Threat vector

by Michael Dimercurio

  dimensional display of the battlespace, using a downlink from the Predator unmanned aerial vehicle and the Yo-Yo acoustic daylight pods—the ones dropped by P-5 Pegasus patrol planes—a satellite downlink from the CombatStar satellite, with wire inputs from the Mark 8 and Mark 5 Sharkeye systems and the new Mark 23 Bloodhound unmanned underwater vehicle. The software integrates everything in real time—all of it—and displays it for the crew in a virtual-reality system allowing them to 'fly' around the battlespace. It's so real that most test subjects threw up from motion sickness when they emerged from virtual reality. We thought we had it fixed, we loaded it aboard, and it performed beautifully until it came to running the Doberman ATT system and downlinking the CombatStar and Yo-Yo acoustic pod inputs. Those two modules failed miserably—we offloaded both subroutines for more debugging."

  "ATT? Doberman?"

  "Mark 17 antitorpedo torpedo ATT system, called the Doberman, I guess, because it's an attack dog for incoming torpedoes. The counterfire solution for situations where we get shot at by an enemy sub. Right now only a hell of a computer can guide the unit, and no onboard computer has the processing speed or power to handle the job. It's like trying to knock down a bullet with another bullet, and even the technology from the antiballis-tic missile systems didn't work—they've had to start with a clean sheet of paper. Besides which, the old SSNX version of Cyclops isn't up to the task of the

  Doberman's guidance processor. So the computer system is flawed."

  "That's it? The NSSN is ready to go to sea with a slightly degraded combat system except for closing some hull cuts?"

  "Well, there is one other problem. It has only the precommissioning crew and no weapons, because the computer problems are expected to take a year or more to debug. If I had a week I could button up her hull cuts and put her in the water with the amputated software, her precommissioning crew—a bunch of kids without any training—some Vortex Mod Delta missiles, and a few Alert/Acute torpedoes, but that would be reckless. Why take the risks when I've got Devilfish sitting in Norfolk with a hot reactor and an operational battlecontrol system and a crack crew?"

  "Just asking, John." Murphy stood, painfully slowly, pushing on his cane. Patton tried to help him, but the CNO waved him off. "I'm going to Portsmouth Naval Hospital to check on Patch, then up to the White House to brief Warner, then back to the Pentagon."

  "What's the latest on Patch Pacino, sir?"

  Murphy shook his head. "There's a possibility he's brain-dead."

  "Damned shame, sir. I owe that guy my life."

  "Me too, John, me too." Murphy clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll send your respects. Call me tonight."

  Murphy limped out of the door, seeing Lieutenant Commander Karen Petri standing off to the side, staring at him. On impulse he walked slowly

  up to her and took her hand. "Good luck out there, Commander," he said gently, shaking her hand as hard as he could, then turning to walk to the VIP portal. Petri stared after him, astonished.

  When she turned she saw Admiral Patton looking at her.

  "Sir?" she said.

  "Get back to Devilfish," Patton said, his voice as clipped as it had been inside the chamber. "There will be an op order waiting for you. You'll be doing a max-scan search in the VaCapes Op Area for any possible submarine intruder that might be out there, and for any possible waiting mine systems. We'll be supplementing you with Mark 12 Yo-Y< pods from P-5 Pegasus patrol planes. I want thai area scoured, sifted, searched, sanitized, and sealed, and I want you to be the one to do it. Got it?"

  Petri frowned at him, at rigid attention. "Yes, sir. Aye-aye, sir."

  Patton nodded, frowning back. "Dismissed." She saluted and watched him turn and hurry for the elevator bank. For a moment Petri felt like asking him what the official verdict had been, but realized it would have been a stupid question. She was five steps down the hall when she heard Pat-ton's pointed voice behind her. "And, Petri, one more thing." She turned to face him. "Yes, Admiral?" "On the way to your ship, stop by the uniform shop and buy yourself some full commander's shoulderboards. And a capital ship command pin. You're Devilfish's permanent skipper. Sorry we can't have a change-of-command ceremony for you.

  There's not much time these days for pomp and circumstance." His voice had become as gentle as it had been all day, yet still sounded somewhat acidic. Perhaps that's just how he was, Petri thought.

  "Aye-aye, sir. Thank you, sir," she said, but Pat-ton was already twenty steps away and around the corner.

