Shattered Trident

by Larry Bond

  “Skipper, I understand your desire to prevent bloodshed, but what can we do without revealing our presence?” pleaded Thigpen.

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out, Bernie!” snapped Jerry. He stopped and took several deep breaths. His XO wasn’t the enemy and Thigpen was only doing his job—perhaps, annoyingly, a little too well at the moment. His mind refocused, Jerry reapproached the problem.

  “Okay. Active sonar is out. It’s a big neon sign that says ‘shoot here.’ The UUV is too far away, so we can’t use it as a diversion. And the mobile decoys are tuned for acoustic homing torpedoes.” Jerry ticked off the options on his fingers one at a time.

  “And we can’t use any of our ADCs, as their electronic noise would be easily ID’d as American,” added Thigpen.

  It was Thigpen’s last words that suddenly gave Jerry an idea. One that just might work. “Weps, we still have a few of those old NAE Mark 3 beacons on board, don’t we?”

  “Yes, sir. We use them during exercises. They’re a lot cheaper than an ADC Mark 4.”

  “Captain … what are you thinking?” Thigpen asked suspiciously.

  “It’s quite simple, XO.” Jerry looked around for a piece of paper to draw on. Then remembered that there weren’t any paper plots—there wasn’t any room for them with all the electronic displays in a Virginia-class sub’s control room. Grabbing a pen from his pocket, he pointed to the geoplot display on the command workstation.

  “We pull in behind the Kilo, overtake him, and drop an NAE with a time delay between the two boats. We then pull off to the north before either party has a chance to figure out what the hell happened.”

  “But, sir, we’ll give ourselves away if we drop a countermeasure. They’ll detect it and know we’re here. There is no way to avoid that!” insisted Thigpen.

  “You’re right, they’ll detect the NAE—but they won’t know it’s us. They won’t suspect it’s from an American sub!” Jerry exclaimed.

  Thigpen was confused, frustrated, and it showed. “Huh? Come again? I’m not following you, Skipper.”

  “Okay, look. The NAE is a very old countermeasure; the first models were designed in World War Two, over seventy years ago. It generates noise mechanically, not electronically. Neither the Vietnamese nor the Chinese would suspect the U.S. still has, or would even use, such a low-tech device.

  “Also, when I was reviewing the log entries from Michigan’s engagement with the Iranian Kilo, my skipper, Kyle Guthrie, noted that the countermeasures deployed by the Iranian boat sounded almost exactly like an NAE. Don’t you get it? Both sides have Russian gear, including acoustic countermeasures! Each captain will think the other guy detected him and shot out a decoy! They’ll both be spooked and start evasive maneuvers, while we slink off to the north.”

  Thigpen still wasn’t convinced. “But they’ll both be able to hear us when we pull in front. We’d be, what? Maybe two or three thousand yards away for either sub. We’re really quiet, but that’s way too close.”

  “Correct again, we’d be too close. Both the Kilo and Song captains are boresighted toward the surface. The Song, so he doesn’t get run over by a passing merchant, and the Kilo as he’s setting up his attack. Neither sonar system can look at more than one depression/elevation angle at the same time. So we come in right off the bottom, below their sonar’s field of view. The water is shallow here, which will help hide our signature, and we have a negative sound velocity profile down to the bottom—everything is in our favor. Trust me, this will work!”

  Jerry watched as Thigpen worked the problem through. He was still unsure, but his CO’s confidence overwhelmed him. Swallowing hard, Thigpen finally said, “It’s your call, sir.”

  With a beaming smile, Jerry slapped his XO on the arm. Turning to Covey, Jerry ordered, “Weps, load an NAE in one of the signal ejectors. Set a two-minute time delay.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Covey.

  Looking back at Thigpen, Jerry nodded and said, “XO, man battle stations.”

