by Clancy, Tom
“Sonar, conn, aye. Have the torpedoes acquired yet?”
“Conn, sonar, yes, sir, both torpedoes have gone active.”
“Cut the wires, shut the outer doors, and reload tubes two and three.” Mack looked over toward his executive officer. “We’re going to get out of here. I want to clear this area and be back in a shooting position within the hour.”
“Conn, sonar. Both torpedoes have detonated. Masters 55 and 56 have stopped their screws.”
Mack doubted either ship had been killed. He didn’t think that a single Mk 48 each would sink the troop transport ships, but he knew that they must have been crippled.
Mack quickly gave the orders to take Cheyenne out of the area, accelerating and diving away from the closing surface ship. Still beyond the detection range of the Chinese sonar, Cheyenne increased speed to twenty knots and began a thirty-minute high-speed dash that took her out and away from the convoy and then back along a leading intercept course to wait for the convoy to catch up.
As before, the convoy slowly approached Cheyenne while on board the submarine tubes one, two, and three were made ready to shoot once again. Designated as Masters 58, 59, and 60, three ships of the convoy—the two remaining troop transports and the merchant tanker—had been selected as the next targets.
Once again the firing procedures were executed by the numbers against Masters 58 and 59. The torpedoes from tubes one and two ran as expected and soon Cheyenne detected two more explosions under the last two troop transports.
The combat systems officer reported to Mack, “We’re ready on Master 60, Captain.”
Master 60 was the merchant tanker, no longer shielded by the troop transports. Mack knew that tanker would be sorely missed by the Chinese.
Mack glanced at the executive officer. “Very well, fire control. Firing point procedures, tube three, Master 60.” Mack also knew that, with its single hull construction, the tanker would soon be spilling the diesel fuel, lubricating oil, and aviation fuel that the Chinese on the Spratlys really needed.
“Course of Master 60 is 195, speed ten, range fifteen thousand yards.”
“Sonar, conn. Stand by.”
“Conn, sonar. Standing by.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube three, Master 60.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube three, Master 60, aye, sir.”
“Tube three fired electrically.”
“Conn, sonar. Unit from tube three running hot, straight, and normal.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Time to acquisition?”
“Time to acquisition is—” The combat systems officer’s report was suddenly cut off.
“Conn, sonar! We have torpedoes in the water off our port bow, SET-53s, bearing 205 and 207!”
Captain Mackey glanced quickly at the executive officer and then turned back to Cheyenne’s control station. “Make your depth five hundred feet, increase speed to flank, do not cavitate. Release countermeasures.” Mack then turned to look back at the executive officer. “Fire control, I need a solution on whoever that bushwacker is, and I need it fast. Cut the wire on tube three, shut the outer door, and reload tube three.”
“Conn, sonar. I think we got it, sir. Must be a diesel boat since it was so quiet. But it’s trying to reload and making a racket, bearing 200.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Snapshot, tube four, bearing 200, Master 61.”
The Mk 48 from tube four was quickly on its way toward the bearing to Master 61. Mack would worry about the classification of Master 61 later.
“Conn, sonar. Both enemy torpedoes have increased speed”—the sonar supervisor paused—“but they are on intercept course for our decoys,” he added. “They fell for it.”
But Mack wanted one more piece of news before he was sure that the danger had passed. “Sonar, conn. What course are those torpedoes on?”
“Conn, sonar. Course is 020. They are headed out and away, sir. No indication of re-attack.”
The immediate threat of the torpedoes had passed, but Cheyenne wasn’t out of danger yet. The submarine that shot them was still out there.
But not for long. The Mk 48 from tube four acquired the enemy submarine, and minutes later sonar reported an explosion from the bearing of the fleeing diesel. Master 61, which had given itself away as a noisy Romeo as it increased speed, was no longer a threat.
But Mack didn’t relax. Cheyenne still had a job to do. “Sonar, conn,” he said. “What’s the surface picture look like?”
