by Larry Bond
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This book is dedicated to our patient and understanding wives, Jeanne and Katy, who graciously put up with the numerous long conversations, as well as the many nights and weekends we left them abandoned while we typed like madmen. Without their faithful love and support, this book, indeed the entire Jerry Mitchell series, could not possibly have been written.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
We are deeply grateful to William S. Murray, associate research professor at the Warfare Analysis and Research Division of the United States Naval War College’s Center for Naval Warfare Studies, for his guidance and sage counsel. Professor Murray’s insight into the People’s Liberation Army Navy and undersea warfare made him an excellent sounding board for us to bounce our ideas against. He also patiently helped us as we wrapped our heads around that tumultuous body of water that is the South China Sea. The generous allocation of his time and expertise is greatly appreciated.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Maps
Prologue
1. We Have an Agreement
2. Mission Completed
3. The Summons
4. Covert Alliance
5. Sortie
6. Spoiler
7. Consequences
8. Escalation
9. Tidings
10. Decision
11. Division
12. Declaration
13. Revelation
14. Confrontation
15. Deliberation
16. Depression
17. Execution
18. Expansion
19. Evacuation
20. Indecision
21. Participation
22. Preemption
23. Desperation
24. Preparation
25. End Game
Epilogue
Glossary
Dramatis Personae
Author’s Note
Forge Books by Larry Bond
About the Author
Copyright
PROLOGUE
18 August 2016
South China Sea
“Possible target zig by contact Sierra-three eight, based on frequency,” sang out the sonar supervisor. “Contact has either turned away or slowed down.”
Commander Jerry Mitchell remained silent while the officer of the deck acknowledged the report. Glancing over his left shoulder, he could see the downward shift in the tonals on the sonar supervisor’s screen.
“Confirm target zig by Sierra-three eight. Contact has come right, new course three five zero. No change in speed,” announced the section tracking party coordinator.
Jerry shifted his attention to a large flat-screen display; the evolving tactical situation was constantly being updated by the sub’s fire control system. He shook his head slightly. It used to take several minutes and a couple of maneuvers by a trailing submarine to figure out a contact’s new course after a zig. But now, they could recompute a target’s course and speed in less than a minute. Somehow it didn’t seem quite fair, but Jerry was fine with that.
“Something wrong, Skipper?” interrupted Lieutenant Iwahashi, the officer of the deck.
“No, there’s nothing wrong. Stay with her, Kiyoshi.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Pilot, right fifteen degrees rudder. Steady on course zero five zero.”
“Right fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course zero five zero, Pilot, aye. Officer of the deck, my rudder is right fifteen.”
“Very well, Pilot.”
Pilot, Jerry thought ruefully. I still prefer helmsman. The change in some of the watch station nomenclature was but one of the many, many differences about this boat. His boat! Shivers still went up his spine every time the thought jumped into his mind—he was the captain.
USS North Dakota was brand-spanking-new, the first flight three Virginia-class nuclear-powered attack submarine in the fleet. As a class, the Virginias were revolutionary in many ways. One of the more obvious changes was in the control room. There weren’t any periscopes. None. No more dancing with the “gray lady.” An operator simply turned the mast-mounted video cameras with a joystick and watched the output on a flat-panel display—just one among dozens that encircled the control room.
The flight three boats were the third and latest production group of the Virgina design, fitted with the next-generation sonar suite, built around entirely new hull and towed arrays. Without question, North Dakota had the best sonar suite in the world; built to find the quietest targets any potential adversary had at sea or on the drawing board. In the current situation, however, it was definitely overkill.
They had been trailing the Chinese Type 093 Shang-class nuclear-powered attack submarine for a day, hardly a challenge given how noisy these boats were. Jerry’s sonar techs had first detected the Shang while she was tens of miles away, and with little effort Jerry had neatly maneuvered North Dakota into the Chinese boat’s baffles. Once settled in the sweet spot off the port quarter, North Dakota diligently shadowed her target; observing everything the Shang did, recording every squeak, thump, and whirl made by her propulsion plant. It all seemed too easy, and Jerry found himself repeatedly admonishing his crew to stay focused when they started getting a little too cocky.
“Overconfidence will negate our technological advantage faster than anything the other guy could do. Stay sharp,” he’d warned them. The U.S. Navy knew little about blue-water Chinese submarine operations. Every hour he stayed in contact undetected meant more data, and a better understanding of the People’s Liberation Army Navy’s submarine force.
“Captain, that course change puts Sierra-three eight on an intercept track with Sierra-five two,” reported Lieutenant David Covey, the tracking party coordinator.
“Very well, Coordinator,” Jerry responded. Then turning to Iwahashi, “OOD, show me the two tracks.”
“Aye, sir.” The junior officer pulled up a menu on the command workstation and zoomed out the tactical display.
Jerry studied the information on the port VLSD and did the math in his head as a quick check. The Shang was definitely closing in on the other contact, a merchant ship.
