U.S.S. Seawolf am-4

by Patrick Robinson

  “Okay. Access the satellite again at oh-six-hundred, check her course and speed. Call me at oh-five-fifty-five.”

  “Yessir.”

  By midday it was apparent that the Xia was running toward the eastern reaches of the Yellow Sea, down the shores of South Korea, and on into the first reasonably deep water, where Judd Crocker and his men awaited her.

  1400. Tuesday, June 27.

  Chinese Eastern Fleet Naval Base, Shanghai.

  Five hundred miles west of the lurking Seawolf, Admiral Zhang Yushu, Commander-in-Chief of the People’s Liberation Army/Navy (PLAN), had placed the entire Eastern Fleet on high alert for a prowling American nuclear submarine. His own overheads had seen Seawolf clear Pearl, but they had not spotted her since, which was not a great testimony to their skill with the stolen American sub-spotting system from the satellites.

  And now he sat in the office of the Eastern Fleet Commander, Admiral Yibo Yunsheng, himself a former commanding officer of the first, disastrous Xia. They were ruminating, over endless cups of fragrant China tea, on the problem of getting the gleaming new 13,000-ton Xia III safely under the water, away from the prying eyes and, they hoped, the sonars of the U.S. Navy.

  “You just know they’re going to be out there somewhere,” said Admiral Zhang, scowling, his dark eyes at the same time hard and irritated behind his heavy, hornrimmed spectacles. At the age of 59 he was, without question, the most forward-thinking C-in-C the People’s Liberation Navy had ever had. A tempestuous man of six feet, he was tall for that country, and he wore his thick black mop of hair longer than is customary in the Chinese military.

  But he had the ear and the trust of the Paramount Ruler of China. Zhang was enormously powerful, and if he had a mind to mobilize the entire fleet, to seek out and destroy any American interlopers, then that command would be carried out to the letter.

  A former commanding officer of a Luda-class guided missile destroyer, Zhang was a worthy opponent for Captain Judd Crocker, and indeed for Admirals Arnold Morgan and Joe Mulligan, half a world away, strangers at arms, their minds locked on to the precise same subject, China’s new submarine, with its menacing cargo of intercontinental ballistic missiles.

  “Where do you think they’ll wait?” asked Admiral Yibo.

  “We have to assume in the first available deep water, out east off the Japanese coast…but it’s a vast area, and if they have sent the Seawolf, she’ll be extremely hard to locate. That’s a very, very quiet ship. They say she’s virtually silent under twenty knots.”

  “Hmmmmm,” replied Admiral Yibo. “Not good.”

  Just then a uniformed secretary came in with a single sheet of paper that she handed to the Eastern Fleet commander. “For you, sir, I think quite important, from Naval Intelligence, Ningbo. Captain Zhao.”

  The memorandum was brief: “Received signal from Kilo 366 1700 yesterday June 26. ‘Suspected transient 10-second contact from nuclear underwater boat while tracking torpedo test firings.’ We have no data on Chinese submarine in area. No further contact. Alerted all surface ships in East China Sea.”

  He read it aloud to Admiral Zhang, whose scowl became, if anything, darker. “That’s it,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s Seawolf. The question is, where?”

  “Why are you so sure about the ship?”

  “Oh, I’m not that sure. But the coincidences are strong. We took the reactor critical in Xia III and within twenty-four hours we have America’s top nuclear boat leaving Pearl in the middle of the night. According to our sources on the island, her destination was unknown. She’s out there, Yibo. Trust me. She’s out there.”

  “But what harm can she do us?”

  “Aside from unlocking all of our systems, finding out the Xia’s capabilities in every respect, and gauging the power and effectiveness of her missiles, it is not beyond the bounds of possibility that the Xia could just disappear in deep water. You don’t know those devils in the Pentagon like I do. They’ve done it to us before, and they’ll stop at nothing to retain their position as the world’s dominant power.”

  Zhang, a man known as the supreme pragmatist of the High Command of the Chinese military, actually changed physically at the very prospect of conflict with the Pentagon. His stern but passive expression grew immediately dark and vengeful, as if someone were threatening his immediate family.

