by Stephen Makk
“Aye sir.” The boat headed off down south.
“War committee, Wardroom.” The XO and Kaminski followed him down the companionway. “Ok. I’ve been speaking to the Joint Chiefs.” It still surprised him how that sounded. Like he did it every day. “In short. The Chinese have been trying to rip them a new one.”
Kaminski snorted.
“They’ve threatened to nuke Guam and Pearl.”
“Christ on a crutch,” said Larry.
“The Chiefs and NSA Stockhaisen don’t buy it. So, they want us to keep on handing the Chinese their ass to them. I wanted you to know what’s at stake, because the Chiefs could be wrong. What we are doing down here could result in Guam and Pearl being turned into a sheet of glass. If anybody wants out, I’ll understand. It’s your call. I’m going to the control room. If you turn up for duty, I’ll know you’re in.”
Nathan left the room.
“SIR,” SAID BENSON, “we have transients consistent with sonobuoys being dropped. There’s a line moving south. The sea’s not deep enough for a thermocline, so we’ve no layer to hide under.”
Nathan rubbed his temples. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of these things. It’s taken them a while to get moving but with local runways, you have to expect them to use organic ASW.”
“I read that they looked at a sail mounted SAM system for the boat, sir?”
“Yeah, I’d like one, but we have to live without one. They could be a double edged sword, in truth. As a last minute use it or die weapon, yeah. But use one and don’t achieve a kill, then you’ve just given your position away.”
“I see sir.”
“Ok, Weaps, plot the chart positions of the line.”
Weaps looked up and frowned; that wasn’t his job.
“It’s ok, I’ve got it.” Kaminski sat at her station. She glanced up at Nathan and smiled. Nathan turned; the XO stood at his post looking forward, his expression resolute. Nathan smiled. All right.
THE Y-8Q HAD BEEN SOWING its trap of sonobuoys for an hour. Nathan knew it was a matter of time until their job was done. Discovery was inevitable.
The Chinese aircraft finally picked them up, and a Yu-7 dropped into the sea.
“The fish is heading for us 43 knots, sir.”
“Come to 200 degrees, speed 20 knots.” It had been dropped well to the north.
“Range six miles,” said Benson.
“Range three miles... two point three miles.”
“Ready countermeasures port side. Stream the lure.”
“Lure streamed, sir. Do you want it to dance?”
“Not yet, Weaps.”
“Range one point two miles... range point eight miles.”
“Dance the lure.”
“Range point six miles... range point four miles. Wait one, wait one. It’s fading, the fish is slowing, dropping. That’s it. It’s gone, they launched too early.”
Nathan knew they’d been lucky. “Ok, flood one and two, two thirds. Speed three knots. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth.” The boat sank into the depths.
“Depth 980 feet. One thousand and twenty, 1,060.”
“All stop.”
There was a crump sound outside of the hull. The USS Stonewall Jackson settled quietly on the seabed in 1,150 feet of water. Alone, silent in the blackness. It would wait until the ASW aircraft gave up. The Shannxi Y-8Q would eventually give up, or more probably run low on fuel.
He decided it was time to make a move.
“One and two, two thirds, up bubble ten, make your depth 100, speed 12 knots. Bearing three six zero.”
The boat cruised north.
“Sir,” said Benson, “we have transients consistent with sonobuoys being dropped. Now two lines twelve miles apart. There’s two birds up there.” Nathan knew this would only get worse.
“Right, that’s it, we wield the big stick now, I’ve had enough. Kaminski get a course to this point.” He indicated a point on the chart.
“Yes Sir,” she calculated. “Two five five Sir.”
“You heard her Planesman.”
“Aye Sir.”
“Weaps, it’s time we got aerial.” The Weapons officer grinned.
“Yes Sir, I couldn’t agree more. I’ll wake Johansson up, we’ll check over the VPM tubes.”
THE WEAPONS OFFICER knocked on the Goat Locker door and then entered.
“CPO Johansson.”
“He’s behind his jack off curtain, dreaming about his Grotopotamus.”
Johansson was known to have a large girlfriend from the Groton area.
