by Clancy, Tom
There was such a system, FORMIDABOD, but it had not yet reached the fleet for operational use. That system was the brainchild of a previous COMSUBPAC plans officer with a vision, who had noticed that the initial indications were that the 688’s original BQS-15 sonar couldn’t “see” mines. Standing for Fiber-Optic Remote MIne Detection And BreakOut Device, the remotely operated vehicle could advance the search, out of harm’s way from the SSN, and provide acoustic information at over four times the data rate and at six times the frequency of the Russian, or U.S. for that matter, acoustic intercept receivers.
The search for the Typhoon took a while, with the Mk 48 probing the area ahead of Cheyenne, but eventually it paid off. The off-board sensor found the Typhoon—and the Typhoon’s acoustic intercept receiver found the off-board sensor.
On board the Typhoon, with a true belief in his invincibility, the Russian captain decided to remain in place. His only reactions to the sensor’s presence were to operate his spinners to twist his massive ship and to ready his 65cm and 53cm torpedoes for use against the American submarine that had sent the Mk 48 hunting. The Russian captain had no way of knowing who was out there, but he decided it must be Cheyenne.
The Typhoon’s captain ordered the interlocks broken between the port and starboard tube nests, thereby allowing him to bring all his 53cm torpedo tubes to bear at once. The Soviet Union had developed the equivalent of two torpedo-tube ejection-pump rams, one for port and one for starboard.
At the same time that the Typhoon was making its preparations, Captain Mackey was formulating his own new doctrine. The normal doctrine didn’t cover this situation: but that was why he was in command. His choice; his decision; no one could refute it. This situation had never developed before—but it had its parallels, if one had the brains, and the guts, to see it.
“Firing point procedures, Master 126, tubes one and two,” ordered the captain. “Firing point procedures, Master 126, tubes three and four.”
When the combat systems officer and executive officer looked to the captain with confusion, he elaborated, “Unit one for the main screws; then, when they spin up on the spinners, units two and three for the spinners. When that happens, we’ll be within range behind the Typhoon to light off MIDAS. Then we’ll detonate unit four over their missile deck.”
Mack’s gutsy plan went off without a hitch. Unit one ran to the Typhoon’s screws as intended. When sonar reported the spinners starting up, the next two units were guided to their points of destruction.
With the launch of the last two units, Cheyenne increased speed to match that of the torpedoes. The Russian captain finally decided to launch torpedoes at Cheyenne and the missiles at Taiwan, but by then it was too late. The fourth torpedo detonated above his missile deck before the first launch tube missile hatch could be opened. The result was the dishing in of all hatches so that they couldn’t be opened. In addition, the overpressure wave caused by the last Mk 48’s 650 pounds of explosive, coupled with the Typhoon’s depth and open torpedo tube muzzle doors, resulted in the Russian torpedo tube breech doors giving way. The torpedo room flooded and the Typhoon started to take on water.
That would have finished just about any other submarine in any navy in the world, but not the Typhoon. With its double hulls still intact, the would-be Russian admiral ordered all internal ballast dumped. Even if the outer ballast tanks were ruptured, the missile-tube water-compensation system would provide some buoyancy.
With the loss of what seemed like an insignificant amount of ballast, the Typhoon accelerated rapidly to the surface, but once there the Russians learned that the emergency escape capsule—which had never been practiced on a real submarine—could not be released.
With the lessons learned from the Mike SSN disaster in the North Sea off Norway, the Typhoon’s captain decided to remain where he was to await rescue. Mack knew the Russian captain had lost his cool; he was now in the South China Sea, where no Russian ships could come to his rescue. What’s more, Cheyenne had finally picked up the last Akula, whose captain had elected to pull off to be able to fight another day and which had managed to distance itself from the fray.
Cheyenne was there as the Typhoon reached the surface. The Russian submarine had been severely damaged, but Mack ordered four more torpedoes into the defenseless Typhoon.
