The Americans were arrogant, sending in their aircraft carriers without submarines to protect them. Is that how little they thought of their Chinese counterparts? The Shang class submarines were a marvel of engineering, built with the latest sound-quieting enhancements and new, sophisticated sensors, and his crew was well trained. Zeng’s thoughts moved past the glorious moment when he would sink the American carrier, to his first engagement with a prepared American fast attack.
The Periscope Attendant called out, “Prepare!”
Zeng took station behind his attack periscope again, and a few seconds later, the Periscope Attendant followed up. “Next observation!” Zeng pressed the Raise Periscope button on the bulkhead, folding down the periscope handles as the scope emerged from its well. Placing his eye to the periscope, he swung it in the direction of the closest American destroyer, pausing to examine it for a second before continuing on to the second. Satisfied that neither destroyer had maneuvered toward them and no helicopters had repositioned along his path, Zeng stopped on the bearing to the American aircraft carrier. It was clearly visible now, no longer a gray speck beneath a spiraling black plume.
“Prepare for observation, Contact One!” Zeng called out.
The Fire Controlman announced, “Ready!”
“Bearing, mark!” Zeng pressed a red button on the right periscope handle, sending the bearing of the contact to fire control. “Range, one division, high power! Angle on the bow, starboard ninety!”
He stepped back and pressed the Lower Scope button as the Periscope Assistant announced, “Range, sixteen thousand, eight hundred yards!”
Zeng compared the visual range to the distance calculated by the submarine’s automated fire control system. The range was an exact match, and the calculated speed of their target was indeed zero. Zeng smiled. With the American aircraft carrier dead in the water and a starboard ninety-degree angle on the bow, his torpedoes couldn’t miss. The only question was how many torpedoes it would take.
One heavyweight torpedo would sink most combatants. An aircraft carrier would take several, depending on where along the carrier’s keel the torpedoes exploded. Zeng decided to play it safe. The Chang Cheng had six torpedo tubes and they would therefore launch a salvo of six torpedoes. He wouldn’t get a second chance. Once the torpedoes were detected, every anti-submarine sensor and weapon would be directed his way. He’d be forced deep, sprinting to safety before he could return to periscope depth, hopefully in time to savor the last minutes of the aircraft carrier sinking beneath the ocean waves.
Checking the fire control solution, Zeng calculated they would be within firing range in another two minutes. It was time to prepare their torpedoes. Standing between his submarine’s two periscopes, Zeng gave the order.
“Prepare to fire, Contact One, all tubes!”
The men in Control responded immediately, powering up the Yu-6 heavyweight torpedoes loaded in their tubes and sending the target solution to the torpedoes’ guidance and control computers. A minute passed and the submarine’s Executive Officer announced, “Ready!”
“Open muzzle doors, all torpedo tubes!”
A minute later, Zeng received the report that all doors were open. Satisfied all preparations were complete, he approached the periscope for a final observation. Pressing the Raise Periscope button, he announced loudly, “Final Observation, Contact One!”
Zeng placed his eye to the scope again, swinging it in the direction of his target. At this range, he could almost see the texture of the black smoke spiraling upward. The target was still dead in the water. Zeng pressed the button on the periscope handle, sending a final bearing to fire control. Stepping back, he lowered the periscope. But just before giving the command to launch their six torpedoes, the Sonar Supervisor’s voice blared across the speakers in Control.
“Incoming torpedo, bearing zero-nine-zero! An American MK 48!”
24
USS TEXAS • CNS CHANG CHENG
USS TEXAS
Standing in the Control Room of his Virginia class fast attack submarine, Commander Jim Latham peered over Petty Officer Colby Marshall’s shoulder, watching the green inverted V on his console speed toward the red semicircle to the west. His crew was at Battle Stations, every console in Control manned, with supervisors crowding behind them. Commander Latham noted with satisfaction that there was little change in their target’s position or course. In less than a minute, their torpedo would detect Master One.
