by Larry Bond
“Three contacts, the closest is Sierra-three three, bears one seven zero, range eleven nautical miles and opening, course one nine zero at twelve knots.” That matched the information displayed on the big screen. They’d set up their UUV deployment box with some flexibility, so they could pick a spot with the thinnest merchant traffic.
“Speed one knot and falling,” the pilot called. Jerry studied the trim indicators, although the OOD and chief of the boat were both watching them as well. Jerry knew the last knot would come off quickly. He’d actually taken time to practice coasting to a stop, timing how long it took from different speeds. Conning a sub should not involve guesswork.
“The boat is stationary.” Franklin took just long enough to verify the pilot’s report, then passed the word over the intercom. “Torpedo Room, Conn. We’re hovering. Launch Minot.”
The big ISR UUV, nicknamed “Minot,” was designed for quiet launch. Using its own electric propulsion, it simply pulled itself out of the vertical tube, pitched over into a level attitude, and swam off to the west at three knots. The vehicle’s entire track was programmed, along with several alternative plans that could be triggered by satellite downlink, acoustic modem, or on its own, depending on what its sensors detected.
North Dakota’s two UUVs, Minot and Fargo, allowed Jerry to extend his patrol area. While the vehicle’s sonar wasn’t as good as a Virginia’s, the UUV was a hair quieter and much smaller than the sub, making it harder to detect than the submarine.
By the time Minot was headed to the west, the payload tube hatch had closed and the torpedo room watchstanders began pumping down the flooded tube. Franklin had ordered the boat back to her eight-knot patrol speed and turned it toward the next patrol waypoint, all without Jerry having to say a word.
Three or four days from now, in a different spot along the western edge of their zone, they would recover Minot and replace it with Fargo, the second UUV. Until then, the submersible robot was on its own, to listen and report.
* * *
“Next waypoint bears zero seven five, twenty-two miles.” Lieutenant Ed Rothwell, the navigator, had made the announcement almost as a formality. The waypoint was marked on the starboard big screen and also showed as the indicated course on the pilot’s console.
The waypoints had been carefully chosen to be as random as possible, while also taking into account the current weather, the acoustic conditions at that time of day, and the likely movements of the ships they were supposed to be listening for.
North Dakota prowled and listened inside a bent rectangle wrapped around the southern end of Hainan Island, with the UUV’s zone an angled box at the western end. Santa Fe’s area lay to the east, separated by a buffer zone. Although this was only a surveillance mission, it was vital that if North Dakota or Santa Fe heard another submarine, there would be no time wasted making sure it wasn’t an American boat.
Slipping quietly through the water at three hundred feet, there was little for most of the watchstanders to do: no maneuvers except turning from one waypoint to the next, not even many depth changes. All the action was at the sonar watch station, as they listened and waited.
Lieutenant Stuart Gaffney, the sonar officer, watched his troops at work, making sure they and their gear were in top shape. They were, but even the best sonarman has to wait for something to hear.
* * *
“So she really hugged him? In front of everyone?” Lieutenant Lymburn’s question was directed to the XO, also standing near the sonar station. She gestured toward Gaffney. “I can’t believe either half of what this guy says.” Gaffney, surprised at being identified as the rumor’s source, did his best to fade into the bulkhead.
Thigpen nodded sagely. “I heard it from two guys on the squadron staff when they ‘came by to check on our supply status.’” He gave a short laugh. “Right. What they really wanted was to pump me about how the skipper knew Dr. Patterson. I said they’d been shipmates and longtime friends, back to when he’d solved that bomb plot at the Naval Academy when he was a midshipman.”
“You know, I’m right over here,” Jerry remarked acidly. They’d been speaking softly, of course, but not that softly, and the well-run control room seemed even quieter than normal. “And I never did anything like that!”
“Well, sir, you did go to the academy. There could have been a bomb plot, and of course it was kept out of the papers. They thought it was fascinating.”
Jerry rubbed his face and groaned. Thigpen was having far too much fun at his expense.
