Ssn (1996)

by Clancy, Tom

  The briefing officer answered frankly, perhaps because CTF 74 was at breakfast with President Jiang. “You are right, Captain Mackey,” he said. “To be honest, the intelligence community has not done too well lately. However, the CIA and naval intelligence have determined that the Russian Far East Shipyard, Komsomolsk on the Amur River, really did not go commercial like they had originally thought. Instead, it has been working three shifts a day in building submarines for export to China. Plus, China has been training new submarine crews, actually old Chinese diesel boat personnel, in the Kola Peninsula area.”

  That was not good news. Not only did it mean that Cheyenne would have more enemy submarines to watch out for, but it also meant that Li Peng was committed to this war. Cheyenne’s past successes notwithstanding, it was going to take a tremendous effort to bring this conflict to an end.

  Mack didn’t have time to mull that over much before the briefing officer started explaining Cheyenne’s next assignment. In preparation for eventually moving President Jiang from Taiwan to mainland China, Cheyenne would have to ensure that the waters around Taiwan were sanitized of General Yu’s SSNs.

  That didn’t sound so bad, but then the briefing officer went on to the details. Much of China was behind President Jiang—and that included most of its navy. Because of this, Mack’s superiors were presuming that Yu’s SSNs were the only remaining hostile Chinese submarines in the area, which meant that any other submarines Cheyenne detected were off limits for attacks. Unless, of course, Cheyenne was attacked first.

  Mack didn’t like that at all. These attack constraints were like those he had received during his transit from Ballast Point to Pearl Harbor, when Cheyenne had encountered the out-of-area Han and had to wait until she was fired upon. But Mack didn’t have the chance to object before the CTF 74 admiral arrived with President Jiang and his heavies.

  “Good morning, Mack,” the admiral said. “I presume you are aware of ’our’ problem, General Yu.”

  Mack nodded, but didn’t say anything.

  “Captain Mackey,” the Chinese president said, “we do have some good news to offer. Yu and Li Peng have had a falling-out over the general’s actions. Li Peng has renounced Yu’s authority and has ordered him arrested. In addition, Li and I are once again communicating with each other—cautiously, I might add—but we are closer to negotiations.

  Mack nodded again, but remained silent.

  “You are a hero, Captain,” President Jiang went on, “but watch your 180. I must leave now, for the roach coach is on the pier with its gedunks.”

  Mack blinked at that, caught off guard by Jiang’s use of U.S. Navy and submarine lingo. The president laughed, obviously pleased with Mack’s reaction, then shook his hand and left the conference room, escorted by his heavies.

  Mack wanted to get under way before dark, so once President Jiang had left the CTF 74 admiral told the briefing officer to finish what had not been covered.

  According to naval intelligence, General Yu had been supplying the diesel fuel to several of the Romeo, Ming, and Kilo submarine bases—and he’d been supplying it for free. This had naturally won some converts for Yu, which meant that Mack could not discount the possibility of diesel submarines present in the area. Nevertheless, the briefing officer emphasized, CINCPACFLT’s orders were that Captain Mackey would have to bide his time, ensuring that any submarine contacts he planned to attack were the Akulas unless fired upon by any other class.

  So far, Mack had not been pleased with the nature of this briefing, and he had been even less pleased with the information he had gained. And it was about to get even worse.

  In addition to the Akulas and the diesels, the briefing officer said as he neared the end of his presentation, there was a new wrinkle as well. At least one Hainan class attack craft fitted out as a mine layer was active in comms last week, paired with an old Romeo at Zhanjiang Naval Base, the headquarters of the Chinese South Sea Fleet. The old Romeo—which was the Chinese-built version, six feet longer and with eight torpedo tubes—was rumored to be outfitted with twenty-eight mines instead of fourteen torpedoes. To make matters worse, a Pothead radar, probably the Hainan, and a “Snoop Plate” radar, maybe the Romeo, had been tracking up the coast from Mandarin Bay. They had turned to the east near Hong Kong before being lost two days ago.

