by Andrew Watts
The captain instead had positioned their nuclear attack submarine almost directly in the track’s path, offset by only a few thousand yards. If all had gone according to plan, that would have allowed him to fire his torpedo right off the bow of the target. It would have been a very easy kill. He sighed. Would have been…
The first reports of sonobuoys being dropped had come about an hour ago.
“Conn, sonar, buoy splash bearing zero-two-five.”
The buoys kept coming. Rows and rows of them, spread out for several dozen kilometers ahead of his target. No surface contacts were nearby. And his sonar operators had not reported hearing any aircraft noises. That could mean only one thing. A maritime patrol aircraft had arrived on station. One that was capable of dropping many buoys and operating at a high enough altitude that the submarine couldn’t hear it. One of the new American P-8s.
The thought was chilling.
Their submarine was now right in the middle of this giant sonobuoy field. It was like treading water in the middle of a school of Portuguese man-o’-war jellyfish that were attracted to movement. As long as his submarine stayed quiet and still, there was a very good chance that they could remain hidden. But if they moved, the deadly sensors would detect the submarine, bringing great pain and danger.
The US warship, or at least the track that he assumed included the US warship, was now only twenty-five kilometers away. Soon the submarine captain would be able to see it with his periscope.
If he was willing to risk getting that shallow.
The only thing worse than a submarine being detected by sonar was a submarine that was visually spotted by an aircrew. He decided to wait. Just be patient, he told himself. Let them get closer.
The executive officer shot the captain a worried look. “Sir, we will need to make a decision soon.”
“Yes. But not yet. We need to—”
The sonar supervisor said, “Captain, buoy splash. Very close to us this time.”
“How far away?”
“One is less than one thousand meters, sir.”
The captain swore to himself, but his face remained calm. If they were dropping them that close…
“Come hard right to zero-four-five. Increase speed to all ahead full.”
The echo of repeated commands sounded throughout the space. The captain stood over the tactical chart, one of his junior officers updating it with the latest reports from the sonar team.
He wiped sweat from his forehead. The game had just moved to the next phase.
The DICASS sonobuoys began sending pulses of sound energy out into the deep ocean water. The sound waves expanded in every direction, and bounced back to the buoy when they hit something. That data was then sent from the buoy to the P-8 and MH-60R by radio. Both of the aircraft had sophisticated onboard computers that would analyze the sound data from the buoys, and turn it into valuable information: target distance, course, and speed.
“It’s a good ping, sir. We have solid contact.” The AW manning the sonar station was the first one to say anything after the pings had gone out.
The O-4 standing over him patted the enlisted man on the back. He then turned to look down the narrow passageway of the aircraft. He pointed at one of the junior officers. “Vector in the helo for torp drop.”
The junior Naval flight officer nodded and adjusted his lip microphone. He took a breath and said, “Cutlass 471, Pelican, come left to two-six-five.”
Plug said, “Left two-six-five.” He yanked the stick to the left, banking the helicopter and watching the heading indicator. Then he leveled it off on a new heading of two-six-five. Plug snuck a look over at Juan’s tactical display, checking that they were indeed flying toward the hostile submarine track.
“Cutlass, Pelican, standby for torpedo drop.”
Juan said, “Roger, Pelican.”
Juan wondered what the Chinese in the submarine were going through right now. All he could see was the same blue ocean racing along a few hundred feet below his feet. But that sub was down there. He shook the thought from his mind. Now he only had one job. Press the button.
“Cutlass, Pelican, come right to three-one-zero.”
“Right three-one-zero.”
The helicopter banked sharply and then leveled off on the new heading. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins. Juan’s eyes scanned all his instruments and then gripped the hand control unit that would allow him to launch the torpedo.
“Stand by for torpedo drop. On my mark. Three…two…one…mark.”
His breathing quickened. Pulse racing, Juan lifted up the small plastic protective cap and pressed the torpedo release button. Immediately, he felt the aircraft shudder with the sudden loss of over six hundred pounds of weight.
AWR1 yelled, “Torpedo away! Good ’chute!” There was a brief pause, and then he said, “It’s in the water.”
Juan made the radio call. “Torpedo is in the water.”
He again listened to the noise from one of the passive buoys, wanting to hear the sound of the torpedo—and what they all hoped would be a good hit.
AWR1 said, “She’s pinging. Executing her initial search.”
Juan could hear it. The Mark 54 torpedo began diving into the water, turning and pinging, looking for its contact.
Plug said, “Alright, Juan, where to now?”
Juan looked at him in confusion. “Huh?” They had just dropped the torpedo. Now it was time for them to wait and listen for it to hit the target.
“Tell me what to do, man. Let’s not sit on our ass.”
Juan thought about it. Plug was right. What if the first torpedo didn’t hit the target? Or what if it was only slightly damaged? They shouldn’t just assume that everything would go according to plan. There was always something they could be doing.
“If I was the submarine, I’d want to get out of there—to change my location. But I would still want to maintain the ability to attack the Farragut.”
