The Pacific Rim Collection
Page 87
South Atlantic Ocean
depth 100 feet
10:35 a.m. local time
Navigator. Report position. Range to target,” Commander Alberto Gomez said.
The navigator on the ARA Santa Cruz, Lieutenant Albert Gonzales, said, “Aye, Capitán. Course one-eight-zero degrees. Depth one hundred feet. Speed eighteen knots. Range to target, ten thousand yards. The San Juan is eight thousand yards off our starboard.”
“Very well,” Gomez said. “Steady as she goes. Let’s stay in the carrier’s wake and pray that she doesn’t catch wind that we’re here.”
“Steady as she goes. Aye, Capitán.”
ARA Santa Cruz trailed the carrier ten thousand yards to her stern, the equivalent of 5.7 miles, barely within range of the sub’s twenty-two Mark 37 torpedoes.
Gomez wanted to get in closer . . . close enough for a point-blank shot, but not so close to avoid slipping away undetected after launching that shot. This was a tight balancing act.
At this distance, the torp might lock on any of the four ships in the British flotilla if it locked on any ships at all.
To get the shot he wanted against the British flagship, Gomez needed to close that distance in half, to five thousand yards. He needed to get in closer, into the carrier’s wake. That meant Santa Cruz needed to cover some ocean to close the distance.
In a flat-out race across the oceans, the American nuclear super-carriers at full speed could outrun any submarine in the world. Though the Brits had never revealed the Queen Elizabeth’s full capabilities, most intelligence reports speculated that she could match the American supercarriers in speed, meaning that in an open-ocean sprint, the Santa Cruz would get left in her wake.
But in this case, with the carrier slowing her speed for the slower ships in the British flotilla behind her, opportunity knocked.
The element of surprise was the key to submarine warfare. Any sudden increase in speed increased the danger that the sub might be heard on passive sonar. Pursuing the carrier from behind gave the sub the best opportunity to avoid detection because the ship’s engines and propellers created a wash that muffled sounds.
“Helmsman. All ahead two-thirds.”
“All ahead two-thirds. Aye, Capitán.”
Royal Navy Merlin Mk1 helicopter
ASW Naval Squadron 814
South Atlantic Ocean
10 miles south of HMS Queen Elizabeth
10:49 a.m. local time
The Royal Navy Merlin helicopter settled into a hover at five hundred feet above the ocean’s surface. Commander Chris Stacks, lead pilot and squadron commander, pulled back on the stick and spoke into his headset, piping his instructions throughout the cockpit.
“Chief Welton. On my command, prepare to begin dropping sonobuoys in the water.”
“Aye, Skipper. Preparing to drop sonobuoys on your order, sir.”
Stacks pushed down on the collective pitch control, and the chopper began to slowly descend. The pilot kept his eyes on the electronic altimeter and the aircraft feathered down closer to the water.
450 feet . . .
400 feet . . .
The sonobuoys would be dropped from the helicopter aircraft in canisters and would deploy upon water impact. An inflatable float with a radio transmitter would remain on the surface for electronic communication with the chopper, while hydrophone sensors and stabilizing equipment would descend below the surface to a selected depth. The buoys would then relay acoustic information from their hydrophones via radio to operators on board the chopper, which would be relayed back to the Queen Elizabeth.
Like all sonar equipment, the sonobuoys fell into two categories, active or passive.
Passive sonobuoys emit nothing into the water. These instruments listen, waiting for sound waves from a ship’s power plant or propeller or even door closings and other noises from ships or submarines. The advantage to passive sonar is that the enemy does not know you are listening.
Active sonobuoys emit sound energy into the water and listen for the returning echo before transmitting usually range and bearing information via UHF/VHF radio to a receiving ship or aircraft. The sound energy comes across as loud, nearly deafening pings.
With the powerful pinging signals slicing through the water, active sonobuoys can track down an enemy sub with more speed and precision, but it also alerts the enemy of the attacker’s presence.
Active sonar, in a word, removes all semblance of surprise.
