D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground

by D. M. Ulmer

  Hesitating for a moment, Dan let the geography lesson set in. “First, the Soviet’s plan. A hundred sixteen submarines from their Northern Fleet will attempt to transit the Strait en masse then fan out to establish control of merchant shipping in the Pacific. These are old Hotel, Echo and November classes, along with Yankee and Delta I ballistic missile submarines converted to attack class in compliance with SALT II. They’re noisy. If we get to them before they reach the open ocean, we’ll clean up big time.”

  Woody Parnell asked, “Why do they need so many submarines?” The young officer had fully mended and stood watch as Brent’s assistant conning officer. “Long-range anti-ship missiles oughta do the job for them with what they got right now.”

  “Too hard to separate the good guys from the bad,” Dan replied. “The Soviets believe the war’s in the bag and they want to capture some hearts and minds. Additional submarines are needed to do proper target discrimination. Okay?”

  Woody nodded.

  Dan glanced at the commodore and Buchanan, but neither provided anything in the way of expression. The new skipper’s ever-pleasant expression gave Dan more encouragement than he had heretofore been accustomed to. “Their screen consists of top Pacific assets: Akulas, Victor IIIs, Mikes and Sierras, all pretty hot ships. They equal or exceed our 637s. But we know where they are and where they’ll be deployed. I can’t tell you how we know this; just that it’s the straight dope. Most of us have been on SPEC-OPS and know how that goes. The Soviets have a three-stage plan. First, form a screen between Komandorskiye and Attu north of and parallel to the southern MACEDONIAN boundary. A column of submarines will move along here.”

  He ran his pointer along the Soviet landmass. “Larry, a nickname for Saint Lawrence Island, is at the pack ice boundary. They’ll be hard to detect until they’re ten miles from there. Background noise can be almost deafening and we can’t pick targets out of it.”

  An officer asked, “Why do they send their screen under the ice, then?”

  “We really don’t know,” Dan answered. “Probably think we’re a lot better than we really are. With an offshore screen in place, the mass exodus from the Arctic begins with the units moving close to shore as they dare. When they reach this point,” said Dan, indicating a spot marked on the chart fifty miles above Komandorskiye, “the screen guarding the southern approach pivots east and opens the end of a funnel to protect the transits as they move into the Pacific. Everyone understand?”

  All nodded.

  “Good,” said Dan. “Now here’s the plan.”

  The chief engineer asked, “Who in hell opened this cookie jar? This stuff is so hot, it’s smoking.”

  Dan replied, “Like I said earlier, need to know, but if you like that, we got tracks, intended positions and estimated times of arrival of the southern screen. It’s like the Kremlin is directing a parade. A 688 is assigned to each screen unit with a 637 backup. Intercepts are scheduled concurrently as we can make them. This prevents a missed attack from creating an alarm for the others. We scheduled intercepts to occur here,” he said, sweeping his pointer along a line thirty nautical miles south of the screen intended position. “It’ll be during daylight hours. Our erstwhile Cannon Cocker will explain. Brent?”

  Brent took the pointer from Dan. “Cannon Cocker? Remember, the only purpose for the rest of this junkyard is to get my bullets into firing position. So look upon yourselves as my chauffeur.”

  Laughter filled the wardroom while Brent stole a glance at the new skipper. Damn, he thought, that unreadable expression. He made a mental note not to get in a wardroom poker game with the captain.

  He went on, “We’ll use what we learned on the last patrol. One, we know he’ll shoot back if we fire a torpedo at him; and two, we know he’ll surface to evade. He has no reason not to ’cause he owns the surface and air here.” Brent spread out a chart depicting the plan for individual attacks and used the pointer to aid explanation of each planned tactic. “We solve problem one with a Sealance. After initial contact, we’ll track him out until he can’t hear our launcher and then let him have it. A 637 stationed ten miles up range from the target will listen for the Sealance payload, an MK-50 torpedo. When they hear it, they’ll come to periscope depth with a pair of Encapsulated Harpoon Anti-ship Missiles at the ready. That’s how we solve problem two.”