  * * *

  Once the crew was at general quarters, Jerry explained his plan to the control room watchstanders. He took extra care to make sure everyone understood what they were about to do, and why. The junior officers were awestruck and excited; the more senior ones were apprehensive. Even though the odds were very much in their favor, this was not a risk-free evolution.

  As soon as the Kilo was on their starboard beam, Jerry made a sharp turn to the northeast and moved North Dakota into the Vietnamese boat’s baffles. Blocked by the submarine’s hull, the large cylindrical array in the Kilo’s bow couldn’t hear them and Jerry accelerated to fifteen knots.

  It was a long, slow overtaking geometry, but twenty minutes later, the Kilo was five hundred yards to port and a hundred feet above them. With only fifty feet between the hull and the sea floor, Jerry slowed to ten knots as North Dakota slowly pulled in front. For the next six minutes, hardly a sound was made in control; even the watchstanders’ breathing was hushed. When they reached the designated point, Jerry ordered the NAE launched, turned north, and slowly increased speed to twelve knots. Thigpen started a stopwatch on the command workstation and called out the time in fifteen-second intervals.

  “Fifteen seconds … ten, nine, eight…” Thigpen’s voice was just above a whisper.

  “Pilot, ahead standard,” Jerry commanded.

  “Ahead standard, Pilot, aye, Captain. Maneuvering answers ahead standard.”

  “Very well, Pilot.”

  Seconds later the NAE fired up and began rotating the rings of ball bearings inside at high speed. The noise it made was deafening.

  Both the Kilo and Song were taken by complete surprise. The Kilo popped a countermeasure of its own, and accelerated to the southwest. The Song stopped snorkeling and headed north at flank speed. Not a single torpedo had been launched.

  In North Dakota’s control room, a low cheer broke out as soon as it was clear the two hostile submarines had bolted in opposite directions without firing a shot. The plan had worked perfectly.

  “Well done, all! Your execution was flawless,” gushed Jerry, clearly pleased with his crew.

  “I think there are some drawers that need a changin’,” remarked Iwahashi cheerfully.

  Thigpen shook his head. “Mine would if I was blasted out of the blue with Metallica at 150 dB!”

  Jerry was still smiling. “Attention in control, we’ll stay in contact with the Kilo as it finishes its evasive maneuvers. After it settles down, we’ll get Fargo back in contact and then we’ll head back east. Carry on.”

  A visibly relieved Thigpen moved closer to Jerry. “Congratulations, Skipper, your plan worked.”

  “Thanks, XO. I was confident it would.”

  Thigpen shook his head again. “You know, Captain, I think you’re a little too smart for your own good.”

  Jerry laughed, but he heard his XO’s message nonetheless. “After Fargo is back in trail, we’ll break off and report in. This should make the commodore’s day after all the bad news we’ve sent in.”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Thigpen replied. His face was skeptical. “Somehow I don’t think our new commodore is going to be all that pleased.”

  Jerry was puzzled. “What makes you think that, Bernie? Neither side had a clue we were here, and we prevented more deaths. Surely that has to be a win in anybody’s book. I think once I explain it to Captain Simonis, he’ll agree it was the right thing to do.”

  7

  CONSEQUENCES

  31 August 2016

  0800 Local Time

  USS North Dakota

  Off Hainan Island, South China Sea

  Jerry couldn’t have been more wrong. Simonis was absolutely furious with his new commanding officer, and he wasted no time in saying so.

  “What were you thinking, Captain? Your orders were to remain undetected, observe and report! Not to reveal yourself by interfering!”

  Jerry swallowed hard; the severe dressing-down had caught him by surprise. Si
monis’s reaction was immediate, almost visceral. Jerry had badly misjudged his new boss’s risk tolerance.

  “Commodore, I am confident neither side knew a U.S. submarine was in the vicinity. My approach made the best use of the tactical situation and the environment; the other two submarines have inferior sensors and were too engrossed in what they were doing to notice our presence.” Jerry’s attempts at explaining his actions only succeeded in making Simonis angrier.