  EXIT THIMBLE SHOAL CHANNEL PER LITTORAL WARFARE ATTACK PLAN 2017-1202 WITH NO LESS THAN TWO (2) FATHOMS UNDER KEEL.

  3. (TS) FIRST MISSION PRIORITY IS SANITATION OF NEAR WATERS OF NORFOLK HARBOR FROM ANY HOSTILE SUBMERGED CONTACT, SEARCH AREA TO INCLUDE ELIZABETH RIVER, THIMBLE SHOAL CHANNEL, NORFOLK TRAFFIC SEPARATION SCHEME, WORKING OUTWARD TOWARD LIMITS OF VA-CAPES OPAREA AS DELINEATED IN COMU-SUBCOM OPPLAN 2200 REV 4 DATED 11/22/17.

  4. (S) AREAS DESCRIBED IN PARA 3 ABOVE WILL BE CLEARED OF SURFACE TRAFFIC BY SURFACE TASK FORCE 2018-07-02 WITH MERCHANT AND NAVY SHIPPING HELD INSIDE NORFOLK OPERATING BASE, LITTLE CREEK AMPHIB BASE AND FIVE (5) MILES OUTSIDE EASTERN BOUNDARY OF NORFOLK TRAFFIC SEPARATION SCHEME.

  5. (TS) RULES OF ENGAGEMENT: UPON DETECTION OF ANY HOSTILE CONTACT, USS DEVILFISH AUTHORIZED ANY REASONABLE EMPLOYMENT OF SHIP'S WEAPONS AT DISCRETION OF COMMANDING OFFICER TO DESTROY HOSTILE CONTACT.

  6. (TS) UPON ENCOUNTER HOSTILE TRAFFIC AND PRIOR TO ENGAGEMENT, USS DEVILFISH MAY POP SLOT BUOY SIGNAL NUMBER ONE (1) PER COMUSUBCON OPPLAN 2200 SAME REVISION. UPON COMPLETION OF ENGAGEMENT USS DEVILFISH SHALL CONTACT COMUSUBCOM BY MOST EXPEDITIOUS MEANS

  WITH SITREP TO FOLLOW. IN THE EVENT NO HOSTILE TARGETS DETECTED, USS DEVILFISH SHALL REPORT BY SLOT BUOY SITREP AT TWELVE (12) HOUR INTERVALS.

  7. (C) REMAIN UNDETECTED.

  8. (C) GOOD HUNTING AND GODSPEED, KAREN.

  9. (U) ADMIRAL J.G.S. PATTON IV SENDS. //BT//

  Weapons release would be at the discretion of the commanding officer? Petri thought in wonder. That was as much a blank check as a submarine commander would ever get. She had never expected to see that in print. She stood on the periscope stand of the control room, the microphone of the Circuit One coiling into the overhead above the captain's plot table at the forward quadrant of the railed-in platform. She continued with her speech.

  "As each of you knows, yesterday the cruise ship Princess Dragon was destroyed a few miles outside of Norfolk Harbor right under our noses. We never saw anything coming, and that fact prompted the board of inquiry each of us suffered yesterday." And this morning, she thought. "As you may have suspected, Devilfish has been given a clean bill of health following the board of inquiry. We are being sent to the shallow waters of Norfolk to screen and sanitize the area from any possible threat, to see if whatever sank Princess Dragon is still lurking there. All watchstanders are to assume that as of right now, this ship is at war." Petri paused to let that sink in. "If we find a hostile contact, the rules of

  engagement authorize us to shoot. And shoot we will. I expect every watchstander aboard to be at maximum readiness. We will be tossing over the lines in five minutes, and Devilfish will not be returning home until we have put whoever shot down Princess Dragon on the bottom." Again she paused. "A final note, crew. As of this morning I have been promoted to full commander and handed permanent command of the Devilfish. My only regret is that Kelly McKee has decided to leave the Navy. I want you all to know that I am deeply proud to go to sea with each one of you and to be your commanding officer. I propose we dedicate this run to Commander Kelly McKee and sail back home with an enemy submarine silhouette painted on our sail. That is all. Carry on."

  On the bridge, Lieutenant Commander Bryan Dietz heard the speech coming over his headphones and whistled to himself. He glanced at Junior Officer of the Deck Toasty O'Neal. "Holy smokes. A wartime op order, Toasty," Dietz said. "You may see some action this run, youngster."

