Seawolf tsf-2

by David E. Meadows

  “Sir, the bastard sunk her. With all due respect, Captain, they should know that Rodgers is gone!” the XO said.

  “No, XO. You’re wrong. The Rodgers isn’t gone. The Navy is full of USS John Rodgers,” replied Holman softly as he stared out to sea.

  “We’ve had captains like Spangle and ships like Rodgers throughout our history, and we’ll have captains like him and crews like the Rodgers in the future, and when our enemies want to defeat us, they won’t be able to. For you can never defeat the courage of those like Captain Spangle and the USS John Rodgers who make our Navy what it is. XO, they need to know the courage of that ship, in that you are right. But for the time being, I want Hue City, Ramage, and those SH-60s’ attentions on that submarine.

  I don’t want them grieving for Rodgers. I don’t want emotions overshadowing their duty. There will be time to wake the Rodgers memory when this is over. Right now, I want that submarine!” Holman slammed his palms down on the hard rail of the bridge wing and faced the two men. “And I want to know who in the hell was responsible, because I may not want the crew to be emotional, but by God, there’s no goddamn reason why I can’t be!”

  “May I recommend then, Captain, we tell them Rodgers has been hit and we will fully brief them following battle stations.”

  Holman nodded. “Okay, XO. Tell them that. It’s what I said anyway.”

  The master chief interrupted. “Captain, the S-3s are ready for launch.”

  “What course are we on?”

  “We are steadying up on course zero niner zero, Captain.” So we, too, are heading into the Strait of Gibraltar.

  “Tell them to launch when ready.”

  Several seconds later the roar of engines, seeking full power, roared through the bridge, followed almost immediately with the blast as the cherries broke and the catapult shot the aircraft from zero to two hundred knots in three seconds. The S-3s shot off the end of the flight deck, dipped slightly beneath the bow before their two engines pulled the antisubmarine jets upward.

  The Viking aircraft turned right, away from the Spanish mainland. The aircraft immediately changed channels and contacted USS Ramage’s ASW control.

  The master chief looked down at the captain. “Ramage reports both torpedoes a miss. He is moving one of the Royal Navy helicopters eastward into the Strait to lay a sonobuoy pattern along with the two SH-60s from Hue City and Ramage. The other two Royal Navy helicopters are positioning themselves for attack. Ramage estimates that the submarine, if it continues east, will enter the strait in five minutes. The Rodgers helicopter is headed our way. Ramage has passed control to Stennis to direct a sanitation sonobuoy barrier ahead of the carrier. Ramage wants to ensure that we only have one submarine out there.”

  The captain nodded. “Good idea. XO, we should have thought of that.

  I’m glad the Ramage’s captain is thinking about the whole battle group with the workload he has swamping him. Make it so.”

  “Captain, recommend we change our course and slow our speed until we know for sure the submarine has either left the area or been sunk,” the XO suggested.

  “No, the hell with them. Why do you think we were attacked? That’s what they want. It doesn’t matter whether they sink us or not. What they’re trying to do is keep the United States Navy out of the Mediterranean. To hell with them. In this narrow body of water I’ll run over the son of a bitch and send him to the bottom, if I have to.

  This is a carrier. It ain’t no destroyer. It’d take more than one submarine with torpedoes to stop Stennis, and I’m not going to let them tell a United States warship when and where it can go.” He paused and pulled a cigar out of his vest pocket. “I just wish I knew who ‘they’ were,” he mumbled.

  “May be a Kilo submarine, Captain. Those are the only missing submarines within five hundred miles.”

  “Could be, XO. But, I don’t know for sure yet, and neither does Ellison on Nassau. But I will, and when I do, I’m going to blow hell out of them and every swinging-dick warship they’ve got,” he said, his eyes moist, flashing with anger.

  “What if we don’t find out?”

  “Then we’ll bomb Libya. At least, bombing Libya has always made us feel better.”

  The master chief interrupted. “Captain, Combat reports USS Seawolf has joined the ASW attack.” He held up his hand as he listened. “And Ramage has halted further air attacks while Seawolf is in the battle zone. Ramage is securing active sonar at this time and turning the ASW prosecution over to Seawolf.”

