The Will Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 1)

by Christopher Read

  Karenin’s orders were to help maintain the blockade, and the Admiral Golovko looked to be alone and outgunned. The world was a very different place to that of just twenty-four hours ago, and Karenin worried as to whether he should be basing his decision on a purely personal criterion – namely, what action would best help stabilise the coup d’état. The average Russian had little respect for their Navy and the Government treated them almost as second-class citizens. Underpaid, the sailors frequently stole what they could from their own ships, sending the proceeds back home to help their desperate families. With hardliners in charge, all that would be bound to change for the better.

  Decision made, the Gepard edged cautiously forwards. The atmosphere in the control room was relaxed and confident: the submarine was the hunter, silently patrolling its territory, always ready to make the most of any opportunity.

  “Conn, Sonar. Gold-One and Gold-Two confirmed as Arleigh Burke-class destroyer USS John Finn and Type 23 frigate HMS Portland; re-designating contacts by name. Now bearing zero-zero-eight; range 6800 metres; speed six knots on heading two-nine-five. Gold-Three now designated Gold-One, identity still unknown; same bearing, speed and range.”

  “Steady on three-four-zero,” Karenin ordered. “Secure all fans; rig for silent running.” He was content to watch and wait. If the Admiral Golovko needed help, then a comrade was close at hand.

  USS John Finn

  Young stood in the CIC and watched with concern the confusion of symbols on the tactical display. A hundred and fifty yards astern was the Gibraltar-registered tanker Alopochen, her destination the Liquid Fuel Terminal at Gdansk; in her wake trailed a second escort, HMS Portland. The edge of the Russian exclusion zone was some three miles distant, almost due west, the tactical display showing it as a thin red line. Cruising just inside the red boundary was a familiar guardian, the Admiral Golovko waiting patiently for the convoy’s arrival, her presence a persistent reminder of Russian intransigence.

  Young was thankful if a little surprised the Admiral Golovko was all alone, and just over the horizon on the northern sector of its patrol, one of the Finn’s two Seahawk helicopters scoured the Bay for any underwater threat, its dipping sonar in active mode to frighten off unwelcome visitors. Sonobuoys dropped by the Seahawk helped further extend the John Finn’s sonar reach, and even though intelligence had concluded that Monday’s contact was most likely one of Poland’s diesel-electric attack submarines, there were still doubts – it might even have been a totally false alert. The Baltic was proving to be a nightmare of confused signals; the Seahawk had chased down five false alerts in the last ninety minutes, and the John Finn’s Anti-Submarine Warfare Officer (ASWO) was forced to become rather more selective, taking his time with the last three potential contacts before responding with a resigned shake of his head.

  Young didn’t share the ASWO’s disappointment: their task was difficult enough without a Russian submarine to contend with, and deep down he was nervous as to exactly how far the Russians were prepared to go. Theoretically, the Seahawk’s operation was already in breach of the extended no-fly zone. Young had been instructed to ignore such restrictions if the operational safety of the convoy so dictated – thus leaving him with a very unhappy choice. He had serious concerns that the helicopter itself could become a target, a low-value option to illustrate Russian intent. Consequently, he had ordered the Seahawk not to enter the exclusion zone until the Golovko’s likely response was better understood.

  Young’s own orders permitted the use of deadly force should any of the convoy be attacked. Attacked – not impeded or baulked, and Young could once again be trying to batter his way through the blockade. If so, then the Alopochen would create a serious problem for the Russians: she was far off being a supertanker, but at 200 metres and displacement 50,000 tonnes – over five times that of the John Finn – her manoeuvrability was limited, thus leaving the Admiral Golovko with some fairly unpalatable options.

  In theory, NATO’s ultimatum to Russia had seemed simple enough. Not surprisingly, the insurance companies and the merchant ships’ crews were less enthusiastic about the potential risks, and it had taken various high-powered negotiations before a suitable compromise had been hammered out and volunteers found, appropriate bonus payments helping ease the way. The John Finn’s earlier success in breaking the blockade had apparently made the destroyer the ideal escort for the Alopochen and Young was keen to prove it had been no mere fluke. Yet, as before, he had no clear idea of how best to outfox the Admiral Golovko. Her companion of Monday was some three miles to the south and making no attempt to join the party – whether that was good news or not, Young couldn’t quite decide.