“That can’t be a coincidence, Skipper. It’s a perfect intercept course,” remarked Iwahashi. “Maybe the Chinese captain is conducting an approach and attack drill?”
“Could be,” Jerry speculated. “They certainly should have picked up the merchant by now. A Shang may be hard of hearing, but they aren’t deaf. Sonar, what do you have on Sierra-five two?”
“Sir, Sierra-five two’s signature matches the motor vessel Vinaship Sea in the database. She has a twelve-cylinder diesel with one four-bladed screw. Current shaft rate is 133 RPM, which correlates to twelve knots,” the sonar supervisor answered smartly.
“Very well, Sonar,” Jerry replied. And before he could even ask, the OOD spoke up.
“I have the Seawatch database entry here, sir. Putting it up on the starboard VLSD.”
“Excellent, Kiyoshi.”
The picture of the Vinaship Sea flashed up onto the starboard large-screen display. The ship looked rather unremarkable. The superstructure and funnel
were aft, with a raised island at the bow and four large deck cranes spaced evenly over the ship’s length.
“Looks like a buckwheat bulk carrier to me,” Jerry commented.
“Yes, sir. She’s 169 meters long and displaces 18,108 gross tons. Built in 1998, she is currently owned by the Vinaship Jointstock Company and is registered in the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. According to ONI, she left the Tan Thuan Terminal at Ho Chi Minh port two days ago and is en route to Osaka, Japan. Cargo is listed as coal.”
Jerry studied the merchant’s track. Again, his head shook slightly. The fire control system held her on course zero seven six—That can’t be right, he thought.
“Coordinator, verify Sierra-five two’s course,” Jerry ordered.
“Verify Sierra-five two’s course, aye, sir.” A few moments later Covey reported back. “Confirm Sierra-five two’s course is zero seven six, Captain.”
Frowning, Jerry asked, “Is it just me, or is that course too southerly for a Japanese destination? Quartermaster, what course would we steer if we were heading for Japan from Vietnam?”
“Working on it, Skipper,” replied the quartermaster of the watch. He had just selected the appropriate digital chart from the library menu and was using the trackball to lay out a rough voyage-planning route. “Sir, a better course from Ho Chi Minh would be about zero five zero, headed for the Hainan Strait. They are way too far south.”
Jerry turned around and leaned over the large horizontal display screen. “Here is Sierra-five two’s current track, and this is the course they should be on,” said the quartermaster.
“Not very likely this is a navigation error, is it?” inquired Jerry whimsically.
“I’d say nearly impossible, sir.”
Looking back up, Jerry spoke in a loud voice. “Any guesses why this ship is nowhere near where she’s supposed to be?” All Jerry got were shrugs and negative replies.
“Me neither,” he said. “Well, let’s keep an eye on her for as long as we can. In the meantime, let’s stay focused on our primary…”
A growing murmur from the sonar techs distracted Jerry; something was happening. The sonar supervisor didn’t keep him waiting. “Sir, transients from Sierra-three eight. It sounded like torpedo tubes being flooded.”
Surprised by the report, Jerry demanded confirmation. “Are you sure that’s what you heard?”
“Yes, sir. Both Petty Officer Gilden and I are sure.” Jerry saw the other petty officer nod his head vigorously. That was good enough for him.
“Attention in the tracking party, Sierra-three eight appears to be conducting an approach and attack drill on Sierra-five two that may include shooting water slugs. This is a prime piece of intelligence on Chinese anti-surface tactics, and we need to collect every scrap of data that we can on this evolution. The Shang may execute an evasion sequence after the shot, so stay on your toes. Carry on.” Jerry was excited at the thought of recording a mock attack by a Chinese SSN. Opportunities such as this were rare, and he had a front-row seat at the fifty-yard line.
“Mechanical transients from Sierra-three eight. Contact is opening torpedo tube outer doors,” announced the sonar supervisor, excitement in his voice.
Iwahashi acknowledged the report. The Shang SSN was less than seven thousand yards away from the merchant. Ten thousand yards was the estimated outer edge of a Chinese sub’s engagement envelope against a surface ship, based on past exercises. He’ll shoot soon, thought Jerry as he tried to imagine himself in his counterpart’s shoes.
Not even a minute later, the sonar supervisor called out, “Launch transients! One … no, two slugs!”
Jerry turned to look at the sonar display, but was stopped short when he saw the color draining from the sonar supervisor’s face. “TORPEDOES IN THE WATER!” he shouted. “Two weapons bearing zero three zero!”
“I have the conn!” Jerry barked. “Pilot, right full rudder, all ahead flank! Sound general quarters!”
The flurry of responses to Jerry’s orders was only partially hidden by the BONG, BONG, BONG of the general alarm. Almost immediately, additional people began piling into control as the battle stations team took their positions. The executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Bernie Thigpen, literally had to shove his way through the masses to reach his station.
“What the hell is going on, Skipper?” Surprise and concern were all over his face.
“XO, our friend out there just fired two torpedoes.”
“Seriously?” Thigpen asked incredulously. “At us?”