A voice came from the bunk area. “I heard that Twiny, going short are we?”
“Johansson,” said Weaps, “let’s take a check on the VPM tubes.”
“Sir.” The two men walked towards aft to an area forward of the engine room known as the ‘Redwoods room’, called after their namesake giant trees, as the three vertical tubes were of very large diameters. Johansson checked the current feed lines to the tubes, then opened the pressure hatch on number one. There were seven dispensers, each would be ejected up to the surface. The cap would blow off, and a Tomahawk BGN-109 cruise missile would ignite and be launched. For this operation, the nuclear warheads had been removed. The warhead was a 1,600 pound HE-FRAG round or 166 BLU 97/B bomblets. The Tomahawks, or TLAMs, have a range in excess of 1,500 miles. Twenty one terrain-following missiles could rain down on an opponent.
Weaps checked the serial numbers on each missile, and they tied up with what his tablet told him was loaded. He ran a diagnostics program on each of them from his handheld, cell phone like instrument.
There were more checks on the arming systems.
Weaps looked at the display. “Systems check complete.”
“I concur,” said Johansson.
“Do you want to sign one? Say Hi to Uncle Joe?”
“Yeah. I’ll order delivery.” Johansson took out a marker pen and paused, then scrawled on a missile: “Kiss my sour ass prawns and egg fuck you.”
Weaps smiled. “Thanks Johansson.”
WEAPS RETURNED TO HIS console.
“All birds ready, sir.”
“Ok, thanks. Oh, and Weaps...”
“Yes sir?”
“Go easy on the NFL teams, yeah?”
“Ok sir.” On the North Korean strike, Weaps had named the birds after teams and given a running commentary.
“Lemineux, we need Big Bird data from COMSUBPAC and we need it yesterday. Give them notice, and stuff a hyperactive gerbil up their ass.”
Lemineux grinned. “Yes sir, count on it.”
Less than two hours later, the files appeared.
“XO, Kaminski, Wardroom.”
Nathan led the way and laid out his plan.
“Comments?”
“Flight times, sir. Can they be tightened up?” asked Kaminski. “We need good coordination.”
“I’ll get Weaps to go over it again, but I think he’s done a good job.”
“We need it right,” said Larry, “it’s a one shot deal.” Nikki stood and paced the room and Larry put his head back and groaned.
“What the holy fuck is this cow cooking up now?”
Nathan grinned.
She put her fists on the table, arms straight and leaned forward. “I may know a way that we can kick Joe Chinaman’s ass hard.”
Nathan and Larry listened.
“Right,” said Nathan, I like it. Weaps won’t like the work but...” He smiled at her. “Name it, Nikki. You name ops lucky.”
She thought about it for a minute, and then smiled. “Operation Corleone’s Offer.”
Larry frowned. “What?”
“You know,” she smiled, “The Godfather, Vito Corleone. I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Larry shook his head. “What do they feed you on in Georgia?”
“I like it,” said Nathan, “Operation Corleone’s offer it is.”
The meeting broke up and Nathan went to the galley for a coffee. The crew
looked in good spirits; the banter flew thick and fast.
He knew though that Kaminski’s plan had to work. He had a tiger by the tail and the bastard was writhing. If it didn’t work, the PLAN would be on them and looking for their ass.
We can’t afford failure, the boat’s fate depended on it, that and dominance of the South China Sea.
Chapter 11
“ALL SET SIR,” SAID Weaps. Nathan looked at the boat’s clock, 20.47; it would be dark upstairs.
“Ok, H hour is 21.00. Control room. Rig for red.” The room was bathed in a dull red light, it would allow his eyes to adjust to the night view in the periscope. There was no real reason for red light, but it was traditional for night operations.
Nathan waited then picked off his microphone. “Boats Company. Battle stations, battle stations.” The crew scurried to their stations. All through the boat, hatches closed shut and were sealed.
“All hands, we’ve been hunted by enemy air assets for long hours now. They’ve been flying up there where they feel safe and invulnerable. The tables are about to turn. They’ll find that Stonewall Jackson has teeth, and believe me, they won’t like it. Tonight the hunted becomes the hunter. Commander out.”
