Cold Choices

by Larry Bond

  “That’s not an effective search speed. Could they be loitering in the area? Waiting for something?” Kalinin was thinking out loud.

  Petrov was dismissive. “Possible, but pure speculation. We can’t guess at his activities from this. The bad news is, we’re looking for a very quiet boat, of advanced design, at very low speed. The good news is, at slow speed, he’s still close to the position we were given.

  “Starpom, assume that he’s making no more than five knots and adjust our search pattern to look for an extremely quiet vessel. If he’s increased speed and we miss him, we’ll need a second, wider search plan.”

  Kalinin nodded, acknowledging Petrov’s instructions but busy with a calculator. “Recommend slowing to eight knots in twenty minutes, and to five knots another half an hour later. That should allow us to enter the area with a minimum probability of detection by a first-rank boat at creep speed.”

  “How much margin in your calculations?” Petrov asked.

  “Twenty-five percent.”

  Petrov looked down at the chart, silently weighing Kalinin’s recommendation with his own assessment of the situation. A slight frown developed. After a brief moment, he turned toward his starpom, shaking his head.

  “Take it out, Vasiliy. No margin. Time is our enemy. We’ll depend on surprise. I’m willing to make the assumption that he doesn’t know about the buoys, so he can’t know he’s been detected.”

  Looking dubious, the starpom recalculated. “In that case, hold this speed for another half an hour, then slow to eight knots, and go to five knots forty minutes later. We will reach the edge of the search area in eighty-five minutes.”

  “Agreed, and set silence mode when we slow to five knots. Pass the word that all compartments will be personally inspected by me to make sure it’s properly set.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As the watch section hurried about to carry out his orders, Petrov forced himself to walk away and let his men do their work. He had to pour some of his excitement back into the bottle. Splash it around too much and his crew would start making mistakes. But it was so hard to just stand there and wait. Surprisingly, it didn’t take very long.

  A little over thirty minutes after setting silence mode, Petrov was summoned yet again to the central post. As he entered the command center, he found the normally bustling central command post as quiet as a morgue. Shubin was hunched over one of the BIUS consoles, staring intently at the display.

  “Report,” order Petrov curtly.

  “Hydroacoustic contact, Captain. Bearing red zero seven three.”

  A quick glance at the BIUS display told Petrov what he needed to know. “Helmsman, rudder left full. New course three four zero. Deck Officer, quietly, I repeat quietly, set readiness condition one, combat alert. And be quick about it, Mikhail Olegovich.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  While Shubin brought Severodvinsk to battle stations, Petrov quickly ducked into the sonar post where Mitrov and a senior warrant officer were busily adjusting the passive sonar settings on the control consoles, desperately trying to find the contact they had heard just moments ago.

  Speaking softly Petrov asked, “What do you have for me, comrades?”

  “A short sequence of transients, Captain, bearing red zero seven three. Definitely mechanical in nature,” replied Mitrov.

  “Show me,” demanded Petrov.

  The warrant officer handed his captain a set of headphones and called up the historical display and replayed the signal. Sure enough, there was a faint series of mechanical-sounding clunks to the north. His men had done well to pick up the weak signal with all the ice noise around them.

  “Captain . . .” whispered Mitrov as he pointed toward his display. There on the screen, amid the interfering speckles from the ice, appeared a faint coherent trace, and then another.

  As the three men watched the trace lines slowly get longer, Kalinin stuck his head into the small room. “Captain, combat alert has . . .” A sharp wave of Petrov’s hand cut his starpom off.

  In total silence, Petrov watched as the first trace got a little stronger, showing a slight left-bearing drift. The second contact was much weaker and had no discernible bearing rate at all. Mitrov hit a few buttons and an automatic tracker locked on to each of the contacts and started sending data to the fire-control system. With a wicked grin on his face, Petrov turned toward Kalinin and said, “We have him, Vasiliy. We have him!”