  Mack was glad when the briefing came to an end. He’d had enough bad news for one day. Unfortunately, there was more to come.

  When he got back to Cheyenne, Mack learned from the combat systems officer that, against Mack’s expressed instructions, McKee was still restricting Cheyenne’s torpedo loads. It didn’t help to learn that McKee was doing this for all the right reasons. Bremerton, a pre-VLS boat, and Columbia, a 6881 like Cheyenne, also had to be supplied. The arrival of Portsmouth and Pasadena in two weeks from the Atlantic Fleet would only serve to add to the strain.

  Politics again, Mack thought. The shift in the traditional “60-40 split” of submarines, 60 percent for COM-SUBLANT and 40 percent for COMSUBPAC, had obviously preceded the equivalent transfer of torpedoes to PACFLT. Now only twenty Mk 48 ADCAP were on board Cheyenne, and some might have to be used for long distance off-board minefield sensing before Mack would decide to use MIDAS, the short-range under-ice and mine-detection sonar mounted on the sail.

  Although its frequency was nearly twenty times that of the BSY-1 spherical active array, it was still detectable by the enemy. Mack wished even more that he had that FORMIDABOD sensor capability. R and D or not, the United States had shown during Desert Storm that the playing field of war was a better checkout of newly emerging systems than simulated targets and ranges. And its frequency, which was more than five times that of MIDAS, was not detectable by other than its own transducers.

  All of which meant that Cheyenne would have to contend with quiet diesels and mines while attacking the quiet Akulas, and she’d have to do it with a shortage of torpedoes.

  Shaking his head, Mack ordered Cheyenne to get under way before anything else could go wrong.

  Cheyenne submerged to periscope depth at the fifty fathom curve and then altered her course to the south. In this direction the shallow waters of the Formosa Strait quickly gave way to the depths of the South China Sea. Within a few miles, the ledge would fall off to nearly 1,300 fathoms.

  “Captain, officer of the deck. Sonar reports the sound of chains dead ahead of us. I can’t see any mooring buoys, but with this sea state three, they could be bobbing up and down, hard to see.”

  Mack acknowledged the report and quickly left his stateroom, making a beeline for the sonar room. Putting on his own headset, which he had insisted be available for him whenever he wanted, Mack heard the sounds sonar had reported. But they were not the clunking noise of mooring buoys. They were clinking noises that he had heard once before in the Mediterranean, as the sonar officer during his first submarine assignment on a 637, when Egypt’s Romeo submarines had laid mines in the Gulf of Sidra.

  “Officer of the deck, come around to the west and get the combat systems officer and executive officer to the conn,” Mack called from the sonar room.

  A few minutes later, Mack explained to the officers gathered at the conn that they were up against moored mines. If it had not been for the sea state causing the mines to move up and down and the chain links to rattle against themselves, Cheyenne would have been close to being history. He also knew that Cheyenne could probably skirt the minefield using MIDAS, but that would not help other sea travelers, including the other 688s on their way to help. Instead, they would have to try to take out the mines with off-board sensors.

  To do this, the warhead grain burn would not be inerted, allowing the torpedo to be command-detonated in the minefield—assuming that the torpedo didn’t merely set off the mines with its screw noise. If everything worked as planned, and the torpedo detonated in the proper position, the sympathetic concussions should set off a number of mines.

  Mack did not want to expend more than two Mk 48s. That would leave
eighteen for Cheyenne’s Taiwan-area sanitization duties. To eliminate the minefield with only two torpedoes, Cheyenne would have to rely on the high frequency of the torpedo’s transducer, nearly twice that of MIDAS, to paint the scene well enough to ensure that the minefield was plotted prior to their attempting the kills.

  Cheyenne didn’t need to man battle stations for this evolution. The mines couldn’t shoot back. Besides, Mack would stay at least five thousand yards away, standing back at a comfortable distance, far beyond the mine detection and destruction capability.

