by D. M. Ulmer
“You’ll get the clout, Dave. Lay the plan on me.”
“Okay. The whole deal will have to be afloat.”
“Afloat? Hell, that’s not new. We did it that way in Holy Loch.”
“Right, Eric. But we had a submarine tender. Ours are gone now.”
“You talk, Dave. I’ll listen.”
“I’m gonna anchor twenty-five to thirty barges in a cluster. They’ll provide enough platform for our refit shops. I’ll find the barges and tugs to haul them. There’s enough stuff around somewhere, but I need a better fix on it. Our anchoring scheme oughta give us at least two alongside berths with two to three outboard. I can get cranes that’ll reach out over the first two. We’ll also need anchors and chain, but there ought to be plenty of that around.”
Eric asked, “How about the reserve fleet?”
“How about ground zero? Can’t be very far from there.”
“Oops, I forgot.”
Dave continued, “I’m going to need some muscle. I don’t see us getting too much of this stuff on the strength of a handshake from old Dave Zane.”
“You got it, Dave. Now, what else?”
“Heard from Meyer and he tells me there’s some pretty good-looking bullets on the way. Where’d you find him? He’s cutting his way north like a buzz saw.”
“Grew him myself, Dave. You’re right. Not a good idea to get in his way once he’s turned onto a problem.”
Dave gave Eric further details on his breakwater plan. “Two rows will keep out all but the worst and the most would happen then is we’d be shut down a day or two. Another thing. Don’t lay any of that testing crap on me. What you’re getting here is Zane eyeball certifications. We’ll teach everybody to pay attention and keep out from under heavy things swinging overhead.”
Eric asked, “What about power?”
“A segment of the northwest grid is only five miles east of the site. Doug firs will support the power lines and insulators for the stretch to the base. We can’t build towers without clearing the wilderness and that might take weeks. I don’t know about shore power for submarines, but I’ll work on it. There’s plenty of fuel for diesel generators so some of your prima donnas are just going to have to learn to live with them.”
“Sounds like you might not have been wasting your time after all.”
“Plenty to do to keep me off the streets and out of the bars. Just as well. Most of ’em are closed anyway.”
“Think of how grateful your liver will be.”
“Yeah, I suppose. When am I going to see some help, Eric?”
“When do you want them? I’ve got some pissed off aviators down here who are none too happy about having their carrier shot out from under them. They’re convinced submarines are the best chance for getting even.”
“Need ’em at Astoria right now. If there’s not room enough for them at Clatsop County Airport, we’ll move out some of the current tenants. I need some blue-suiters to take charge of the docks and staging area I got lined up down there. Can you get them moving in that direction?”
“They’re aviators and we got plenty of airplanes.”
“Good. Have them fly into Clatsop and I’ll meet them there. Let me know when. And, Eric?”
“Yeah, Dave?”
“A lotta folks here are unhappy about what happened to Bremerton and the Port of Seattle. They’re just about mad enough to build that submarine refit site for you.”
“So no problems with the locals?”
“None at all.”
“I figured that.”
“Furthermore, Commodore, we’re gonna whip their Red asses. Get an American’s back up and somebody better watch his step. About now, I’d say we’re bristlin’.”
They exchanged good-byes and hung up.
Eric Danis wished he could find support for his friend’s optimistic outlook among the dismal communiqués from SUBPAC on the war’s progress. When operations turned conventional in Europe, Soviet movements ground to a halt and a version of Sitzkrieg in World War II developed. Soviet submariners replayed Hitler’s early war triumphs in spades.
The U.S. Air Force provided troops and materials to hold the Soviets in check, but to turn things around more troops were needed.
The Pacific Theatre concerned Eric. Essential war supplies needed from Australia and South America could not be shipped by air in sufficient quantities to support America’s war industries. Somehow, sea lines of communication must be reopened and protected from the Soviet Submarine Flotilla. U.S. submarines and their bases provided the best hope. Worst of all, the clock continued to run with no indication of things beginning to improve.