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  ETC Hudson had expected to find his department head fast asleep. He didn’t monitor Lieutenant Mitchell’s every move, but by his reckoning, the young officer was running about half empty, and that will catch up with a body after a while. Nobody wanted a cranky lieutenant.

  But Mr. Mitchell was up and half buried in paperwork. The door was open, but Hudson still rapped politely on the doorframe. Jerry looked up and smiled. “Chief, excellent, come in. Here are the draft E-6 evaluations you gave me last week. I’ve made some changes . . .”

  Hudson glanced at the forms, marked with a red pen, then reported. “They’re preparing to recover LaVerne, sir.”

  Jerry sighed and pushed himself back from the desk. “So soon?”

  “They’ve already deployed the recovery arm.”

  “Thanks, Chief, I’ll be along . . .”

  Suddenly the BONG, BONG, BONG of the general alarm filled the passageway, and both men dashed for the control room. The captain had promised that once UUV operations started, there would be no drills. Something was very wrong.

  Jerry held in his questions as he hurried over to the plotting table by the fire-control consoles. He listened as Will Hayes quickly turned the deck over to Stan Lavoie, the General Quarters OOD. “New sonar contact, Sierra three zero, is on our port quarter, bearing one six five. The computer says it’s a submerged contact, close by at slow speed, with a zero bearing rate. Tracking party’s still getting set up, so they can’t confirm.”

  Then Captain Rudel showed up and Hayes had to repeat himself. He’d barely finished when Rudel asked, “And the UUV?”

  Hayes shook his head. “Still approaching the basket. About five hundred yards to port . . .”

  Hayes’s report was cut short when the WLR-9 acoustic intercept receiver started wailing.

  “Conn, sonar, Mouse Squeak transmissions in the direction of Sierra three zero. Bearing one six five.”

  Rudel quickly looked at the WLR-9 display and saw that the transmission frequency and pulse type matched the collision-avoidance/mine-hunting sonar on Russian submarines. “Mr. Mitchell, get the arm back inside, and send the UUV away.”

  Jerry acknowledged the order and checked the chart. There was a likely spot over deep water a few miles from here, and it was already programmed . . .

  “Conn, sonar! Sierra three zero is increasing speed!” There was concern in the sonar supervisor’s voice. A few seconds later, the intercom announced, “Sierra three zero is cavitating! Near zero bearing rate!” The last word was almost shouted over the intercom. Jerry recognized ST1 Stapp’s voice. He wasn’t easily rattled.

  “Captain, recovery arm is stowed and the outer door is shut on tube two,” reported Shimko as he took his battle-stations position by the fire-control consoles.

  “Very well, XO. I want a TMA solution on Sierra three zero immediately. Engineer, get us moving.”

  Both men responded with, “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s speed is thirty-plus knots. Blade rate does not match any known Russian submarine.”

  Rudel and Shimko looked at each other, both confused by the sonar supervisor’s report. Rudel reached up to the intercom. “Sonar, conn. Please confirm your last.”

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s acoustic signature does not match any, repeat any, known Russian submarine.”

  “Who the hell are we dealing with?” asked Shimko.

  “We’ll worry about that later, XO. For now, let’s concern ourselves with getting
out of here.”

  “Yessir!” Shimko replied enthusiastically. Then ten seconds later, “Captain, WAA range is . . . is seven hundred yards and closing!”

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is closing rapidly. Bearing rate is slightly to the left.”

  “He’s passing down our port side!” exclaimed Shimko.

  “Helm, hard right rudder!” shouted Rudel.

  “Captain has the conn,” announced Lavoie. While this statement would appear trivial to an outside observer, particularly given the circumstance, its importance was crucial. From this point on, until Rudel decided otherwise, he was giving the conning orders and everyone in control needed to know this.

  A moment later Jerry heard the noise himself, right though the hull. It started as a soft rush, like a ventilation fan in high speed, but a few seconds later it was a solid rumble, and then a loud swishing that could be felt as well as heard.

