Dangerous Ground

by Larry Bond

  “Perfect, Mr. Mitchell! Now keep us on her tail,” encouraged Monroe.

  “Aye, aye, sir! We are in the sweet spot and I intend to take up permanent residence.”

  Monroe and Davidson watched as Jerry matched Memphis maneuver for maneuver for the next six minutes. Keeping a close eye on the target’s estimated course and speed, Jerry adroitly adjusted the Manta’s course and speed so that it maintained its relative position with respect to Memphis. Captain Hardy must be beside himself with frustration, thought Jerry. With the Manta still in his baffles, there was nothing the Captain could do. He couldn’t hear the Manta and—more important—he couldn’t simulate a torpedo shot on it. Jerry was in control of the situation, and Jerry knew that Hardy knew it as well. But all of a sudden, the small smile on Jerry’s face was replaced with a frown. Memphis had not executed a maneuver in over three minutes. Something was up.

  “Mr. Monroe, sir, the Captain is up to something. He hasn’t maneuvered at all in the three plus minutes and I think he’s going to break, and break hard, soon.”

  “Concur. Which way do you think he’ll go?” Monroe asked.

  “He’ll go to the left. All of his past maneuvers, as small as they were, have been to the right. He’s going to go to the left in a major league way, I just know it!” exclaimed Jerry. “And when he does, I’ll go hard right, cross behind again, and settle in on the starboard side of the baffles.”

  “Won’t that be risky? Our TMA solution is a little old,” questioned Davidson.

  “Not really,” responded Jerry. “I’ve kept our relative position pretty constant, so the solution is still accurate and we haven’t closed the target all that much. That’s the whole point behind the lag pursuit maneuver. Furthermore, as soon as we see him commit to a left turn—and we will if he breaks hard—we start turning to the right and with our superior maneuverability we’ll finish our maneuver before he does.”

  “Do we still have depth separation?” asked Monroe.

  “I don’t know, sir. That’s hard to estimate. I think Memphis is a little deeper, but I can’t say how much.”

  Monroe sat down and thought for a moment. He looked at his own notes and then the TMA solution. A smile slowly grew on his face. “If he turns left, Mr. Mitchell, execute a hard right turn!”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” said Jerry. The three of them then sat there, glued to the sonar display, awaiting the first clue that Memphis was starting her turn. They didn’t have long to wait.

  Within thirty seconds of Monroe’s decision, Memphis executed the hard left turn that Jerry had predicted. With almost lightning reflexes, Jerry simultaneously drove the Manta into a hard right turn and then eased off before they emerged from the starboard baffles. By the time Jerry finished fine-tuning, the Manta occupied the exact same position on Memphis’ starboard quarter.

  “Sweeet,” muttered Davidson.

  “Nicely done, Mr. Mitchell,” praised Monroe. “Now, before they can figure out what just happened, increase speed to fifteen knots. Davidson, prepare to go active.”

  “Increase speed to fifteen knots, aye, sir,” replied Jerry.

  With the added speed, the Manta broke from the starboard baffles. Waiting just a few seconds to let the maneuver’s effect sink in. Monroe ordered Davidson to go active on the bow array with four sharp pulses; meaning simply, “bang, you’re dead.”

  “Touché, mon capitaine,” said Monroe triumphantly as he slapped both Jerry and Davidson on the back.

  A couple of minutes later, the IMC announced, “Secure from battle stations. Secure from drill. Drill monitors muster in the wardroom for the critique.”

  “Mr. Mitchell, you and your team recover the Manta and then join us in the wardroom,” ordered Monroe. “And a very well done to both of you.”

  As Monroe headed forward, Davidson turned toward Jerry and said, “That was awesome, sir! You really handled the Manta well.”

  “Thanks, Petty Officer Davidson. The funny thing is, the Manta felt a lot like an airplane. And I just fell back on my aviation training.”

  “Well, sir, Mr. Adelman was never that good, and this was your first time with the real deal. Maybe that’s why the Navy sent you here for this mission. They knew you had the proper skills.”

  Jerry laughed and responded sarcastically to Davidson’s naïveté, “Somehow TM2, I don’t think I can attribute that kind of forethought to the senior leadership of the U.S. Navy. Now, let’s get the Manta back on board.”

  As Davidson contacted Greer to begin the recovery procedure, Jerry looked up and noticed for the first time that all of the torpedoman’s mates were looking at him and Davidson. A few nodded their approval; Foster clearly made his feelings known by his glare. Jerry chose to ignore his senior chief’s disapproval and turned the Manta procedure book to the recovery section.

  Ten minutes later, with the Manta firmly secured in its dock, Jerry headed forward toward the wardroom. With any luck, the critique would be almost over. Hardy was bound to be in a foul mood after Monroe’s lopsided victory over Memphis’ fire-control party. Turning the corner around the bulkhead that separated officers’ country from the rest of the boat, Jerry heard a loud and angry voice coming from the wardroom. He couldn’t make out all the words, but the voice was very familiar. The Captain was obviously beside himself with anger over this drill and he was making his displeasure known to one and all. Stopping by the door to the wardroom, Jerry took a deep breath and went in.