“Conn, sonar. The remaining ships of the convoy are still on same course, same speed. Master 60, the tanker, is no longer with the convoy; it’s fallen astern of the convoy. Sounds like it’s dead in the water, Captain.” The BSY-1 operators confirmed the sonar supervisor’s call.
“Sonar, conn, aye. What about the escorts?”
“Conn, sonar, the escorts are still on station, but I ... ” The sonar supervisor’s voice trailed off.
That was unusual. “Conn, sonar, go on,” Mack said. “What is it?”
“Conn, sonar. I could swear that I heard another torpedo and some other explosions in the direction of the convoy. Almost like they were attacking another submarine.”
Mack paused. There were no friendlies in the area, so what could they have been attacking? “Sonar, conn. Did it sound like they got anything?”
“Conn, sonar, no, sir. But I was kinda preoccupied, Captain.”
Mack smiled to himself. “Sonar, conn, aye. We’re going back after the convoy. Get a clear picture, sonar.”
“Conn, sonar, aye.”
“Captain. What about the cripples?” the combat systems officer asked. “Are we just going to leave them?”
“That’s exactly what we’re going to do. Our job is to stop a convoy, not rack up a tonnage score. And your job,” Mack added, “is to get me firing solutions on three more convoy ships.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the combat systems officer said.
That diesel submarine bothered Mack. The question that kept coming back to him was how did that diesel know Cheyenne was there? A diesel boat couldn’t keep up with the convoy while submerged, and the odds of Cheyenne running into a diesel like that by coincidence right in the middle of the convoy route were simply astronomical.
The executive officer was thinking about the same thing. Suddenly he smacked a fist into his palm. “It makes sense, Captain,” he said. “That’s why no one stopped for survivors; why the convoy never changed course when we attacked. They’ve got to maintain course and speed. The damned Chinese have diesel boats sliding into place just in time to protect the convoy. They just sit and wait while we run up and beg to get hit.”
Mack’s eyes narrowed as he thought about what the executive officer had said. “You’re right,” he said. “And that would explain why they have an ex-submarine commanding officer running the convoy. He’s the one who cooked up those little surprises.”
Mack grinned, and it wasn’t a friendly grin. The Chinese commander wasn’t the only submariner with a trick or two up his sleeve. He looked up at the clock. “We should be coming up on the next intercept point,” he said. “We’ll start creeping in a little earlier this time.” Mack then ordered Cheyenne to slow to five knots and eased her above the layer.
After giving the orders for getting Cheyenne into position to make another assault on the convoy, Captain Mackey returned to the fire-control party. “We may very well run into another diesel boat hiding out here. So let’s stay alert and keep in mind that there could be multiple threats.”
No one on board liked the thought of encountering another threat that identified its presence only when it fired a weapon. That was how a Los Angeles class submarine like Cheyenne operated, and they had seen for themselves too many times already just how effective that could be.
But there was no time to dwell on profound realizations. There were targets to pick and a convoy to stop.
The three merchant container ships closest to Cheyenne’s position became the next targets, designated
Masters 62, 63, and 64. “Let’s update the TMA solutions and get it done quickly,” Mack said.
Cheyenne glided quietly into her chosen ambush site. Sonar reported no contacts other than the closing convoy. But the convoy escorts had changed their tactics somewhat. Every one of the escorts was maneuvering erratically though still attempting to stay somewhat on station. Waves of active sonar pulsed through the ocean from the escorts as though the sheer mass of energy used could create a protective wall around the convoy. The remaining five convoy ships maintained a steady course, unable to do anything other than watch and wait and hope that someone else would be the next torpedo’s victim.
When the fire-control coordinator was satisfied with the TMA solutions, he informed Captain Mackey. Mack then directed that all tubes be made ready, and opened the outer doors on tubes one and two. This time he would take no chances. Another submarine was out there, waiting. He could feel it.
“Sonar, conn. Keep your ears open after we shoot tube one. You might be able to hear an enemy submarine flooding its tubes and opening the doors. Hopefully we can get off a shot before he does.”