  Ten minutes later, he was back on the bridge, staring out at a sea like blue glass, mirroring the clear sky above. The atmosphere around him was relaxed, Young even managing to share a joke with the helmsman. The crew were again at General Quarters rather than Battle Stations, prepared for combat causalities and just one small step away from a combat alert. The Golovko was now a mile to the south-west, slowly meandering her way towards the convoy.

  Young’s chosen strategy was based on simplicity: the Alopochen was instructed to maintain her course and present speed of six knots come what may. If the Golovko got in the way that would be unfortunate; basically, it was another game of chicken, except the Russian tactics of Monday certainly wouldn’t work with such an unwieldy ship as the Alopochen, and the Golovko’s captain would be well aware of the tanker’s shortcomings.

  “Bridge, Combat. We’re now inside the Russian exclusion zone, Captain.”

  Young turned and nodded at the OOD, and seconds later the John Finn angled away, taking up a position some fifty yards off the Alopochen’s port bow. The destroyer kept station just ahead of the tanker, paralleling her course. Astern, HMS Portland closed to within seventy yards of the Alopochen, just off her starboard side.

  Young paced the John Finn’s bridge while anxiously awaiting the Golovko’s response. In his mind, he had gone through every possible scenario, trying to anticipate each danger and counter it effectively. But then he had no control over the Golovko, and even the Alopochen’s actions were unpredictable.

  The four ships crept closer, the Russian frigate travelling at no more than ten knots, eight hundred yards now between her and the convoy. A warning hooter sounded, then there was a puff of smoke from the Golovko’s 130mm gun. The shell landed a hundred yards from the tanker, far enough away for there to be a slight delay before the sound of the explosion reached the John Finn.

  A command from Young and the destroyer’s forward gun responded, the shell sending a cascade of spray out towards the Russian frigate. To Young’s eyes the explosion seemed rather less impressive than the Golovko’s offering, and it seemed a very strange way to engage the ‘enemy’, with both sides deliberately doing all they could to miss the other.

  Undeterred, the tanker steadfastly maintained her course. Young half-expected a radio message from the Alopochen’s captain, but there was nothing. According to reports, in previous exchanges the Russians had first hailed the errant merchant ship to warn it to turn back, but with the escorts’ presence the rules had plainly altered. There was a second shell from the Golovko, closer by some fifty yards, and again the John Finn returned fire.

  Young found himself clenching his fists, fearful as to what the next few moments might bring. The Alopochen’s captain was a brave man but he wasn’t suicidal: any degree of damage and he would turn tail, leaving the three warships to slug it out amongst themselves.

  The Golovko swept towards them, aiming directly at the tanker. Abruptly, she wrenched herself round to port, driving across the Alopochen’s bow; an instant later she swung sharply back to pass the tanker on the John Finn’s blind side. As the frigate slid between the Alopochen and the Portland, there was a burst of gunfire from one of her two heavy machine guns.

  The Alopochen never wavered, her great bulk thrashing her way on towards Gdansk. The Golovko appeared from und
er the tanker’s stern, the Portland having been forced to veer to starboard to avoid a collision.

  “Bridge, Combat. The Alopochen reports no damage; the Russians were just firing over their heads.”

  Young gave a long sigh of relief, immediately ordering the John Finn to reduce speed, while requesting that the Alopochen do the opposite. The Golovko was now behind the tanker, trying to turn and playing catch-up. If Young could interpose the John Finn between the Russian frigate and the tanker, then he would feel far more in control; the Golovko would then have two warships between her and her target.

  Whatever the Golovko tried, Young was determined to respond in kind – and at the moment the Russians were owed a warm welcome from the John Finn’s 25mm cannon

  K-335 Gepard

  “Conn, Sonar. We have multiple explosions in the water; Gold-One now leading convoy; range 4800 metres.”

