Shattered Trident (46 page)

“What do we do now, Skipper?”

“We report in, XO,” stated Jerry flatly. “The rules of this weird game appear to have changed yet again, and we need to let our bosses know. You have the conn. I’ll be in the radio room if you need me.”

9 September 2016

0145 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis took a healthy slurp of coffee while he read the initial intelligence reports on the missile attacks. It didn’t look good. He’d been called at his residence as soon as NORAD put out the warning. Fifteen minutes later he was in his office. His staff came in dribs and drabs a few minutes behind him. After a quick review of the situation, the CSO sent half the staff back home, but not before announcing that they were now on a port and starboard watch rotation. A sharp knock at the door pulled Simonis’s attention from the reports. His operations officer was in the doorway with a carafe in his hand.

“Need a recharge, Commodore?”

“Sure, Rich, come on in.”

Walker strode over and poured fresh hot coffee into Simonis’s half-empty mug.

“Did you see these reports?” Simonis inquired, pointing to the intel assessments.

“Yes, sir. It would appear this war is taking a turn for the worse.”

“Ha!” Simonis blurted. “Mr. Walker, you are a master of the understatement!” The commodore picked up the last report and read from its key judgments.

“At 1710 Zulu time PLA Second Artillery units executed multiple ballistic missile strikes against targets in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and the Philippines. While ballistic missile defenses were moderately effective, numerous missiles still reached their targets. Moderate to heavy casualties are expected.”

Simonis threw the paper back down onto his desk. “That’s not just a turn for the worse, Mr. Walker. It’s the first step on a very slippery slope that will lead to a nuclear exchange!”

The operations officer was surprised by Simonis’s fierce outburst. The attack on the Littoral Alliance nations was shocking, to be sure, but they were still limited, given China’s conventional ballistic missile capability. If China really wanted to plaster the targets they were after, the strikes would have been much larger. Furthermore, the attacks were largely on legitimate alliance military and oil infrastructure facilities—missile strikes on civilian population centers were a rare occurrence. In the operations officer’s mind, this attack was long overdue, a logical reaction to Littoral Alliance cruise missile attacks on Chinese oil refineries and tank farms.

Come to think of it, Walker didn’t remember Simonis reacting so strongly to the initial strikes by alliance cruise missiles, and those were attacks against targets on Chinese soil. For the commodore to suddenly jump straight to the conclusion that the war would inevitably go nuclear seemed a bit of a stretch. China didn’t need to go down that path, and indeed seemed to be avoiding it, as India hadn’t been targeted at all.

“Sir, how can you say that?” Walker protested. “This attack was expected, or should have been, given the Littoral Alliance’s strikes on Chinese oil refineries. And yet, China didn’t fire a single missile at India. That tells me China is trying hard to keep this conflict conventional.”

Simonis shook his head vigorously, his face grim. “Rich, you’re completely missing the big picture. When the Communist Party figures out they’re losing, they’ll go nuclear—they will have no other choice!”

Walker was stunned by Simonis’s conclusion that China was losing the war. The PRC had certainly been stung, but militarily they still had an advantage over the Littoral Alliance. However, before he could respond, the commodore’s yeoman knocked on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Commodore, but Dr. Patterson is on the secure line.”

“It’s about time,” Simonis mumbled as he grabbed the handset. “Dr. Patterson, good afternoon.”

“Good morning, Commodore, although the ‘good’ part is seriously being debated here in Washington,” she replied.

“I completely understand. The situation is deteriorating rapidly. However, I’m hoping you have some good news for me.”

“You’re correct. The president wants you to recall your submarines. They are to return to Guam as fast as the tactical situation allows. We’ve done what we can and it’s time to evacuate the area.”

Simonis’s shoulders relaxed noticeably, as if a heavy weight had just been removed. “I will do so with pleasure, ma’am. The order will go out in ten minutes. Please express my gratitude to the president.”

“I will when I get the chance. Good luck, Commodore.”

