Empire Rising

by Rick Campbell

  “Pilot, right hard rudder, steady course zero-six-zero!”

  The crew held on to their equipment consoles as the Pilot tilted his joystick to hard right. Submarine maneuvers were normally benign, but a hard rudder at ahead flank would whipsaw the submarine around. Latham grabbed on to the Officer of the Deck’s workstation as Texas banked to starboard. As Texas steadied on its new course, he returned his attention to the geographic display, attempting to discern whether his maneuver had had the intended effect. The rapid turn had put a knuckle in the water, which would temporarily blind the torpedo as it passed through.

  “Second fired torpedo bears one-eight-five!”

  Commander Latham held his breath, waiting for the next report from Sonar. It appeared the torpedo had maintained course. But sonar bearings occasionally wobbled. The next bearing to the torpedo would determine whether his maneuver had been successful.

  “Second fired torpedo bears one-nine-zero!”

  Latham let out a sigh of relief. The second torpedo was speeding behind them. But just when things appeared to be looking up, the Sonar Supervisor made another report.

  “Conn, Sonar. Torpedo launch transients, bearing zero-eight-zero!”

  Latham spun toward the sonar display. A second white trace had appeared—another torpedo in the water from a different submarine—this time fired from almost directly ahead. The sonar trace was burning in much brighter than the torpedo behind them. This torpedo had been fired from close range.

  “Conn, Sonar! Third torpedo is homing, bearing zero-eight-zero!”

  The torpedo’s pings echoed through the submarine’s hull, growing louder at each interval.

  This torpedo was already homing, which meant it was within two thousand yards. Texas was barreling straight toward it and would close the distance in just over a minute. Latham quickly evaluated the few options that remained.

  One minute to impact.

  Launching a torpedo decoy wouldn’t work, even if Texas turned out of the way. The larger fast attack submarine would remain in front of the decoy, attracting the incoming torpedo.

  “Third torpedo bears zero-eight-zero!”

  Silence gripped Control as Sonar reported the torpedo’s bearing every ten seconds. Latham searched for a way out of their predicament, and they were running out of time.

  Fifty seconds to impact.

  There was one option left—an Emergency Blow, filling the water around the submarine with a massive burst of air. The air pockets would distort the torpedo’s sonar pings, blinding the torpedo momentarily while Texas ascended. Hopefully, the torpedo would pass under the submarine.

  Forty seconds to impact.

  But if Texas blew, they’d be a sitting duck. They’d end up on the surface, vulnerable and noisy, unable to submerge while it waited for its Main Ballast Tanks to vent the air trapping the submarine on the surface.

  Thirty seconds to impact.

  But if they didn’t Emergency Blow, the torpedo would blast a hole in the submarine’s pressure hull.

  Latham made his decision.

  “Emergency Blow all Main Ballast Tanks! Full rise on the Stern and Bow Planes!”

  The Co-Pilot reached up and tapped the Emergency Blow icon on his screen, opening the valves to the ship’s high-pressure air banks. Thousands of cubic feet of high-pressure air spewed into the submarine’s Main Ballast Tanks, pushing the water down and out through the flood grates in the bottom of the submarine.

  Twenty seconds to impact.

  Latham held on to the OOD’s console as the ship pitched upward thirty degrees. As Texas ascended, the air finished pushing the water out of the ballast tanks, then spilled out through the grates in the ship’s keel, and Texas left massive air pockets in its wake as it sped toward the ocean surface. The torpedo chasing them was temporarily blinded, but would it pass underneath them without regaining contact? The rumble of the air spewing from the flood grates began to ease.

  Ten seconds to impact.

  Latham counted down the final seconds in his mind, gripping the edge of the OOD’s workstation as he reached zero.

  But nothing happened.

  Had the torpedo passed by, or had he calculated the time to impact incorrectly?

  He waited a few more seconds, in case his mental calculations had been off. But then Sonar’s report clarified what had just occurred.

  “Third torpedo bears two-six-zero.”

  The torpedo had passed underneath Texas and was now on the other side, speeding away.

  “Conn, Sonar. Torpedo is opening range.”

