by Tom Clancy
“Unit one… unit two also, both units have now acquired,” reported the combat systems officer.
“Cut the wires,” Mack ordered. “I want to be as far away as possible when those torpedoes explode.” The 650-pound warhead, Mack was aware, could damage any submarine, Chinese or not, if it was close when the torpedo detonated. “Shut the outer doors and reload tubes one and two with Mk 48s.”
When they were far enough away, Mack slowed Cheyenne to four knots. They were still close to Chinese home waters and he didn’t want to risk detection again. With the loss of the Kilo, they’d probably figure out soon enough that there was an enemy submarine in the area, but Mack felt reasonably comfortable that he could avoid detection by running quietly.
Mack was also confident that the Kilo itself had nowhere to run. On one side was the Chinese coastline; on the other was a large, deadly minefield. Once the Mk 48s had acquired the Kilo, Mack was sure that the Chinese submarine was doomed.
“Conn, sonar,” the Sonar Supervisor reported, “the Kilo is drawing left again, heading in the direction of the Chinese minefield. The Mk 48s are still following it.”
Mack was calm as he acknowledged the report, but he had to admit to a certain grudging respect for the Chinese captain. Desperate, knowing that his ship had no chance to survive the torpedoes bearing down on it, he had taken the one gamble left open to him.
“Conn, sonar, explosion in the water, bearing 110.”
Mack tensed, waiting for the end of the report.
“Captain, we just lost unit one. The first Mk 48 hit a mine.”
Mack nodded, his admiration for his opponent growing slightly. The desperate gamble had paid off — so far. But there was still one more Mk 48 out there, and it was locked on to the Kilo.
The twin explosions of the first Mk 48 and the mine it had detonated sent shock waves through the entire minefield. Because the Chinese had, in some locations, laid the mines too close together, the pressure from the first explosions began touching off other explosions, and two more mines exploded within seconds.
Moments later, the sonar room reported a third explosion. The sonar supervisor assumed it was also a Chinese mine because the second Mk 48 was still chasing its prey.
“Conn, sonar, another explosion,” the sonar supervisor said a short time later. “We’ve lost contact with unit two. I think it just hit a mine.”
The desperate gamble had paid off. The Kilo had avoided both torpedoes, but it was still in trouble. It was deep in the middle of a minefield, and it knew there was an enemy out there somewhere, stalking it.
Less than one minute after the second Mk 48 hit a mine, sonar detected two more explosions.
“Conn, sonar, two more explosions, bearing 112. I’m hearing breaking-up noises. The Kilo, Master 112, must have run itself into a mine.”
The sound of groaning metal was unmistakable. As the Kilo sank, Mack thought about what had just happened. Desperate times called for desperate measures, he knew, but sometimes they just didn’t work.
The irony was that this time it had worked — it just hadn’t worked well enough. It wasn’t one of the Mk 48s that had killed the Kilo; it was the Chinese’s own low-tech mines.
Cheyenne’s entire crew had now seen firsthand what damage a Chinese minefield could do to a submarine. The problem, however, was that the narrow path that Cheyenne was following could easily turn into a “killing zone” for her just as it had for the Kilo.
But Mack didn’t have much choice. If he was to accomplish his mission, he had to take Cheyenne along this route. He just hoped he had better luck than the unfortunate Kilo’s captain.
* * *
Eight hours later, Cheyenne was still running at four knots and had her TB-16 towed array deployed to the short stay. Eight sonar contacts had been evaluated as non-threats.
“Conn, sonar, after clearing our baffles, we’ve got two more contacts bearing 004. Sounds like surface warships, Captain.”
“We’re working on range to the contacts right now, Captain,” reported the fire-control coordinator.
Mack immediately began moving Cheyenne to a position where they could more easily triangulate the range to the two sonar contacts.
“They’re two Luda I destroyers, the kind without the helicopter. The computer just identified their screw characteristics,” one of the sonar operators said to the sonar supervisor.
Since the naval war with China began, Cheyenne’s library of sonar contacts, used to identify sonar signals received while on a mission, had grown tremendously. This was due largely to Cheyenne’s stellar performance during her undersea operations and her resulting contacts with just about every class of Chinese warship operated by their navy — which allowed Cheyenne to record their sound characteristics and correlate to hull type. Without this library, the sonar operators would have little idea what types of targets they were tracking.
Mack ordered the Mk 48s from tubes one and two removed and replaced with Harpoons. This took some time, but it greatly improved his attack options.
Several long minutes passed before the BSY-1 computers were finally able to calculate a range to the two destroyers. “Range to the closest Luda, Master 121, is 22,000 yards,” the fire-control coordinator reported. “Range to the second one, Master 122, is 28,000 yards. They are both running at sixteen knots.”
“Very well,” Mack said.
The Harpoon was Mack’s weapon of choice for this situation. Not only would it save his multipurpose Mk 48s for future operations, but it also allowed Cheyenne more of a chance to escape once they had launched their missiles.
The Mk 48s were seeker-type weapons. After launching them, Cheyenne continued to provide them with targeting data until their seeker heads had acquired the target. Only after they had acquired could Mack cut the wires to them and withdraw from the area.