Eric wished to discuss all this with his old friend Dave, but security considerations prevented it over public phone lines.
Jack Olsen, Brent and Dan Patrick finalized a patrol plan for Denver and discussed it with Captain Bostwick in the wardroom. The skipper looked refreshed seated behind a steaming cup of coffee. After the last false contact, he’d fallen into a deep sleep that lasted twelve hours. During this period, the executive officer ordered the ship’s routine relaxed and authorized all the sack time that could be squeezed in by the troops.
Dan said, “This plan exploits our acoustic advantage over anything they’ve got except possibly an Akula. Our chances of stumbling on one, or for that matter any other submarine here in mid ocean, is almost zero.”
“I see,” Bostwick said. “The old sprint and drift tactic,” alluding to the technique of running along at high speeds for a given distance and then abruptly shutting down in order to catch a possible interceptor in the act of racing to reach an attack position.
Dan continued, “Right. And spacing runs at these speeds gives us a high enough speed of advance to reach Vlad with remaining endurance for nineteen days on station. It’s a target-rich area with opportunity to even some scores.”
The positive attitude expressed by his officers, coupled with a refreshing sleep, buoyed the captain’s spirits. Bostwick had permitted the loss of the Utah to burden him beyond his capacity to perform properly, but sooner or later, he’d have to change that.
Napoleon once said, “There are no bad regiments, only bad colonels.” Bostwick’s Navy rank equated to an Army colonel. At the Naval Academy, he learned morale of the troops reflected confidence in him, their leader.
The captain’s newly formed assertion that Denver would be successful grew into a fire that spread throughout his ship. A once demoralized crew, now aware of their potential to strike the enemy hard, knew these attacks would provide a needed lift for sagging spirits of their countrymen.
Bostwick declared, “On to the attack, gentlemen. You’ve worked up a hell of a plan and we’re going with it.”
Soviet naval policy required all ranks to be indoctrinated in ongoing military strategy. Most young officers found this boring, but Vasiliy Baknov thrived on it. His zeal grew from a natural hatred of all things American. He completely despised the capitalistic system, where dedication to one’s own personal interests outweighed loyalty to the state. He believed this to be the Achilles’ heel of the West and would bring about its ultimate downfall.
Fueled further by his father’s defection to America, Vasiliy’s anger left no room in his heart for forgiveness. The young officer often brooded over this moment and reaffirmed a long held determination to gain vengeance.
Vasiliy passed a fourth straight hour in the security vault, delving further into his favorite topic of strategic studies. Both elbows on the table, he considered the yet unread volumes stacked before him and rubbed his tired eyes. Fellow Zhukov officers had long since departed for the open mess hoping to avail themselves of vodkas which continued to be bought for the heroes of the Savo Island sinking.
He returned to his reading and reviewed several essays on current Soviet Navy planning. The Soviet approach offset an enemy goal to wrest control of the seas through their program, Maritime Strategy, where surface vessels carried the major load of combat operations. The
Soviet Navy invested mainly in nuclear powered submarines of the attack class to counter this.
Soviet submarines enjoyed tactical advantage over allied surface warships and merchant ships, principally because they could remain undetected. They out-dove and outran everything in the U.S. anti- submarine warfare (ASW) arsenal except the ADCAP torpedo, carried only by U.S. submarines which the Soviets outnumbered five to one.
Aircraft carriers require twelve or more ships for logistic support, anti-aircraft warfare (AAW) and ASW protection. The collective radiated noise created by these ships made carrier battle groups easy to find and the Soviets quickly located them then maneuvered to point blank attack range.
The submarine is a lone wolf and holds exclusive advantage of surprise attack over all other warships. Best of all, they operate independently and need no support from other vessels.
A lone submarine and her crew of a hundred can disrupt the mission of twenty warships, manned by more than ten thousand seaman, a precedent established in the opening days of World War I. A German U-boat, manned by thirty-five seamen, attacked and destroyed an overwhelming superior force of three British battle cruisers manned by twenty-three hundred. Within an hour, three cruisers sank with the loss of more than fourteen hundred men.