  An officer asked, “What happens if the target doesn’t surface?”

  “The MK-50 should get him, Brent replied. “If it doesn’t sink him, it’ll make him noisy and the 637 will move in and finish him with an ADCAP.”

  Another officer asked, “What if he doesn’t surface and the MK-50 misses?”

  “Then we find out why we collect submarine pay. We’ll have to sneak in and go one on one. I don’t have to tell anyone who made the last patrol how hairy that can be. Questions? None? Okay, back to you, Dan.”

  Dan resumed, “A sub-task group of one 688 and three backup 637s will provide a similar welcome for the offshore screen. They’re spaced far enough apart so they can be taken one at a time. The intended tracks we have on them are tight also. Maybe Ivan believes this whole war is nothing but a fleet exercise but we’ll take what he gives us. The rest of MACEDONIAN forms a gauntlet for the Northern Fleet submarines to run. We should really clean house if this thing goes as planned. Questions, comments?”

  “Yes, Dan,” Brent replied. “What about our brother submariners from the Atlantic? If we’re successful in turning the Reds back, SUBLANT units will be well positioned to attack the retreat.”

  Looking over to the commodore, Dan said, “Nothing like this is planned.” Then asked, “Is there, Commodore?”

  Commodore Danis replied, “No, but it should be. Good thinking, Lieutenant Maddock. We’ll work something up and pass it along with our next transmission.”

  Lieutenant Vasiliy Baknov said to his commanding officer, Captain 1st Rank Igor Sherensky, “Finally we take the American submariners seriously.”

  He fully agreed with new orders re-directing Zhukov from screening the Northern Fleet transit to land strikes against the new American submarine bases. Zhukov proceeded east toward America.

  Vasiliy discussed such matters with Sherensky only with the zampolit out of hearing. “It is well we do this, Comrade Captain. Otherwise, the lessons of World War II are ignored. The attack on Pearl Harbor achieved nothing for the Japanese but unite the Americans in a common cause. Their planes over-flew the submarine base to attack a row of overage battleships that would have little effect on the war’s outcome. American submarines went on to strip Japan of the sea power she needed to succeed. Despite outward appearances, history shows the Americans to have won at Pearl Harbor.”

  The captain chided, “Ah, the ever-serious Vasiliy. What shall you do when there are no more Americans to fight?”

  “I worry over permitting the enemy to recover his ability to refit submarines. The World War II analogy fits well.”

  “I am more in the mood to hear you confirm rumors of you and the delightful young nurse at Vladivostok Naval hospital.”

  Vasiliy smiled but a sounding alarm spared him from providing Sherensky his tidbits.

  An excited voice over the general announcing system ordered, “Man action stations!”

  Both men raced to the Attack Center and heard the michman report a contact to the northeast, closing rapidly.

  Sherensky ordered, “Stop engines.” The target would pass close aboard and he had no wish to be counter-detected before attacking. As the crew readied the ship for combat, the target roared toward Zhukov’s starboard side at a range of five hundred meters.

  The michman reported, “A submarine of the 688 class.”

  Sounding extremely eager, Vasiliy said, “Here is the target we must kill, Comrade Captain.”

  With a steady voice the captain said, “Make ready two launchers.”

  Then Sherensky recalled the counsel of his own captain when he served at the grade of junior lieutenant in his first submarine, Beware of
the first impulse. Sherensky’s mind raced. Think this through. What are the odds?

  He estimated one in a million that one of these ships would pass by so close within the vast size of the Pacific Ocean. Yet, this near impossible probability occurred during the 688’s most vulnerable period; the sprint leg of her sprint-drift transit tactic employed so successfully by U.S. submarines. Zhukov found the target through pure luck.

  Later, he would dwell on this. This is too good to be true. Then it came to him. A great prize, the 688, but what of counterattack? Worth the risk? Zhukov stalks much bigger game, the submarine refit bases. Destroying one of those meant neutralizing all the units that subsisted there. Risk of getting killed by this lone 688 must not be taken.

  The eager Vasiliy announced, his hand upon the firing key, “Ready to fire, Captain.”