  “If we’re sending the submarine Seawolf in, make sure Ramage maintains firm and positive control over those helicopters, including those Royal Navy bubbas.”

  “Yes, sir,” the XO replied. “Seawolf can go below the layer and find the enemy submarine, hopefully before it escapes.”

  “Okay, make it so. Tell Ramage to continue sonobuoy and passive prosecution, but not to conduct any further attacks until cleared by me. I know I am overemphasizing, but I do not want a ‘blue on blue’ misunderstanding sinking the Seawolf. Tell Ramage to keep firm control on those itchy air dale trigger fingers,” Holman said, his Texas drawl pulling the “blue on blue” out.

  “Let’s move to the forward bridge wing where we can have a better view ahead of us,” Holman added. An unlit cigar hung from his lips. “Damn!”

  Holman exclaimed as his helmet bumped the top of the hatch, jarring his head as he entered the bridge.

  The XO shook his head and followed.

  The master chief unplugged his sound-powered phone and followed the two officers off the starboard bridge wing into the bridge, turning sideways so his massive chest could get through the hatch. A minute later the three stood on the forward bridge wing directly below the windows of the bridge. The hatch behind them remained open so the OOD could talk directly with the captain.

  “Sir,” the master chief reported. “Ramage has broken off attacks and reports contact with Seawolf on its passive sensors.”

  “Roger, warn them once again not to initiate any attacks without my permission, and even then, not until they are sure that Seawolf is out of harm’s way.” Holman had a bad feeling about this. Too many things go wrong in the heat and fog of battle. Eventually war boils down to the human level.

  “Seawolf has disappeared beneath the layer. Ramage estimates put enemy submarine inside the Strait.”

  * * *

  Aboard the Algerian Kilo, fleeing the American battle group, the captain, sweat running off his forehead and into his eyes, had ignored the orders to remain on station for thirty days prior to returning. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, momentarily clearing his vision. The captain of the Al Solomon screamed and shouted at the crew as the Algerian submarine fled to perceived safety on the other side of the strait.

  Terrified, he increased the speed of the Al Solomon as it entered the main transit channel of the Strait of Gibraltar. The pinging of the American sonars and active torpedoes had sent waves of panic through the crew, who added to the confusion by their own screams and shouts at each other as the submarine maneuvered to evade contact. The quiet associated with a professional crew was never evident as the Algerian submarine crew shattered into frenzied chaos. Twenty-five frozen bodies rested in the refrigerators of the mess decks — among them their best tactician and their best helmsman. Revolutionary zeal combined with political intolerance never failed to claim a lot of lives.

  The chaos diminished with the fading sounds of American sonars and torpedoes, herding the Kilo eastward.

  When the sound of active pinging disappeared, a small cheer burst forth as the crew congratulated themselves on losing the American force. Five kilometers behind them, the dark cigar-shaped American hunter-killer attack submarine USS Seawolf silently eased beneath the layer.

  By chance, Al Solomon avoided the first two mines, sowed by its sister ship, Al Nasser, by entering the strait four miles south of their location.

  Five hundred meters further on, the third mine’s logic head weighed the ma
gnetic contact of the Al Solomon and the noise ratio of its props before it activated. The sea anchor cut loose. The mini-torpedo turned east and quickly reached forty knots. The homing device in the head of the mine changed its trajectory minutely as the explosive underwater device headed directly for the spinning props of the Algerian submarine.

  The ASW operator on the Al Solomon heard the highspeed prop cavitation in his earphones, but the celebrations within the control room drowned out his warning shouts. The propeller-driven mine was two hundred meters from the submarine when the next mine picked up the magnetic and noise signature of the Al Solomon. Its sea anchor detached and it started on its deadly path toward the Algerian submarine just as the captain of the Al Solomon increased speed again, this time to fourteen knots to hurry their transit through the strait. The increased speed aided the torpedo mines in their targeting.