There was seldom mercy in wartime, and Cheyenne’s and Mack’s orders were clear. If he had allowed the Typhoon to survive, its crew would have cut the missile hatches open with blow torches and completed their launch against Taiwan.
The result of the additional four torpedoes exploding beneath the Typhoon caused major seawater system flooding. The ensuing scene was similar to the devastation experienced by the Yankee class SSBN southeast of the Bermudas years before. Only this time there was no capability to protect and remove the crew.
Life rafts were put over the side, only to be attacked by the South China Sea shark population, so the crew watched helplessly from the huge, flat missile-tube deck. The oversized submarine started settling slowly deeper, the water level rising to within meters of the missile- tube deck, with the crew topside.
The captain—the admiral-to-be-had already sent a message to his North Fleet Headquarters concerning the impending demise of his capital ship and the lack of help from his Akula escorts by name, two of which had been sunk. He had not been given any means to communicate with the Chinese, so he resorted to calling home. After that he went topside to be with his men, sat down, and held hands in a circle as their submarine slid beneath the surface of the sea, sailors to the end, for eternity. The sharks did the rest.
Cheyenne’s Type 18 periscope had taped the entire sinking of the Typhoon, but Mack had no intention of showing it to the crew as their evening movie. He had confiscated the tape, ensuring that it would be seen again only in a closed audience as part of his patrol debriefing to a higher authority.
When the Russian North Fleet Headquarters received the message from the Typhoon, the commander-in-chief was astounded, and not just at the loss of one of his strategic assets. He was also furious and astonished at what seemed to be a refusal to follow orders by one of his Akula captains.
The scathing CO-Eyes Only message sent to the remaining Akula was clear. Its meaning was well understood by the Akula’s captain, because it made reference to his family—his wife and two daughters—who had been taken into “protective custody” by the Russian secret service.
Mack was nearing the periscope stand when sonar reported low-frequency tonal contact to the north. The tonals were classified by the sonar supervisor as coming from an Akula. They were weak, but closing.
The Akula captain, intimidated by his own chain of command, had decided to take on Cheyenne. He’d had no choice. Even without the threat to his family, returning to his homeland without being successful during war, even if it was a Chinese war, was tantamount to certain death.
He made two torpedoes ready for his own snap shots, in case they stumbled upon the quiet Cheyenne at close range. The Russian sonar operators were poised, carefully searching for any sign of Cheyenne with their towed array. They had all listened to the sounds of the deaths of their comrades on board the Akulas and the Typhoon, and they were eager to defeat Cheyenne.
Mack wasn’t about to let that happen. He wanted no more close-range encounters for Cheyenne. He intended for this battle to be like the earlier long-range attack on one of the earlier Akulas, Master 74.
The Akula was nearing the outer weapon range of both the U.S. and the Russian torpedoes when Mack manned battle stations torpedo. He had already expended eleven torpedoes, including the dead round he’d used as the off-board sensor. Thirteen Mk 48s and one lonely Harpoon remained, and the Harpoon would be of no use unless he could force the Akula to the surface. If it was damaged enough for that, it could be finished as Cheyenne had earlier done with the Romeo near Midway Island.
But Mack didn’t want it to come to that. The Typhoon’s death had been bad enough. Submariners, even the enemy,
deserved to die with their ship rather than at the hands of the creatures of the sea.
Once battle stations were manned, Captain Mackey passed the order for the torpedo room to “make tubes one and two ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors.” In addition to making Cheyenne’s tubes ready as early as possible, he intended to launch two Mk 48s in the quiet “swim-out” mode as he had done with the off-board sensor, but this time they would be armed as weapons.
The remaining Akula, with its own towed array, had shown that he could be a quiet adversary. Naval intelligence still had not learned much about that sensor capability, so Mack decided to play it safe. He elected to follow the same plan he had used successfully earlier, steering the torpedoes off target so they would be attacking from bearings other than Cheyenne’s location.