From that day forward, submarines accounted for eighty percent of all combat related sinkings. If success in combat at sea accrues from sinking enemy ships, the smart money is invested in submarines.
Vasiliy wondered, Are the Americans oblivious to these facts? Is this why they blundered into their Maritime Strategy? Or did inter-warfare group bickering result in the American Navy being fully prepared only to fight the last war?
Between World Wars I and II, ignoring Germany’s near victory through U-boat destruction of twenty million tons of allied shipping, American naval planners focused instead on the issue of whether traditional battleships or the newly conceived naval air weapon held the greatest advantage.
At the onset of the Second World War, the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor showed naval aviation to be in the driver’s seat. The fallacy in their theory revealed itself when Yamamoto’s planes overlooked the submarine base while en route to battleship row to destroy ships that would have virtually no impact on the outcome of the war. Within a week the by-passed U.S. submariners deployed throughout the Pacific and began a campaign that would bring Japan to her knees by the end of the war.
U.S. submariners systematically deprived Japan of its desperately needed access to the sea. Subsequent actions reduced imports below levels needed to sustain the mainland, much less those required to support ground forces throughout the Southwest Pacific. At Iwo Jima, U.S. Marines captured a Japanese garrison that had undergone sixty-five days without replenishment due to the U.S. submarine campaign.
Vasiliy thought, How good of the Americans to develop and battle test this strategy for us.
The advent of nuclear propulsion in 1955 enhanced submarine warfare of a magnitude beyond what all other naval warfare acquired through postwar technology. Diesel-Electric powered submarines of World War II remained submerged less than fifteen percent of their total deployment time. Long transits could be made only on the surface where they remained defenseless against warships and air forces.
Nuclear powered submarines remain independent of the atmosphere indefinitely.
American turncoat John Anthony Walker’s betrayal, with unwitting help from several allied nations, served much of this technology up to the Soviets on a silver platter.
Again, Vasiliy thought about the Americans. Perhaps the greatest weapon we have against capitalism is their own greed.
He recalled earlier Zhukov peacetime missions to monitor U.S. peacetime fleet exercises and observed repeated successful simulated attacks by 637 and 688 class submarines against carrier battle groups. He wondered whether the Americans knew of the Soviet surveillance and deliberately made themselves appear vulnerable. Now, Soviets subsequently confirmed these observations in real combat.
Soviet Intelligence also probed into the personal characteristics of prospective opposing warriors. Chinese General Sun-Tzu warned in 401 BC, Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.
American love of recognition supplied ample material to fill this Soviet need. Even officers of the silent service submarine arm shared an appetite for publicity. Character sketch brochures are handed out at Change of Command ceremonies, Submarine and Nuclear Power School graduations and Naval Academy yearbooks are compiled.
American newspapers openly published the detailed citations of officers being decorated. The Pacific Flotilla maintained an up-to-date directory on key officers serving in the U.S. Submarine Force.
Vasiliy believed this knowledge about his enemies would prove helpful in combat on the silent battleground and thought, When we have prevailed and there are no more wars to fight and I am a full admiral, perhaps I shall write a book.
Denver alternately raced then slowed and all but disappeared in the Pacific’s murky depths. The crew liked their Captain’s new look.
Gary Hansen quipped, “Sure is good to have my chair back.”
He was sonar supervisor on Brent’s watch and alluded to the captain’s heretofore-continuous presence in the sonar shack. A new sign on the door proclaimed Findin’ Ivan despite a standing order for posting nothing but official literature.
The glib Hansen reasoned, “We’re at war now, a special situation not covered in the standing orders.”
Not to be outdone the torpedo gang hung labels on each of the four-launcher breech doors: Vodka Express, Moscow Mule, Bottom Line and Utah’s Revenge.