In this case, with instructions to quickly find and destroy the enemy submarine, the Merlins would be dropping active sonobuoys into the chilly waters of the South Atlantic.
250 feet . . .
200 feet . . .
“Chief. Prepare to drop sonobuoys.”
“Aye, Skipper. Preparing to drop sonobuoys.”
150 feet . . .
100 feet . . .
Stacks stabilized the collective pitch control, and the Merlin leveled out at 50 feet above the water, close enough that the chopper’s powerful rotors kicked up a whirling circle in the water below.
“Drop sonobuoy!”
“Dropping sonobuoy! Aye, sir.”
Stacks rotated the chopper on an axis and glimpsed the long metal cylinder splashing into the water below.
The cylinder disappeared below the surface, and two seconds later it popped back up onto the surface, corralled by the flotation raft that had deployed upon impact.
“Sir! Sonobuoy one has deployed and is successfully broadcasting!”
“Very well,” Stacks said. “Stand by for active sonar broadcast on my command.”
Stacks pushed down on the cyclic. The chopper moved forward in the air on a course of one-eight-zero degrees, and when he had covered one thousand yards, he pulled the chopper into another hover and dropped another sonobuoy. Rotating the chopper in the air again, he flew out another thousand yards to a spot that would make the third spot in a triangle. There the chopper dropped a third sonobuoy into the water.
The process was called triangulation, whereby helicopters dropped a net of floating sonobuoys in the water, in floating triangular positions, over large spaces of water in an effort to locate by sonar anything that might be submerged under those positions.
“Good show, sir,” Leftenant Drew Jordan, the helicopter’s copilot, said.
“So far, so good,” Commander Stacks replied. “Now let’s spread the net, drop a dozen more of these puppies, and then light them up and see what’s down there.”
Control room
Argentinean submarine ARA Santa Cruz
South Atlantic Ocean
depth 100 feet
11:15 a.m. local time
Helmsman. Speed and distance to target.”
“Speed twenty-one knots. Range to target, nine thousand yards, Capitán.”
“Very well,” Gomez said. “Still another half an hour before we start getting into comfortable range for a good shot.”
“Should we go ahead and prepare torpedoes, Capitán?”
“Good suggestion, XO. Prep torps one and three.”
“Prep torps one and three. Aye, sir.”
Alberto Gomez checked his watch. A powerful air of electricity had permeated the control room. Fact was, every sub commander for generations had trained for a moment such as this, but history had called few to be in the right place at the right time.
“XO.”
“Aye, Capitán.”
“Open the 1-MC.”
“Aye, Capitán.”
The executive officer flipped two switches, then handed the microphone to Gomez. “The 1-MC is open, sir.”
“Gracias, XO,” Gomez said. He took the microphone. “Now hear this. This is the capitán speaking.” Gomez paused. “As you know, we are the lead sub in this mission, and ARA San Juan is our backup.
“Shortly before we sailed, I attended afternoon mass in Buenos Aires. That afternoon, the priest read something from the Bible. He said—and I quote—‘many are called, but few are chosen.’ ”
Gomez paused, absorbing the significance of the moment. Goose bumps crawled up his arms and up his neck.
“Men. Be ready. Be vigilant. Soon we will begin the attack that will change history, the most important military operation in the history of Argentina. Many have been called, but we have been chosen. That is all.”
Gomez handed the microphone back to the XO.
“Navigator. Range to target.”
“Range to target eight thousand seven hundred yards, sir.”
“Very well. Steady as she goes.”
“Steady as she goes, aye, sir.”
An electric silence again permeated the bridge as the sub closed in on the Queen Elizabeth. Gomez thought of his wife, Louisa, and his teenage sons, Juan and Pedro.
Juan had just turned thirteen, and Pedro would turn sixteen next week. Unfortunately, Alberto would be at sea for Pedro’s birthday, so they had gone to mass as a family before his deployment. Then, as an early birthday present, Pedro got to pick where they went to dinner. Pedro chose his favorite restaurant, Café Torntoni, where they had enjoyed quesadillas and soft drinks and celebrated an early surprise birthday party. Louisa had arranged for six of his best friends to meet them at the restaurant.