“Make tubes one and two ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors, fire-control, torpedo room, aye.”
After the torpedo room reported completing the ordered evolution with the torpedo tubes, the executive officer informed Mack, “Captain, tubes one and two are ready in all respects. Both outer doors are open.”
“Very well, fire control,” answered the captain.
The Akula was tracking to the southwest. Cheyenne was closing the range, intending to intercept with a fire-control solution before the Akula could reach detection range on Cheyenne.
The Akula continued drawing left as Cheyenne closed. It, too, was otherwise quiet, with no contact on the spherical or conformal arrays. Because of this, the BSY-1 operators had to rely on the readings from the TB-23, assisted by Mack’s course changes, to make the solution possible for the fire-control party. When both they and the fire-control coordinator were satisfied with the TMA (target motion analysis) solution on Master 127, the Russian Akula II SSN, the captain ordered, “Firing point procedures, Master 127.”
The combat systems officer at the weapons control console reported the target course as 200, speed four, and range 27,250 yards.
“Sonar, conn, stand by.”
“Conn, sonar, standing by.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tubes one and two.”
“Match sonar bearings and shoot, tubes one and two, aye.”
“Tubes one and two fired electrically,” reported the combat systems officer.
“Conn, sonar, units from tubes one and two running hot, straight, and normal,” came the report from the sonar supervisor as the two torpedoes executed their wire clearance maneuvers and accelerated to slow speed for the long inbound run.
“Very well, sonar,” responded the captain. “Take charge and steer the weapons. Unit one off course ten degrees to the right and unit two off course forty-five degrees to the left.” When the torpedoes were close enough for passive acquisition, they would be steered back in the opposite direction.
“Time to turn the units?” asked the captain.
“Twenty minutes for unit one, captain,” answered the combat systems officer. “Seventeen minutes for unit two.”
The torpedoes were turned on cue. One was leading the target while the other was slightly lagging.
“Time to acquisition?” Mack asked.
“Ten minutes for unit two, Captain,” the combat systems officer replied. “Twelve minutes for unit one.”
Exactly on schedule, the combat systems officer reported, “Unit two has acquired.” Two minutes later he added, “Unit one has acquired.” This time both torpedoes had acquired their original target. There were no more Russian submarines left out there.
“Cut the wires, shut the outer doors, and reload tubes one and two,” ordered the captain.
“Conn, sonar, we have two torpedoes in the water, bearing 205 and drawing right!” the sonar supervisor called out. The Russian captain had launched his snap shots, but not at the bearings of the incoming torpedoes. He was wilier than the other Akula captains, and had read the report of Cheyenne’s earlier tactic, which had been sent by the Akula that got away and made it to the Paracels. Guessing correctly that the captain of Cheyenne would try it again, he had launched on a bearing halfway between the oncoming torpedoes.
Mack’s ploy hadn’t worked. The Russian torpedoes were headed for Cheyenne.
“Right full rudder, all ahead flank,” Mack ordered. “Do not cavitate. Make your depth one thousand feet.” He wasn’t sure if the Akula had detected Cheyenne on its towed array or if the Russian captain had guessed at Mack’s earlier tactic. If the Akula had heard them, it knew Cheyenne’s location, but if its captain had just made a lucky guess, then Mack didn’t want to reveal Cheyenne to its sonar. Not unless the inbound torpedoes acquired Cheyenne and he had to. Having been deep beneath the second layer, Cheyenne was at flank speed in less than a minute, on course due east, and at one thousand feet. Mack was keeping the torpedoes at the edge of his port baffles so sonar could continue to relay bearing information.
A short while later, the sonar supervisor reported that the torpedoes were speeding up and drawing right faster. At the same time, the WLR-9, Cheyenne’s acoustic intercept receiver, started chirping at the frequency of the incoming torpedoes.
“Conn, sonar, explosions coming from our baffles!”