Turning back to Lymburn, the XO answered, “In this case, Lieutenant, Stuart is correct. The deputy national security adviser did, indeed, hug our beloved captain.”
Gaffney studied the sonar consoles carefully, conspicuously ignoring the conversation.
“Wow,” Lymburn exclaimed. “Did she kiss him?”
“No. He’s not that beloved.”
She turned to Jerry. “Sir, does Mrs. Mitchell know about this relationship?” Lymburn looked serious, and a little worried.
“Dr. Mitchell, who was Dr. Davis at the time, was the maid of honor at Dr. Patterson’s wedding,” the XO interjected. “Emily used to work for her. Isn’t that right, Skipper?”
“That part of what the XO said is true,” Jerry replied. He did his best not to smile, and added, “XO, didn’t you have to inspect something, somewhere?”
“Yessir, I was just on my way to do that.”
* * *
To her credit, Lymburn had kept one eye on the control room during the conversation, but two eyes were better. She and Gaffney remained by the sonar consoles. Since it was daytime, they weren’t running with the multifunction mast up, which listened in on the local airwaves. The first sign of a contact would appear on sonar.
The southern end of Hainan Island held a large commercial port, two busy naval bases, and was home to many fishing boats and smaller craft. North Dakota’s sonarmen constantly sorted man-made ships from the abundant sea life, and then naval from civilian vessels. They depended on a computer library of marine sounds, as well as a database holding acoustic information on warships and merchant sound signatures. Even then, the final call often came down to a petty officer’s experience and judgment. Sometimes, though, the Chinese made it easy.
* * *
“Sonar contact bearing three one two, multiple sources, high blade count. Correlates with active sonars on same bearing.” After a moment’s pause, the petty officer added, “Sonars are SJD-5 and 7.”
The sonar bearing, actually a cluster of white lines, appeared on the port VLSD.
“Pointing straight at Yalong Bay,” Jerry observed. “The same time as yesterday.”
A few moments later, the fire control system changed the cluster of lines to a blurry point twenty-six miles away, and added an arrow pointing almost due south. “Just leaving the eastern naval base,” Jerry remarked.
The petty officer reported, “Base course is one seven zero, speed ten knots. But we’re getting high-speed beats as well as slower screws that sound like merchants.”
“With active sonars, they have to be escorts,” Lymburn remarked. “Looks like they’re still worried about submarines.”
“But we’ve seen lots of merchant traffic in and out of Yulin that wasn’t escorted,” Gaffney commented.
“Could be part of the exercise they’ve announced,” Lymburn suggested. “They’re practicing wartime procedures, just as if there was a sub waiting for them to leave harbor. And maybe there’s a Chinese submarine, waiting to conduct mock attacks against them.”
Jerry knew the Chinese weren’t practicing. He hadn’t shared the details of the briefing with all of his crew. Only the XO, department heads, and the COB knew the full story. But still, she’d raised a good point.
“Let’s make sure there isn’t another boat lurking around here,” Jerry remarked. “Sonar, keep a careful watch out for possible submarines,” he instructed. “We’ve been innocent bystanders once. I don’t want to be surprised by a di
esel sub lying in wait. And make sure the Chinese aren’t trying to slip one of their subs out along with those surface ships.”
“Careful watch for submarines, aye, sir.”
“Q, give me an intercept course at eight knots that will get us in front of them, just inside their radar horizon. We’ll poke a mast up and see what there is to hear.”
“Aye, sir.” Lymburn glanced at the plotting board, but figured the angles in her head. “Recommend course three five zero. That will bring us within their horizon in … forty minutes.”
“Very well.” After Lieutenant Lymburn had ordered the course change, Jerry drilled her a little. “What happens next, Q?”
She considered for a moment, then said, “We should come up to periscope depth in,” she glanced at her watch, “thirty-four minutes. We extend a photonics mast for ten seconds, to see if there are any close-by radars. If the coast is clear, we raise a multifunction mast and take a quick look for any comm signals. After a few minutes, we head back down to one hundred and fifty feet.”
Jerry nodded his approval. “And what comes after that?”
