Exit Plan

by Larry Bond

  “Just my luck,” complained Guthrie cynically. “I always evade in the direction of the torpedo that is wire-guided.” It was a poor attempt at humor, but he had to keep his own fear in check. His crew had to see him as the Rock of Gibraltar, even when things looked really, really bad.

  “Weps, launch a salvo of two ATTs at torpedo number one and pop off another ADC Mark 5,” Guthrie ordered. He then glanced at the speed indicator; they were only making ten knots. If this didn’t work, it would all be over in less than a minute.

  Zelinski targeted the incoming weapon with two antitorpedo torpedoes and hit the launch button. Another set of external tubes in the submarine’s after superstructure ejected their contents, and the minitorpedoes sped off down the bearing to their target. The ATTs were small compared to one of Michigan’s Mark 48s, only six-and-three-quarter inches in diameter and ten feet long. Designed to destroy attacking torpedoes, they were a new addition to Michigan’s defensive suite.

  Development of the ATTs had been troublesome, vexed with numerous technical difficulties, and caused the program to suffer one delay after another. Test trials had shown that accurately tracking a torpedo in the water was considerably harder than tracking a missile in the air, even though the latter was many times faster. But despite the less-than-desired hit rates, everyone agreed they were better than nothing.

  The three underwater missiles closed each other at a combined speed of eighty knots. In a little under twenty seconds, the first ATT streaked past the Iranian weapon—a clean miss. The second ATT, however, locked on, homed, and exploded within inches of the incoming torpedo, destroying it.

  ~ * ~

  Kilo-Class Submarine, Yunes, SS903

  The entire crew cheered when they heard the explosion. They had “harpooned their whale!” Everyone hugged each other and patted their captain on the back. He had to shout at the top of his lungs to be heard. “Be quiet! Man your posts!” he screamed angrily.

  The men, chastised by their captain, returned to their duties but they still bubbled with excitement and joy. Lieutenant Commander Khadem looked at his skipper with confusion. He was just as perplexed by Mehr’s behavior as everyone else in the central post. Leaning over, he whispered, “What’s wrong, sir? Aren’t you pleased? You nailed that American dog!”

  Mehr simply shook his head, it just didn’t feel right. “It was too easy, Navid. Far too easy.”

  “But everything worked just as you planned,” the first officer protested. “You foresaw everything. Truly Allah has given you a great victory!”

  “Perhaps,” Mehr replied quietly. “If so, then it costs us nothing to indulge my caution. We will stay on this course for a little longer, then turn west and slow down. Once those jammers die off, we’ll know for certain if we got him. In the meantime, we remain at battle stations.”

  ~ * ~

  USS Michigan, SSGN 727

  The explosion caused Michigan to rock slightly, but it wasn’t close enough to cause any damage. The control room had become absolutely silent while the ATTs raced toward the incoming TEST-71 torpedo. A collective sigh of relief was the only indication that people were breathing again. The acting executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Harper, was the first to break the stillness. “Operational test of the ATT completed satisfactorily, sir.”

  “Amen!” cried Zelinski.

  Guthrie chuckled, but quickly composed himself. That was just round one. This fight wasn’t over yet. Looking around, he could see everyone in the control room staring at him, waiting for him to tell them what he was going to do next. Clearing his throat, he announced the basic tenet of his battle plan.

  “Attention in Control. My intention is to stay on this course for a few more minutes to clear datum. I will then slow and come about to the southwest and attempt to find the Kilo. Once we detect him, I will deploy a mobile decoy to draw him away and maneuver the boat into position to engage with a Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo. Carry on.”

  The captain’s declaration to shoot back electrified everyone in the control room. No submarine had ever fired a Mark 48 in anger, and the very idea jumpstarted the fire control party to provide the best possible firing solution. With his battle plan articulated, Guthrie had time to just think. Immediately, he found his thoughts going back to Jerry and the SEALs. He’d abandoned them, left them alone to fight a far superior enemy. Should I just try and get away and see if I can get off a Cormorant? he said to himself. How long would that take? No! Stop it! Guthrie pounded his fist on the countertop. He didn’t have time for this kind of second-guessing. I have to fight for my ship.

  Guthrie joined Simmons on the periscope stand; he needed to take a look at the sonar display. The Iranian Kilo was still out there. But before he could find them, he had to clear his own countermeasure. After waiting patiently for several minutes, Guthrie started acting on his battle strategy.

  “Weps, make tubes one and two ready in all respects, with the exception of opening the outer doors.”

  “Make tubes one and two ready in all respects, with the exception of opening the outer doors, aye, sir,” repeated the weapons officer eagerly.

  “Alright, people, here we go,” said Guthrie. “Helm, all ahead two-thirds.”

  “All ahead two-thirds, aye, sir. Maneuvering answers ahead two-thirds.”

  “Very well, helm. Left fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course two two five.”

  “My rudder is left fifteen, coming to course two two five.”

  Guthrie reached up to the intercom. “Sonar, Conn, we are coming left to clear the ADCs, keep a sharp ear to the south.”