  "Status of the Azov?" Captain Grachev called from
the command console of the control compartment of the submarine Vepr some 165 kilometers to the southeast of Norfolk. The ship was resting on a rocky outcropping of Nags Head Majoris Ridge at a depth of 428 meters, a few kilometers from where the continental shelf plummeted deep to the Atlantic floor. The location of the bottoming was far enough from the Norfolk traffic-separation scheme to keep them out of sensor range of the SSNX

  submarine, while being close enough that the exit of Port Norfolk was at the extreme edge of the range circle of the Bora II antisubmarine torpedoes, provided they were launched in low-speed transit mode at shallow depth to maximize their range.

  The Azov that Grachev referred to was one of four 53-centimeter canisters in the forward vertical launch system tubes housing the Azov unmanned aerial vehicle, a modified cruise missile that could overfly a target area and downlink aerial intelligence. Its advantages were obvious—the ability to acquire over-the-horizon targeting information without relying on expensive and unreliable satellites. Its disadvantages were more subtle—a detected Azov could lead to Vepr being detected, or at least the confirmation that a hostile submarine was in the area, causing a massive antisubmarine warfare hunt.

  "Azov number one is warmed up now," Svyato-slov reported. "The datalink self-check is satisfactory. Request you raise the Antay pod."

  "Nav, raise the Antay pod," Grachev ordered. Far aft, the elongated teardrop-shaped pod detached from the top of the rudder and began to float to the surface. A few moments later it penetrated the waves and looked skyward. Then it deployed the extremely high frequency radio transmitter and receiver to uplink to and downlink from the Azov. There would be two separate EHF frequencies for uplink and downlink, so both tasks could happen at once. The Azov's intelligence data would be beamed down to the Antay pod's EHF

  receiver antenna, and from there to the cable sinking to the deep, almost 450 meters straight down to the rudder of the Vepr and into the ship's command compartment, to be read by the sensor computer modules of the Second Captain.

  "Antay's up," Navigator Tenukha reported from the sensor station aft. "We've got data. Partly cloudy topside, no aircraft in visual range."

  "EHF antenna rigged out?"

  "Antay camera shows a good rig-out, sir."

  "Program readback from the number one Azov?"

  "Number one Azov shows the initial fly out at being zero four zero with a shallow climbout angle of ten degrees until it reaches seven thousand meters, when it will turn west until it overflies Norfolk, then turns and does a pace pattern over the Chesapeake Bay and Hampton Roads."

  "Mr. First," Grachev said into his headset. He was standing behind the command seat of his command console, too excited to sit. "Launch Azov unit one when you are ready."

  Svyatoslov had manned sensor cubicle two in the aft starboard corner of the room. The cubicle was a cube one and a half meters on a side, not even big enough to stand in, but with the VR goggles on, reclined on a leather couch, Svyatoslov had no complaints. His vision was black, he was completely blind, but soon the Azov would be in the sky, giving him a virtual-reality look down at the world.

  "Tube one coming open, Captain," Svyatoslov said into his boom mike. "Tube one membrane remains sealed. Gas generator arming sequence en-

  abled, Second Captain has the countdown, request command enable now."

  "Command enable entered," Grachev replied, keying in his password to his console, giving Svya-toslov and the Second Captain his permission to launch the Azov.

  "Sir, system has captain's enable. Arming circuit in auto. Countdown to three, two, one, and/ire!"

  Thirty meters forward of the control compartment, at the base of vertical launch tube one, which was in the forward frames of the ballast tank, gas generator number one ignited. The gas generator was a small charge of solid rocket fuel ducted to a dis-tilled-water reservoir. As the generator's charge lit off, the hot exhaust gases spewed into the reservoir, almost instantly vaporizing the water to high-temperature steam, suddenly pressurizing the bottom of the tube. The only thing between the steam and freedom was a heavy canister in the cylinder of the tube. Like the gases of an artillery shell at the breech of a cannon, the high-energy steam pushed hard on the bottom of the obstructing canister. Some of the steam escaped around the body of the waterproof casing and pressurized a plastic membrane stretched across the muzzle of the tube, rupturing it violently with steam that blew upward. Meanwhile the pressure at the bottom of the tube put four million Newtons of force on the bottom of the cylindrical missile canister, making it no different from a youngster's spitwad in a straw. The canister gathered speed quickly, taking less than a second to go from stationary in the snug tube to a

  hundred kilometers per hour out the muzzle of the tube. The canister slowed slightly as it rose—not in seawater, but in a massive bubble of escaping steam. The steam bubble began to cool in the deep water until it finally broached the surface above.

