Seawolf tsf-2

by David E. Meadows

  “Chief, can you come up here a minute?” Sonar Technician Second Class Calhoun asked, and then grimaced as he waited for the snide comment.

  Herbert J. Calhoun was the son of a career deputy sheriff from a northern county in South Carolina. Career policemen seldom earned enough to pay for their children to go to college; deputy sheriffs earned even less. Herbert J. Calhoun knew his parents would have scratched, fought, and suffered to send him to college, but with two younger brothers and two even younger sisters, he knew they couldn’t afford it. They couldn’t even afford a community college. So he joined the Navy for the G.I. Bill, to discover, after four years, he was enjoying himself. He reenlisted. He had six more months to go on this second tour, and Calhoun intended to get out. His father’s untimely death a year ago had a lot to do with the decision. The other was he had been accepted for the University of South Carolina to start in the spring quarter.

  “What is it, Calhoun? I’m busy right now,” Chief Boyce yelled back on the ship’s intercom, leaning back as he threw his feet on the desk.

  With one shoe he pushed the enlisted fitness reports to one side. “Not doing anything I enjoy, but still busy,” he mumbled to himself.

  “Chief, I got a sound event on the SQR that I don’t understand.”

  “So? Why should I be surprised about that?”

  “Ah, come on, Chief. This is a real new one. I’ve never heard anything like it before and I really need you to look at it.”

  “Like the whale with the cold in the Atlantic?”

  “Ah. Chief. You can’t expect us to be as good as you. I mean, look — you’re a chief.” Sonar Technician Second Class Calhoun said, patronizing the asshole. Of course, I could always get my degree and come back in the Navy as an officer and fire your ass, Herbert J. Calhoun thought.

  “Okay, okay, okay. You win, I’m coming. Keep your shirt on, Calhoun, but if it’s another whale I’m gonna be pissed,” Boyce replied, clicking the intercom off. He shoved himself upright in the chair and tied his shoes. Chief Boyce leisurely shuffled the paperwork into a haphazard stack, and shoved it into his top desk drawer. Murmuring to himself about never having the time to do everything they expected him to do, he stood and stretched.

  “Probably marine life,” he grumbled as he walked out of the office, pulling the door shut behind him. A few minutes later he dashed through Combat to the ASW module, earning the lanky chief the attention of the watch-standers. His thin smoke-wrinkled face intentionally twisted into what he hoped showed a mask of professional concern. His brown eyes searched the compartment, pleased that Lieutenant Frank, the CICWO, noticed. Chief Boyce wiped his hook nose as he slowed near the ASW module. He knew he impressed everyone when they first met him.

  What he didn’t know was that it didn’t take long for most to realize that Chief Boyce could “talk the talk” but couldn’t “walk the walk.” “What is it, Calhoun?” Chief Boyce asked.

  “Look at this, Chief,” Calhoun said, pointing to a slight hiccup running up the graphic waterfall of the SQR. “See this blip here? It showed up on the last watch. Johnny told me, when he was going off watch, that he thought it was something in the system. But I’ve gone over the system, ran diagnostics twice, and can’t find one damn thing wrong with it. When I switch to another frequency or try to get a reading on another bearing, the blip goes away.” Calhoun paused as Boyce read the display.

  “It’s not us, Chief,” he added with conviction, shaking his head.

  “Has the sound event remained on this constant bearing even when we turn?” Boyce asked, his eyes shifting back and forth as he analyzed the display.

  “I don’t know, Chief. We haven’t turned since I came on watch, and it’s been on a constant bearing.”

  If the sound event remained on the same bearing when the USS Hayler turned, then most likely it was something in the system or resonating from the destroyer itself. If the waterfall showed the anomaly drifting off the bearing during a turn, then something was out there.

  “If it’s been there nearly two hours, then it’ll be there later. Run another diagnostic, Calhoun, on the system and if that doesn’t identify anything, then we’ll see if the OOD will do a course change for us.”

  “Chief, trust me! Can we get him to do a turn now? I’ve run diagnostics twice and I’m telling you there ain’t nothing wrong with the system. Besides, if it is something, then it may not be out there later, Chief,” Calhoun said, gritting his teeth. He wondered if they had “dickheads” at the University of South Carolina. “I think we ought to report it.”