“Okay, so where does that put him? Where’s he going to go if that torpedo doesn’t sink him?”
Plug looked at his tactical display. If the submarine moved too far to the rear of the Farragut, it would have trouble catching up. So that meant…
Juan moved his cursor to a certain spot and placed a waypoint in the system, then tapped a few keys. “There. Let’s fly to this waypoint and get ready to drop a buoy.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Captain, torpedo in the water, bearing one-two-zero, range less than two thousand meters!”
The captain replied, “Begin evasive maneuvers! Launch countermeasures.”
The cascade of voices rang out through the room. Men were yelling and sweating. They sounded afraid. They were afraid. So was he.
The crew leaned to one side and held on as the submarine began turning sharply and changing depth.
The XO said, “Captain, I’m afraid we’ve lost the array.”
He winced. “Understood.” The maneuvers had exceeded their speed limits and torn off the towed-array. This was extremely bad news, as it would reduce their sensor capability. But he couldn’t dwell on that now.
The first torpedo pings were several seconds apart. They sounded different than the sonobuoys that had been bouncing off their hull moments ago. These were a different pitch. With each noise, the tension in the crowded compartment grew.
“Captain, the torpedo is pinging faster. It appears to have acquired its target.”
The captain said, “What is the status of the countermeasures?”
One of his junior officers looked up. “Sir, countermeasures away. They just launched, sir.”
The captain watched the navigational readouts. They were racing away from the torpedo, but it was much faster. Still, if they could put enough distance between themselves and the decoy…
The pinging noise grew quieter, and its frequency changed.
“Sir, the torpedo appears to be going after the countermeasures! It is no longer following us,” the sonar technician said,
practically gasping with joy. Some of them grinned like silly boys, having evaded death.
“Gentlemen, please mind your stations,” the executive officer bellowed. “This is not over.”
But after a few minutes, it appeared to be. For now.
“Sir, I no longer hear the torpedo. It has run out, sir.”
The captain stood over the tactical plot. They would try to attack him again. He needed to get off his shot.
“Range to target?” asked the captain, his voice slightly above a whisper.
“Sir, the contact is now at ten thousand meters.”
Ten thousand. A lucky number.
“Come up to periscope depth. Flood torpedo tubes one and two. Plug in a solution.”
“Sir, the torpedo has stopped running. No explosion noises heard.”
The flight deck of the P-8 was deadly quiet.
The mission commander stood arms extended, his hands on the sonar tech’s chair. He said, “Do we still have contact?”
The lead AW listening to the sonar replied, “Stand by, sir”
About thirty seconds went by with nothing but silence. “Well?”
“Sir, we will need to reacquire the target. It appears that we have lost them for now.”
The mission commander said, “Alright, let’s keep listening, then. Don’t let these guys slip through.”
He looked at his tactical display. If the Chinese submarine had evaded towards the Farragut, it would be getting dangerously close to its torpedo range.
The submarine captain said, “How long until we’re in range?”
The XO said, “Captain, we’ll be at the maximum effective range of our torpedo soon, but because the towed-array came off, our track estimate is no longer accurate.”
The captain sighed. “Very well. Raise periscope. We will have to confirm visually and use that for our target solution.”
Surfacing with aircraft overhead was extremely risky. But it might be their only chance of successfully attacking the American ship.
“Understood, sir.”
“Cutlass 471, Farragut Control, request status of ASW prosecution.”
“Farragut, Cutlass, we’re about to spit a DIFAR and try to reacquire the sub.”
“471, Roger. Pelican, Farragut Control, say status.”
The P-8 voice came over the radios. “Farragut Control, Pelican, we have negative BDA, and we have lost contact with the sub.”
“Roger, Pelican.”
After a moment of silence, the voice from the P-8 said, “Farragut, Pelican, our passive buoys are still picking up noise consistent with the Chinese submarine. Trying to reacquire the track now.”
Victoria heard the call. She said, “Where is the helo?”
The ASTAC pointed his finger to the radar position. “Right here, ma’am.”
“Is he dipping?”
“Negative, boss. They were going to put a passive buoy there and see if they could reacquire the sub.”
She looked at the helicopter’s position on the chart. If the submarine had evaded by trying to get closer to the destroyer, that meant that the Chinese submarine captain was trying to get off another shot. If he thought he was about to be detected, he would probably fire his weapon soon. She didn’t want that to happen.
It was a chess game. Each one of her moves determined what her opponent might try next. She needed to think several moves ahead, and limit his options.
Victoria walked back over to the sonar table. “ASWO, show me your plot.” She looked at the nautical chart, all marked up with notes from the young officer. Grey pencil marks filled with where they thought the submarine was, based on the latest information.
She looked back at the radar screen, doing the mental math to superimpose where the helicopter was on this nautical chart. She pointed to a position on the ASWO’s plot. Victoria said, “The helicopter is right about here.”
The Farragut was barreling right toward that position.
She liked the location the helicopter crew had chosen. If she were the Chinese submarine captain, that’s right where she would have gone after being attacked.