  Texas pitched forward, returning to an even keel. Latham checked the submarine’s depth; they had reached the surface. Now that they had arrived there, it was time to leave. They were trapped on the surface by the air in the Main Ballast Tanks, and modern submarines traveled more slowly surfaced than submerged due to their hull design. Plus, their propeller cavitated on the surface, a beacon of sound for the Chinese submarines pursuing them. They needed to submerge again before they got another torpedo rammed down their throat. But before he gave the order to vent the Main Ballast Tanks, another report from Sonar echoed across Control.

  “Conn, Sonar. Up Doppler on third torpedo! Torpedo is turning toward us!”

  Latham cursed under his breath. Their adversary must still have wire guidance to their torpedo, inserting a torpedo steer back toward Texas. Still, the course of action was the same. He called out, “Vent all Main Ballast Tanks!”

  The Co-Pilot tapped his display on the Ship Control Panel again, opening the vents to the submarine’s Main Ballast Tanks. Latham knew that geysers of water spray were jetting into the air from the bow and stern of the submarine as the tanks vented, allowing water to flow back up through the flood grates in the keel. But would they submerge in time?

  With the third torpedo racing back toward them, he needed to move Texas out of the torpedo’s path before it acquired them again. He examined the sonar display on the Conn, selecting the optimal course.

  “Pilot, hard left rudder, steady course three-five-zero.”

  Sonar’s next report cut off the Pilot’s acknowledgment.

  “Third torpedo is homing, range two hundred yards!”

  Twenty seconds.

  Latham considered launching another torpedo decoy. But Texas was wallowing on the surface, unable to put much distance between the submarine and the decoy. The torpedo would lock on to the much larger, more realistic target.

  Ten seconds.

  It was hopeless. There was no way they could evade the incoming torpedo. Latham grappled with his grim conclusion.

  USS Texas was going to the bottom.

  However, there was one essential task they had to complete before then. Latham shouted out, countermanding his earlier order. “Co-Pilot, shut all Main Ballast Tank vents! Raise the Multifunction Mast!”

  The Co-Pilot looked up in surprise but quickly complied, shutting the vents. Another tap and he raised the communication antenna. Latham didn’t get an opportunity to explain, because Texas jolted as a deafening sound rumbled through Control. The Flooding alarm began wailing throughout the ship, followed by a report on the 4-MC emergency circuit.

  “Flooding in Operations Compartment! Flooding in Operations Lower Level!”

  Latham shouted into the open microphone. “Radio, this is the Captain. Patch me to CTF 74! Whatever lineup is fastest!”

  As he waited for Radio to complete the lineup to his operational commander, Latham hoped he had bought enough time. He’d shut the vents, trapping the air inside the Main Ballast Tanks to add buoyancy to the submarine, counteracting the flooding. Texas was still going to the bottom, but it would take a few seconds longer, hopefully long enough for him to inform his superiors that China had discovered a way to dud his torpedoes.

  The red light on the handset by the side of the OOD’s workstation lit up, followed by Radio’s report over the 27-MC. “Captain, Radio. Patch complete.”

  Latham grabbed the handset, then, over the
roar of the inrushing water, which had filled the bottom of the Operations Compartment and was now spewing into Control, he yelled into the mouthpiece, hoping the Radioman on the other end understood him.

  39

  NINGBO, CHINA

  Standing at the back of the East Sea Fleet command center, Admiral Tsou studied the pair of ten-by-fifteen-foot flat screens at the front of the room, surveying the status of China’s war with the United States. The screen on the right displayed a map of the earth, overlaid with American military and GPS satellites in their orbits around the planet. The screen on the left displayed a map of the Taiwan Strait. Blue icons depicted U.S. surface ships, which had entered the two-hundred-mile-wide waterway, while red icons along China’s coast marked the positions of forty Hong Niao surface-to-surface missile batteries, which had remained concealed thus far in the war.

  The positions of China’s and America’s submarines were not marked, as their locations were unknown. But earlier today, China’s submarines had surged to sea, and Tsou eagerly awaited the results of their engagements with their American counterparts.