Texas had been speeding west at ahead flank for the better part of four days, reactor power pegged at one hundred percent from the moment they received their orders. They’d had a head start on the rest of the Pacific Fleet; Texas was already outbound on the first leg of her six-month West Pac deployment, headed to relieve USS Jacksonville in the East China Sea. But as Texas surged westward, Latham had been informed they would not relieve the Los Angeles class submarine. Jacksonville had been sunk.
Texas, however, was no Los Angeles class submarine. She was the second of the new Virginia class, quieter at ahead full than a Los Angeles class submarine was tied to the pier. And Texas had a full Torpedo Room of the Navy’s newest Heavyweight torpedo, the MK 48 Mod 7 CBASS, built with state-of-the art processors loaded with advanced search algorithms.
Commander Latham had timed it perfectly. The Chinese submarine hadn’t detected the launch of their quiet MK 48 torpedo and he had let it close to almost point-blank range before activating the torpedo’s sonar. The Chinese crew probably had no idea they had less than a minute to live. Data from the torpedo began streaming into the combat control system through the thin wire trailing behind their weapon. Their torpedo was increasing speed and the frequency of its sonar pings. It was homing on its target.
CNS CHANG CHENG
Zeng spun toward the sonar display between the two periscopes, observing the bright white trace burning in at 090 degrees. How had an American submarine approached to within firing range undetected? That was an important question, but the most pressing issue was evading the incoming torpedo. That effort began with speed, and his submarine was at periscope depth, lumbering along at five knots.
He shouted out his orders. “Helm, ahead flank! Hard left rudder! Launch torpedo decoy!”
Confusion reigned in Control as the Chang Cheng began evasive maneuvers. They were still in the middle of Firing Procedures, their torpedoes locked on to the disabled aircraft carrier. Zeng needed a torpedo to fire back at the American submarine. To do that, he would have to cancel his Firing Order. Zeng decided the carrier could wait; it would still be there after the American submarine was dealt with.
“Cancel Fire, Contact One! Reactive Fire, bearing zero-nine-zero, Tube One!”
The Chang Cheng’s Weapons Officer acknowledged the Captain’s order, reassigning the torpedo in Tube One to the initial bearing of the incoming torpedo, back down the throat of the American submarine that had fired it. It would take less than thirty seconds; their torpedoes were already powered up and the torpedo outer doors were open, but Zeng was distracted by the frantic report from Sonar over the speakers in Control.
“Torpedo is homing! Ignoring torpedo decoy!”
Zeng’s face went slack. They had detected the American torpedo only twenty seconds ago and it was already homing on his submarine, disregarding the decoy they had launched. The American submarine Captain had placed his weapon perfectly, giving Zeng insufficient time to react. As the pings of the incoming torpedo’s sonar echoed through the Chang Cheng’s hull, Zeng realized the American Submarine Force was as capable as China feared.
USS TEXAS
The fast attack submarine shuddered and the sonar screens whited out as the shock wave from the explosion swept past USS Texas. Latham’s Weapons Officer called out, reporting their torpedo had exploded.
“Loss of wire continuity. Final telemetry data correlates with Master One.”
Less than a moment later, the Sonar Supervisor confirmed their torpedo had sunk its target. “Hull breakup noises, bear
ing two-seven-zero.”
Latham glanced at the geographic plot on one of the combat control consoles. Where there was one Chinese submarine, there would soon be another. They had to stay focused and begin their search for the next one. However, Texas would not hunt alone. Two fast attack submarines from Guam were close on Texas’s heels, only an hour away. And not far behind them, twenty-four more fast attack submarines from Hawaii and the West Coast of the United States were surging west at ahead flank speed. China had caught the three deployed American submarines by surprise. The remaining twenty-seven fast attack submarines in the Pacific Fleet would not be caught unaware, and China would pay dearly for what it had done.
“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact, designated Sierra one-five, possible Shang class nuclear submarine, bearing two-five-zero.”