  A few more seconds and the sound was past them. Just as it started to fade, Jerry felt a vibration in the deck and then the whole boat was rocked first to starboard and then to port. Jerry had been leaning against the chart table and had reflexively grabbed at it. The watch stared at each other, wide-eyed.

  Severodvinsk

  * * *

  “Sonar officer reports closest point of approach was four hundred meters,” said Kalinin.

  “That will make them think twice!” laughed Petrov. “Make turns for ten knots. Shubin, do you still see their remote vehicle?”

  “Yes, sir. Bearing red zero six five, range seventy-four meters, speed about three knots. It’s still heading toward the American sub.” Shubin was tracking the American UUV with Severodvinsk’s MG-519M mine-hunting sonar. It was no good as a general search set, but its high-resolution range and bearing data made it perfect for finding small objects nearby. “Recommend slow turn to port, or it will pass into our blind spot aft.”

  “Agreed. Helm, left standard rudder, reverse our course, steady one five five. Starpom, don’t lose that thing’s position. If we’ve cut its tether, it should slow down and stop now. With luck, it will sink to the bottom, and we can mark the spot. What’s the American sub doing?”

  “Passive sonar’s still limited from our high-speed pass, sir, but he was just starting to turn to starboard as we went by.”

  The American was being slow to react. After surprising him so completely, Petrov had expected a more violent reaction.

  The high-frequency active sonar display showed two objects: the larger American sub, and a much smaller blip, no larger than a torpedo. The U.S. boat had been stationary, hovering, and it was obvious they were up to something that involved a remotely operated vehicle. Planting something? Recovering something? Whatever they were doing, it was not in Russia’s interests.

  The obvious move was to break the tether on their ROV. The Americans would be forced to abandon it, and Severodvinsk would guard the device until it was salvaged. The U.S. would not be able to deny the physical evidence, and the clues it provided would tell what the Americans had been up to.

  “Sonar, report.” Petrov was impatient. He’d made his move and was waiting for the Americans to react. Part of his impatience was because they had no good moves to make. This was his field, his game.

  Mitrov responded, but he sounded puzzled. “The American sub is moving away slowly. Last good bearing before he went into our baffles was green one four five. The remote has turned sharply and is now heading away from the U.S. sub at a higher speed.”

  “Toward us?” Petrov’s question held concern. It could still be a weapon.

  “No sir, it’s going northwest at about five knots.”

  “Then it’s still under control,” Petrov remarked, thinking aloud. “Apparently, we missed the tether.”

  By now, Severodvinsk had reversed course and was heading to the rear of the slow-moving U.S. submarine. “Position us for another pass, closer to the American. Closer this time.”

  USS Seawolf

  * * *

  “All hands, this is the Captain.” Rudel’s voice was calm. “We are not under attack. Nothing has collided with us. A Russian attack boat just made a fast, close-aboard pass down our port side. They’re not happy about us being here. He seems upset, so we are not going to do anything to provoke him.”

  Rudel put the microphone down and asked Jerry, “Is the UUV heading away from us?”

  Jerry nodded. “Just finished sending the instructions, sir. LaVerne’s been ordered to loiter at point Romeo One, about ten miles from here.”

  “And the quickest course away from the Russian coast?”

  Jerry didn’t have to look at the chart. “Toward Romeo One, recommend three zero zero.”

  “Very well. Make turns for five knots, right fifteen degrees rudder, come to course three zero zero.” That would take them through almost three-quarters of a full circle, but the quicker turn to the left would take Seawolf directly in front of their maneuvering adversary.

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero has zigged. Looks like he’s turning. His blade rate is also increasing again. Rapidly.”

  “Sonar, conn, aye. Any classification yet? Who is he?”

  “Hard to tell, sir.” Snapp’s voice was apologetic. “It’s a first-line attack boat given its speed, but it doesn’t match anything in the database. She’s very quiet, though. I’ve had somebody reviewing the recordings when she was on top . . .”

  Then Snapp interrupted his report. “Blade rate’s still increasing, and the bearing drift’s changed from left to right. I think he’s going to make another run.”