  Captain Cheng Bo, in charge of the East Sea Fleet Command Center, approached, stopping in front of Tsou. “I have good news, Admiral. The captain of Jiaolong has reported in. The Yuan sonar pulse is working as expected, shutting down the American torpedoes. Jiaolong sank a Virginia class submarine, and we have detected six additional underwater explosions. I expect the results of those engagements to be favorable as well.”

  Tsou did not respond, waiting for one additional report.

  Cheng continued, “General Cao has also notified the command center. All Fourth Department cyber warfare units are ready, awaiting your command.”

  Admiral Tsou nodded this time, then replied, “Bring all missile batteries on-line and order the Fourth Department to commence operations.”

  Captain Cheng acknowledged, then headed toward the Command Center supervisor, seated at his workstation behind six rows of targeting consoles. After a short discussion, the supervisor typed orders into his computer. At the front of the command center, red flashing Chinese symbols appeared on the left screen, directing all console operators to order the Hong Niao batteries on-line and assign contacts to their launchers. Tsou watched as the red icons along China’s coast switched to green.

  Tsou’s attention turned to the right screen, displaying the American military and GPS satellites in orbit. A moment later, the icons turned from green to red as the Fourth Department cyber warfare units initiated the first phase of their attack.

  China’s preparations over the years had come down to this moment.

  40

  FUJIAN PROVINCE, CHINA

  Along the shore of the East China Sea, in a dark room deep inside sloping cliffs, Captain Zhou Pengfei stood tensely behind one of the eight consoles in the control room, his face illuminated by blue icons moving south through the Taiwan Strait. As Zhou studied the display, his thoughts drifted back a few days, to the unexpected visit by his country’s president. That Xiang Chenglei had visited three times meant his missiles would play a crucial role in the battle. But none had been fired so far. However, he had received orders a few minutes ago. All forty batteries were to open fire precisely at noon. He checked the clock on the nearest console, its red numbers contrasting with the blue icons on the monitor below.

  Two minutes to go.

  Zhou stepped next to his Targeting Officer, reviewing the missile assignments. Their thirty-two missiles had been assigned to the lead American carrier strike group heading south. Five quad-launchers would target the carrier, with the remaining dozen missiles directed against the cruiser, destroyer, and frigate escorts. One missile was enough to cripple an escort, but an aircraft carrier was another matter. It would take several direct hits to seriously harm one, and a few torpedoes to finish it off. However, with the aircraft carrier’s escorts destroyed and fires raging inside the carrier, it would make it easier for their submarines to move in for the kill.

  One minute remaining.

  Captain Zhou reached up, pressing a button beneath the display. Turning toward a second monitor, Zhou watched the portal at the front of the missile battery casement retract slowly upward, providing a flight path for the missiles. A wide, yellow shaft of light streamed into the dark launch chamber, reflecting off the missiles’ white skin. Zhou glanced at the electronic clock above the display, counting down the seconds. When the clock reached noon, he gave the order to his men.

  “Fire!”

  41

  USS NIMITZ

  The General Alarm was sounding throughout the carrier as Captain Alex Harrow slid down the ladder to 3rd Deck. Nimitz was fifty miles into the Taiwan Strait when things took a turn for the worse. At five minutes before noon, the Navigator reported all satellites had gone down—GPS, tactical links, even their communications satellites were unresponsive—leaving only line-of-sight voice, which was cumbersome at best. Moments later, the first barrage of missiles appeared on the horizon, slamming into the carrier’s escorts.

  Harrow decided to swing by CDC before heading to the Bridge. He stepped into the noisy Combat Direction Center, locating the Operations Officer, Captain Sue Laybourn, huddled over the Tactical Action Officer’s shoulder. Laybourn looked up as Harrow stopped next to her, updating the ship’s Captain. “The first round of cruise missiles was targeted at our escorts. The Lake Erie and Shiloh have been hit, along with four destroyers and one frigate.”

  Captain Helen Corcoran exited Air Ops at the back of CDC, joining Harrow as the three Captains examined the Video Wall on the aft bulkhead, the left eight-by-ten-foot monitor displaying a video feed of their escorts to the west. Black smoke spiraled upward from seven ships; half of their escorts had been hit. As Harrow wondered how badly they were damaged, Captain Laybourn filled in the missing details.