Juan and Plug must have had the same thought. Now there was a good chance that their buoy location would be right on top of the sub. They were going to drop a passive buoy. But what if they went active here instead? They could use the helicopter’s dipping sonar. It was one of the most powerful tools in her arsenal. If they started pinging, they could get a great torpedo shot at the submarine again.
But what if she was wrong? What if the submarine had departed away from the destroyer, on the other side of the previous attack location? She thought about that. Then the pinging would still deter it from turning and closing on Victoria’s ship.
Victoria said, “Tell the helicopter to dip and go active. Right now. And be ready to drop their last torpedo quick if it’s right under them.”
“Roger, ma’am.”
Victoria said, “OPS.”
“Yeah, boss?”
“Turn the ship around.”
OPS looked confused. “Uh…boss?”
She said, “Reverse the ship’s course. Now. If that submarine is headed towards us, we’re going to walk right into their torpedo. I want to keep our separation. The P-8 and the helicopter are right on top of it. If we can give them more time to hunt, we’ll have a better chance of success. If we keep going this direction, we’re putting a time limit on how long our air assets have.”
“Don’t we have to reach the Panama coast by a certain time?”
“OPS, if we don’t sink this submarine, we won’t reach the Panamanian coast.”
“Cutlass, Farragut, Air Boss wants you to dip and start pinging.”
“Roger, setting up for dip.”
“And she says be ready to drop your torp right away.”
Juan said, “Roger, Farragut.”
The helicopter came in to a hover, lowering its AN/AQS-22 Airborne Low Frequency Sonar (ALFS) into the water. The MH-60R had the most advanced dipping sonar in the world. It was incredibly sensitive, and had improved detection ranges greatly over previous models.
Plug said, “Are you all set up for the second weapon drop?”
Juan had been ready this time. “Checklist complete. Just waiting to get target confirmation.”
Plug said. “Uhh…I think you’ve got confirmation.”
“Cutlass, Pelican, we have visual contact! Periscope just off your right side.”
Plug said, “Drop it. Drop it now!”
Juan, surprised, hit the button and again felt the shudder of the aircraft as the torpedo let loose.
“Conn, sonar, torpedo in the water, bearing two-three-zero!”
The submarine captain yelled, “Evasive maneuvers. What’s the range?”
“Less than one thousand meters, sir.”
The captain could hear the pinging through the hull. The pinging came loud and fast. It must have been right on top of them.
“I didn’t see the ’chute,” said AWR1.
Plug said, “Alright, just listen.” He shook his head. “Shit, I mean, I guess just watch. We can see it right—”
Juan said, “Farragut Control, we just dropped our torpedo. We have visual of the sub.”
AWR1 said, “Torpedo’s pinging. Pings getting faster. I think she’s acquired her target. I hear… holy shit. That’s gotta be a hit.”
“471, Farragut Control, roger. Please provide BDA.”
The ocean around the periscope transformed into a white web as wide as a football field. The white circle rose into a surge of white water, erupting into the air.
“My god,” said Juan.
The area of water glistened as it became covered with an oil slick, bubbles of air breaking the surface every few seconds.
“Farragut, Cutlass, we have visual. Torpedo has hit the sub.”
“Roger, Cutlass. Bravo Zulu.”
25
USS Ford
Admiral Manning stood on the admiral’s bridge of the USS Ford.
The phone rang. “Sir, this is the battle watch captain. Our Growlers have just finished tanking and are en route to Farragut’s position. The F-35s are about thirty minutes behind them. Also, sir, the JSTARS is on station.”
“Thank you,” was all he said in reply, hanging up the phone.
He looked over at the Zumwalt-class destroyer to their starboard side. It was heaving up and down in the water as they steamed north at close to twenty knots.
The admiral commanded thousands of personnel, and controlled billions of dollars in military assets. Some of the most technologically sophisticated warfighting machines on the planet. But now, with his daughter in trouble, he felt powerless. All he could do was wait.
The E-8C Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System, or JSTARS, had taken off from Robins Air Force Base in Georgia early that morning. Their mission was supposed to last for twelve hours, with a concentration of the work being done in the Eastern Pacific, just west of Panama.
Two members of the crew were not US Air Force. One was NSA, and one was CIA. Both sat next to each other, the US Air Force major watching their screens. One of his airmen sat next to the two men, managing the inverse synthetic aperture radar.
The airman said, “Sir, we have four surface tracks bearing two-six-zero for about”—he moved his cursor to measure the distance—“two hundred nautical miles. Based on the ELINT, sir…yup, that’s the Chinese.”
The NSA and CIA men had sophisticated surveillance equipment that canvased huge swaths of the Pacific for electronic signals. The CIA had provided intelligence that there might be a group of Chinese Navy ships headed towards the Panama Canal region, and that they might have had orders to open fire on the US Navy destroyer that was also in the area. The aircraft carrier USS Ford had a whole strike group but was still far to the south, so the Farragut was pretty much on her own. But no one had been able to pinpoint the location of the Chinese ships.