Latham acknowledged Sonar’s report. A second Chinese submarine, just south of the first one, was no doubt creeping toward Nimitz. He stood erect, making his announcement loudly so everyone in Control could hear. “Designate Sierra one-five as Master Two. Track Master Two.” Turning to his Weapons Control Coordinator, Latham followed up. “Assign presets for Master Two to Tube Two.”
Sonar called out again. “Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact, designated Sierra one-six, also possible Shang class nuclear submarine, bearing two-eight-eight.”
Latham frowned. They’d have to prosecute both submarines simultaneously, engaging first one, then the other. “Designate Sierra one-six as Master Three. Master Two is Primary contact of interest, Master Three is Secondary. Assign presets for Master Three to Tube Three.”
Texas had its hands full, engaging two submarines at once. Unlike the Chinese submarine they’d just sunk, these two crews knew an American submarine was in the area and would not be surprised. Still, Texas was the quieter submarine, carrying more sophisticated sensors and weapons. It looked like Commander Latham and his crew were going to have a busy day.
25
BOHAI SEA • USS MICHIGAN
The gentle vibration pulsing through Christine’s body finally woke her up. Her eyes fluttered open but her vision remained shrouded in darkness. Breathing was an effort for some reason, and she felt something over her face. The upholstered seat of her sedan had somehow turned into hard metal, and she was cold, shivering beneath a thin, metallic blanket. There was a source of heat on her right side. She leaned toward it and her arm ignited in pain, clearing the fog from her mind.
Christine realized she had a full-face diver’s mask on, and the pieces of the puzzle came together. She was underwater. Looking around closely, she made out the dim outline of the vehicle she was in—a James Bond–like mini-sub with two men in black scuba gear seated in front of her in the open-top submarine. Between the two men, she could see the faint illumination of green electronic displays. A third diver sat beside her on the right, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.
The man beside her noticed her movement and released his arm from around her. He reached down, retrieving a thin tube he bent with both hands. The tube began to glow a soft green and he held up one hand, displaying five fingers. Christine shook her head, not understanding. The man retracted one finger, then another, until there were none left, then returned to five fingers. Christine nodded her head this time, pretty sure he meant they would reach their destination in five minutes.
The man dropped the glow stick over the side and wrapped his arm around her again. Christine had no idea who he was, but she welcomed the warmth of his body, shifting her weight gently toward him, careful not to place too much pressure on her arm. She felt around inside the thin blanket. She was still in her clothes, but a bandage had thankfully been taped to her arm. The last thing they needed was a trail of blood in the water. With her luck tonight, sharks wouldn’t be far behind.
Five minutes later, Christine felt the submersible slowing, and for the first time she noticed there was a second, identical mini-sub ten feet to her left with four divers in it. It drifted to a halt as Christine’s vehicle continued toward a mammoth black shape materializing out of the darkness. They were headed toward a submarine, coming up from astern over the submarine’s missile deck. At the forward end of the deck, just aft of the sail rising before her, were two nine-foot-diameter chambers, each with their door swung open ninety degrees.
Christine’s submersible slowed to a hover behind the right chamber, sinking until it came to rest with a gentle bump on a set of rails extended from the chamber. Two divers appeared along each side of the submersible, quickly latching it to the rails as the two men in front of the mini-sub and the one beside her pushed themselves up and out of the vehicle. The man next to Christine extended his hand, guiding Christine out of her seat as she shed her blanket. With a powerful kick of his fins, he pulled Christine into the chamber.
Christine joined the three men from her submersible on the starboard side of the chamber, and once their vehicle was retracted inside, they were joined by the four divers who had tended to the mini-sub. The large chamber door shut with a gentle thud. Red lights flicked on, and an air pocket soon appeared at the top of the chamber, the water level gradually lowering. When the water level fell below her neck, Christine and the divers removed their facemasks.
The man next to Christine turned toward her, and she stared into the eyes of someone she hadn’t seen in over twenty years. Jake Harrison flashed a brief smile before he spoke.
“Welcome aboard Michigan, Chris. It’s been a long time.”