  “Our cruiser and destroyer Aegis Warfare Systems are completely off-line. They went down just before noon, when we lost our satellites. They’re trying everything, but their systems won’t respond. It seems China fooled us into thinking we had a solution to their malware in our Aegis Warfare System, saving their real assault for now.”

  “What does this mean for the strike group?” Harrow asked.

  “Our escorts still have their close-in weapon systems,” Laybourn replied. “But they’re not very effective against these Chinese missiles. They’re a new variant we haven’t seen before. They travel at Mach speed and hug the ocean’s surface. They also make last-second evasive maneuvers, making it difficult for our CIWS systems to lock on to, resulting in a seventy-five percent miss rate.”

  As Harrow digested the grim news, red icons began populating the right display on the Video Wall, annotating another wave of incoming missiles. Twenty-eight missiles were targeted at the seven undamaged escorts, four per ship. Harrow watched tensely as each ship was able to shoot down only one of the four incoming missiles. Harrow felt helpless as the twenty-one surviving missiles slammed into his seven remaining escorts.

  Black-fringed orange fireballs billowed up from the stricken ships, and Harrow wondered how they could remain in operation. But his concern was overshadowed by another wave of red icons appearing on the display. It didn’t take long to determine that twenty missiles were headed toward Nimitz. With the carrier’s escorts unable to defend Nimitz, that task fell to Captain Laybourn. Harrow looked on as Laybourn ordered Weapons Free and put the ship’s missile and CIWS systems in auto.

  With both sets of missiles traveling near the speed of sound, it took only a few seconds for the scenario to play out. Five of the carrier’s ESSM and Rolling Airframe missiles hit their targets, and the remaining fifteen Chinese missiles continued onward. The carrier’s CIWS Gatling guns activated as the missiles approached, churning out 4,500 rounds per minute. But the missiles began evasive maneuvers as they approached the carrier, veering left and right at unpredictable intervals, and only two of the fifteen missiles were destroyed by the carrier’s last-ditch self-defense system.r />
  Seconds later, the thirteen remaining missiles slammed into Nimitz. Explosions rumbled through CDC, and thirteen sections of the Damage Control Status Board illuminated red. All thirteen missiles had impacted the starboard side of the carrier, below the Flight Deck. Two missiles penetrated the Hangar Deck, and secondary explosions rippled through the ship as ordnance staged for reloading aircraft detonated. Nimitz had well-trained Damage Control Parties, and Harrow knew they were responding quickly. But thirteen simultaneous fires, compounded with secondary explosions, would strain his crew.

  Harrow glanced at the monitors, displaying black smoke rising from every surface ship in his carrier strike group. They could not continue their mission, launching sorties against targets in China and Taiwan. They’d be lucky to exit the Strait alive. His job now was to recover his aircraft and retreat to the far side of Taiwan, where they could regroup and lick their wounds.

  Harrow picked up the microphone. “Bridge, Captain. Reverse course and exit the Strait at ahead flank.” He turned to Captain Corcoran. “Recover the air wing. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to conduct flight ops.” He followed up with an order to Captain Laybourn. “Direct all escorts via line-of-sight comms to reverse course and exit the Strait at maximum speed.”

  Corcoran and Laybourn acknowledged Harrow’s orders as a bright flash lit up the Video Wall. USS Lake Erie had disintegrated in a massive explosion. The fires must have reached her magazine. A somber quiet descended upon CDC as Harrow and his crew reflected on the loss of the cruiser and the men and women aboard.

  * * *

  Harrow returned to the Bridge as Nimitz sped north, black smoke trailing behind the carrier. Only six of the thirteen surviving escorts had managed to keep up, black smoke likewise rising from their superstructures. As Nimitz continued north at ahead flank speed, a gut-wrenching sight greeted Harrow’s eyes. The scattered remnants of the Lincoln Carrier Strike Group were adrift, eleven of the carrier’s fourteen escorts ablaze, with three oil slicks on fire marking where the three missing warships had sunk beneath the ocean waves.