D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground

by D. M. Ulmer

  The announcer spoke in quiet, serious tones, “So far, enemy strikes appear limited to just Naval bases and shipyards. On the east coast: Kittery, Maine; Groton, Connecticut; Norfolk, Virginia; Charleston, South Carolina; and Kings Bay, Georgia. Targets on the west coast are the Trident Base at Bangor and nearby Bremerton Naval Shipyard, in Washington State. In California: Mare Island Naval Shipyard, Seal Beach Naval Weapons Station, and Naval Bases in San Diego.

  “Pentagon sources advise American response has been limited. Also, other unofficial sources reported a total of seventeen missiles have been launched in retaliation. There are no reports on the extent of damage from Soviet warheads, but it is apparently heavy. Main thoroughfares from the damaged areas are jammed with fleeing survivors, as are those from New York, Chicago and other population centers not yet under attack.”

  Father and daughter listened in stunned silence to the unthinkable. Visited by a host of emotions, Dave felt gratitude his beloved Dale had to see none of this in her lifetime and it saddened him to reflect upon the impact it would have on Bea’s future.

  The recent conversation with Eric Danis came to mind. His friend had urged him to make the trip, likely for good reason. Dave hoped Eric had made it to sea and survived.

  Captain 1st Rank Igor Sherensky, commanding officer of the Soviet nuclear submarine Marshall Zhukov, reined in his exhilaration. He dare not let it affect performance of the critical task-at-hand, sinking the mighty U.S. nuclear-powered attack aircraft carrier, Savo Island. A three second view through Zhukov’s attack periscope showed the giant ship lumbering toward him at a full twenty-five knots. The periscope video camera, peri-viz, recorded information to refine target range, course and speed well beyond the precision needed for a successful attack. For two weeks, Zhukov trailed the aircraft carrier.

  Upon receipt of a prearranged signal, she moved ahead of Savo Island to prepare for an attack. All over the world, Soviet submarines deployed successfully in coordinated attacks against the U.S. aircraft carrier fleet and nullified it.

  Zhukov and her sisters bore the North Atlantic Treaty Organization designation, Akula class.

  Initial Soviet land attack warheads destroyed those carriers that remained in port or in overhaul. These victories dealt a severe blow to the Americans who had bet everything on survival of their carriers. It certainly appeared there would soon be none, leaving the U.S. Navy scrambling to recover control over their vital sea lanes

  Captain Sherensky could not believe his good fortune. He had reached the best possible attack position, seven miles ahead of the carrier and within twenty degrees of her monstrous bow.

  The captain ordered, “Make all torpedoes ready, Comrade Baknov. We cannot miss with this setup.”

  Their target cooperated by running at high speed. Radiated noise from the carrier’s immense propulsion system further obscured the already silent Zhukov and diminished counter-detection probability by Anti-Submarine-Warfare surface ships. Savo Island’s sole self-defense measure consisted of the near futile World War II zigzag course.

  Lieutenant Vasiliy Baknov would not permit excitement of the moment to stampede him into making an error. He ordered the ET 80A torpedoes to run at a depth of twenty-five meters and set the warheads to detonate in the magnetic influence created as the steel giant passed overhead. The target’s back would be broken by detonations below her keel.

  The young officer rechecked his ordered settings.

  Vasiliy Baknov viewed a U.S. aircraft carrier through the periscope during an earlier peacetime exercise to measure Zhukov’s ability to reach an effective attack position undetected. The target’s vast size captivated him. He considered production costs of these behemoths drained even abundant resources of capitalist America.

  Captain Sherensky announced, “Comrades, attack commences in five minutes.”

  The zampolit, Zhukov’s political officer Commander Poplavich, added, “We embark the Motherland on the road to world communism.”

  Sherensky thought, Leave it to our half-assed political commissar to make speeches at a time like this. He detested Poplavich, who took up space aboard Zhukov and contributed nothing to her mission.

  Lieutenant Baknov wondered. Perhaps we’ll become the victims.