  “Calhoun, I’ve been in the Navy nearly twenty years. Twenty years I’ve been doing this job and while I know you’ve run diagnostics, sometimes a little experience, like mine, is just the thing to spot something you’ve probably missed.” Chief Boyce patted Calhoun on the shoulder.

  “So, just run the diagnostics like I told you to.” Calhoun sighed. “All right. Chief, I’ll do it. But, I’m telling you it’s a waste of time. What if …”

  “I know, Calhoun, what if it’s a submarine out there,” Chief Boyce finished. ““What it’s’ bug the shit out of me. And you know why?

  Well, I’ll tell you. “What ifs’ cause a lot of unnecessary work for everyone. Do you want to turn the crew out of their racks or jerk them away from the last ten minutes of the mess deck movie because we have a sound event, only to find out later that it’s a loose wire or something? Do you know what shit I’ll take in the goat locker when we finally do discover it and the old man secures from General Quarters?

  “Hey, AS Wipe they’ll say, ‘seen any subs lately?” And that would be the least of your worries.”

  “But, Chief, if we turn now and find we do have a submarine, then everyone is going to love the shit out of you and the captain’s gonna pin a medal, right there, on you,” Calhoun said, poking Boyce hard on the left side of his chest.

  Calhoun wiped his jet-black hair off his forehead and threw his hands up in the air. “But, Chief Boyce, if we delay and it is a submarine, we may find ourselves floating in the middle of the Med like the Gearing sailors, and if that happens, then everyone will blame you.”

  “Calhoun, cut the crap and get the diagnostics ready,” the chief said, rubbing his chin. What if Calhoun was right and he was wrong?

  If it was a submarine and he missed it … he didn’t want to think about what would happen. Calhoun was right about one thing, though. If it was a submarine then he’d be a hero. The chief paced back and forth behind the second class as Calhoun went about the mechanics of setting up the system to run a diagnostic program that Boyce knew would take ten to twelve minutes to run. Ten to twelve minutes if they didn’t interfere or stop the testing to check out a reading.

  Damn, he hated to make decisions; especially ones that had the great potential of reflecting adversely on him. September was less than seventy days away. Less than one hundred days until the Old Man ranked the chief petty officers for promotion to senior chief petty officer.

  Last time he was in the bottom half of the rankings with the “Promotable” block checked, with little chance this time of moving upward. He needed at least a “Must Promote,” even if “Early Promote” was out of reach.” “Bout ready, Chief,” Calhoun said over his shoulder.

  Of course, he hadn’t really done anything eye-catching this marking period except coming back late from liberty in Naples two months ago.

  “Damn,” he said. Boyce believed rankings were more a case of who kept their noses clean and “butt-snorkeled” the best rather than professional expertise. His performance was as good as, if not better than, the other chiefs in the goat locker. He couldn’t do any worse than he already had, and all things considered, if Calhoun had a sub marine, then he, the chief, would reap the benefits of the discovery.

  If not, he could always say how he had doubted it was a submarine, but felt the safety of the ship overrode any personal opinion. Yeah, it’d work. With a little luck, he could straddle that fence and shine with ei
ther outcome.

  “Calhoun, you may be right,” he said, patting the second class petty officer on the shoulder. Shoulders made hard and firm from a daily regimen of weight lifting. “Let’s ask the watch officer if he’ll have the OOD change course a few degrees for a couple of minutes.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” Calhoun replied excitedly. Damn, vanity and fear had worked again with the chief. “That’ll do it. Ten degrees will either cause the blip to move with us or change its line of bearing.” Chief Boyce might not believe it was a submarine, but Calhoun knew it was.

  This was a real, live submarine and he had found it. Damn, nearly eight years in the Navy and his first submarine — exercise ones didn’t count.