  “Notice your presence!? Even if they didn’t pick up your boat, they couldn’t help but notice the countermeasure!” screamed Simonis. “How can you possibly defend this flagrant violation of your orders?”

  Jerry took a deep breath, calming himself. He would have only one chance to get his point across. Responding with an angry tone would simply make matters worse. “Sir, as I stated in my report, an NAE is virtually identical to the Russian MG-24 countermeasure that both Vietnam and China have on their submarines. I took special care to make sure the NAE was placed between the two subs; their first impression would be that the other guy popped the decoy. The mutual evasion conducted by both boats, with no attempt to follow up and acquire me, proves that assumption was correct.”

  “And if they recorded the acoustic signature, they’ll be able to discover the countermeasure’s identity after conducting post-processing,” Simonis countered.

  “Commodore, if they recorded the signal, with a calibrated system, and a competent ACINT analyst processed the data, they might be able to make a distinction. But Vietnam doesn’t have that capability, and China’s ACINT program is still in the early stages of development, their people only have a few years of experience. Their first inclination, if they find a difference, is that the Russians provided a modified version of the MG-24 to the Vietnamese with their more recent Kilo purchase.”

  Thigpen bumped lightly into his captain as he finished up his argument, and subtly pointed to a scrap of paper on the control panel. Written on the paper was a single sentence. You may win the battle, but you’ll lose the war. Jerry gave his XO a slight nod, acknowledging the message.

  Simonis’s nostrils visibly flared on the radio room display. His patience was all but gone. In a voice that was carefully metered and forceful, he said, “I am not interested in theoretical discussions, Commander Mitchell. And I am very well aware of your academic credentials. But this isn’t a laboratory; it’s the real world, and it’s not as forgiving or controllable. You’re in a war zone, Captain, and you need to begin acting accordingly. Now, are you going to start following your orders, or do I have to pull you off station and replace you with someone who will?”

  It was an empty threat, or at least Jerry thought it was. There was no way Simonis would get permission to yank North Dakota off station, not now, not with a war starting. But, the message behind the words was quite clear. Jerry had lost the collar check and needed to toe the line. Simonis’s absolute hostility to Jerry’s actions had badly shaken his confidence. Jerry thought they had walked right up to the edge, but still turned away in time. Now, he wasn’t so sure. Simonis and his own XO believed differently, that he had exceeded the limits of his orders. Regardless, Simonis was the squadron commodore, his superior; there really was only one correct answer to his question.

  “No, sir. That won’t be necessary. I will conform to my orders as instructed.”

  “Good,” replied Simonis, satisfied. Then in a lighter tone he added, “I’ve found your reports to be most valuable, Captain. I’d hate to lose the insight you’re providing.”

  “We’ll keep you apprised of the situation as it evolves, sir.”

  “Very well. Squadron Fifteen out.”

  As the screen went dark, Thigpen whistled softly. “Your reports are most valuable. Man, talk about faint praise!”

  “So much for ‘I will listen carefully to any recommendations you make,’” whispered Jerry to himself.

  “Come again, Skipper?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, XO.” Jerry looked up at Thigpen and smiled. “Looks like you were right. I got a little too cocky.”

  “If I remember correctly, sir, I said I thought you were a little too smart for your own good. I never said anything about being cocky.”

  “I believe the distinction was lost on our commodore. He certainly was … annoyed with me,” lamented Jerry.

  “Annoyed!? Is that what you call it?” cried Thigpen, amazed. “Did you see the muscles in his neck? They were throbbing like that guy in the first Star Wars movie…”

  Jerry raised his hand and cut his XO off. “Bernie, please.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry,” Thigpen said apologetically.

  “Well, now that we’ve had our orders clarified for us, we’ll continue to observe and report—nothing more, nothing less. If you need me, I’ll be in my stateroom working on all that paperwork you keep giving me.” Jerry gave his XO a quick smile as he spoke, but it was forced, and it showed.