  It was not so much the advent of an obvious opponent, it was this particular opponent, the all-powerful United States of America. It seemed that whenever there was a standoff, China came off worse, especially in matters naval. The big American Carrier Battle Groups, forever prowling close to Taiwan, Japan and the Philippines, were literally the bane of his life, always too strong, too fast and too threatening.

  And how could he ever forget the terrible weeks two years previous when the U.S. Navy decided to eliminate seven of his new-built Russian submarines, the elusive diesel-electric Kilo-class boats? The colossal cost of trying to protect them, the sheer helplessness he felt in the face of the pitiless underwater marauders from the Pentagon — no, Zhang would never forget those days.

  He would never forget the ultimate humiliation, the ruthlessness of the U.S. Navy. And he would never forgive either; not for the gigantic cost in losses to China’s military, nor for the loss of so many of the PLAN’s leading submariners. Worse yet, he, Zhang, would never forgive the U.S. for the loss of face he had suffered, both before his peers and in his own warrior’s soul.

  “Zhang, would you sink Seawolf, if you could?”

  “I might. I just might.”

  “But how?”

  “I think two Kilos might do the job very satisfactorily. Should we ever locate her again.”

  271801JUN06.

  33.00N 128.10E. Depth 150. Speed 5.

  Course three-one-five.

  “The satellites have her, sir. The Chinaman is steering zero-nine-zero, running north of Cheju Island…that’s about seventy miles to our west-nor’west. Still heading straight toward. We just need to hang around right here, she’s gonna come right on by.”

  Pearson spoke in the certain navigational tones of a man who was guiding the destiny of Xia III. But Judd Crocker understood that. They’d come a long way, and their quarry was about to fetch up over the horizon.

  Personally, Judd was kind of impressed with himself that he had called her course out several days ago. All on his own, studying the chart. But he tempered that self-congratulatory mode by telling himself that any submariner on earth knows you head for the deepest water, whether you come from Massachusetts or Manchuria.

  And now they could only wait, stay dived and silent, and keep a weather eye out for escort ships. His orders were rigid on that one point: Don’t get detected. He just had to make sure the sonar room stayed on high alert, listening for a rise in the levels, listening for the throb of the Xia’s propeller, watching for her engine lines on the screen, staying well off track, and then falling in quietly behind, tracking her until she dived. And then sticking to her like a limpet.

  If the Xia dived, they would have no more help from the overheads. The next satellite pass was not due for another couple of hours. By then Xia III would be long past. At least she should be. And Judd checked his watch again—1900 now — and, echoing the plaintive cry of his ultimate boss, he muttered, “Well — where the hell is she?”

  The answer was, close. At 1900 Xia III was still on the surface, just clearing the northeast headland of Cheju Island, and setting a southeasterly course that would take her within five miles of the waiting Seawolf at around 2010. She had made an even more direct beeline for the deep water than Judd Crocker had expected, and he smiled quietly as his sonars picked her up, steaming toward him at 25 knots.

  “Conn-Sonar. I’m getting something, sir…just a faint mark on the trace…”

  “Hard left rudder…resolve ambiguity…”

  Seawolf swung left, permitting her towed array to reveal whether the approaching ship was to port or starboard.

  “Righ
t off our port bow, sir. Bearing three-four-five. Designate track two-zero. Checking machinery profiles right now.”

  The control room was silent as everyone listened for the verdict from the sonar officer — almost the only sound in the entire ship was that of Frank’s fingers punching the keyboard of his computer. Then he called it.

  “Conn-Sonar. Right here we have a twin-shafted nuclear ship with shrouded props…the engine is Russian, big GT3A turbines…profile fits the engine lines of a Russian Typhoon ICBM.”

  “So that’s how they did it,” murmured Judd Crocker. “They doubled the size of the old Xia to cope with their new stolen missiles — but they used a Russian engine for propulsion. They sure are buddy-buddies these days. I know one Admiral Morgan who is not going to love this.”