That took a few moments for her to answer. “Close and get a periscope observation,” she stated firmly.
“Correct. Get to work on the best plan that can get us within five thousand yards and then out without being detected. Remember, we’re not making a torpedo approach. We just need to get close enough for a good beam-on video recording.”
While the OOD worked the angles, the sonarmen continued to analyze the sounds radiated from the ships. The screws, the turbines, the electrical generators on each ship produced sounds, or “tones,” that gave clues as to its identity. The thrum-thrum of the screws also let the sonarmen calculate the contact’s speed, vital for tracking.
“OOD, Contact Sierra-four three is a Type 053H3 frigate, and correlates with the active SJD-5.”
That got Jerry’s attention. “A 53H3 frigate? That’s the Jiangwei II. It’s old, but it can carry a helicopter. OOD, allow for dipping helos in your plan. Assume they’re dipping five to ten thousand yards from the ships.”
The sonar petty officer reported, “Sierra-four four is a Type 54 frigate. It matches the other active sonar.”
“Newer class,” Jerry commented, “but it could have a towed array along with the better bow sonar, as well as a helo deck and hangar. So now they’ve got two anti-submarine helicopters to play with.”
“Should I assume they have both up right now?” Lymburn asked.
“I would,” Jerry answered. “The harbor is a high-threat area for them—for us, too, for that matter,” he observed. “They’ll shoot first and check hull numbers later if they detect anything this close.”
Lymburn refined her solution. “Pilot, come right to zero zero zero. Sir, recommend coming to periscope depth in twenty minutes. Sonar, keep a sharp lookout for high-frequency dipping sonars.”
Jerry approved her recommendation. The helos would make it harder to close on this group. Ship-based helicopters usually carried a short-ranged sonar that could be “dipped” into the water while the helicopter was hovering. The sonar “ball” was on a long cable, so it could be used to listen first above the thermocline, then below. If the sonar operator on the helicopter didn’t hear anything passively, he’d then go active. If there was nothing to find, the operator would reel in the sonar and then move on to the next spot.
One helicopter could cause problems for them, but could be evaded. Two helos, using “leapfrog” tactics, could search, detect, and localize a submarine quickly. To stay quiet, a submarine has to creep at five or ten knots, but helicopters cruise at seventy. North Dakota’s only advantage would be that Jerry didn’t want to shoot a torpedo at the ships, just get close enough to take a peek.
“OOD, we’re picking up additional screws on that bearing. They were merged with the signals from the merchants, but the left bearing drift is giving us some separation now. New contacts Sierra-four five and four six.”
Jerry and Lymburn both looked at the port VLSD. More of the fuzz had disappeared, replaced by two new vessels in front of the other four. The sonarman continued, “Sierra–four zero and four one are the merchants Hai Fu 18 and Yu He, both Chinese-flagged container ships.”
Lymburn zoomed in the VLSD to look at the formation. The two frigates were on either side of the merchants, which were steaming in column, with the two new contacts in front.
“Minesweepers,” Jerry guessed, “just like yesterday. They’re quieter than the others and we can’t hear their mine-hunting sonars this far out.”
“Seems likely, sir,” agreed Gaffney, “but my guys are still working to confirm it.”
“They really are treating it like the real thing,” Lymburn remarked.
Watching the VLSD, Jerry saw the shift the same time as the sonarmen. “OOD, possible target zig. All frequencies have shifted, down Doppler, bearing drift is also changing. Picking up changes in blade rates.”
On the big screen, symbols blurred and shifted as the fire control system struggled to predict the formation’s next move. Four course arrows swung to the right, while the front two pivoted to the west, lengthening as well.
“The formation’s turned east,” Jerry observed. “And the minesweepers have done their job, so they’re headed for the barn.”
“Skipper, you’re not leaving anything for my sonarmen to report,” Gaffney complained.
Lymburn was bent over the horizontal display. “Sir, I’m not going to be able to get inside their horizon with an eight-knot speed. They’ll pass by us to the north. If we increase to twenty knots, we can get in their forward hemisphere, but that’s where their helicopters like to search. Fifteen knots will get us in trail in approximately two hours, assuming they don’t maneuver again.”