* * *
Before Christine could respond, Harrison continued, “How’s your arm? I did the best I could underwater.”
Glancing down, Christine noticed what looked like two giant Band-Aids taped to her arm, one on each side. The bullet had passed clean through, entering the back of her triceps and exiting the front of her arm.
She looked up at Harrison, her teeth chattering between words. “You did great.” She knew she should say more, but had difficulty finding the right words. She would need time to process her thoughts. And emotions.
The water finished draining from the chamber and Harrison stood. “Do you feel strong enough to make it on your own?”
Christine nodded. Although her arm ached, she felt fine otherwise, except for the deep chill throughout her body. Harrison shed his scuba gear and assisted with Christine’s, then escorted her to the rear of the chamber, dropping down through two hatches. Christine followed, shivering uncontrollably, climbing carefully down a metal ladder inside what looked like a missile tube. Two levels down, she stepped onto a steel deck in a space outfitted with showerheads along the perimeter of the tube.
Harrison spun the hand wheel of a two-foot-diameter hatch in the side of the tube, and the hatch opened outward. He stepped through, thrusting his hand back inside to help. Christine took his hand and slid through feet-first. She emerged to be greeted by Harrison and three men wearing blue coveralls—a Commander and two enlisted petty officers based on the insignia on their collars—standing in a narrow passageway.
The Commander surveyed Christine with a critical eye, glancing at her arm as he wrapped a thick blue blanket around her. “I’m Commander Joe Aleo, Miss O’Connor, the Medical Officer aboard. I understand you’ve been shot in the arm. Do you have any other injuries?”
Christine shook her head, still shivering. “I think I’m fine otherwise.”
“Let me get some quick vitals on you first, then we’ll get you warmed up.”
He guided Christine to a short equipment cabinet nearby, using it as a makeshift chair. Christine slid onto the top of the cabinet, her teeth chattering as one of the petty officers wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her left arm and the Commander pulled a small flashlight from the breast pocket of his coveralls. After a quick examination of her pupils, heart rate, blood pressure, and injured arm, Commander Aleo seemed satisfied.
Stepping back, he turned to Harrison, hovering nearby during Christine’s evaluation. “We’ve got it from here. Thanks, Lieutenant.”
“Sure thing, Do
c. I’m going to warm up in the shower,” Harrison replied, then turned to Christine. “See you around, ma’am.” He stepped back through the hatch into the missile tube, pulling the door shut behind him.
Aleo turned to the two petty officers. “We need to warm Miss O’Connor up as well.”
One of the petty officers replied, “Should we kick Lieutenant Harrison out of Tube One and send him to Tube Two with the other SEALs?”
Aleo thought for a moment. “No. We’ll need more privacy to coordinate everything. Take her to one of the Missile Compartment heads.” He returned his gaze to Christine, his eyes examining her from her chest to her feet. “I’ll get some dry clothes for you, and do my best to find something that fits. What size shoes do you wear?”
“Size seven and a half, women’s.” Aleo gave her a blank stare for a second before Christine clarified. “That’d be a size six in men’s.”
Aleo smiled. “Thanks, Miss O’Connor. I’ll see what I can do.”
The two petty officers acknowledged Aleo’s order, then led Christine to a staircase at the forward end of the compartment. After descending to the next level, they headed to the starboard side, then aft until they reached a bathroom, which consisted of a pair of shower stalls on one side and four sinks on the other, with a bank of three toilets against the far wall.
“Stay in the shower until you’re warmed up,” one of the petty officers said. “Just holler if you need anything. We’ll be waiting outside.”
The petty officer closed the door and Christine turned her attention to the three-by-three-foot showers. She selected the first stall, adjusting the water temperature to as hot as she could stand it, then stripped her wet clothes off, dropping them on the floor. Stepping into the shower, she pulled the curtain closed behind her. She let the hot water cascade over her head and down her shoulders, letting the warmth seep in, alternately letting the water flow over her chest and down her back.
Empire Rising Page 13