  “Okay, keep tracking, Calhoun. I’m going to Combat and talk with the tactical action officer. Lieutenant Frank. He’s an okay guy and if he tells the OOD to do it, then the OOD will alter course. Yeah, he’s the one to talk to.” He patted Calhoun again on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”

  Boyce was gone only a minute before he returned. “It’ll be a couple of minutes, Calhoun. Lieutenant Frank has to ask permission from the captain.” Boyce thought Lieutenant Frank had the flexibility to maneuver the ship without asking the captain’s permission. With the captain involved, the chance for Boyce to look bad increased. He had hoped to avoid the captain until they were sure of what they had. He wiped the sweat from his palms on his stained khaki trousers. Boyce regretted asking Lieutenant Frank to maneuver the ship. He was opening himself up to weeks — no, months — of ridicule if this proved bogus.

  As they waited, Boyce and Calhoun scrutinized the display. Solid lines, millimeter-separated, flowed down the screen, displaying the underwater sound environment that surrounded the Hayler.

  “Have you listened to this yet?” Chief Boyce asked.

  “I tried to, Chief, but I can’t hear anything. The only thing I have is this steady blip that stays at two eight zero relative. Now if we turn ten degrees to starboard, then the blip—”

  “Should be two seven zero relative. If we turn to port ten degrees, it will shift to two nine zero,” the chief finished. “Calhoun, quit trying to be a smart ass.”

  “Moi? Not me, Chief, I wouldn’t be trying that,” Calhoun mocked, smiling, as he touched his chest in mock surprise. No way Chief Boyce was going to spoil this moment.

  “That’s all right. You’re one good operator to catch that blip. Unless you’re looking right for it you can’t see it. and don’t go tell anyone I said that. It’d ruin my reputation. I will see that you get full credit for it.”

  “Well, Chief, I really didn’t catch it. Johnny saw it during his watch. He wasn’t sure what it was.”

  “Did Smithy run a diagnostic?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Chief. He just pointed it out and said it was probably in the system.”

  “Then Petty Officer Smith didn’t do his job. You did,” the chief declared. Tomorrow he’d have a talk with Petty Officer John Smith about proper procedures in the ASW module. If they ran more ASW drills, he wouldn’t have this problem of explaining what his sailors should know intuitively.

  The captain walked through the hatch. Behind him stood Lieutenant Frank.

  “What you got. Chief?”

  Boyce jumped. “Captain,” he replied hoarsely. “Calhoun has a sound anomaly that we are unable to equate to a systems glitch.”

  “Is it a possible sub?”

  “I’m not sure. Skipper. What we would like to do, with your permission, sir, is change the ship’s course about ten degrees to see if the blip follows us. If it does …”

  “I know. Chief. [used to be the ASW officer on my first ship, USS Caron. Show me the blip.” The captain moved to the SQR and stared intently at the waterfall.

  “I don’t see anything,” the captain said.

  “Right here, sir.” Calhoun reached up with his pencil and pointed to the slight hiccup running down the waterfall.

  “You sure that’s a sound event and not just wishful thinking on a boring watch?” the captain asked, eyeing the young second class searchingly.

  Sweat broke out on Calhoun’s forehead. Oka, Chief, you answer the Old Man, Calhoun said to himself, but he knew Boyce well enough to know he wasn’t going to answer. Damn. Oh, well, he only had six months to go.

  Calhoun took a deep breath. “I don’t think so, Captain,” he said as confidently as possible. “I think something’s out there.” He crossed his fingers and hoped the Old Man agreed.

  “Okay, let’s find out. Let’s see the history of the noise.”

  Calhoun reached up and twisted the knobs. Where before, the waterfall pattern was a series of slightly separated lines, it now displayed tightly packed lines running down the screen, covering a much longer time period. The periodic clicks now clearly showed a pattern.

  “Okay, I see what you’re talking about, Calhoun,” said the captain as he reached up and touched the hiccup on the screen. He turned to Boyce. “Good work. Chief.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Boyce replied. “We thought you needed to know about this. Though, sir. it could be a system anomaly, but we’ve run diagnostics twice and they indicate a clear system.” Stay astride of that fence, he thought.

  “Okay, let’s find out what we’ve got.”

  The captain reached over to the intercom box and pressed the button for the bridge. “Office of the deck, this is the captain. Come right ten degrees for ten minutes. Combat, notify the OTC that we are changing course to open up our baffle.”