  The captain ordered in his firmest voice, “Check fire! We’ll let this one slip away. We’ve far more important fish to fry.”

  Vasiliy could not believe the words he had just heard. His hand tightened on the firing lever and actually moved it half an inch. Then his oath of obedience outweighed his hatred of Americans and he removed his hand from the lever.

  The captain ordered, “Secure the launchers.”

  Repeating the order, Vasiliy said, “Secure the launchers.”

  He wondered if the target could have been USS Denver. Had he missed a golden opportunity to settle accounts with Lieutenant Brent Maddock?

  Phil Reynolds and all in Newport would never know how close they came to an eternal rest in the depths of the Pacific Ocean, within half an inch of motion by the hand of a man, whose hatred for Americans defied belief.

  Captain Marty Baker completed his briefing to the President on the latest MACEDONIAN developments. His third visit to the White House found him much more at ease.

  President Dempsey asked the CNO, “What’s your learned opinion, Admiral Baines?”

  “Guarded optimism, sir. Everything we have points to the Soviets moving to plan and unaware of what we know. Mr. President, if this continues like it has, we should eat their lunch.”

  The President asked, “A decisive battle?”

  The CNO said, “Decisive in terms of winning the war? No, sir, but it’ll crack one of our biggest nuts; open up the Pacific Sea lanes. And from my seat, only a security breach can stop us. Unfortunately, those are easier to come by than we like to believe.”

  Turning to Marty the President said, “And your thoughts, Captain. Do you think we have them fooled?”

  “I do, sir,” Marty replied. “As the Admiral points out, all the data shows their plan to be authentic and they carry it out on schedule. If they are as precise as their plan, we’ll strike a major blow.”

  The President went on, “Would either of you hazard a guess as to how many submarines both they and we might lose in this scrape?”

  Baines responded, “With the element of surprise on our side, I’d say we should knock out up to fifty of them, sir.”

  The President asked, “And what should we expect?”

  “We hold the element of surprise so I expect light casualties, sir, especially against the northern fleet. Our ships have substantial acoustical advantage over them.”

  “When will it start?”

  Marty answered, “Twelve hours from now, Mr. President.”

  At that instant, the President’s intercom buzzed.

  Pushing the talk button the President said, “Yes, Mrs. Bonner.”

  “Senator Manning, Mr. President.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  The President put Darrel Manning on the speakerphone because he knew it irritated the senator. The President could be very ornery when he wanted to.

  “How are you this fine morning, Darrel? I’ve got the Navy in tow, Admiral Baines, and Captain Baker from NSA. You might recall them from our meeting the other day.”

  It did upset Senator Manning when the President put him on the speakerphone with other people within earshot, but he pretended it didn’t and said, “Aha, the best audience I could have hoped for. I just received a call from my Associated Press source. I’m told a story is coming over the wire stating we’ve broken the top Soviet Naval code.”

  Marty looked at the Admiral, each with a stunned expression on their faces then Marty quickly scrawled a note.

  President Dempsey replied, “Well, Darrel, you really come up with some good ones. I’ll check the Navy out on that,” as he read the hastily written note.

  GET OFF THE SPEAKERPHONE AND SAY YOU’LL CALL HIM BACK ON A DIFFERENT LINE. THEN TELL HIM WE PLANTED THE STORY BECAUSE WE WANT TO DISRUPT THEIR COMMUNICATIONS. THEY’RE A LOT LIKE US, SKEPTICAL ABOUT WHAT THEY GET FROM THE PRESS.

  The President went off the speaker and told Manning he would call him back on his private line then dialed the senator’s number. “I got rid of my company,” he lied. “Now keep this under your hat, Darrel,” then delivered Marty’s message, paraphrased to his manner of speech.

  Manning asked, “Do you think it wise to fool around like this? Maybe the Soviets are about to pull off something big. Perhaps we should move our meeting up. Timely action on your part could save a lot of American lives and property.”

  “Good point, Darrel. I’ll think on that. Call if you have anything else for me.”

  The two hung up.

  The President asked Marty. “How bad is this?”