“Seriously. And I don’t know,” Jerry replied. “But I’m not taking any chances. I’m cutting behind the Shang. If those weapons are aimed at us, any anti-circular run feature should force them to shut down.”
“Captain, passing zero four zero to the right. No ordered course given,” exclaimed the pilot loudly.
“Very well, Pilot. Steer zero seven zero.” Jerry had to raise his voice to be heard over the growing buzz.
As the pilot responded to his captain’s orders, the sonar supervisor shouted out, “Captain! The torpedoes are classified as Yu-6s, bearing zero two seven and drawing left. But I have down Doppler, repeat down Doppler, the torpedoes are heading away from us!”
“Keep it down, people!” Jerry roared. It was too noisy in the control room and he had to hear every report properly. “Very well, Sonar.”
“Concur, sir,” Thigpen reported. “Weapons are not coming toward us.”
Looking up at the port display, Jerry saw the Chinese torpedoes pulling away from them—they weren’t the intended target. He then saw North Dakota’s speed climbing past sixteen knots; he needed to slow down before they popped out of the Chinese boat’s starboard baffles. At high speed even a Shang would be able to hear them. “Pilot, all ahead two-thirds. XO, are those torpedoes heading where I think they are?”
“If you mean the merchant ship, then yes, sir,” responded Thigpen flatly. “They’re closing at over fifty knots; time to impact, three minutes forty-five seconds. And there isn’t a blessed thing we can do about it.”
In an eerie silence, Jerry and his crew watched as the dots representing the torpedoes merged with the merchant’s symbol. It struck Jerry that the engagement looked just like a video game—only this time, people would die in the end. The explosion from the first torpedo was easily heard through the hull. But before the sonar supervisor could even make a report, a much louder, far more powerful explosion followed.
“Sweet Jesus! What was that?” exclaimed a shaken Thigpen.
“Had to be a sympathetic detonation,” said Jerry dryly. “But from what? The ship was listed as carrying coal.”
“Captain, I have loud breaking-up noises from Sierra-five two, bearing three one seven. She’s going down fast.”
“Very well, Sonar.”
“Skipper, the Shang’s bugging out.” Thigpen pointed toward the port large display. “She’s altered course to the left and has increased speed. Orders, sir?”
Still a bit stunned himself, Jerry simply stared at the display, desperately trying to understand what had just transpired. But soon he felt the weight of everyone’s gaze upon him. Everyone in control was waiting for a decision from him. He was the captain. Sighing deeply, he said, “Let her go, XO. We have more pressing business.”
Turning to Lieutenant Iwahashi, he continued, “OOD, make for Sierra-five two’s last position. Best possible speed. We need to see if anyone survived that blast. I’m not very hopeful, but we need to at least take a look. XO, you and the commo have ten minutes to get me a draft OPREP-3 message. We’ve just witnessed an act of war, and we need to phone home.”
1
WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT
8 August 2016
Hanoi, Vietnam
Dr. Komamura Sajin took in the view of Hanoi as they drove. Much of the architecture still reflected French rule, although modern buildings were mixed in everywhere, replacing ones destroyed in “The War.”
The city was filled with history. After his
lecture yesterday morning, he’d visited the B-52 Victory Museum, escorted by a large party of Vietnamese officers and officials. They’d even arranged a meeting with a veteran of the war who’d flown MiGs against the Americans. Komamura was still getting used to his celebrity status, but he loved the perks that came with it.
His official escort, Commander Nimh, had chatted with the professor in English, since Komamura spoke little Vietnamese. Nimh had read the new Vietnamese translation of Komamura’s book, and was obviously enthused to meet its author. Nimh made it clear that he considered the assignment a privilege, and that there had been fierce competition for the spot.
They were close to the ministry now. It occupied an entire block of Hanoi, but looked more like a college campus than office buildings or a military headquarters. Light-colored brick buildings with red roofs surrounded a grassy quadrangle with a fountain in the center. Trees dotted the grassy areas and almost surrounded the ministry buildings.
They turned out of the morning traffic and stopped at the security gate. In spite of the official car, the driver and Commander Nimh both had to present their identification. The commander showed a letter vouching for Komamura, and the guards checked him against their own access list.
There were more security checkpoints after they entered the main building and went to the top floor. As in other military headquarters he’d visited, Komamura passed relics in glass cases, paintings of battles, and several images of Ho Chi Minh and General Vo Nguyen Giap. At the last checkpoint, he surrendered his smartphone.
Komamura was nervous; he’d been treated like royalty, and had enjoyed every minute of it. But there comes a time when royalty has to earn its keep. Normally he didn’t pay much attention to his appearance, but he’d dressed for the occasion in his best suit with a wave-patterned dark blue silk tie embroidered with the kanji character for “umi,” the sea.
Nimh led him to a top-floor conference room. Instead of a large table, there were several groups of comfortable-looking chairs. Occupying three were several older naval officers. Preparing for the trip, Komamura had studied Vietnamese rank insignia. These were senior admirals.