  “Aye. aye. Captain.”

  The captain turned to the three men. “Don’t want to alarm the battle group yet, do we?” The captain’s face melted into a smile.

  “Lieutenant Frank, go ahead and have Combat set the ASW team in the event we decide to call it a possible submarine.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the lieutenant replied, and hurried out to get Combat ready.

  That meant resetting the holographic table from surface to undersea.

  The holographic plot was a new analytical tool installed last year that allowed the Hayler to fight its battles from a three-dimensional display that showed range, bearing, altitude, and/or depth. Prior to holograph plotting, they depended on operators putting pencil markings on graph paper and connecting lines to show threat position and maneuvering. Most ships still depended on the manual method.

  “Captain,” the squawk box blared. “Officer of the deck; the OTC said five minutes, sir, and not to close the Nassau closer than six thousand yards. He said it’s getting dark and he didn’t want to have to start evasive maneuvering at this time of night.”

  “Roger, OOD. Go ahead and change course ten degrees to starboard.

  Then, I want to wait four minutes and change it back twenty degrees port. We’ll stay there for another four minutes and then return to base course.”

  The OOD acknowledged the order and signed off.

  “There!” the captain said to Boyce. “That gives you plenty of course changes to determine whether you’re going to grab the brass ring or not.”

  Boyce stroked his chin. And he really needed that ring. Promotion to senior chief would be just enough to keep the wife and kids off welfare, if he could keep her off credit cards.

  Lieutenant Frank reappeared. “We’re nearly ready, Captain. It’ll take a couple of minutes to reset the holograph plot.”

  The captain nodded, his attention riveted on the waterfall.

  The USS Hayler heeled to the right as the ship turned to starboard.

  “Should have told him to use a five-degree rudder,” the captain shared with those around him. “I think he’s coming about a little too fast.”

  The tilt of the ship broke up the waterfall presentation and masked the reading. It would be a few seconds after the ship settled out before a valid reading could be obtained.

  The ship came back on a level keel as the OOD brought the rudder amidships. SQR graphics began to etch their way from the top of the screen downward, millimeter by mill
imeter. The four men watched impatiently as the waterfall reached a quarter-inch thickness. The blip was still there, but on a new bearing of two seven zero.

  They looked at the captain.

  He nodded and flipped on the intercom. “OOD, this is the captain. I want a slow turn to port of twenty degrees. Minimum rudder. Got that?”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” the OOD repeated. “Twenty-degree port turn, minimum rudder, minimum roll.”

  “You got it, Lieutenant. Execute when ready.”

  “Lieutenant Frank, set the Gold TMA team,” the captain ordered. “I want to start a target motion analysis against this anomaly.”

  “Do you want to call it poss sub, Captain?” Lieutenant Frank asked.

  The captain bit his lower lip. “Not yet, Lieutenant. Not yet. I’m not completely sure it isn’t something else. Let’s do a bit of TMA. A little target motion analysis won’t hurt anyone and it’s good training.

  We don’t get enough opportunities to do ASW training as it is.”

  “Yes, sir, Captain. Should I tell the OTC what we’re doing?” “No, not yet. I will, if I think we need to,” he said, looking at his watch. “It’s ten till now, so use the IMC. I don’t want to use it after taps, if we can avoid it. The crew is tired enough without disturbing what little rest they do manage.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Frank answered. He hurried out the hatch.

  The USS Hayler, like other destroyers, had a minimum of two TMA teams of six to eight officers and sailors. The Gold team would begin a long, tedious computation by marking the bearings of the blip against the Hayler’s course changes. As ship’s course changed, bearings to the blip would change and in fifteen to twenty minutes, the number-one TMA team, the Gold team, would have a rough course, speed, and range to the mysterious blip being tracked by ASW — if the target didn’t change its course and speed. Depth would be the question mark.

  “Captain, starting our turn to port.” the squawk box announced from the bridge.

  The turn was barely felt as the OOD eased the Hayler’s rudder to five degrees port. On the waterfall display the blip began to move slowly against the ship’s direction. When the ship steadied on course three one nine, the sound event beared two eight nine.