  “Conn, Sonar, aye,” Buckley replied.

  ~ * ~

  Kilo-Class Submarine, Yunes, SS903

  “Helmsman, left standard rudder. Steady on course two seven zero. Make turns for four knots,” ordered Mehr.

  “My rudder is left standard, coming to new course two seven zero. Speed is slowing to four knots,” acknowledged the helmsman.

  “Very well.” Mehr rose and looked around the central post. He wanted to make sure everyone was listening to him.

  “Attention in Central Post. We are separating from our jammers to enable us to search for the American. I am not yet convinced we got him, so stay focused on your duties. If he is still out there, and we do find him, we’ll need to quickly make another attack. We no longer have the element of surprise, so stay alert!”

  Khadem listened to Mehr’s proclamation and noted the emphasis on not becoming complacent. While he was still skeptical, his captain was the best in the Iranian Navy, and he didn’t get that way by pandering to the senior officers with showy demonstrations. Mehr knew his boat, and his men. If he had an itch between his shoulders, it was because something wasn’t quite right.

  “Sir, tubes two and four have been reloaded. And another MG-24 jammer is in the countermeasure launcher,” Khadem reported.

  “Very good, First Officer.” Mehr’s eyes remained focused on the sonar display.

  Khadem hesitated, standing by his captain, struggling to find the rights words with which to question him, to ask him to justify his actions.

  “You’re still convinced we got him, aren’t you, Navid?” Mehr preempted him.

  “Yes, sir. Everything points to that,” the embarrassed first officer replied.

  “And you want to know why I don’t agree?” There was a slight smile on Mehr’s face. Khadem nodded silently.

  “I don’t for a moment believe the Pasdaran’s propaganda about Americans,” the captain spoke sternly. “The Americans are more professional than the Pasdaran could ever hope to be. And they don’t normally promote fools to be captains of their submarines. My intuition tells me that this captain is not a fool, and he had a trick up his sleeve. No, I don’t think we hit him. The weapon may have detonated because of the countermeasure, but my gut tells me he’s still out there listening for us. If I’m wrong, we have nothing to lose by remaining vigilant for another hour. If I’m right, it just might save our lives.”


  ~ * ~

  USS Michigan, SSGN 727

  It was a long three minutes. Guthrie paced around the periscope stand, pausing only to look occasionally at the sonar display. Nothing. The ADC Mark 4 sonar jammer he had deployed was exceptionally loud and affected the BQCKLO hull arrays just as much as their adversary’s sensors. They had to get clear so the fancy signal processing equipment could digitally screen out the influences of their countermeasure.

  “Conn, Sonar, new contact, bearing one three five. Designate new contact Sierra-five seven.”

  “Sonar, Conn, aye,” replied Simmons. Guthrie was already on his way to the sonar shack.

  “What do you have for me, Woody?” Guthrie asked eagerly, as he entered the darkened space where four sonar operators worked their magic.

  Buckley pointed to the passive broadband display showing the input from the spherical array. “Here is the weak trace we just picked up off the sphere. There is nothing on the low frequency bow array—no narrowband tonals—but without a towed array we can’t be confident of this. The initial cut on bearing rate suggests he’s close, about two degrees per minute, drawing left. My chief here says it’s a submerged contact, and I concur, sir.”

  Although Buckley couldn’t see it, there was a big grin on Guthrie’s face. “Well done, gentlemen, well done. We’ll stay on this course for another minute or two, and get a good first leg. Then I’ll turn us to the southeast. Don’t lose ‘em!”

  “Aye, aye, sir!” exclaimed the occupants of the sonar space.

  Guthrie walked quickly over to the geoplot and gestured for Harper to join him.

  “What do you have so far, Erik?” the captain demanded.

  “Sir, we have two decoys. One bears one three zero and the other one three seven. If you add in the bearing spread from the torpedoes, that puts the Kilo somewhere down here.” Nelson pointed to a circle two thousand yards in diameter, five thousand yards to the southeast.

  “Very nice, Erik. Well done. You, too, Sean and Daniel.” Guthrie was pleased with what his junior officers had put together given the sparse data they had to work with; but they had missed an important clue. “However, I think we can improve upon this a little. Hand me the ruler, please, Daniel.”

  Guthrie took the ruler and marked lines between the bearing cuts for the two torpedoes, explaining as he drew. “If you assume these weapons were fired nearly simultaneously, then the respective ranges to them, should be fairly close as well. By linking the corresponding bearings together, you get rough positions, which we can trace back to their point of origin.”

  The captain then aligned the ruler along the position dots and drew two more lines. Guthrie finished by drawing another line through the two bearings to the decoys. The three lines formed a small triangle within the much larger circle constructed by his JOs.

  “Sweet,” whispered Hogan.

  “This last line is more of a swag,” admitted Guthrie, “but it’s not that sensitive as long as it’s roughly in an east-west direction, the direction of his travel. That, gentlemen, is where the Kilo fired from. Now let’s figure out where he’s going.”