“And to you, Dr. Patterson.” As the handset hit the cradle, Simonis looked at Walker and said, “Rich, I want a flash precedence message ordering all our boats to return to base. You have seven minutes.”

9 September 2016

0215 Local Time

USS
North Dakota

West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

Jerry sat in the back of the radio room, replaying the last encounter with the Indian Akula in his mind. He ran through the scenario over and over again, trying to see where he’d made a mistake. The critical decision was to close the faint contact at high speed. On the one hand, if he hadn’t charged, the Akula wouldn’t have detected
North Dakota
. On the other, if he hadn’t, the Indian would have fired off his second salvo and possibly cleared datum before Jerry could reacquire him.
Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,
he said to himself.

“Skipper, sorry to disturb you,” interrupted the information technician, “but we have flash traffic coming in.”

Jerry looked at his watch with confusion; it hadn’t even been four minutes since they sent in their report. “That can’t be in response to our last message—way too quick of a turnaround.”

“It’s not, sir. This message is a recall order. I’m printing it out now.”

The printer behind Jerry’s head whined to life and kicked out a single sheet of paper. Grabbing it, he called out to Thigpen, “XO! Flash traffic!”

Thigpen stuck his head into radio seconds later. He too looked perplexed. “My, that was fast! Has our commodore moved a cot into the radio room?”

“No, XO. This isn’t about our incident report. It’s a recall order,” said Jerry as he handed the message to Thigpen.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Simonis refers to ‘continued escalation,’ no further explanation provided, as the reason for the president to order a withdrawal. We’re to return to base ASAP.”

The XO frowned, his voice heavy with cynicism. “It would have been
nice
to have gotten this an hour earlier!”

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done, Bernie. Send the ‘return home’ signal to Fargo, and select a rendezvous point away from our last meeting with the Akula.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” responded Thigpen. He handed the message to Jerry and darted back to control.

With his XO’s voice in the background, Jerry scribbled a response on the message printout and handed it to the IT. “Send this. Message received. Rendezvousing with UUV, will advise when we begin transit back to base.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the petty officer replied.

As the young sailor typed out his captain’s response, Jerry wondered what had happened to change the president’s mind. Whatever it was, he knew it had to have been really bad.

9 September 2016

0345 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis paced tensely in the back of the Squadron Fifteen operations watch floor. There was still no reply from
Santa Fe
acknowledging the recall order. Grumbling about Halsey’s ineptness, the commodore kept walking back and forth, stopping only to refill his mug. Between fatigue and overcaffeination, his patience was virtually nonexistent, his temper on a hair trigger.

Walker kept a watchful eye on his commodore. He knew Simonis was barely holding on, and had instructed all the watchstanders to give him a heads-up first when
Santa Fe
finally responded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Walker saw one of the duty ITs signaling him—the message was in. Shielding his right hand from view with his body, he made a typing motion. The petty officer nodded, clicked his mouse, and held up one finger; the message was coming out on printer number one. Walking slowly over to the printer bank, the operations officer pulled the message and read it quickly. His heart sank.

Simonis saw Walker’s expression, and demanded loudly, “What is it, Rich?”

“
Santa Fe
’s reported in, Commodore,” he answered.

“Well, it would seem that Commander Halsey likes to take his sweet time responding—”

“She’s been attacked, sir,” Walker added quickly.

“What?” Simonis’s expression changed instantly from anger to concern.

“Yes, sir.” Walker elaborated as he walked up the stairs to Simonis. “She got bounced by a Y-8 patrol aircraft, and took two depth charges close aboard. The port main engine is down, there is a bad main propulsion shaft rub, and both towed arrays are gone. Halsey also reports some personnel casualties, but nothing life-threatening.”

Simonis snatched the message from Walker, but before he even began reading it, barked, “What’s her position?”

“Sir, she’s currently near the western edge of her patrol zone, approximately forty nautical miles due east of the northeast tip of Hainan Island,” answered one of the watchstanders.

“She’s deep in Indian country, Commodore,” Walker observed, looking up at the large flat-panel display.