  Peacetime surveillance against the U.S. Navy succeeded beyond their wildest hopes, but concern grew over whether American 688 class submarines were present as escorts and monitored the Akulas from the onset. Lieutenant Baknov feared the hunter might become the hunted.

  A U.S. Advanced Capability torpedo, ADCAP, fired at point blank range would add Zhukov to the ocean’s long list of victims now resting on the bottom. He reasoned the interdiction attack probability by an enemy submarine diminished in proportion to Zhukov’s distance from her target. If an American submarine tracked them, the time to initiate an attack had passed.

  Captain Sherensky ordered, “To depth 60 meters. We will attack on sonar bearings. The target gives no sign he knows we are here and continues to close the range. What is the time to torpedo launch?”

  Lieutenant Baknov could barely contain his excitement. “A minute twenty seconds, Comrade Captain.”

  “Good. Then launch when the target reaches firing bearing.”

  The lieutenant replied with an excited voice, “Yes, Comrade Captain!” and then counted off time till torpedo launch. “Sixty seconds … thirty … ten … five, four, three, two, one … launch torpedoes!”

  Zhukov shuddered in the manner of all submarines expelling weapons. Four ET 80A torpedoes surged from their launchers and began their runs toward the unsuspecting Savo Island.

  Captain Sherensky demanded, “Time till detonation?”

  The sound of an explosion interrupted Lieutenant Baknov’s reply. Three more quickly followed, as all four torpedoes hit. No surprise at such a short range.

  A cheer went up throughout Zhukov to celebrate the first kill by a Soviet submarine in fifty-two years.

  “Sonar, search carefully,” Sherensky ordered, fearing the possibility of attack by an escorting submarine.

  “No new contacts, Comrade Captain. Only the aircraft carrier and escorting surface ships.”

  Neither Sherensky nor Baknov understood how the Americans could be so naive. The captain thought, Had they really based their entire naval strategy upon the survival of fifteen aircraft carriers known to be defenseless against nuclear-powered attack submarines? Do they consider us buffoons, or do they enact this merely to throw us off guard, the real plan to follow.

  Sherensky could not resist getting a view of his triumph. “Come to twenty meters.”

  The diving officer replied, “To twenty meters.”

  The Zampolit Poplavich, concerned the alerted Americans might detect them, demanded, “Comrade Captain, is this wise?”

  “Consider the importance of showing our people the photographic evidence of the enemy sea giant’s death, comrade. It will prove your great value to the party.”

  Sherensky knew how to butter up the zampolit. Poplavich made no response, his assent assumed.

  Savo Island lay dead in the water and listed fifteen degrees to starboard, down by the bow with smoke billowing from a major rupture amidships. Analysis of the peri-viz tape showed Savo Island a doomed ship, sinking faster than Sherensky imagined. The carrier disappeared and the periscope field showed only tiny spots in the water, heads of some hundred or so surviving crewmembers.

  The elated zampolit declared, “The softheaded Americans will rush to their aid. We will stand off a safe distance, Comrade Captain, and attack the rescuers with cruise missiles.”

  The captain pleaded, “Attacking ships while recovering survivors counters a thousand years of tradition.”

  Zampolit Poplavich snapped back, “You are reminded, comrade, World Communization requires overturning tradition. Be mindful that rescued men will mend and rise again to fight the Motherland with a terrible resolve.”

  Slaughtering helpless men in the water will probably increase American resolve b
y a factor of ten, thought Sherensky. He did not share this, for arguing with the zampolit is unwise and could result in a nine-millimeter headache.

  As the zampolit predicted, escorting warships approached the Savo Island’s grave and began to pick up survivors from the oil-slicked ocean. Rescue operations continued in the mistaken belief the attackers preoccupied themselves with escape and posed no further threat.

  Sherensky had little heart for it, but released a salvo of SS-N-21 anti-ship missiles at the rescue operation. The 21, NATO designation Sampson, mimics a U.S. Tomahawk Ship Attack Missile in capability.

  A short time later, Sherensky observed columns of black smoke as the rescuers burned from missile hits.