Both boys had proclaimed their desire to follow their father in the Navy. They were young at the time and could change their minds. But still, he could hope.
He smiled at the memories of their last supper together and wondered when they would be together again.
The first ping hit the sub hard, sloshing Gomez’s coffee.
“Sonobuoys in the water, sir!”
“Emergency dive! Go to six hundred seventy-five feet! XO, alert the crew!”
“Aye, Capitán!” The XO picked up the microphone as the sub’s bow started dropping. “All hands! Emergency dive! Emergency dive! Sonobuoys in the water! Brace yourselves!”
Gomez braced against the periscope housing as his sub angled down forty-five degrees and the depth meter began dropping.
Depth 150 feet . . .
Depth 175 feet . . .
The second ping rocked the ship as she crossed the 200-foot threshold.
Depth 250 feet . . .
Gomez felt sweat bead on his forehead as the sub continued to dive.
He had executed the emergency dive to lower depths to make it more difficult for the sonar to pick up on the sub and also to make it more difficult for depth charges and torpedoes to find the sub if they were attacked.
Unfortunately, the Santa Cruz, for all its versatility, did not have the same diving capability as the more powerful American boats. The American nuclear boats could safely dive to a test depth of 1,600 feet and a crush depth of 2,400 feet. The Santa Cruz could dive to a test depth of only 700 feet with a crush depth of 890 feet.
That meant the American boats could hide under twice as much water as the Santa Cruz and her sister boat, the San Juan.
Now, ominous electronic pings that had shocked the boat guaranteed that the Santa Cruz had, for the time being anyway, lost her most powerful weapon—the element of surprise.
Gomez’s focus had suddenly shifted from a surprise attack on the British carrier to saving his sub and saving his men.
Gomez would dive his boat as deep as he could safely dive, to just above his test depth of 700 feet, and hope and pray that temperature inversions in the water would provide a protective cover against the British sonar.
The capitán made a sign of the cross and glued his eyes to the sub’s electronic depth gauge.
Depth 300 feet . . .
Depth 325 feet . . .
Depth 350 feet . . .
Royal Navy Merlin Mk1 helicopter
ASW Naval Squadron 814
South Atlantic Ocean
9 miles south of HMS Queen Elizabeth
11:25 a.m. local time
Commander! We have active sonar contact!” Sonarman Chief Philip Welton, Merlin’s flight crew chief, announced. “Two confirmed pings! She’s diving, sir. Last reported depth 250 feet and dropping, sir.”
“What bloody luck!” Commander Chris Stacks said. “Do we have a make?”
“Diesel-electric. Acoustic computers reporting ARA Santa Cruz–class, sir.”
“Very well! Drop three depth charges. Calibrate to detonate at 500, 600, and 700 feet. Then I want two torps in the water. Move! Move!”
“Aye, sir! Preparing to drop depth charges.”
“Leftenant Jordan. Notify the Queen Elizabeth. Advise that we have sonar contact with enemy sub and that we’re attacking. Request additional F-35A air cover. Let’s send this underwater canoe from the banana republic to the bottom of the sea!”
“Aye, aye, Skipper!”
Control room
Argentinean submarine ARA Santa Cruz
South Atlantic Ocean
depth 600 feet
11:29 a.m. local time
Silence pervaded the control room as the sub continued her dive. Commander Gomez kept his eyes on the depth gauge.
Depth 550 feet . . .
Depth 600 feet . . .
The sub’s angle leveled out as she approached her target depth.
Depth 650 feet . . .
“We’ve reached our target depth, Capitán, 650 feet,” the helmsman said.
“Very well,” Gomez said. “All engines stop!”
“All engines stop! Aye, sir.”
Silence.
Only the dim hum of sophisticated electrical equipment.
Perhaps the active sonar was an intimidation tactic. Perhaps the British were intent on knocking the submarine off the carrier’s trail. If so, they had succeeded.