“I can see that, Rich,” snapped Simonis. “What’s the closest boat to her?”

“Theoretically,
Texas
is the closest. But Pascovich was the first CO to respond and he’s undoubtedly gone deep by now. He won’t be back up for a comms check for another ten hours.”

“What about Mitchell?” asked Simonis.

“Nothing since his acknowledgement of the recall order, sir, so he’s still in the process of recovering his recon UUV. Given Mitchell’s rude encounter with the Indian Akula, he’s probably moving cautiously,” Walker answered.

“A wise course of action,” said Simonis, nodding approvingly. He paused and looked first at the message, and then at the electronic plotting board. There really was no other option.

“Very well, Rich, send a flash precedence message to
North Dakota,
copy
Santa Fe
. Provide a rendezvous point and have Mitchell link up with Halsey; keep
Santa Fe
’s speed to no more than ten knots. I want
North Dakota
to escort
Santa Fe
out of the South China Sea. You have—”

“Yes, sir, I know. I have seven minutes,” shouted Walker as he leapt down the stairs. “Jeff! Get me a position that both boats can reasonably make given
Santa Fe
’s mobility restrictions. Use
North Dakota
’s last position and shift it to the west by fifteen miles. Move, people. We’ve got a hurt boat to get home!”

9 September 2016

1430 Local Time

USS
North Dakota

Southeast of Hainan Island, South China Sea

They’d initially detected
Santa Fe
half an hour earlier at the ungodly range of thirty-five thousand yards. Even at ten knots, the shaft rub was very noisy and Jerry wondered how the Chinese could possibly miss it. Still, he prayed that their acute deafness would continue, preferably for the next several days. Guam was a long way away.

“Skipper, new contact, designated Sierra-six three, bearing north,” announced the sonar supervisor.

Jerry and Thigpen both looked over the supervisor’s shoulder as he pointed to a few tenuous lines on his display. “What do you have, Chief?” Jerry asked quietly.

“Don’t know, sir. The narrowband is really unstable,” replied Chief Halleck. “There’s no discernable bearing drift as well. It could be a distant surface contact, but that’s just a SWAG.”

“That bearing isn’t in the direction of the normal traffic lanes, or any harbor that we know of,” Thigpen remarked. “Why do I have the sneaky suspicion this isn’t a coincidence?”

“Because luck hasn’t exactly been running in our favor lately, XO,” admitted Jerry with a hint of irritation. “Mr. Covey, begin tracking Sierra-six three.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

*   *   *

For the next six minutes, Jerry stared intently at the port VLSD, as if pure concentration could conjure up more information. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was no bearing drift at all, and sonar was still only picking up a couple of unstable tonals. But as each minute passed, Jerry became more and more agitated. There was something wrong here; his intuition was ringing with alarm bells. Finally in frustration he growled, “Chief, I’m starting to get really annoyed with this situation. I think we’re on an intercept course with Sierra-six three. Do you concur?”

“It’s a good possibility, Skipper. I’m not seeing, or hearing, any screw noise from the contact. If we’ve been constantly staring at his bow the whole time, that would explain the lack of any main-propulsion-related noise.”

Jerry walked over to Halleck and tapped the chief on the shoulder. He needed the man’s undivided attention. “Chief, I’m going to cut across the line of sight to try and generate some bearing rate. But I think we need to come shallow as well. If I remember correctly, we had a weak layer on the last SVP, but that was taken earlier this morning. If the layer has gotten stronger, and deeper, that would explain why we aren’t seeing more tonals.”

“Yes, sir, it would indeed.”

“Have your guys glue their noses to the stacks. I’ll bring us around,” Jerry said while patting the chief on the shoulder.

Turning back toward the ship control panel, Jerry called out, “Pilot, left full rudder, steady course three two zero. All ahead two-thirds, and make your depth one hundred and twenty-five feet.”

*   *   *

Moments after
North Dakota
reached her new depth, Chief Halleck sang out, “Broadband contact, Sierra-six three. Bearing zero zero six!”