“Conn, sonar, aye.”
“Firing point procedures, tube one, Master 62.”
The range, speed, and course of the target were verified and the torpedo from tube one sped toward the first merchant container ship. The sonar supervisor and his operators all strained to catch the first indication of another submarine reacting to Cheyenne’s torpedo launch.
“Conn, sonar. Noise bearing 250. Sounds like... yes, sir. It’s a submarine flooding his tubes. He’s preparing to launch!”
“Sonar, conn. Stand by.” Mack designated the new contact Master 65 and then ordered, “Match sonar bearing and shoot, tube two, Master 65.”
“Conn, sonar. Standing by.”
“Match sonar bearing and shoot, tube two, Master 65, aye, sir,” the combat systems officer completed the repeat back.
“Conn, sonar. Unit from tube two is running hot, straight, and normal. Target is turning and increasing speed.”
“Sonar, conn. Did he launch?”
“Conn, sonar, negative, sir. Our torpedo has already acquired the target and he is increasing speed. It’s another Romeo, Captain.”
In the control room, all hands were silent as the narrative from sonar followed the pursuit of the enemy submarine by Cheyenne’s torpedo.
“Conn, sonar. Master 65 has launched countermeasures.”
At the weapons control console, the combat systems officer indicated that he had heard the report and informed Mack that the torpedo was still under positive wire-guidance control. The decoys would not work as long as Cheyenne could continue to steer the torpedo past the countermeasures.
“Conn, sonar. Impact on Master 65. Multiple explosions. It’s gone, sir.”
Before Mack could acknowledge that report the sonar supervisor added, “Conn, sonar, explosion on the bearing of Master 62. It’s breaking up, Captain.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Good work, everyone. Firing point procedures, tube three, Master 63, and tube four, Master 64. Shut the outer doors on tubes one and two, and reload tubes one and two.”
“Conn, sonar. The escorts have all increased speed and are shifting to cover the forward arc of the convoy. They must have heard their friends get hit.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Fire control, are we still out of their detection range?”
“Yes, sir. We’re well beyond their range.”
“Very well,” Mack replied.
The fire-control coordinator informed the captain that course, speed, and range were verified for targets Masters 63 and 64. Mack prepared to give the shoot order.
“Conn, sonar. The escorts have suddenly changed course toward the northeast. They are all maneuvering to the port quarter of the convoy.”
“Sonar, conn, aye.” Then Mack asked, “Do the BSY-1 computers show any indication of what’s going on?”
“Not yet, Captain,” answered the fire-control coordinator.
“Conn, sonar. Sounds like there’s another Romeo out there closing on us at high speed from the direction of the escorts.”
“Conn, sonar. Captain... my God, sir! They’re shooting at their own submarine! One, two, five torpedoes are in the water. Multiple explosions. Captain, they’re dropping all sorts of ordnance in the water!”
“Sonar, conn. Understand.” Mack could have almost expected that. The convoy was on guard against any submarine contact, and they had mistaken the Romeo for Cheyenne. “Any change in the remaining convoy?” he asked.
“Conn, sonar. Negative. Convoy same as before.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube three, Master 63 and tube four, Master 64.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube three, Master 63, and tube four, Master 64, aye, sir.”
Mack walked to his stool and sat down to wait as the torpedoes raced toward their destination. With the escorts busy attacking one of their own submarines, there would be less warning than ever of the approaching doom. Not that the convoy itself had ever reacted to their ship’s being torpedoed.
Mack’s attention shifted as a new report came in.
“Conn, sonar. Explosions on the bearings of Masters 63 and 64. They’re going down, Captain.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Any reaction from the escorts?”
“Conn, sonar. Affirmative. They’re drawing left, turning north. No, wait, sir. The convoy is changing course. Coming starboard. The convoy is changing course to their right.”
“Captain,” the combat systems officer said, “the BSY- 1 computer shows the convoy is turning to the north as well. Ranges to the contacts indicate the escorts are settling in behind the limping convoy.”