  * * *

  As Jerry headed out of the control room, Lieutenant Iwahashi and Ensign Jacqueline Kane walked over to Thigpen.

  “We couldn’t help but overhear, XO. The commodore was sure pissed at the skipper,” commented Iwahashi quietly.

  Thigpen frowned as he tried to find the right words. There was no way to whitewash the ass-chewing his boss had received, but at the same time he had to be supportive. “Yeah, well, that happens from time to time with COs that get creative. And one thing’s for certain, our captain is a very creative guy.”

  The vague allusion to Jerry’s past prompted Kane to ask, “Sir, I’ve heard the rumors about the skipper, just like everyone else. Did he really fight his way out of Iran?”

  Thigpen suppressed the desire to groan. How many times had he been asked that question? And why did everybody think he knew the answer? Sighing, he replied, “Jacques, I honestly don’t know for sure. The skipper has never said a word to me. But you can take this to the bank; you don’t get a Navy Cross and a Purple Heart from the president of the United States for just being a damn good executive officer—however wonderfully you performed your duties. No, our skipper did something very unusual and very important to merit those awards.”

  He neglected to mention the circular scar he’d seen on Jerry’s left shoulder after he had showered. In such close quarters, where even the two seniormost officers shared a common head, it was nearly impossible to hide something so obvious, and yet so personal.

  “He looked really depressed,” empathized Kane. “Will he be all right?”

  “He’ll be fine,” insisted Thigpen confidently. “A little flame-spraying every now and then is good for the soul, builds character. He’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.” Left unspoken were the words, “I hope.”

  Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

  Guam

  Commander Walker stood by the information systems technician as he logged out of the VTC system and turned off the video camera and large flat-panel display. The young man then quickly departed, leaving Walker alone with the commodore. The chief staff officer and the rest of the staff had also vacated the conference room within moments of the VTC ending. Walker completely understood why the others wanted to clear datum; Simonis was still fuming. Wonderful. His commodore was going to be very cranky for the rest of the day.

  “You don’t approve,” Simonis spurted without warning.

  Walker wasn’t sure if it was a statement or a question, but either way it was a loaded comment. One that he had to tread carefully around. “Excuse me, sir,” he said.

  “My handling of Mitchell. I can read body language fairly well, Commander. I take it most of my staff thought I was being too harsh on our new captain.”

  “Commodore, it isn’t my place to say one way or the other. This is your command…”

  “Damn it, Rich! Stop dancing and tell me what you think!” roared Simonis.

  Trapped, Walker gestured toward a chair. Simonis nodded, and the operations officer tossed his notebook onto the table as he sat down.

  “Well
?” Simonis demanded impatiently.

  “In a nutshell, yes, sir. I think you were a bit hard.”

  “Why?”

  Walker took a deep breath; he had to carefully phrase his words. Simonis wasn’t a bad commodore; on the contrary, he was quite successful. He ran a tight squadron at the end of a long logistics train and kept things moving on track, on schedule. No, a better description of Simonis would be that he was tough and demanding. He wanted everything done at the right time, the right way, for the right reason. Deviating from the approved plan was not advisable or tolerated. His rigid, almost legalistic interpretation of rules and regulations always brought him into conflict with those individuals who regarded official edicts as being somewhat elastic, having a little give, depending on the situation.

  “Commodore, while he may have not followed the exact letter of the law in regard to his orders, he did follow its spirit. What Mitchell did was well thought out and perfectly executed. And I agree it’s likely neither the Vietnamese nor the Chinese will conclude that a U.S. submarine broke up the attack.”

  “But he revealed himself when he dropped that NAE!” Simonis insisted angrily.

  “Sir, you’re implicitly assuming that revelation automatically becomes useful, incriminating knowledge. In this case, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.”

  Simonis stood up abruptly and started pacing. Everything about Jerry Mitchell seemed to annoy him, grated his sensibilities. “I still believe he overstepped his bounds,” he grumbled.