“I don’t like either one of those options, OOD. We’re too detectable at twenty knots, and you’re right about the helicopters. And the trail position would be a long tail chase. We’ll be too close to the eastern edge of our patrol area. What will we miss while we’re running after these guys?”
It was a rhetorical question, and Jerry continued speaking before he put Lymburn on the spot. “Q, plot us a course to a spot well away from all surface traffic. We’ll report to squadron. We will give Captain Halsey and Santa Fe enough warning so they can get in position. They can get the periscope shots.”
* * *
The message upload went off without a hitch, without Jerry being anywhere near the radio room or the control. Once North Dakota had gotten some distance from the small convoy, he’d forced himself to go to the wardroom, get a cup of coffee, and chat for fifteen minutes before heading for his cabin.
The boat would run without him living in control. In theory, the less he was there, the more self-reliance his people developed. That was the theory.
But he didn’t want to miss anything! Most sub captains had only one, maybe two command tours before being promoted or retiring. No other ship in the navy gave its commanding officer such complete one-man control over its actions, and no other ship in the fleet was so often out of touch and on its own. It was exciting, and Jerry wasn’t shy about admitting that he liked being the “Guy in Charge.” But captains who lived in control could die there, too. “Or smell like they had,” according to Thigpen.
Immediately after taking command, Jerry and his new XO had spent a lot of time together, getting to know each other and working out Jerry’s policies as North Dakota’s new skipper. These conferences usually involved refreshing beverages and case studies often referred to as “sea stories,” but that did not diminish their value.
Prior to assuming command, Jerry attended “PCO school,” a grueling three-month course that starts in the classroom, but quickly moves to a real sub operating against other surface ships, subs, and aircraft. During the “free play” exercises, Jerry practiced torpedo approaches, trailing operations, laid a dummy minefield, and simulated launching Tomahawk cruise missiles. He’d even operated against another nuclea
r submarine, which sounded hard and proved to be much more difficult than that.
Three months of training and thinking about command had increased his skills and expanded his consciousness. But he’d worked for three very different commanding officers for years at a time, seeing what worked for each of them. Now he had to make up his own style. He just didn’t want to make it up at the last minute.
* * *
Jerry was lost in paperwork when the phone buzzed. It was Thigpen’s voice.
“Skipper, would you please join us in control? We have the results from the UUV’s latest data dump.”
“Interesting?” Jerry asked.
“You will want to see this,” the XO answered cryptically.
Lieutenant Russ Iverson, the main propulsion assistant, had the OOD watch, and gave Jerry the standard status report when he entered control, but there were no surprises. They were at depth and patrol speed, headed for the next waypoint. There were half a dozen sonar contacts, but all were civilian.
The action was in the aft starboard corner of the control room. Lieutenant Dave Covey, the weapons officer, had taken over a spare console and used it to display a plot of the UUV’s activity. The XO watched over his shoulder, and made room for Jerry when he appeared.
A map was overlaid with the irregular shape of the vehicle’s patrol zone. Different tracks drew colored lines through the zone, marking the progress of ships detected and tracked by Minot’s sonars. One of the tracks was different, though, a tangle of lines that looked like a coil of rope.
The track of the UUV showed on the display as a different-colored line, with small deviations, for the first two-thirds of its patrol, but then it became irregular, zigging one way and sharply angling back the other in what looked like a random pattern. Only Jerry’s experience with the UUV in the simulators told him this was not a malfunction.
“It’s reacting to this contact,” Covey reported. He highlighted the tangled track and a window with details about the vessel appeared. Time of first detection, bearings, signal strength, identity …
“It’s a submarine,” Covey explained. Jerry wasn’t sure whether it was pride or excitement in the lieutenant’s voice. “Just like it was supposed to, as soon as Minot figured out it wasn’t a surface vessel, it started maneuvering to localize the contact, but not getting too close. What’s interesting is that the contact isn’t transiting.”