  Seawolf Locates the Xia

  The Xia came on toward them, passing to the east about 7,000 yards distant, still on the surface. Seawolf fell in behind, about two miles off the Chinese boat’s stern, and together they proceeded through the deep trough of ocean that runs west of the Japanese archipelago of small islands.

  Captain Crocker twice made a sharp 15-minute move to periscope depth for a visual check on the big missile submarine from Huludao. But his chances were limited. Right on the 32-degree line of latitude, 62 miles off the western coastline of Kyushu, Xia III dived, driving down to a depth of 200 feet, her speed dropping to 12 knots, the first time she had ever been below the surface.

  Seawolf tracked her, adjusting her own depth and speed, very occasionally pinging the Xia with the very latest disguised active sonar, almost impossible to detect, even by the Americans and the Brits. The trouble was, no one on board the American spy ship knew whether the Chinese were using the same system, despite the fact that they had acquired it under the most suspicious circumstances.

  The uncertainty concerning China’s ability to actually use what they had hijacked was unsettling to the officers of Seawolf. Were they being located by a silent satellite probing the waters from space? Were they being unknowingly pinged with a disguised active sonar, as they were pinging the Xia?

  “Generally speaking, Linus, my policy is that no news is good news. It’s my belief that if the Chinese could locate us, they’d do it right away, and then act immediately to clear us right out of the area. Or at least try to. So far, no one’s done anything. Which means we are almost certainly undetected.”

  “Can’t argue with any of that, sir,” said Clarke.

  But at that moment, the peace of Seawolf’s control room was ruffled.

  “Conn-Sonar. The Xia’s turning…”

  Frank’s operator was watching the turbo alternator, and on the 60-hertz frequency it had been showing for some while it had moved to 63 hertz, which meant the Xia had shifted the range rate from zero to some 18 knots closing.

  “JESUS! She’s coming almost straight at us…speed six knots…”

  “LEFT FULL RUDDER,” snapped Crocker. “Make your course zero-nine-zero. I’m going clear to the east of her…make your speed six knots.”

  Seawolf swung away, toward the Japanese coastline.

  “Sir, have we been detected?”

  “Does she know we’re here, or what?”

  “Christ, I bet it’s that satellite system they stole. Are these guys watching our every move?”

  “Easy, gentlemen,” said Judd. “She’s probably just clearing her baffles, checking her stern arcs, making sure no one is following her. Put yourself in her place…you’re on the maiden voyage of the last word in Chinese missile submarine technology. You’re running south down this lonely sea to find deep water to conduct your trials. On board you probably have, or at least you will have, intercontinentals powerful enough to knock down a major American city.

  “You know the U.S. is more than just interested. You know they will at least try to take a look. You know the U.S. is light years ahead in all submarine technology. Would you take the occasional look over your shoulder? Sure you would, just to check.”

  “Conn-Sonar. Range rate now opening…the Xia has probably resumed her course, sir. She bears one-eight-zero…speed twelve knots like before.…”

  “Excellent,” said the CO. “She was just checking, and I expect she’ll do it again before we’re much older. Stand by, Kyle, it could happen anytime.”

  They ran on south for another 100 miles before the Xia turned again, and again Captain Crocker evaded, moving east and waiting for the Chinese captain to return to his course.

  But the pattern changed as they approached the 26-degree line. The Xia, now running south-southwest in line with the islands, made as if to turn, but then took an even more westerly route, heading quite suddenly for the northern waters of the Taiwan Strait.

  Judd attempted to follow, at least up to the line of the Japanese current, where the water was still 3,000 feet deep in places. But beyond there it began to shelve right up to 150 feet. Seawolf could not go into the Strait without being immediately detected, because of the surface wake.

  And to no one’s surprise, Xia III came suddenly to the surface 30 miles off the northwest coast of Taiwan, before proceeding down the much-disputed stretch of seaway that separates mainland China from her wealthy independent neighbors.