  “It’s about time you showed up Mitchell. We’ve been waiting for you,” growled Hardy.

  Inwardly Jerry groaned. Now he would have to endure the Captain’s wrath as each embarrassing moment was gone over in detail. Since there was nothing Jerry could do about it, might as well get it over with. “Sorry, sir, we were recovering the Manta and I wish to report that the vehicle is now secured.”

  “Very well,” grumbled Hardy.

  “Let’s continue with the critique, please,” remarked Young rather testily. “As you were saying, Mr. Monroe.”

  Lieutenant Commander Monroe looked down at his notepad and picked up where he had let off. He described the maneuvers used during the exercise and how they were based on classic Russian SSN tactics. He then made several complimentary statements on Jerry’s ability to grasp the essence of the tactics and to employ them. Monroe even went so far as to say that Jerry’s previous aviation experience proved to be extremely valuable in this instance. Jerry watched as Hardy seemed to turn more and more crimson as the squadron staffer praised one of his officers. When they reached the point in drill when Memphis turned hard left, Bair piped up and asked, “Why did you turn hard right as we turned left? I don’t quite understand the rationale behind that action.”

  Monroe motioned for Jerry to answer his XO. “Well, sir, we could have easily turned with Memphis, but in doing so we would have ended up in a disadvantaged position where you would have been able to shoot us. By turning right and crossing astern for the second time, we retained the position of advantage. We knew about where you were and that you were in our weapons envelope. But we were not in yours. When I saw the hard left break, I recognized the situation as being similar to what aviators call a ‘flat scissors’ and I maneuvered accordingly.”

  “Are you saying you beat the crap out of us by using dogfighting tactics, mister?” demanded Bair.

  “Uh, yes, yes, sir. I guess that is what I’m saying.”

  Bair sat back in his chair and shook his head. “No wonder we couldn’t figure out what they were doing. We were expecting them to behave like submariners and planned our attack based on this assumption. But instead, they acted more like fighter pilots. And in this case, they actually had one.”

  “Yes, XO, I agree!” Hardy said angrily. “And that is exactly why I object to this whole drill. How can we be expected to fight a small, highly maneuverable vehicle with traditional tactics and weapons?”

  “Your point is well taken, Captain,” replied Young icily. “But the last time I heard, the CN
O is encouraging exactly this kind of out-of-the-box thinking!” Rising, Young positioned himself so that everyone could hear him. “What we learned today from this exercise was not what we had intended. Instead of ending up with a traditional sub-on-sub encounter that would just test your fire-control party’s skills, we found that a highly maneuverable vehicle with a well-trained operator unexpectedly dominated the scenario. And I submit to you, Captain, that this result is of far greater interest to my staff and me than what we did expect.”

  “Since other nations will undoubtedly follow our lead in developing combat UUVs, this exercise has given us some insight into the problems we’ll face in developing future tactics and systems to address the threat. Now, if you will excuse us, Captain, we’ll sit down and determine your final grade for these sea trials. In the meantime, please set a course for home.”

  As the members of Memphis’ crew filed out of the wardroom, Jerry received a number of slaps on the back and some words of congratulations—all out of the Captain’s earshot, of course. Even the XO, who had been in charge of the fire control party he and Monroe had so thoroughly bested, winked his approval.

  But even more surprising to Jerry was the fact that Hardy was amazingly civil on the trip back to New London. Undoubtedly, the excellent grade Memphis received from the Commodore had done much to salve the Captain’s wounds. But Jerry hoped that maybe the Captain was starting to see that he was worth having on board. Of greater importance to Jerry, though, was his realization that he could be a good sub driver. And for the first time since he started down his new career path, Jerry saw light at the end of the tunnel.

  * * * *

  Unwelcome Guests

  May 12, 2005

  SUBASE, New London

  “Reveille, reveille, up all bunks. All hands turn to and commence ship’s work. Quarters to be held on the pier at 0800,” droned the IMC mercilessly. Jerry groaned quietly and muttered, “But I just closed my eyes a minute ago.” Unfortunately, his watch confirmed that he had actually been asleep for four hours. Jerry was still dog-tired and he really wanted to sleep. The rustlings and thumps told him that his roommates were up and getting dressed.

  “C’mon, Jerry, rise and shine,” said Berg as he lightly kicked Jerry in the rear.

  “Just five more minutes, Mom,” whimpered Jerry.

  “Sorry, dear, but you don’t want to miss the school bus,” replied Berg as he kicked Jerry again.

  “You’re a cruel man, Lenny. You’re only kicking me because you can,” said Jerry as he slowly slithered out of his rack.

  “How true,” responded Berg in a deadpan manner. Then, a little more lightheartedly, “There are some advantages to having the top bunk.”