“Weaps, four minutes to H hour.”
Weaps looked to his Commander. “TLAM strike is go. The plan of Operation Corleone’s Offer is loaded. Activating all birds Sir.
“VPM tube one. Red Wings, returns Gyro up, green board, route A, target T1.
Predators, returns Gyro up, green board, route B, target T2.
Avalanche, returns Gyro up, green board, route C, target T3.
Ducks, returns Gyro up, green board, route D, target T4.
Leafs, returns Gyro up, green board, route E, target T5.
Sabres, returns Gyro up, green board, route F, target T6.
Blackhawks, returns Gyro up, green board, route G, target T7.
VPM tube two. Bruins, returns Gyro up, green board, route H, target T8.....”
The Tomahawks reported their status one by one.
“All birds up and ready sir.”
“Open outer doors, VPM one to three.”
“Outer doors open Sir.”
Nathan checked his wristwatch again. He counted the seconds down. “Weaps, I said no NFL teams.”
“Sir, they’re NHL.”
Nathan rolled his eyes. “Execute Corleone’s Offer on my command.” Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine. “Go, go, go.” There was a faint whooshing sound from back aft. “On the surface, Red Wings reports launch, good burn. Motor in, wings deployed, gaining altitude. People, we have a bird.”
One by one they reached the surface, ignited their motors and soared into the night. Red Wings headed for Fiery Cross Reef. Predators for Subi Reef. Avalanche and Ducks followed these four minutes later.
“Phase one away. Estimated time to target nine minutes.”
“Good work, Weaps. Ready phase two.”
Around the control room, faces were tense. Silent tension. Everyone concentrated on their station and waited.
Ten minutes later, it was time.
“Phase two launch.”
“Go, go, go.” There came a whooshing sound from back aft.
“On the surface, Leafs reports launch, good burn. Motor in, wings deployed, gaining altitude. We have a mean bird hunting.” One by one, missiles reached the surface, ignited their motors and soared into the night sky.
The flock of seventeen Tomahawk cruise missiles flew into the night sky in their two separate waves, on the way to Fiery Cross and Subi Reefs.
SUBI REEF, PHASE ONE.
SEVERAL SOLDIERS ON guard duty and the south end of the crescent shaped reef heard them first. Aircraft, low flying at that. Odd, the runway lights were off. Men frowned.
“What the hell....”
The Tomahawk missile Predators flew into Shannxi Y-8Qs parked on the apron. A bright flash and booming blast noise was followed by huge billows of flame and metal debris flying through the air. Less than a minute later the Tomahawk Ducks arrived and added to the impacts and chaos as men ran around trying to fight the fires. The aircraft apron was devastated.
The Wing Commander knew exactly what was going on: the enemy was trying to destroy his squadrons on the ground. It wouldn’t work, he’d get them airborne. The order went out to scramble the aircraft.
The ground crew tried their best to clear the paths to the runway. Minutes later the runway was filling up with Shannxi Y-8Qs, it was time to get them away. Engines spooled up and roared as the turboprop propellers cut into the warm air.
Subi Reef, phase two.
Tomahawk missile Leafs slammed into the leading aircraft on the runway, sending balls of flame and debris into the air. Its comrades followed and the Chinese ASW aircraft were shredded.
Finally, Tomahawks Coyotes and Islanders streaked in, dropping 330 BLU 97/B bomblets. These damaged and disabled waiting aircraft and made any clean-up operation around the runways protracted and dangerous.
Within minutes, Subi Reef as an airbase had ceased operations and the vast majority of PLANAF ASW aircraft had been destroyed on the ground.
At Fiery Cross Reef it was the same devastation.
OFF MISCHIEF REEF THE SSN USS Hawaii, Stonewall Jackson’s nuclear powered Pacific fleet sister, attacked with a devastating blow.
Her tactics were outlined in a directive from COMSUBPAC, who’d ordered her skipper to name the action Operation Kaminski. Her Captain had no idea why, but complied.