  The combat systems officer alerted the TMOW (torpe-doman of the watch) of the plan to swim out tube three and then tube four if necessary. At the same time, Mack informed the crew over the 1MC of what would be happening. They would be able to hear the Mk 48 Otto fuel engines spinning up, which one could pick up through the hull while the torpedoes were still close, and Mack didn’t want them to be alarmed and wonder what was going on. He also wanted to alert the personnel sleeping in the torpedo room, who would have to get up and move their portable skid bunks so that the tubes could be reloaded.

  “Conn, sonar, we have diesel lines bearing 285. No screw blade information yet. But it’s not a submarine’s diesel. More like two old Chinese twelve-cylinders firing away, out of sync with each other. No bearing drift, either. He’s closing.”

  Cheyenne had detected the Hainan. Mack was sure of it. Which meant the Romeo might be around.

  Mack found himself wondering how accurate his intel was this time. Naval intelligence and the CIA had been wrong a bit too often lately, and it was especially important this time. If he could count on the report that the Romeo had replaced all its torpedoes with mines, he wouldn’t have to worry about getting shot at. On the other hand, he couldn’t just ignore the Chinese submarine, either. The last thing he wanted was a submerged collision at sea.

  Mack decided it was time for some active sonar practice—forward of the beam in sector searches. This would alert the Romeo, but that’s what Mack wanted. With luck, the Chinese captain would be smart enough to “pull up his pants and go home,” as the old saying went. Besides, it was better than two quiet submarines running into each other.

  Within minutes of going active, sonar reported contact on a submarine based on the elevation angle of the returning energy. Range 1,850 yards and on the same bearing of the twelve-cylinder diesels’ platform, which also was being painted by the BSY-1.

  Mack wanted to make tube one ready for a snap shot, but he couldn’t. His orders prevented him. He could only fire first at an Akula, not at a Romeo.

  Moments later, though, Mack realized that he wasn’t going to need to fire. He knew that when sonar reported the submerged contact blowing ballast and increasing speed, two shafts, four blades each, and squawking on his underwater telephone to the Hainan.

  The Chinese Romeo’s captain had indeed decided to get away from the famous Cheyenne, but he had panicked, remembering too late that the Hainan was above him. He ordered the main ballast tank vents opened, but it was too late to stop his ascent. His full rudder turn didn’t help either, because the Hainan turned in the same direction.

  Moments later, the Romeo’s sail sliced through the thin Hainan hull, right at the engine room. The Hainan diesels sputtered and died, their hot engine blocks cracked by the much cooler seawater. Its captain ordered his men to abandon ship as the seawater continued rushing in, helping to put out the fires but causing the tiny craft to sink beneath the waves.

  The Romeo was undamaged, but its mission was over. It was going to be busy rescuing the survivors from the diesel fuel-slicked grasp of the sea.

  Mack grinned and made another quick decision. He decided to save the torpedoes after all and not use them as off-board sensors. Using their active sonar had given them a pretty good idea where the minefield was, so he ordered a notice-to-mariners message drafted and loaded into an SSIXS buoy. This notice would be transmitted to CTF 74 once the buoy reached the surface and unfurled its tiny satellite antenna. After repeating the transmission four times, the buoy would scuttle itself.

  Mack was pleased with his decision. He saved his Mk 48s. He didn’t have to go to periscope depth near where the rescue efforts were taking place. And he was able to proceed upon his mission right away.

  But there was a downside to his plan, one which Mack hadn’t considered. By not being at periscope depth, Cheyenne’s WLR-8(V) antenna was not able to detect a radio transmission from the Romeo, a transmission in which the Romeo’s captain reported Cheyenne’s presence in the area.

  This information was picked up and put on the Chinese South Sea Fleet and East Sea Fleet broadcasts. Hours later, with Mack unaware of any of this, General Yu’s Akulas and also some Kilos were closing on the datum reported by the Romeo. Three Akulas were closing from the southwest at a comfortable twenty-five knots, while two slower Kilos were making an end around northeast of Taiwan, running on their batteries at eight knots so that they would not have to recharge their batteries before getting on station east of the big island.