Cheers swept through Cheyenne as crew members congratulated one another. They had done it! The convoy was turning and heading for home.
But when the executive officer suggested standing down from battle stations, Mack shook his head. They would remain at their stations while Cheyenne was repositioning to finish that tanker. Mack thought that it might try to get back under way and slip into the Spratlys during the night, if it had not spilled all its tanks’ contents.
As Cheyenne closed on the wounded tanker, Master 60, Mack’s hunch proved correct. The ship was back under way and headed for the Spratly Islands. An Mk 48 from tube one finished the job, however, and soon Cheyenne was headed back towards McKee. It was time to rearm and resupply, and to take a deep breath before it started all over again.
8.
Patrol
It was still dark when Cheyenne completed reloading her torpedo tubes and vertical launchers from McKee. The submarine tender was still anchored off the coast of Brunei under the protection of the Independence carrier air cover.
As in their previous refit, on the final day Captain Mackey, his combat systems and operations officers, navigator and communicator, and sonar officer, proceeded to McKee’s war room for their pre-underway briefing, but this time the other officers from Cheyenne also would attend the meeting.
Now that Cheyenne and McKee had established a smooth mini-refit routine, Mack wanted all his officers present. Besides, CTF 74 had requested the remaining officers’ presence at this briefing. Partly because of that, Mack expected this upcoming Patrol 3 to be of more significance, if that were possible, than the previous two.
Mack and his group rendezvoused with the executive officer, engineer officer, and the remaining junior officers outside the war room. He knew the younger officers were all excited and beaming with curiosity, but he also knew he could count on them to maintain a professional decorum during the briefing itself. Nodding at them, he led the way into the war room.
CTF 74, the briefing officer, and McKee’s captain were already seated. When Mack and his group entered, and after they had all exchanged the normal greetings and taken their seats, the briefing began.
Normally, these briefings were a mix of old information and new orders, but this time there was an added elemen
t: intel that could not be passed to Cheyenne via flash traffic. This intel—and this briefing—was based on information that involved the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA).
Operatives in Vladivostok and Beijing had determined that the commander-in-chief of the Chinese navy was personally concerned about losses inflicted by Cheyenne on his forces. But that wasn’t the only tidbit the Agency had turned up. They had also learned that, somehow, the Chinese had determined that Cheyenne was the sole SSN responsible. Their best guess was that the Chinese had probably gotten this information through the loose lips of other SSN sailors in port at Yokosuka, but NCIS (Naval Criminal Investigative Service) was still working on that.
That changed the situation for Cheyenne, but it didn’t change her orders. Cheyenne had another war patrol to undertake before any other U.S. SSNs would be assigned to the same arena as Cheyenne.
Mack didn’t react to the news, but it didn’t really bother him. On the one hand, he was just as happy not to have other U.S. SSNs in the area. It certainly made things simpler, without the need for measures to prevent mutual interference with his fellow commanding officers. Besides, the Chinese had already been gunning for Cheyenne. The only thing that had really changed was that until now the Chinese had believed that there were three SSNs operating nearby. Now they knew there was only one—Cheyenne—and they would focus their efforts on hunting her.
The only real downside to Cheyenne operating solo was that she could use help in tracking down just where and how the seemingly never-ending supply of Russian Kilos and Alfas were getting into the hands of the Chinese. Mack couldn’t help thinking that it was almost like the old story that if the Chinese population were to start walking into the sea, the trail of people would be endless, as the reproduction rate far exceeded the destruction rate. Mack grimaced, remembering the story. He knew it was old because for decades the Chinese had been controlling the birth rate, often through inhumane processes.
The briefing officer, continuing on with his report, said that USCINCPAC and CINCPACFLT were not taking the Chinese commander-in-chief’s comments lightly, especially since he had found out that the losses inflicted by Cheyenne had not, in fact, been the work of three SSNs, but could all be blamed on a single boat. Still, Mack’s superiors were more than pleased with Cheyenne’s successes, and were not intimidated by the Chinese commander-in-chief.