  Marty said, “Let’s hope you just bought us the twelve hours we need. After that it’ll be too late for the news to do the Soviets any good.”

  President Dempsey asked, “How did I do this?”

  “By undermining the validity of the news release. It’s your private line, sir, but it’s on a public telephone system, almost certainly tapped at a dozen or more places. Transcripts of your comments are most likely at the Kremlin already and it’ll make them vacillate. Changing the primary code in the middle of a big operation is more risk than they’ll want to take.”

  The President’s face brightened. “Next time those jackasses from CIA tell me military and intelligence are mutually exclusive terms, I’ll know what to say. Nice job, Captain.”

  Brent’s final lingering doubt dissolved when an Akula passed overhead at the precise depth and speed as ordered in her sailing directions, within a mile of the designated track and off schedule by only twenty minutes. “This is unbelievable,” he said, “unique in the annals of military history. Never has a warring nation lost so much advantage through a single screw up.”

  Jim Buchanan compared it with the loss of Robert E. Lee’s special order number 191. Wrapped around three cigars, two union soldiers found a copy and turned it over to their commander, General George B. McClellan. The find revealed Lee’s entire battle plan, in particular, the intended movements of his troops, a major contribution to Lee’s defeat at the Battle of Antietam.

  Dan Patrick added, “But the rigid compliance with orders,” then asked, “do you suppose the zampolits keep a close check on their positions to ensure orders are being carried out?”

  Buchanan replied, “If they run true to form, yes.”

  Neither Brent nor Dan could resist being in the sonar shack for the initial contact with the enemy. Shortly, the call to battle stations came and the Denver crew commenced their initial MACEDONIAN attack.

  The conning officer briefed Captain Buchanan on the tactical situation when he arrived at the Attack Center. The ship transitioned from normal cruise to full combat readiness.

  Once in the Akula’s baffles and assured Denver would not be detected, Buchanan took the 1MC mike for the general announcements system and addressed the crew, “This is the Captain speaking,” he said in a firm voice and chose words to enhance the crew’s confidence. “We are in contact with the enemy, an Akula class submarine. She is opening to the north and gives no indication of having detected us. We’ll let the target open to beyond his effective counterattack range and fire two Sealance missiles at him. I expect all hands to give their best. I’ll keep you in
formed.”

  The crew liked this, one of many changes since the tenure of Buchanan’s predecessor. This new skipper made each crewman feel the importance of his role in the ship’s mission. They liked that.

  Captain Buchanan released the 1MC press-to-talk switch, turned his attention to the Attack Center Battle Station crew and calmly said in a soft, controlled tone, “Well gentlemen, let’s find out how good we are at a submarine first, letting a target get by and open to long-range. Dan, when will the target be there?”

  “Computed target will reach firing range in twenty-three minutes, Captain.”

  Buchanan nodded. “Thank you, Dan. Jack, that gives us enough time for two streets of cribbage … you ready for another lesson?”

  Astonished, Jack Olsen quickly read Buchanan’s strategy. He’d just expressed confidence in the attack party. “You’re on, Skipper.” The two disappeared, heading for the wardroom.

  Broad grins spread across each face in the Attack Center. Even the stoic Jacques Henri could not resist initiating an exchange of wit. “Now what’s different about this picture?”

  Brent replied, “Don’t know, Henri. For some reason I find it hard to remember.”

  Twenty minutes later, Dan announced on the 21MC, “Captain, Conn. Three minutes till shoot, sir. Brent recommends spin up the birds, flood and open the outers.”

  “Do it,” came Buchanan’s casual reply.

  Dan demanded over the 21MC, “Sonar, Conn, hear anything?”

  Gary Hansen’s voice replied, “Nothing hard, Conn. Occasional transients on the generated bearing line.”

  “Conn aye, sonar. Give us a mark on the next one for fire control. Pay attention all the way ’round. Don’t let Ivan sneak up and get us napping. We’ll give it one more baffle clear and we’re ready to shoot.”

  Hansen replied, “Sonar, aye.”

  With the baffle clear maneuver completed, Hansen reported, “No contacts, Conn. Here’s a mark for fire control. A good one.”