  The USS Seawolf detected the highspeed turns of the mines-turned-torpedoes, and immediately executed a sharp left turn and cut all engines to barely making way. The maneuver saved the Seawolf, the world’s quietest nuclear submarine. Unknowingly, it had turned away from the first mine, where the logic head had already locked on the magnetic signature of the Seawolf and was only milliseconds away from a valid acoustic detection.

  Failing to get the two factors it needed, the mine’s program reset and it resumed its lethal wait for the next opportunity. The mines were programmed to deactivate in another twenty six days. Until then, they guarded the strait against ships the size of carriers and super tankers and against any submarines trying to sneak through submerged.

  * * *

  “Captain,” the Master Chief said. ” Ramage reports underwater explosions dead ahead in the strait at a range of ten nautical miles.”

  “Looks like Seawolf bagged a submarine,” the XO said, a smile breaking across his rugged features.

  “Let’s hope Seawolf did and that it wasn’t the other way,” Holman replied. He took his lighter from his trouser pocket.

  “Ramage reports they have a target above the layer. Looks as if it’s surfacing, Captain.”

  “Tell Ramage and Hue City to take it under gunfire if it surfaces and refuses to surrender. The submarine either hoists the white flag immediately or it’s sunk. Tell the bridge that I want channel sixteen, bridge-to-bridge common, down here. I want to tell that bastard myself.” He lit the saliva-soaked cigar despite seeing the grimace on the XO’s face. “By the way, XO. The Stennis is no longer a smoke-free ship.”

  “Captain, Ramage says another underwater explosion detected! They have regained Seawolf on their sonar and report her safe. It’s the enemy submarine taking hits, Captain!”

  “Outstanding! Tell Seawolf well done!” Holman yelled.

  A minute passed as Stennis continued her approach toward the Strait of Gibraltar. The afternoon sun baked the ship and those topside. Holman could see several cases of sunburn already. The strong smell of fuel exhaust enveloped the carrier as the summer sun created mirage like heat waves over the top of the flight deck.

  “Captain, Seawolfis at periscope depth and in com ms with Ramage. She reports she broke off her attack against the submarine because of torpedoes in the water. She did not fire at the enemy submarine.

  Seawolf recommends against entering the strait. Charlie Oscar believes torpedo mines attacked the enemy submarine.”

  “XO, bring us down to six knots!”

  “Yes, sir, Captain.” He stuck his head inside the bridge and relayed the orders to the OOD. It would take the Stennis two miles to slow.

  The strait was ten miles away.

  The master chief continued. “Seawolf says they were three miles from enemy submarine with firing solution when the first explosion hit the target. It appears the target either tried to surface, or the first explosion sent it upward and the second explosion down. Seawolf showed no enemy target when it passed the layer. They are leaving the immediate area and await further instructions.”

  “One instruction is make sure everyone knows the Seawolf is coming back out and not to attack it.” Holman knew that USS Ramage and USS Hue City would be paying close attention to the American submarine’s presence. His order was unnecessary, but not without value.

  The carrier’s forward momentum eventually slowed to six knots.

  Throughout the next hour the USS Stennis maneuvered outside the strait to recover its aircraft. The ASW surface action group continued to lay sonobuoy barriers and scan the undersea environment. The Royal Navy helicopters hovered as they refueled in flight from the three surface ships: USS Ramage, USS Hue City, and the HMS Boxer. Then, they turned toward the western horizon and the HMS Invincible and its small battle group, the remnant Navy of a once-great maritime power.

  “Captain, we’ve recovered the Vikings and John Rodgers’ helicopter.

  Combat requests to recover the Sea Kings before nightfall and secure from the SAR operations of the USS John Rodgers.

  HMS Invincible reports ready to recovery the Royal Navy helicopters.

  Admiral Sir Leddermanthompson sends his compliments and says they are taking station twenty-five miles behind us. He asks to be kept informed of our intentions and offers any assistance that the Royal Navy can provide.”

  “Roger, send my personal respects and thanks to the admiral for his assistance, and tell Combat to keep the Royal Navy up to date on our status. Call Ramage and tell it to detach the Sea Kings for return to home plate before nightfall.” Captain Holman took the stub of the Cuban cigar and tossed the butt overboard. Best thing America ever did was lifting the embargo with Cuba once Castro died.