  Halfway out of the water, the flanks of the canister were exposed to the morning sunlight. The canister's top blew off, the explosive bolts rupturing, and under the force of a small booster rocket charge, similar to the charges in a fighter jet's ejection seat, a canister within the canister blasted out and into the air. As the inner canister blew upward, it ruptured along twelve score lines. Explosive bolts detonated and hurled the formerly waterproof can in pieces away from the structure beneath.

  What remained after the canister blew apart resembled a cruise missile in the fins-stowed state. Two large mid-fuselage wings were folded into the body, and three fins were folded at the bottom near the rocket's nozzle. After the canister surfaces fell away, the engine of the rocket ignited. The solid rocket fuel sent the rocket straight up for a distance of twenty meters as the nozzle gained control of the missile's attitude, then pitched the unit over so that it began climbing skyward at a shallow angle of ten degrees. The missile's wings remained tucked under its body, but the aft control surfaces sprang outward, acting like the feathers of an arrow. The missile continued climbing, reaching an altitude of forty meters over the sea. The radio transmitter in the nose cone of the missile came alive, transmitting the EHF "all-nominal" signal down to the sea-water-blue Antay pod floating unobtrusively on the

  short choppy waves of the Atlantic. The missile's EHF receiver listened for a reply from the Antay pod's antenna, but for the next second nothing was heard. After another full second of rocket-powered flight, it still received nothing back from the Antay pod's transmitter.

  The unit climbed another fifty meters and tried another downlink, with the same results. And three failed downlink attempts automatically started the unit's self-destruct sequence. It rotated the aft fins so that it changed course downward toward the water, still under the solid rocket motor's full thrust. Within three seconds it impacted the surface of the water with a small splash. Hitting the water at a speed of five hundred clicks was equivalent to smashing into solid concrete. The wings and airframe immediately disintegrated, while the rocket motor sheared off and spun helplessly into the depths, eventually sputtering out. As the missile body sank, a second self-destruct sequence kicked in. Several explosive charges around the mid-body detonated after a time delay of thirty seconds, ensuring that no salvage diver would dredge up the Azov. Within a few seconds after the completion of the self-destruct sequence, little was left of the unit bigger than a shoe box.

  "What the hell happened?" Grachev demanded.

  "Checking now, Captain," Svyatoslov reported from sensor cubicle two. "We never had a downlink from the unit. Failure mode is either in the EHF downlink or the uplink. If it's the downlink, we can launch a second Azov and have a satisfac-

  tory deployment. If it's the uplink, we could be out of luck."

  "Goddamn/ 1 Grachev cursed. "Line up missile two. And for God's sake, Navigator, dammit, check the software switch lineup to the Antay pod and the EHF antenna. Let's go!"

  "Yes, sir," Svyatoslov said. Grachev's outbursts were as familiar as the feel of his worn at-
sea shoes. "Second Captain lining up tube two. Azov unit two self-check is satisfactory, unit airframe and propulsion system readbacks nominal, navigation flight plan readback nominal. We're ready for launch, sir."

  "Fine, dammit. Navigator, report the damn status of the Antay pod."

  "Same as before, Captain," Tenukha called. "Unit confirmed on the surface. Unit camera shows full rig-out of the EHF antenna. All circuits are showing full connectivity. We have continuity, Captain."

  "I can see you are all scratching your heads over this," Grachev said, glaring briefly at Novskoyy, who stood next to the command console. "I want everyone to check their switch lineups, software switch lineups, self-check readbacks, and continuity checks. Go over it again. Now. Mr. First, report!"

  The same report came back to Grachev as a few moments before. There was nothing he could do but launch a second ten-million-Euro Azov, without having found the flaw that blew up the first unit. The second unit could experience the same problem.

  "Second Captain has the countdown, ten seconds, request command enable, sir."

  "Command enable code entered," Grachev said again.

  "And enable indicated at three, two, one, fire"

  Tube two's muzzle door opened, the membrane still sealing the cylindrical tube below.

  Seconds later the number two gas generator ignited, the steam pressure blasting the canister out of the tube up into the depths of the sea. The canister rose to the surface, and the inner canister was blown skyward and exploded as the first one had. The missile rocket motor ignited, the fins snapped out, and the unit climbed to fifty meters and transmitted an all-nominal signal to the Antay EHF antenna below.