  “Helm, increase your rudder, right full. Get us some more separation to starboard.”

  “Increase my rudder to right full, helm aye.”

  “Should we use our HF sonar? There’s no point in staying covert,” said Lavoie.

  Jerry thought that sounded like a good idea. It would be nice to have a better idea of where the Russian was.

  Rudel paused before answering Lavoie, but shook his head. “No. I don’t know how he’d react to it. He might interpret it as a prelude to hostile action. Some Russians like to use HF sonars for fire-control ranging.” The captain spoke quickly, and Lavoie nodded his understanding as they watched the command displays and tried to fathom the Russian’s intention.

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is closing, zero bearing rate, signal strength all increasing. I’m starting to get separate bearings on different parts of the boat!” Jerry felt a lump of ice forming in his chest. The Russian was closer this time.

  Rudel looked over toward the BCP and yelled, “Chief of the Watch, sound collision. All hands brace for impact.” As the collision alarm screeched, Jerry imagined men in spaces throughout the sub, with little idea of what was happening, being told to brace. Expecting what? A crushing blow, icy water, and a sudden death?

  “Eventually we’ll have to break contact and sort out how he found us, but right now my only goal is to not make a bad situation worse.”

  The Russian sub thundered by again, closer. This time the sound was stronger, more intense. Jerry could distinguish the beating of the sub’s propeller blades.

  As it reached a peak, another sound, an even louder solid bang, resonated in the control room. It stopped, then came again, and again, in fast rhythmic pulses. The Russian had turned on his main active sonar and focused its energy into a tight narrow beam, pointed straight at Seawolf.

  A nuclear sub’s main active sonar could send out a sound pulse that could be heard hundreds of miles away. It would kill a diver nearby. Almost in pain, Jerry tried to cover his ears, but by the time he could react, the Russian was gone, and welcome quiet returned.

  Then Seawolf, all nine thousand two hundred tons, tilted to the right, pushed aside by the wake of the harassing Russian sub. Jerry was glad for the captain’s warning, but he’d lost his grip raising his hands. He almost fell, and several in control did stumble.

  Shaken, Jerry saw his face mirrored in the rest of the watch, pale and wide-eyed, s
ome picking themselves up.

  Lavoie, compelled to state the obvious, said, “That was too close.”

  “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is not, repeat not, transmitting known Shark Gill waveforms.” Shark Gill was the NATO nickname for the SKAT family of sonars on all current Russian nuclear-powered attack submarines.

  Jerry watched Captain Rudel, waiting for a reaction, or new orders, but the captain was as pale as the rest. Jerry watched him scan the displays, even glancing toward the plotting table. He was a man in desperate need of information. What boat was this? What did the Russian captain want? Would his next pass be even closer?

  “Skipper, who are we dealing with?” asked Shimko, clearly shaken as well.

  Rudel initially looked just as confused as the others; then abruptly, his demeanor changed as an idea popped into his head.

  “Navigator, check the intel traffic and see if a Russian boat has left Sayda Guba in the last few days.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jerry, still puzzled.

  “You’ve got that look, sir,” quipped Shimko.

  “I have a theory, XO. Nothing more.”

  “Would you mind sharing this theory with the rest of us ignorant peasants?”

  “I think it’s Severodvinsk, Marcus.”

  Shimko took his captain’s theory and compared it to the available data. A nuclear-powered attack submarine with an unknown acoustic signature and unknown active sonar in the Northern Fleet led to but one conclusion—Severodvinsk.

  “Ooh shit.”

  “Yeah, that’s about it,” said Rudel. “Hopefully, Jerry will be able to confirm it once he gets done searching the message traffic.”

  Lieutenant Commander Lavoie was searching as well. “Whoever he is, he’s real unhappy we’re here. Maybe he’s trying to drive us away.”

  Rudel nodded, still thinking, but answering, “It’s a possibility. Maybe we aren’t moving fast enough for him. But then why block our path out?”