Dangerous Ground

by Larry Bond

  The last two jolts were hammer blows. Jerry had never imagined anything could be so powerful and not destroy the sub.

  “Check the room and the weapons,” Foster ordered, and Jerry automatically looked at his own displays, as well as those of his men. A few were dark, and the Senior Chief ordered Boswell to reset the breakers.

  As FT2 Boswell stood up and turned toward the breaker panel, a third explosion sounded, fainter than the first two. Jerry felt the vibrations and heard the rumble, and relaxed because it was so much weaker than the first two.

  They weren’t prepared for the one that came next. It felt like the hammer—a giant’s maul—had hit the hull directly outside the torpedo room. Jerry only heard the beginning of the explosion; the ringing in his ears that followed was like church bells.

  Boswell was thrown into the port torpedo stow and every man in the torpedo room was knocked to the deck. The lights failed again and sparks flew from cable junctions in the darkness before the circuit breakers cut the power.

  * * * *

  Breakout

  The battle lanterns cut in again and Jerry waited for moment, taking inventory of his bodily appendages before attempting to stand up. He’d struck something—or someone—on the way down and he hurt. From the moans and complaints surrounding him, he wasn’t alone.

  The phone talker had been knocked to the deck with the others, but he still had his headphones on and said, “Control wants all stations to report.”

  Jerry stood up slowly, favoring a sore knee, and looked around. His division looked battered but unbloodied as they resumed their stations. Boswell reached the breaker panel. “Can’t reset it,” he reported. “No power to the panel.”

  “Petty Officer Boyd, report no casualties, but no power either.” As Jerry gave the order, Foster staggered over to the breaker panel, double-checking Boswell. He nodded, confirming the diagnosis.

  After he repeated Jerry’s message, Boyd said, “I can hear reports from back aft.” The talker shared the circuit with the other stations on the sub and could hear their reports to control. “There’s a short in the main switchboard and a steam leak in the engine room. There are injuries.”

  Before Jerry could ask for more information, Boyd added, “The Captain wants you and Senior Chief Foster in control, ASAP.”

  Jerry and Foster moved as fast as they could in the dim illumination up the two decks to control. Jerry smelled the smoke and ozone as he approached the space and coughed as he stepped into the murky darkness. The beams cast by the battle lanterns, instead of illuminating the control room just reflected off the smoke, forming cones of bright white vapor, while the rest of the space seemed pitch black in comparison.

  His eyes smarting, Jerry looked away from the lights, feeling his way through the crowded space. He found Hardy and the XO near the chart table and threaded his way over to them.

  “Reporting, sir.”

  Hardy and the XO both turned to face him. “Two things, Mr. Mitchell. First”—Hardy pointed to one corner of the control room—”we’ve lost the Emergency Torpedo Preset Panel. Second, there is a problem in the engine room.”

  Behind Jerry, Foster turned and headed for the panel, as Hardy continued talking to his division officer. The Emergency Torpedo Preset Panel was just that, an emergency backup that allowed the fire-control party to set a torpedo’s course, speed, depth, and enable run in the event the fire-control system was damaged. Unfortunately, the earlier fire in the torpedo room had disabled the receiving circuits, and the Emergency Preset Panel was the only way they could talk to a Mk48. With it gone, Memphis had no weapons capability at all.

  As Foster approached the panel, maim lighting came back on and the panel, along with several other pieces of equipment, crackled to life. Showers of sparks flew wildly about and new smoke started pouting from cabinet vents.

  “Trip the breaker!” Foster shouted. “Trip it!” Two ratings standing near the control room switchboard dove toward it. The two quickly turned a number of barrel switches and plunged the control room into darkness once again.

  Slowly, cautiously, the technicians re-energized the equipment in the space, leaving the preset panel’s breaker open. Two other pieces of gear, the BPS-15 radar display and the TV repeater for the periscope, also sparked until their breakers were opened as well.

  As they were bringing the control room’s power back on line, Hardy spoke. “Mr. Mitchell, as soon as you’ve got power in the torpedo room, launch the Manta. Lead the Russians away from Memphis by any means you can think of. We’re dead in the water right now, and will be until Mr. Ho secures the port main engine. We had a bad steam leak and even after we get propulsion, we’ll be noisy and slow. And with the preset panel gone, we can’t fight. Our only hope is to have them looking somewhere else.”

  The control room intercom carried Ho’s voice. “Engineer, sir. We’re ready to answer bells, but only up to ahead standard. The best we’ll be able to make on the starboard main engine alone is twenty knots at full rpm. We can creep at five, tops. We’ve secured steam to the port main engine and that’s stopped the leak. It’s been isolated from the reduction gear so it won’t drag. We’re investigating the cause of the steam leak.”

  Hardy nodded to Bair, who was standing next to the intercom. The XO answered, “All right Eng, thanks for the report. How are your guys holding up?”

  “Final casualty count is four injured, three with burns and one with a broken ankle. I’m waiting for a report from the corpsman. I’ll pass the word to you as soon as I get it.”

  “Understood,” Bair answered.

