Pulling them down over his eyes, Mac sat up straight to look at his screen. The sharp pains accompanying the crunches and pops were an unpleasant reminder that he was too old for this kind of thing.

As his eyes came into focus, he saw that he had received over two dozen e-mails since he had dozed off. But it was the subject line from a colleague at the Keelung Port Authority in Taiwan that grabbed his attention.

From: ShipKeeper

To: Mac

Subj: URGENT—More East China Sea Attacks

Things are heating up in the East China Sea, Mac. Another tanker was attacked,
Lian Xing Hu
’s EPIRB went active at 1412 Hotel time. The ship was en route to the port of Shanghai with a cargo of crude oil. No voice communications could be established. Ship data as follows:

GRT: 43,153 tons

DWT: 75,500 tons

Length: 229 meters

Beam: 33 meters

Max Speed: 14.8 knots

Call Sign: BOGK

But it gets worse. At 1414 Hotel time the PLAN Jiangwei II class frigate
Sanming
(FF 524) issued a Mayday over Channel 16. The individual on the Chinese frigate was near panic and said the ship had been torpedoed while prosecuting a submarine that had just attacked a tanker. The posits for the two vessels put them very close to each other. Whoever is behind these attacks, they’ve just upped the ante. Nothing good will come of this.