  As Jerry shaved and got dressed, he tried to get his disorganized mental house in order. Today was May 12, and it was going to be another busy day. Dr. Davis and Dr. Patterson would be arriving this morning with the ROVs and Lord knows whatever else Memphis would need for the patrol. Ever since they had returned from sea trials, preparations had reached a breakneck pace all over the boat. Hardy had told them, back in March, that they only had two months to get ready for a lengthy deployment. That had seemed an incredibly short time then. Now, with the reality of tomorrow’s departure date looming like an oncoming express train, everyone was flailing to finish up. Some were more successful than others. Washburn was waiting for critical supplies, and Millunzi’s engineers were still working on cranky machinery. Lenny Berg couldn’t receive the new crypto codes for the upcoming cruise until his COMSEC procedures had been reviewed, and the inspector was behind schedule—by five days. Lenny spent a lot of time on the phone.

  As the crew mustered for Quarters, Jerry’s division stood in its normal place on the pier. The weather was kind, a beautiful spring morning, with only an occasional breeze moving the cool morning air. Jerry tried to enjoy it, but weeks of furious activity made it hard for him to stand still. Where the hell is Hardy? he thought. It was already ten minutes past eight o’clock.

  Bair kept watching the forward escape trunk, and as Hardy emerged, the XO called, “Attention on deck!” The ship’s company snapped into immobility, then waited as the Captain crossed the brow, walked to where the XO waited in front of the assembled crew, then returned Bair’s salute.

  Bair stepped to one side, and Hardy stood for a moment, looking up and down the line of sailors. Along with the rest of them, Jerry waited as patiently as he could. Rumor had it Hardy would give them more details about the mission, and beyond normal curiosity, Jerry would like to know just what he was going to be doing for the next few months.

  It might also put to rest some of the rumors flying around the boat. “Guess the mission” had become Memphis’ most popular game. The special equipment was rumored to be a new weapon, a new propulsion system, or remote controls that would turn the sub into a giant UUV. Their destination was Greenland, South Africa, or possibly Havana harbor in Cuba. To their credit, Jerry’s division had been as silent as stones. Foster would have dealt harshly with any leak—and the division knew it.

  Hardy seemed reluctant to start, or at least, in no hurry to speak. Jerry noticed Bair to one side, fidgeting. The Captain’s expression was grimmer than usual.

  “Our orders send us far north,” Hardy finally announced. Jerry knew that meant north of the Arctic Circle, into Russia’s backyard. “We will be gone for several months, which should be no surprise to anyone here. Due to security concerns, I won’t be able to tell you exactly where and exactly what we’ll be doing until after we’re under way.”

  “You all know that we will be loading some special equipment today. The civilian tech reps who install it will also be accompanying us.” That started a low buzz of conversation. “That’s right. The two ladies, Dr. Patterson and Dr. Davis, will ride the boat on this next patrol.”

  Jerry tried to absorb the news. Women on the sub? Although females routinely served on surface ships and on aircraft, they’d never been part of any submarine’s crew. Space was too tight. There was no privacy. No wonder the President’s name kept coming up. He was the only one with the clout to overrule Navy policy.

  And those two women? Emily Davis was all right; he could deal with her, but Dr. “I work for the President” Patterson? Jerry’s heart sank to his shoes. She hated the Navy. Why was she going along? Not willingly, Jerry assumed. Had the President ordered her to go? Mitchell was suddenly glad he’d voted for the other guy.

  Hardy’s voice hardened as he continued. “I want it thoroughly understood that our two guests will be treated not only as ladies, but as senior officers while they are aboard. Any disrespect or any attempt at fraternization will make the offender wish he’d never been born.” He paused for a moment and added a theatrical glare that included the entire ship’s company.

  Adopting a more matter-of-fact tone, he explained, “The ladies will berth in the XO’s cabin and eat in the wardroom. The ship will be rigged for female visitors throughout the entire deployment. I don’t want to see one piece of inappropriate literature out in the open. The speech and decorum of the entire crew, including the officers, will also be under the closest scrutiny during this patrol.”

  Thanks for that ringing vote of confidence, Jerry mused. From the sour expressions on the faces of some of the crew, they felt the same way, either about having women aboard the sub, about Patterson, or about the CO’s lack of trust. Jerry wondered how many of the other sailors were just better at hiding their feelings.

  Hardy left and the XO dismissed the crew from Quarters. Jerry immediately hurried down to the torpedo room, to make sure it was ready for the special equipment’s arrival. It had been last night, when he made his rounds, but double-checking never hurt.

  His division had just finished loading torpedoes yesterday. The torpedo room looked incomplete with only eight weapons stowed instead of twenty-two, but the empty racks would be filled today with the ROVs and support gear and who knew what else.

  The torpedo division, under Foste
r’s direction, had already started to set up the loading tray and rig the downhauls. Most of the loading gear had to be stowed after loading the torpedoes yesterday, especially since some of the parts were deck plates from in front of the Captain’s stateroom and by the crew berthing. The Captain and the crew would have missed those sections last night.

  Looking up from between the torpedo tubes, Jerry saw that the plates from the two decks above had already been removed. The loading tray itself was being hoisted out the weapons shipping hatch and guide rails from the torpedo room deck were being put in place. Once done, there would be a complete path from the hatch to the centerline stowage rack in the torpedo room. Everything seemed to be moving along just fine. The only things missing now were the equipment and the tech reps. Unfortunately for Jerry and his division, they stayed missing for several hours.