  Seawolf was stranded, and with mixed feelings Captain Crocker turned around and headed back into the deep water east of the island.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “we’re going to plan B. My guess is that the Xia is heading for one of their bases, maybe with a problem, or two, or ten. I expect she’ll make for Xiamen. From there when she continues, I think she’ll go south and exit the Strait at the far end. We, meanwhile, will make a fast run around the seaward side of Taiwan in deep water, and then creep up the south coast to wait for her.”

  Wednesday evening. June 28.

  Gulangyu Island, Xiamen.

  Admiral Zhang’s summer home, with its curved red roof and lush trees and flowers, was situated across the narrow Lujiang Channel, on the Isle of the Thundering Waves. Tonight, he and his wife, Lan, enjoying the soft sea breezes, sat quietly sipping white wine with their great friend Admiral Zu Jicai, Commander of the Southern Fleet.

  Both men had flown into Xiamen by Navy aircraft that morning, Zhang from Shanghai, Admiral Zu from his Fleet HQ in Zhanjiang way down in the south.

  “And so, my friend Yushu, you really believe there is an American submarine out there in the China Sea tracking the new Xia?”

  “I do, and I dearly want to do something about it. But I don’t know what I can do. I know they’re out there, but heaven knows where.”

  “It’s a big ocean, and we don’t really know where to start, huh?”

  “No. We don’t. But I am wondering whether that slight valve problem that has caused our submarine to put into Xiamen tonight might, in the end, be good for us.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, if you were the American Commander and you were quietly following the Xia down the Yellow Sea and she suddenly broke off and headed down the shallow Taiwan Strait on the surface, what would you do?”

  “I don’t know, really, but with a big ship like Seawolf, I obviously could not follow her.”

  “Correct. So what would you do? Wait…I’ll tell you. First, you would guess there was a problem and that she was heading for one of our bases on the far shore, right? And you, my friend Jicai, driving that very fast American attack submarine, would race right around the outside of Taiwan and try to pick her up again when she exits the Strait at the south end.”

  “Well,” said the Southern Commander thoughtfully, “you could send the Xia back to the north end, leaving the Americans stranded 300 miles away in the south.”

  “No point. The American satellites would pick the Xia up in an instant, and simply-let Seawolf know where she was.”

  “You don’t think the Americans would actually hit the Xia, do you?”

  “Jicai, I really do not know. The trouble with submarines is they don’t get hit. At least not publicly. They just
vanish, usually in thousands of feet of water. If Seawolf did hit our new submarine we would have no idea where it was. It could take years to find. We don’t have the technology — and even if we found it, we could certainly not bring it to the surface. It would just be another of those submarine mysteries. And there would be no point even asking the Pentagon. They’d just say they had no idea what we were talking about.”

  “That’s why you are so anxious to get them out of our waters, eh?”

  “Precisely. But I do know one thing. They are out there. I feel it. I am certain of it. I know them so well.”

  The following morning, Admiral Zhang went for a long walk very early, before the heat of the morning set in. Then he and Admiral Zu had a light breakfast of tea and pastries before taking the short walk down to the shore, where the naval launch picked them up and ferried them over to the base.

  Although Zhang was technically in charge of the entire Chinese Navy, it was Admiral Zu, working now in one of his own Southern Fleet bases, who called a staff meeting of six commanding officers currently in residence with their ships’ operational, destroyer and frigate captains.

  He carefully explained the suspicions of the Commander-in-Chief, who sat impassively beside him. And he mentioned to them the possible detection by the Kilo, three days previous, of an American nuclear submarine.

  He outlined an area off the southwest coast of Taiwan where he expected the American boat to be waiting tomorrow around midday. He pinpointed the position, 22.45N 119.50E, in the southern entrance to the Strait, 20 miles west of the Taiwan Banks, where the ocean shelves away from 300 feet to 1,000 feet. “That’s submarine country, gentlemen,” he said. “As you all well know.

  “Tomorrow morning the Xia will leave Xiamen and head back out to deeper water to continue her trials,” he told them. “The American satellite will undoubtedly observe this. We thus expect the Americans to be on station somewhere around the area I have just given you, and the wishes of our Commander-in-Chief are that you open up with a barrage of depth charges and mortars. We want you to make enough noise to suggest a war is starting.