  By supper time, Cheyenne had arrived in her first search area and slowed to one-third speed to launch several SSXBTs, but Mack rescinded the SSXBT order after the OOD reported that sonar had weak tonals from an Akula to the south. These were the same tonals that had been detected on the last Akula that supposedly sank after the Typhoon hunt. Sonar also detected a loud shaft rub, which easily allowed them to determine the Akula’s twenty-five knot speed.

  Mack realized that they must have only damaged the Akula’s shafting. With a word of caution to his officers about their returning adversary, Mack ordered battle stations torpedo manned.

  This was a Russian-crewed Akula. Captain Mackey was aware of this, and knew it was dangerous. He also knew that this could be a repeat of a previous hornets’ nest, when quieter Akulas popped up out of nowhere. But he didn’t expect two hornets’ nests.

  When the Akula’s range closed to 25,000 yards, the shaft rub stopped. The Akula had slowed to determine where his counterparts were. The two other Akulas, manned by Chinese who had only recently completed their training in the North Fleet, lost contact on their leader, so they also slowed.

  One lesson the Chinese had learned during their training was not to communicate over underwater telephone. Instead, they had come up with a technique to determine range without using the underwater telephone—a technique that no seasoned submariner would ever employ, but these two Chinese captains were far from seasoned.

  The first captain sent a single sonar ping. Upon receipt, the second captain returned the ping. They knew that the time difference in sound reaching each Akula would translate to the range of the pinging Akula, plus they would know the bearing to each other.

  The Russian captain was furious at the inexperience and ineptness of his Chinese comrades. He broke his silence, using his underwater telephone to tell them to stop, but he was too late. The second Akula had already returned the ping with his fire-control sonar.

  Mack was elated. The bearings and time differences, coupled with tracking of the Russian captain, gave Cheyenne the fire-control solution they needed.

  All three Akulas were still outside 15,000 yards, so Mack passed the order for the torpedo room to “Make tubes one and two ready in all respects, including opening the outer doors.”

  “Tubes one and two are ready in all respects. Both outer doors are open.”

  Captain Mackey ordered, “Firing point procedures, Master 131, tube one, and Master 132, tube two.” He was going for the two quiet ones first. The noisy one, if it ran, would give away his position by the shaft rub.

  The combat systems officer at the weapons-control console reported the target courses, speeds, and ranges.

  “Sonar, conn, stand by.”

  “Conn, sonar, standing by.”

  “Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 131, and tube two, Master 132.”

  “Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 131, and tube two, Master 132, aye, sir.”<
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  “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 medium speed for the inbound run.

  “Very well, sonar,” Mack replied.

  “Conn, sonar, the weapons are accelerating.”

  This report was confirmed by the combat systems officer, who announced acquisition by both units.

  Mack was right. The two quiet Akulas weren’t the only ones increasing speed, but while they were turning away to flee the incoming torpedoes, the noisy Akula wasn’t running. Instead, it was heading for Cheyenne.

  No Russian chicken there, Mack thought as he ordered the wires cut, tubes three and four made ready, and tubes one and two reloaded.

  The two Mk 48s from Cheyenne continued on course for their targets. The third Akula, Master 130, whose captain was foolish enough to speed up, was within Mack’s sights, allowing Cheyenne’s sonars to detect it easily and to quickly establish the perfect fire-control solution.

  “Conn, sonar, explosions bearing 205 and 198.”

  Even with two of his Akulas gone, the Russian captain still maintained his posture, bearing down on Cheyenne. He had more experience with the U.S. 688 class, and especially with Cheyenne, than his lost Chinese fellow captains, but he was no match for Captain Mackey.

  When the Akula captain finally heard the two Mk 48s from Cheyenne’s tubes three and four, it was too late. They were both in their terminal phase of homing. They would explode before any countermeasures could be launched—which was questionable at this speed, anyway. The Akula’s flank speed combined with that of the Mk 48s, a combined closing rate of over eighty knots.

  “Conn, sonar, two explosions, both bearing 250. Lost the Akula, Master 130, in the explosions.”

  And when the reverberations died out, the ocean was silent. Too silent, because the two Kilos had slowed to three knots when they heard the first explosion to their south.