  The Sampsons left an infrared trail to Zhukov, but the defeated foe had no aircraft to mount a counterattack. The captain ordered Zhukov to a hundred meters and increased to maximum speed in the direction of home.

  Only the zampolit, Commander Poplavich, and the vengeance bent Lieutenant Vasiliy Baknov found elation in this senseless post attack.

  Captain Hal Bostwick assembled Denver officers in the wardroom. He read a historic document, the first operational message from a flying backup TACAMO aircraft, a system of U.S. Naval communications that would continue in the event shore facilities were destroyed. Derived from an old Navy expression, ‘Take Charge and March Off.’ These TACAMO aircraft did just that.

  These special C130s held runway priority over all other U.S. aircraft, including the Air Force Strategic Air Command assets. The TACAMO maneuver involved streaming a mile long antenna from the back of the aircraft during a turn maneuver to hold the antenna vertical to the earth’s surface. This enhanced transmission from TACAMO C130s continually airborne over both Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

  The message addressed to all units of the U.S. Pacific Fleet from the commander read:

  The U.S. Congress has enacted a declaration of war on the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. All Pacific Fleet Units conduct immediate hostilities against any/all Soviet units and resources. Good hunting.

  “Gentlemen,” said Bostwick, “our work is cut out for us. I know you’ll give your customary best and Denver’s chapter in this war will be a brilliant one. I expect no departure from normal routine. This has always been a warship and will continue to perform like one. But we must get better at things we have always done well.

  “Perform equipment inspections and maintenance above current requirements. Correct problems before they occur. Exercise greater diligence in all areas, particularly in conduct of the watch.

  “I’ve directed Brent to load four ADCAPs into the launchers. I emphasize, we have no release authority for tactical nuclear weapons. After the initial exchange of strategic nukes, our government and the Soviets have mutually agreed their further use jeopardizes the causes of both nations and will be withheld. SUBROCs (rocket propelled long-range nuclear depth charges) will remain on the 4FZ tampering monitor system and in their lower, outboard stowage positions.

  “Dan, I want you to double up on sonar watch. We could encounter Ivan at anytime and I want to be damn sure we detect him before he even suspects we’re in the area. We have acoustic advantage over him and in order to prevail, we must exploit this to the fullest.”

  Bostwick continued, “I am concerned about crew morale. We’ve very little information on what’s happened at home. My plan is to play it straight up and let them know what we know as soon as we know it. Don’t get dragged into speculating, but if it’s unavoidable always stress positive possibilities.”

  Brent thought, Maybe the reality of combat has turned the Captain around. I sincerely hope so.

  Bostwick went on, “Our first assignment is to screen passage for the COB’s last home, USS Utah, from the Strait of Juan de Fuca seaward. We’ve a message from SUBPAC. It reads:

  USS Denver proceed to area Tango Four to arrive not later than 290300Z April l987. Conduct patrol and sanitize area for seaward passage of USS Utah, window 290500Z - 290900Z. Effect rendezvous with Utah at point Tango Four Alfa 290530Z, method November 7 (a pre-defined search plan) and escort to western limit of Tango Alfa. Instructions for subsequent operations to follow.”

  Bostwick looked up from the text. “I’m sure COB will be happy to hold his old shipmates’ hands while we tiptoe them through the tulips.”

  Somber moods among the officers prevented the expected laugh. They understood the importance of training for war; but thoughts of war and the separation from family and friends overwhelmed them. Each dealt with it in their own way.

  The captain asked, “Questions?” then hearing none he said, “Very well. Dan, would you join me in the Sonar Shack, please?”

  Lieutenant Vasiliy Baknov’s hatred of all things American made Zhukov’s victory over Savo Island much sweeter for him. This anger began early against his father, a famous ballet dancer who defected to the United States shortly after Vasiliy’s birth.

  Yuri Baknov toured America with the Kirov Ballet Company and while there, asked for political asylum, ultimately granted by the U.S. Government. News of this shocked his wife, Ekaterina, still recovering from Vasiliy’s childbirth. She and her son subsequently paid dearly for Yuri’s actions. The Soviet state, embarrassed and humiliated by Yuri’s defection, took retribution against his family. It barred Ekaterina, also a dancer, from the Kirov and she never performed publicly again.