  Karenin concentrated on the tactical display, trying to make sense of what was happening on the surface. Despite – or perhaps because of – the use of force, the merchant ship had obviously pushed his way past the Golovko, and the route to Gdansk was now open. With a destroyer and a frigate to protect Gold-One, the Golovko stood little chance of surviving should it choose to adopt a more effective method of stopping the merchant vessel.

  Karenin watched in frustration as the convoy moved ever deeper into the exclusion zone, the Admiral Golovko now lagging well behind. Abruptly he turned to his XO and gestured him to one side.

  “Yuri,” he said quietly, “Gold-One is now some eight kilometres inside the exclusion zone. Our orders are very clear: we must do all we can to prevent this merchant vessel reaching Gdansk. I intend to use deadly force – do you concur?”

  Yuri Alenikov was a competent, if uninspiring XO, a man who always followed the rules and consequently would never have his own command. He stood open-mouthed, staring at Karenin, before mumbling his answer. “Deadly force, Sir? You mean to sink the merchant vessel?”

  “That is one option,” Karenin replied, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. It was important for the others in the control room not to sense there was some dispute – there could be no second-thoughts or doubts if it came to a fight. “I believe the merchant vessel is a tanker, and sinking him would likely create an environmental catastrophe, affecting Kaliningrad as well as Poland. We could fire a torpedo but not arm it, and hope the threat itself encourages them to see sense and retreat. In either case, we might subsequently find ourselves under attack from both warships.” He paused, allowing Alenikov time to digest what he was saying. “Instead, I intend to fire two torpedoes at the American destroyer: if he is hit, the tanker will certainly flee, and we will also have reduced the opposing force by half.”

  Alenikov couldn’t hold Karenin’s gaze, “We should confirm our orders with Kaliningrad, Sir.”

  It was the sort of tame answer Karenin had half-expected. “That would take time, Yuri, and put the boat at risk. Our orders are perfectly clear, as are the Rules of Engagement. If we do nothing, the tanker will reach Gdansk and others will follow; by our inaction, we will have allowed this to happen.”

  Strictly speaking, peacetime use of the Gepard’s weapons could only take place with the agreement of both Captain and Executive Officer, but both of them knew that such a restriction was unlikely to hold under the present circumstances. Karenin was merely asking Alenikov for his support, and his refusal would only be relevant once normality had returned. Alenikov had formally signed to show he had read the submarine’s orders and the detailed Rules of Engagement, and Karenin’s interpretation was totally justified. It was a career-breaking decision, Alenikov finally choosing to follow the advice of his brain rather than his heart.

  “Permission to attack the USS John Finn is confirmed, Sir,” he said, rather more loudly than necessary. “The Rules of Engagement have been satisfied.”

  Karenin nodded his thanks, and moved back to the centre of the control room. “Sonar, where’s that ASW helicopter?”

  “It was last detected fifteen kilometres north-east of us, Sir; that was about three minutes ago.”

  “Very well; keep those reports coming.”

  “Visual confirmation, Captain?” Alenikov asked hesitantly.

  Karenin slowly shook his head, “It’s too risky, even with the distraction of the Golovko.”

  Alenikov chose not to press the point, despite the training manual suggesting Karenin’s decision was unwise. Alenikov was once more in control of his emotions, curiosity and an unexpected excitement subduing his concerns.

  “Weapons, Conn,” Karenin said. “Load tubes three and four with Type-53s; set solution for the John Finn; high-speed option.”

  The orders were repeated back so as to ensure no mistakes were made, and with four vessels in close proximity there was always the danger of hitting the wrong target. The Type-53 was a reliable multi-purpose torpedo, with a wake-homing mode for use against surface ships; the modern UGST variant was as capable as any of its Western counterparts, and even though the high-speed setting reduced its range, the John Finn was well within its limit. Wire-guided for the first twelve hundred metres, data from the torpedo could be fed back to the submarine and course corrections made, allowing the operator to bypass any countermeasures. Once the wires were cut, the torpedo’s own computer would guide it towards the predicted position of its target before it automatically switched to wake-homing mode.