  “Well, XO, it’s time to figure out how to get through the Strait of Gibraltar since it’s mined.”

  “I don’t see how we can, sir.”

  “Have you been watching the merchant traffic?”

  “Not really, sir, except for those who were coming too close and we ordered them away.”

  “Well, XO, seems they’re still going through the strait, and not a single one of them has been attacked, or hit a mine.”

  “Yes, sir, but now that we know it’s mined, it explains what happened to that supertanker a few days ago.”

  “Could be, XO. I don’t think so, but it’s a good point to consider.”

  “So, what do we do, Captain?” “Glad you asked, XO,” Holman replied, pulling another Cuban cigar from his shirt pocket. “We’re going to take the old girl through a minefield and we’re going to do it without hitting any of them.” He pulled another cigar from his shirt pocket. “Secure from General Quarters. Give the crew a chance to stretch their legs. Later I’ll go on fleet television and explain today’s events. I know a lot of questions are out there.”

  “Yes, sir, will do. As for the mines, Captain, how do you intend to get us through the strait?”

  “Watch and learn, XO. Look at those transiting unharmed and you have your answer. Round up the department heads and have them meet me in the operations conference room in ten minutes. No one is going to stop the United States Navy from sailing any goddamn place it wants to sail.”

  He stepped inside the bridge and stopped abruptly. The XO bumped into him. “XO, have Ramage and Hue City rejoin. We’ll need Ramage’s power for what we’re going to do. Also, call USNS Concord and tell her to quit lolly gagging back there and get her tail up here with us. I want the ships topped off before morning, so Concord has a busy night ahead of her. That means, XO, Concord needs to start refueling operations now.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The rifle butt hit the charging Algerian rebel on the underside of the chin. The impact of the CAR-15 broke the jaw, teeth rocketing out to bounce off Duncan shirt. The attacker’s feet folded neatly to a momentary kneeling position before he fell forward.

  His head bounced off Duncan’s boots. Eyes glazed and face bloody, he lay motionless at Duncan’s feet.

  “I told you I’ve got a headache!” Duncan growled through clenched teeth.

  “Shit, Boss! If it’s a migraine, they
don’t stand a chance,” Beau said, breathing heavily. He glanced at the unconscious Arab before he picked himself up off the ground and brushed the dirt from his cammies.

  Shouts came from around the building. Beau leaned around the corner.

  “Shit!” He fired a burst down the street and jumped back. An avalanche of return fire tore off parts of the white-walled house.

  Stinging fragments of plaster peppered them.

  A “whoosh” sound filled the air. A quick, wide-eyed, knowing look at each other, and the two men dove away just as a rocket-propelled grenade shattered the side of the house. Debris showered them, followed by a rolling cloud of choking dust.

  “Damn, Beau. I guess you showed them,” Duncan said, wiping his eyes.

  “Look, you told me to go! Ergo, I went. Next time don’t send me.”

  “Next time, don’t bring back half the insurgent devils in the world with you.” He touched Beau on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here!”

  They ran down the narrow street, Duncan several feet in front of Beau.

  Duncan scanned the windows and doors ahead, while Beau tried to watch the intersection behind them.

  “Faster, Duncan,” said Beau. “Must go faster.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can. I ain’t the Flash, you know.”

  A figure stepped from a doorway ahead. Without slowing, Duncan raised his gun even as he recognized Colonel Yosef. He relaxed the pressure of his trigger finger and lowered the carbine slightly as he veered toward the Algerian officer. All along the street Algerian Palace Guards pressed against doorways or crouched behind abandoned cars and furniture.

  Duncan and Beau shoved themselves into the wide doorway with Yosef.

  “We’ve got company, Colonel,” Duncan said.

  “Yes, I heard,” Yosef replied. “The others are still at the petrol station, Captain. Go down this alley.” He pointed to a narrower passage a few yards further down. “We’ll try to hold them for ten minutes and then fight a retreat. Have the truck ready, okay?”