A standing submarine axiom goes, clean ship, happy crew, hence the forenoon watch of each Friday found the crew busy at field day. Every man not on watch rousted out and manned his cleaning station. All did their best to make their ship a comfortable and inspiring place in which to perform Denver’s mission.
Initiated by the quick-witted Gary Hansen, the resumption of field day resulted in Ensign Woody Parnell becoming the butt of a prank by the crew. “Mr. Parnell, sir, we could clean these launcher doors much better if we had a bucket of steam.”
The gullible Woody replied, “A bucket of steam? What good would that do?”
An almost too stern faced Hansen said, “Verdigris is what turns the breech doors green. A kind of plant, sir, and only steam kills it.”
Hansen’s explanation sounded plausible enough to Woody. “Why don’t we get one then?”
“Can’t sir. Only officers are allowed to draw steam on field day. Maybe you’d be willing?”
A bucket-laden ensign embarked upon endless treks throughout the ship, met at each destination by alerted sailors, each identified as a source of steam. The sailors would fabricate an excuse and send the confused Woody off to another source.
Eventually, the trail led to a sailor in the auxiliary machinery compartment who told Woody, “Only the exec can approve drawing steam on field days, Mr. Parnell. And it has to be in writing.”
Woody found the executive officer in the wardroom at a meeting with the chief engineer.
Jack Olsen roared with laughter. “My God man, not the old bucket of steam gag. That one predates Nimitz’s Midshipman days.”
With a sheepish grin on his face, Woody Parnell departed for the torpedo room. Number three, he thought, considering the previous two times he had been tricked. Three strikes and out. These bastards asked for it and now they’re gonna get a page out of old Wooder’s book of great ones.
The Friday afternoon watch found the Captain in company with the COB and Exec, inspecting the ship. Bostwick surprised all with his adeptness for one-liners to individual crewmembers.
A young seaman exclaimed, “Wow!” after Bostwick finished with inspecting the Crew’s Mess. “The captain knows my name.”
Excitement mounted as Denver neared the Kurils and elevated the probability of contact with the enemy.
World War III had apparently stripped the seas clear of the many a
nd varied shipping types that normally plied this ocean segment. Denver had nearly crossed the entire Pacific before making her first bona fide sonar contact. Made on Dan Patrick’s watch, he won the conning officers’ pool, all of fifteen bucks.
In keeping with the new look of no hasty calls to battle stations, the crew watch section performed target identification and ranging without officer supervision.
The lead sonar operator reported, “Conn, Sonar, this guy’s on the surface. Lots of cavitation and screws too clunky for a warship.”
Dan replied, “Conn, aye, Sonar,” and then pressed the 21MC button. “Captain, Conn.”
“Captain, aye, Dan. I heard all that. I’m halfway through a cribbage game with the XO. Work on the contact and I’ll be up as soon as we’re through.”
A wave of good feeling surged through Dan. First contact in a possible combat situation and the Captain let him run with the ball.
Half an hour later, the captain entered the Attack Center. “What’ve we got, Dan?”
“Bearing three-two-five, drawing right and closing. Put him at about fifteen thousand yards, making eight knots on a northerly heading. Zero-one-two currently.”
“Zigzagging?”
“No indication, Captain. From what I can tell, it’s a fisherman with gear down. He’s got some low frequency lines likely from vibrating net cables. We’re looking hard to see if the noise isn’t screening another unit lying nearby.”
“Not likely, Dan. Any submarine out here would be guarding the Kuril approaches against guys like us. He couldn’t hear us through that racket. Let’s come to periscope depth and have a look. If your call is right, then we’ve got a ticket for some free distance. Take a thirty-degree lead and let’s do it.”
Dan replied, “Aye, Captain,” and then to the helmsman, “Right full rudder, steady, new course three-five-five.” Dan announced over the 21MC, “Sonar, Conn, unmasking to starboard. Check for contacts back there, we’re coming to periscope depth.”
Denver’s sleek hull responded cleanly to Dan’s direction as the captain took his place at number two periscope.