“KAMINSKI. SET US A course for Hainan Island,” said Nathan, “we’ve one last bug for Joe to whisper his sweet nothings to.”
“Aye sir.”
USS Stonewall Jackson headed off to the holy of holies: the main PLAN submarine base.
The following day Nathan sat in the galley eating his scrambled egg and sausage breakfast.
Lieutenant Kaminski joined him.
“You sleep ok Kaminski?”
“Yes sir, a good night. I have to admit, the coffee’s welcome.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Our course takes us about twenty miles west of the Paracels, sir. I just looked and we’re now about thirty five short of our closest approach.”
Nathan nodded. “Maybe we could do some scouting on our way back.” They finished breakfast and onto the second coffee, when the intercom sounded.
“Commander to the control room.”
“No rest is there? Come on.” he said.
CPO Benson looked up at him.
“We have some guys coming out to play sir. I picked up a Luyang class, a type 53C Destroyer. But a few miles ahead of him are two subsurface contacts. They’re around 75 miles away. Both Yuan Class, type 039A, conventional boats. Two hundred and thirty feet deep, bearing three four five degrees. Speed 12 knots. Heading in our general direction, I don’t think they’ve detected us.”
“Did you get some sleep Benson?”
“Enough sir.”
“Kaminski, what’s the course to the nearest Paracel Island?”
“Thirty eight degrees sir.” Maybe they could wait in the lee of the Paracels? That might work, yeah, lay a trap for them.
She spread out a chart over the table. “Sir, we have several of these.” Nathan looked at the chart it was the Parcels; it was marked up in Chinese. “They’re Republic of China Navy charts Sir. Taiwanese Navy. Very detailed.”
“Good, should be useful Lieutenant.”
The three met in the Wardroom.
“How about we sneak off to the Paracels and wait for them?”
“A trap? Yeah that might work, Nathan,” said Larry.
“We could come out behind the Destroyer; the boats are in front of it. Come up its baffles.”
“Get close,” said Nikki, “we can put a Mk 48 in each of them.”
Nathan looked at them. They were confident and riding high. It had gone well so far, but he knew the line between success and failure was a fine, taut cord. It did seem the way to go though.
; “Ok it’s a plan. Let’s do it. Then it’s on to the Dragon’s Den up north.”
THE PENTAGON.
“I SEE IT’S ODD, BUT what is it?” said Admiral Kamov. He looked up and around at the Joint Chiefs.
Chief of Staff of the Air Force General Neil L Cooper sat back in his chair. “That is a new weapon. It’s a wing-in ground-effect cruise missile, capable of flying three feet over the sea’s surface with a 2,000 pound warhead. They’re low drag, so around 750 miles plus range.” The picture showed up-swept wings, forward canards and an air intake above the fuselage.
“Although the air is thick at low altitudes and drag is high, the wing-in-ground-effect design overcomes that drawback by providing high amounts of lift. It rides a cushion of air below the craft as it skims across the ocean's surface. It’s a bit like the Caspian Sea monster, the Russian aircraft. It rides a cushion of air at that altitude by staying so low throughout its flight, and the missile-drone is harder to detect than higher-flying missile systems, as it can hide from radar among the reflective clutter of the ocean's surface. Look-down-shoot-down radars are less effective here. They’re not so expensive to build either, so ‘the swarm effect’ could be employed. With a warhead, that size even one getting through would be devastating. We have indications that it’s called Hua kuai or Slider. A 2,000 pound warhead could disable or sink an aircraft carrier. This is a serious threat to our Pacific fleet.”
“Seven fifty miles? That’s all the South China Sea?”
“Yeah, it’s worse by a good margin,” said General Cooper, “Singapore, all of Taiwan and could be the southern Islands of Japan. That’s from the Spratly Islands. These satellite pictures are from two days ago in the Paracels. That means maybe as far as southern Japan.”
“Two thousand pound warhead,” Admiral Kamov shook his head. “I’d be very reluctant to deploy a carrier with these in the area.”
“How many do they have in the area?” asked General Cotton.
“We have pictures of six of them, two on Woody Island and four on Duncan.”