  Karenin had been tempted to test out the brand-new anti-ship variant of the Shkval (squall) torpedo but its reputation was as temperamental as its name. The Shkval was one of Russia’s more brilliant designs: gases from its rocket engine were deflected by the shaped nose-cone to create a gas bubble through which the torpedo was essentially flying, allowing it to reach speeds of over four hundred kilometres per hour, five times the maximum velocity of the Type-53. Although the Shkval’s range was shorter than conventional torpedoes, its speed ensured the target vessel would have no chance to manoeuvre out of the way. It also existed in a more basic form as the Shkval-3 anti-torpedo, designed specifically for fast-reaction use. In this new and unclear confrontation between Russia and the West, standing orders from Kaliningrad ensured two Shkval-3s were permanently on stand-by, pre-loaded in torpedo tubes one and two.

  “Conn, Sonar. Admiral Golovko has changed course; now 2900 metres astern of Gold-One, heading zero-seven-five.”

  Karenin was as close as he dared go and it looked as if the Golovko was finally giving up the chase. “Confirm solution on the John Finn.”

  “Solution confirmed, Sir; John Finn: bearing three-five-three, relative zero-one-three; speed ten knots; range 4500 metres.”

  “Fire tubes three and four...”

  USS John Finn

  Young was trying hard not to let his smile become too obvious, keen to maintain an air of imperturbability, as though he had always expected to win through. There had been some more gunfire from both sides, and some wayward shots had struck the Alopochen’s superstructure, but no-one had been injured. The tanker’s captain was maintaining his course towards Gdansk, HMS Portland cruising along in her wake some hundred yards astern, the John Finn another hundred yards further back. Fortunately, the Golovko seemed to have realised it could do little to stop the Alopochen without risking innocent lives and had finally turned to head east towards the edge of the exclusion zone.

  Time now to take stock and work out whether the Russians had finally given up, or if round two was about to start. The John Finn’s Seahawk was hovering to the south-west, Young now happy to allow it to operate inside the exclusion zone. The shallow seabed was still proving a difficult challenge, spurious echoes creating a host of false contacts.

  Captain, Sonar. New contact... Torpedo in the water! Confirm two torpedoes, bearing one-seven-one, range 4600 yards and closing!”

  “Man Battle Stations!” Young felt a chill hand grip his body, his mind wrestling with unclear options, trusting that the torpedoes were the standard wake-homing and not
the ultra-fast Shkval. As he raced down to the CIC, the Aegis Combat System automatically analysed the threat with the command-and-decision element reacting accordingly and far faster than the Tactical Action Officer or any human could ever hope to do. There was an explosion of sound as two anti-submarine rockets (ASROC) were fired in quick succession, each missile racing away at the speed of sound to deliver its payload of a homing torpedo close to the target submarine’s predicted position. Even as Young reached the CIC the John Finn was already zigzagging, one of the two towed torpedo decoys – known as Nixie – streaming out astern.

  Although simulations indicated the Nixie stood a reasonable chance of distracting a torpedo, it also acquired information for the Finn’s newest and best defence against the Russian wake-homing torpedoes – the inelegantly named anti-torpedo torpedo or ATT. The ship reverberated as the first ATT was launched from the torpedo tubes stationed on the aft missile deck; a count of six and a second torpedo leapt after its companion.

  The John Finn was fighting back as best she could and Young stood and stared at the tactical display, watching two flickering red symbols as they headed towards the John Finn, seemingly oblivious to all countermeasures. HMS Portland was doing her part, it not yet certain whether both of the Russian torpedoes were targeted at the John Finn or even if they might soon be joined by others.

  Abruptly, one of the Russian torpedoes switched back and forth to search-mode, turning away to begin a chase of the Nixie, before being destroyed by the first of the ATTs. The second Russian torpedo was rather less naïve, yet still confused by the combination of the Nixie and the Finn’s multiple rapid turns, the destroyer’s overlapping wake misleading the targeting computer into reacting prematurely. Still short of its optimum position below the John Finn’s hull, the torpedo exploded close to the stern on the port side.