  Ho added one final comment. “Sir, the plant took one hell of a beating. If we take many more knocks like that last one, we could lose a lot more than the port main engine.”

  Hardy stepped up to the intercom. “Do your best, Mr. Ho. Without you, we don’t get home. Control out.” He turned back to Mitchell. “Get going.” His face softened and he said, “Get them away from my boat, mister.”

  Jerry answered, “Aye, aye, sir,” as he left control and headed below. Foster was up to his elbows in the preset panel, calling for tools, but Jerry didn’t need the Senior Chief to launch the Manta.

  They had already started the sequence by the time he got to the torpedo room. He rushed through the procedure, as familiar to him now as getting out of bed in the morning. By all his indications, the Manta had come through the attack without a scratch. There was one bad moment when Jerry fretted about how well the docking skirt and latches had weathered the shock, but the display showed them all releasing, and the Manta automatically lifted off and away from its dock.

  With the UUV now clear, Jerry suddenly found himself at a complete loss about what to do next. He’d been so focused on the launch he hadn’t thought about tactics.

  Lead them away from Memphis. All right. I can do that. He ordered the Manta to turn west, back toward the trench, and punched the speed to fifteen knots. He also enabled the Manta’s simulator mode. A set of transducers in the vehicle would emit the acoustic signature of a Los Angeles-class sub. The Manta wouldn’t be quiet at that speed, and combined with the simulator mode, he hoped it would attract the attention of the Russian pursuers.

  To help get their attention, he also sent a command sending the Manta to shallow depth. The surface wake would show a live contact leaving the scene of their latest attack at a brisk pace. Hopefully, they’d be busy repositioning for another attack and wouldn’t notice Memphis creeping in the general direction of away.

  But was it working? It had only taken a few moments to send the commands. How long before he knew if the Russians were fooled? He was afraid that the way they’d find out it wasn’t working was another battering.

  He felt like waving a flag or broadcasting insulting Russian phrases. Instead, he told control what he’d done. Hardy came on the line. “I’m taking Memphis northeast at a creep and we’re hugging the bottom. Will you turn north once you’re in the trench?”

  “Yessir. I’m going to
stay noisy, drop a countermeasure if they attack, and then break away.”

  “Approved, but don’t break away too quickly. I want them to have a solid contact, so that everybody is completely focused on you.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Jerry started to mention the range limit on the acoustic modem, but held his fire. Hardy knew about it and reminding him wouldn’t help. It was Jerry’s job to figure out what to do.

  He checked the nav display and adjusted the Manta’s course slightly. He wanted it to pass through the buoy field Memphis had encountered. He also sent the Manta deeper, not because it would make him easier to find, but because that’s what a real sub would do.

  He checked the battery gauge and tried to do the math. Fifteen knots wasn’t flat out, but it would burn more of the Manta’s battery endurance than he’d like. Every minute he spent at fifteen knots now was good for eight or ten at creep speed.

  But dammit, he had to know if it was working or not? Where were those four patrol boats that had attacked them earlier? He requested control to ask sonar for their status.

  “U-bay, sonar. We’re on the line with you now. The four boats are astern of us, maneuvering and pinging. Our guess is they’re executing a search pattern at the site of our last attack. We think those were S3V depth charges, by the way. There was no torpedo noise at all before the explosions. They’re dropped from an aircraft, probably a Bear or a May patrol plane. They’re also passive homing, so we’ve got to stay quiet.”

  “Sonar, U-bay aye. And if the Manta makes too much noise, it will be an easy target for them.” Jerry then added, “Thanks for the update.”

  Now centered in the trench, Jerry turned the Manta in a complete circle before heading north, trying to create a “knuckle” in the water. A mass of disturbed water, a knuckle could reflect active sonar pulses. Normally subs made gentle turns so they wouldn’t create a knuckle, but not this time. He’d hang lights on it if he could.

  Jerry also reduced the Manta’s speed to five knots, both to save the battery and because that’s what a real sub would do.

  “Conn, U-bay. How many of those depth charges does a plane carry?”

  The control room talker said, “U-bay, conn. Wait one.” A minute later he relayed, “If depends on the sonobuoy and torpedo loadout. A Bear Foxtrot can carry up to twelve. A May can carry ten.”

  “Conn, U-bay aye. Thanks.” And that’s per airplane. Wonderful.

  Hardy came on again. “Mr. Mitchell, I’m turning Memphis to zero three zero now.”

  “Yessir. How long will it take before we know if this is working or not?” Jerry hated to ask, but the question nagged at him.

  “As long as they don’t attack Memphis, it’s working, mister. Just keep doing what you’re doing. I’m sure you can make it work.”

  Jerry was so surprised he didn’t answer. Hardy, encouraging him? Now he was really worried.

  “Conn, sonar. More explosions to the west. They might be more ranging charges.” As sonar made its report, the Manta’s sonar display also showed the sound spike. It showed a detonation ahead and to starboard of the Manta. He fed the bearing from the Manta’s detection to control, where they plotted both lines on the chart.