  Porter and Hogan plotted out the rest of the bearing information and merged it with their skipper’s initial starting point. In less than a minute, they had worked out an initial solution of course two six three, speed six knots, range four thousand yards. For all the high-tech ASW hardware his boat carried, nothing conveyed more information to Kyle Guthrie than a good old-fashioned paper plot. He wrote down the initial solution on a fire control chit and handed it to Harper. “Have Sandy put this into her analyzer and start stacking the dots against it,” he ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the engineer. He took the information and read it to Ensign Wagner, who quickly entered the starting solution into the fire control console. She immediately began manipulating the passive sonar bearing information by adjusting the course, speed, and range knobs until the bearing dots formed a nice neat vertical stack. The initial solution was a good one, and the dots stacked up quickly. They had a good first leg. Harper gave the skipper a thumbs-up sign.

  “Attention in Control,” Guthrie announced. “I intend to come left, and execute a second leg for an Ekelund range. As we turn, we’ll deploy a mobile decoy to distract the Kilo skipper’s attention. After a good fire control solution has been generated, we’ll launch a single Mark 48 ADCAP. Stay on your toes. This isn’t over yet. Carry on.”

  “Skipper, won’t turning to the left get us awfully close to the Kilo?” Simmons voice was edgy with apprehension.

  “You’re correct, Isaac, we’ll be closing the target. But if he’s where I think he is, his sonar will be staring straight at the ADC Mark 4 countermeasure that’s still cranking out a ton of noise. It should not only mask our approach, but also our shot. To quote our XO, ‘we’ll be coming at him from out of the sun.’”

  Simmons face fell when Guthrie mentioned the XO. “I sure hope the XO and the other guys are okay. We left them high and dry.”

  For a brief moment Guthrie took the comment personally, but quickly realized that his navigator was merely expressing the same feelings of concern that they all shared. “I hope so, too, Nav. But right now, we can’t afford to think about it.”

  “Helm, left fifteen degrees rudder. Steady on course one three zero,” commanded Guthrie.

  “Captain, my helm is left fifteen, coming to course one three zero.”

  “Very well, helm. Weps, stand by to launch a mobile decoy, course two two five, speed eight knots.”

  Zelinski quickly punched the buttons on the countermeasure panel, double-checked the settings, and reported, “Standing by to launch mobile decoy, course and speed laid in.”

  “Launch countermeasure!” barked Guthrie.

  “Countermeasure away, Captain.”

  Let’s hope he falls for this, Guthrie thought. If he doesn’t, it’ll get real interesting, real fast. Looking around the control room, he saw his crew carrying out their duties calmly and with determination. Pride filled him as he watched the team that he and Jerry Mitchell had worked so hard to train functioning like a well-oiled machine, preparing for the moment when he would order them to shoot.

  It just seemed so bizarre; he had gone through this procedure countless times during his career, but that was in the attack trainers or on a test range. This was real; he was going to launch a warshot torpedo at a hostile target that had already taken a shot at him. The Kilo skipper was about to get what he deserved; no more, no less.

  “Open the outer door on tube one.”

  ~ * ~

  Kilo-Class Submarine, Yunes, SS903

  There was an old joke posted on the squadron headquarters bulletin board from some Western defense journal that read, “ASW means Awfully Slow Warfare.” Mehr couldn’t agree more. It had been a little over ten minutes since their initial attack, and there still was no sign of the Ohio-class boat. Had they truly hit the Americans the first time? Or had her captain decided that discretion was the better part of valor?

  All but one of the deployed countermeasures had ceased to function and sank to the bottom, clearing up the sonar picture immensely. This last one, deployed by the Americans, was still causing some problems. Were they hiding nearby, lying in wait? Mehr dismissed the idea, because to use a countermeasure effectively in that manner he’d have to know exactly where Yunes was. And that was most improbable.

  The Iranian skipper stood up and stretched. He was starting to get drowsy in his chair and he needed to get his blood moving. It would be bad form to fall asleep in the middle of the hunt. He strolled around all of the watch stations, checking in on his men, who had to be just as tired as he was. After speaking with Lieutenant Kashani at the MVU-110 fire control console, Mehr wandered back to the sonar cubicle. He leaned up against the door to the closet-sized space and looked inside; the two operators seemed to be in a trance, both watching their displays and listening intently to the waters around them.

  “Any luck?” inquired Mehr polit
ely. Neither man answered. He was about to address them more formally when the sergeant vigorously waved his hand and said, “Ssh!”

  Mehr froze in place. The last thing he wanted to do was disturb these men if they were on to something. For what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only about twenty seconds, he hovered over the two sonar operators. Finally, the sergeant looked at his captain and reported, “Faint contact moving away from the sonar jammer. Bearing green three four.”

  Mehr patted the sonar operator on the shoulder and said, “Pass the tracking data to fire control.” Marching into central post, he immediately began spitting out commands.

  “Fire control, begin tracking the new contact. Stand by for rapid salvo firing.”

  “Yes, sir,” Kashani replied, as his fingers mover swiftly over the console.