Gomez looked around the control room. Men nervously looked up at the ceiling, as if they had X-ray vision to pierce through the layers of steel, through the dark water, and then up to the sky to see what was there.
The compulsion to look up was instinctive. For somewhere up there lurked mortal danger. And nothing could be done except wait, move quietly, and hope the waters hid them from the enemy.
Even Gomez found himself staring up . . . waiting.
“No more pings, Capitán.” The executive officer broke silence. “Perhaps they have moved on to another sector of the sea.”
“Perhaps,” Gomez said. “But somehow, my gut tells me that we have not escaped danger. Not yet.”
The sudden explosion shook the sub, sending the capitán’s heart into overdrive.
“Depth charges in the water, sir!”
“Too close!” Gomez said. “Sonar, how close?”
“Two hundred yards above us, sir.”
“You can be sure that’s not the only one they’ll drop,” Gomez said.
“I agree,” the XO said.
“XO, secure damage reports,” Gomez said.
“Securing damage reports. Aye, sir.”
“Helmsman, maintain battery power. Set new course for zero-nine-zero degrees.”
“Aye, sir. Setting new course for zero-nine-zero degrees.”
Gomez wiped sweat from his forehead as the submarine began a slow turn from due south to due east. The course change would take them off the trail of the new British supercarrier.
“Damage reports are in, Capitán,” the executive officer said. “All systems functioning and operational. No confirmed damage.”
“Thank God,” Gomez said.
“Capitán,” the helmsman said, “we have completed our course change. Course now bearing zero-nine-zero degrees. Speed fourteen knots, sir. Maintaining battery power.”
“Very well,” Gomez said. “Steady as she goes.”
“Steady as she goes. Aye, sir.”
The second explosion felt like a collision with a Mack truck, rocking the sub so hard that men fell to the deck as alarms sounded in the control room. Gomez kept his balance by grabbing the periscope housing, but the XO and the navigator were sprawled on the deck.
“Everybody okay?” Gomez said.
“They’re calibrating the explosions for varying depths,”
the navigator said.
“Damage reports,” Gomez said.
A third explosion sent powerful shock waves through the sub, setting off more alarms. A second later the control room went black.
“Jesus, help us.”
“Somebody grab a flashlight!”
“What’s going on?”
The control room lights flashed on and off twice and then flashed on again.
“Do we have damage reports?” Gomez pressed.
“We temporarily lost electrical power, but all systems are now recovered, sir. The alarms sounding are collision alarms. That blast was so close that the sensors picked it up as a collision.”
“All right. Turn the alarms off and let’s get moving. Navigator! Change course! Go to zero-four-five degrees!”
“Changing course to zero-four-five degrees. Aye, sir!”
“Capitán! We have a torpedo in the water! One thousand yards and closing!”
“Probably a British Spearfish!” Gomez cursed. “Engineering! All ahead full!”
“All ahead full. Aye, sir!”
“Navigator! Keep me posted on that torp.”
“Aye, Capitán! Incoming torpedo at nine hundred yards and closing!”
“Engineering! Get those blasted engines up! Now!”
“Working on it, sir.”
“Incoming torpedo now at eight hundred fifty yards! Still closing!”
“Engines reengaged, Capitán!”
“All ahead full!”
“All ahead full! Aye, sir!”
Gomez felt the submarine lunge forward as the boat’s engines reengaged.
“Incoming torpedo at seven hundred fifty yards! We’re picking up the ping from the torp’s nose, Capitán.”
“Weapons Officer, prepare to fire two stern torpedoes on my command. Let’s see if we can shake it off our path.”
“Aye, sir. Preparing to fire two stern torps at your command.”
“Mister Ramirez!” he yelled at the sub’s helmsman. “Listen to me carefully.”
“I’m listening, sir.”
“You know we cannot outrun that torpedo, and if we maintain our current course, they’ll blow us out of the water.”
“Yes, sir.”
“When I order those two rear torps shot, you are to dive another fifty feet and turn fifteen degrees. Got that?”