  The talker sounded almost happy. “U-Bay, conn. Plot confirms the explosions are in the trench, and the strength is right for an echo-ranging charge.”

  Jerry felt relieved for Memphis, but paternal concern for the UUV. Anything that could hurt Memphis would kill the Manta very quickly, which would end its job as a decoy. It would also deprive the American taxpayers of several millions of dollars’ worth of high-tech prototype. And the wreckage would be in shallow water, easily recoverable.

  Time to wiggle, he decided. Jerry turned the Manta toward the last explosion and changed his depth, bringing the Manta up. That should make it easier to distinguish from the seabed.

  Another ranging charge showed up on the Manta’s display and sonar also reported the blast. This one was behind and to starboard, but Jerry turned the Manta to port, as if he was trying to get away from the spot. He also told the Manta to go deeper, but not all the way to the bottom.

  A third charge followed in quick succession, this time ahead of the Manta, and Jerry increased speed to eight knots. The idea was to convince them they had a live target, but not to actually become one. And the longer it took, the better.

  “U-bay, conn. The tracking party thinks the patrol boats are headed west, toward the trench and the Manta. The Captain’s increasing speed to six knots, but says you’re supposed to keep them busy as long as you can.”

  “U-bay, conn aye.” A fourth charge exploded to the aft of the Manta, but close aboard, to judge by the signal strength on the display. He was trying to figure out which way to zig when the passive sonar picked up a new sound.

  “Conn, sonar, I’ve got a torpedo in the water to our west!” Jerry had never seen a torpedo on the Manta’s passive display, but instantly agreed with the sonar operator’s call. It was a perfect drop from the Russians’ point of view, ahead and to port. As the torpedo turned to starboard to begin its search pattern, the Manta would be dead ahead.

  Jerry told the Manta to release an ADC Mk 3 torpedo countermeasure, then kicked the UUV hard to port. He was already at eight knots, not enough to get out of the area quick enough, so he ordered the Manta to maximum, twenty knots, quickly computing how long he could head west across the trench at that speed.

  His one advantage was the maneuverability of the Manta. It was as maneuverable as a torpedo, and if he could get behind the torpedo and stay there, the weapon would never pick him up. Of course, as soon as this one ran out of fuel, they’d drop another, but first he had to live through this one.

  He watched the torpedo’s bearing on the Manta’s display, trying to guess its course and how far it was from the vehicle. As quickly as he could, Jerry slowed the UUV and turned it toward the torpedo, attempting to stay behind its seeker cone.

  Along with the noise of the torpedo’s engine, he could also detect the active seeker, pinging at high frequency. The rate of the pinging was important, because as long as the pings were widely spaced, the weapon was in search mode. If the ping rate increased, that meant the torpedo had found something and was taking a harder look.

  As Jerry maneuvered, he kept up a running commentary to control, telling them what the Manta was seeing and what he was planning. For the most part, control didn’t answer, aside from an occasional “U-bay, conn aye.”

  For almost a minute, the bearing continued moving to the right and Jerry chased it, taking the Manta in almost a full circle. He tried to visualize the position of the two as they circled a common point. While he could see where the torpedo was, in relation to the Manta, he could only guess at where the torpedo was headed, which would help tell him where the seeker cone was—and whether or not he was in it.

  Finally he seemed to catch up, the bearing to the torpedo changing less and less until he almost went past it and had to quickly correct, all the while dealing with the growing time lag as the Manta increased her distance from Memphis.

  The torpedo bearing remained steady for a few moments, and Jerry saw that it was headed south, probably toward the countermeasure he’d dropped. Turning as tightly as he could, he commanded the Manta north again. Hopefully he could get some separation before it sorted out the decoy and went into a circular reattack search pattern.

  North, always north. That’s what a real sub would do: try to reach the northern exit of the Kara Sea and get out of this geographic bear trap. He wanted the Russians to think that as well. And as long as he kept going north, he’d be running parallel with Memphis and wouldn’t have to worry about getting beyond control range. Still, the time lag was already a major factor.

  The torpedo remained to the south, and Jerry heard it switch to a higher ping rate. The countermeasure had worked, then. Jerry adjusted the Manta’s depth, putting about one hundred and fifty feet between the UUV and the seabed. If they started echo-ranging again, he w
anted to stand out from the bottom. He kept his speed low, at five knots.

  It took five minutes for the weapon to run out of fuel. They couldn’t drop another weapon until the first torpedo stopped, and he used the time to get some distance behind the Manta. It was also another five minutes’ grace for Memphis as she headed northeast.

  Jerry had expected them to start echo-ranging again, but the next sound he heard was another torpedo starting up—and close aboard, to judge from the signal strength. He quickly turned the Manta toward the weapon, hoping to get past it and behind it, as well as triggering another torpedo countermeasure.

  They must have just taken the last drop point and figured how far he’d get at five knots. They’d come closer than he liked, and Jerry decided it was time to get out of Dodge. He said as much over the circuit and Hardy’s voice immediately said, “Agreed, as quickly as you can.”