  For Vasiliy, the legacy left by his father made the young man’s life miserable and bitter from the onset. Being the son of a defector, his schoolmates regarded him with scorn. Security considerations nearly prevented him from entering naval service, but fortunately, Ekaterina took a state official as her lover. His influence overcame this problem.

  Vasiliy divided his hatred between his father and the country giving him asylum. He resolved to inflict great harm on both, if the opportunity developed and beamed with pride over his part in the attack against Savo Island and her escorts. He planned someday, as captain of his own submarine, he’d direct even greater attacks to concurrently satisfy his anger and hurt the enemies of the Motherland. Vasiliy had yet to formulate a plan for revenge against his father, but the topic preoccupied him often.

  Commodore Eric Danis and Commander Dutch Meyer adjusted to the shock of their new surroundings then asked, “Damn it, Dutch who in hell ever executed command-at-sea from a desert?”

  COMSUBRON 3 set up their temporary headquarters at the Naval Weapons Center, China Lake, just above the Mojave Desert region of California because the initial Soviet attack destroyed all San Diego based Naval facilities. Years would pass before any of the base would be tenable. Ninety percent of the civilian population believed killed outright, leaving the balance to expire from radiation sickness in a matter of weeks.

  Most of the commodore’s staff comprised of replacements from what submariners could be scraped up along with a handful of naval aviators off sunken aircraft carriers. They wanted vengeance and U.S. submarine forces offered the best opportunity; so the aviators accepted their assignments with enthusiasm. They would add their right stuff to the mix and eventually impress the skeptical submariners.

  Dutch Meyer looked around their new headquarters and thought, A far cry from the hustle, bustle and the comfort of a submarine tender then said, “Well, Commodore, at least we got a place to hang our hat.”

  “Maybe so, Dutch, but I hope you brought along a hammer and some nails just in case. Look, give me half an hour to settle in … then I want to meet with the staff.”

  “Aye, sir.” Dutch then set out on his most important task, find a coffee pot.

  Thirty minutes later, Danis addressed his makeshift staff in a hot and stuffy workshop turned conference room. An air-conditioner sat silent. The short supply of electric power precluded such peacetime luxuries.

  “Gentlemen, I’m Eric Danis. I just told Dutch Meyer this is a hell of a place from which to run a submarine squadron. But at least we have a place, which is more than other less fortunate commands can say. I’m please
d to note we have some aviators aboard. Commander Carter is the number two man in seniority and as such will perform the duties of chief staff officer. We make history, gentlemen. No naval aviator has ever held this post in a U.S. submarine squadron before. Welcome and congratulations, Commander.”

  Commander Carter acknowledged with a nod and smile.

  Danis went on, “West coast port facilities for submarines are no longer available for reasons you all know. They’ve all been hit with ground bursts and left too hot for anything for at least five years. It’s part of the Soviet strategy. Isolate us from our allies and finish off with a blockade. To break this, we must regain access to the sea. Our job is to replace the lost seaports.

  “Ships on patrol can’t stay out there indefinitely. They gotta come home to lick their wounds and get back out there to kick more Soviet ass. This won’t be easy and we have no experience with such a task so ingenuity is a hot commodity. The new additions from the aviation community are famous for this and I expect they’ll give us submariners a run for our money.”

  He made it clear he would not tolerate inter-group animosity and concluded with, “And now, I’d like to go around and hook up some faces with the names I’ve seen on the staff register. After that, I want Commander Carter to conduct interviews and find the best fits for staff jobs that need filling.”

  Brent Maddock handed a steaming cup of coffee to the conning officer, Dan Patrick. “Here, shipmate. Don’t say I never gave you anything. How long ago did we enter Tango Four?”

  “About an hour … and let me tell you the pucker factor has been right up there.”

  “No surprise. First shooting war for all of us. How are things going?”

  “I’d have to say good. Never realized we could get the ship this quiet. We’re bombing along at fifteen knots without a flicker on the self noise monitor.”