That was the sound of Cheyenne’s two torpedoes exploding. Unfortunately, because the explosions occurred in her baffles, the sonar operators could not determine what effect—if any—they’d had on the Akula.
But Mack couldn’t worry about that at the moment. The enemy torpedoes were still out there, and closing fast, and they were his top priority. Mack released two gas generators, noisemakers, and brought Cheyenne hard right again, circling to the south to open the datum of the gas generators.
Cheyenne’s high-speed maneuvers created an additional knuckle that helped draw the attention of the Russian torpedoes, which attacked nothing but the boiling water column. Confused by the noisemakers, they could not acquire Cheyenne, but merely headed off into the sea.
When it was time for the Russian torpedo end of run and the torpedoes could no longer be heard, Mack turned to the west and slowed Cheyenne to search for the Akula. There was no contact on any of the arrays, and no reverberations from Cheyenne’s torpedoes exploding.
The Akula had vanished—though whether it had been destroyed or had merely gone back into hiding could not be determined with any degree of certainty. Mack took Cheyenne back toward Taiwan for reload, maneuvering her slowly and cautiously, but he could not gain any more contact on the third Akula.
Following the Navy’s standard procedures, Mack’s patrol report would list this last Akula as being sunk. Mack only hoped he was right.
14.
Hornets’ Nest
Cheyenne arrived safely back at Tsoying Naval Base, once again mooring alongside McKee. Before heading over for his next war patrol briefing, Captain Mackey requested a full loadout of Mk 48 ADCAP torpedoes. He ordered Cheyenne’s combat systems officer to ensure that the remaining Harpoon was off-loaded and its stow refilled with an Mk 48.
Mack’s first clue that this briefing, like the last, would have political overtones was when the McKee captain notified him that the briefing would once again be held at the naval base headquarters rather than on board McKee. Mack didn’t mind the politics; he just hoped that this didn’t mean he’d have to deal with another Typhoon this time out.
The first thing Mack noticed when he entered the conference room on the second floor was the same CTF 74 staff members who had conducted the electronic security sweep of the room before Cheyenne’s last patrol. They had already completed their task and were leaving as Mack and his officers arrived.
There was no sign of the Chinese leader, but the briefing officer said that President Jiang would be along before the end of the briefing. Without waiting for Jiang, the briefing officer launched into the background for Cheyenne’s next mission.
As Jiang had pointed out at the last meeting, much of China was enthusiastic in its support and appreciation of Cheyenne’s successes—much of China, that is, but
not all of it. One group in particular that was unhappy about Cheyenne’s effectiveness against the Chinese submarines was the so-called Petroleum Faction. This group of engineers had developed the oil fields in Manchuria, and they had a personal interest in this war. Their leader, General Yu Quili, had taken charge of a squadron of Akula II SSNs and had made it his mission to deal with Cheyenne.
“What’s a general know about submarines?” Mack asked.
That was the wrong question, though, as the briefing officer was quick to point out. It wasn’t what General Yu Quili knew that mattered. The leader of the Petroleum Faction had been a major player in this war from the onset. Not only had he assisted in Premier Li Peng’s coup, but his group was also the source of funds for the purchases of Russian submarines and Russian crews.
Besides, Mack realized as he listened to the briefing officer, General Yu wasn’t going to be driving any of the submarines. But as a leader since the days of Chairman Mao Tse-tung, he undoubtedly would be effective in motivating and inspiring the officers and the crews.
What Mack really wanted to know about, though, wasn’t General Yu and his petroleum faction, or even his Akulas. What Mack wanted to know about was what it would take to win this war.
“Back when we went up against those seven Akulas,” he said, “I was told that killing four of them would stop the Russians from providing more SSNs to China. Cheyenne killed six of the seven, and yet Russia continued to provide submarines to China—not only Alfas, Kilos, and Akulas, but that Typhoon as well. Where are they all coming from? When will this end?”