The Harpoons, however, were essentially “launch and leave” missiles. Once they were loaded with their flight and target data they didn’t need any further assistance. Following their launch, there was nothing for Cheyenne to do except get back to deep water and move out of the enemy’s way. The Harpoons were also ten times faster than an Mk 48, giving the surface ships less time to react.
Order by order, step by step, Mack readied the Harpoons. When they launched, the noises of combat firings could be heard throughout the submarine.
“Tubes one and two fired electrically, Captain.”
After being ejected from Cheyenne’s torpedo tubes, the Harpoon canisters floated toward the surface. As the two buoyant capsules, pointed in a forty-five-degree up angle, reached the surface, they jettisoned their nose caps and aft bodies. The missiles’ boosters ignited, sending the missiles out of the water.
The missiles emerged from the water, fast and sleek as they entered their element. Once airborne, their booster rockets continued to burn, as they were designed to, for approximately three more seconds before the Harpoons’ main turbojets fired, sending the missiles onward — toward the two unknowing Chinese Ludas.
Mack didn’t stick around to admire their flight. As soon as he received word that the missiles had left his submarine, he ordered the OOD to increase speed to ten knots and exited the area, hoping no other submarines were around.
The two UGM-84 missiles made their way quickly toward the two Ludas. As soon as they had closed to within one nautical mile, the Harpoons began their terminal maneuver. Instead of the regular “pop-up” maneuver, Mack had ordered that these two missiles be programmed to drop from cruising altitude to the sea-skimming height of five feet before sneaking into the two destroyers.
The Harpoons’ terminal sea-skimming trajectory worked perfectly and the Chinese Ludas did not even know that the missiles were heading toward them. The missiles were flying so low that the Chinese destroyer’s “Eye Shield” and “Bean Sticks” radars — the NATO designation for the Russian-derived radars on board — did not even detect the oncoming missiles.
Cheyenne was still relatively close to t
he two destroyers when the sonar room report came in.
“Conn, sonar, we have two explosions, sixteen seconds apart, bearings 002 and 006… ”
Before the sentence was completed, the sonar supervisor revised his report, “Correction. We just got a third explosion. This one sounds like a secondary explosion, also bearing 002.” He paused, then added, “Conn, sonar, we’ve now got breaking-up noises on that same target, bearing 002. It’s a goner, sir.”
* * *
The Luda destroyer at bearing 002 was a scene of death and destruction. It had a complement of 280 sailors and officers. Within forty-five seconds of the Harpoon’s arrival, 180 of them were dead, killed in the fire and melting deluge of metal and fuel that had ignited following the impact. Over forty bodies were scattered around the warship, lifeless and bobbing in the water. Next to these dead sailors were live ones, floating on their backs, trying to adjust to the sudden, ferocious attack and doing anything in their power to stay above the water.
There were only fifty sailors who had managed to abandon the doomed Luda destroyer. The remaining sailors and crew of the sinking warship were trapped inside with no chance to escape. No matter how hard they struggled, they would die, either of smoke inhalation or the burning of the ship around them.
Quietly, and slowly, the Chinese destroyer sank beneath the waters of the Formosa Strait. The crew — those who lived and those who died — never even knew where the incoming missile had come from.
The destruction was not so complete on board the second Chinese Luda, but still the damage was enormous. The Harpoon’s 510-pound warhead had detonated at the aft end of the vessel, and the destroyer had lost nearly a quarter of its personnel.
When the Chinese naval commanders received word that both of these powerful Chinese warships had been hit, their immediate assessment was that a lightning strike of F/A-18s had taken part in these ships’ destruction. Worried that more American aircraft were operating in the area, the Chinese were afraid to send any aircraft to patrol the seas and, since they had already withdrawn their Akulas, they had no assets in the area capable of detecting Cheyenne.
Mack had no way of guessing at the Chinese naval commanders’ thinking, but when no enemy vessels showed up hunting Cheyenne, Mack secured from battle stations. Traveling at four knots, Cheyenne quietly slipped farther away from the area.
Mack and the officers of Cheyenne were amazed that here, as close to the Chinese shore as any American warship had ever ventured during this war, there were few operational enemy warships. Mack had had no run-ins with any targets that represented any type of threat to his submarine, and for the first time in a long time, everything was under control and working perfectly.
As Cheyenne neared the southern exit of the Formosa Strait, Mack realized that this delousing and reconnaissance operation had revealed the condition the Chinese navy was in. As soon as Mack passed back into the South China Sea, he brought Cheyenne to sixty feet and raised the communications mast.
Word was soon passed throughout the Navy that Cheyenne had completed her mission of delousing in the “perilous” strait. Warning also was sent concerning the moored minefield, along with the exact locations of the minefields, and the safe zones. Mack also made a point of sending word that Cheyenne and her crew had added three more kills, one Kilo submarine and two Luda destroyers, to their long list of successes.
As soon as the communications mast was lowered, Mack headed back to his stateroom to get some well-deserved rest. He had returned the conn to the OOD after ordering the navigator to set course for Tsoying Naval Base, Taiwan.
This mission had been very successful, but Mack couldn’t count on the next one going so well. He was looking forward to returning to the submarine tender McKee. This war was far from over, and he was sure that he was going to need all the weapons he could get.
13. Typhoon Hunt
The combat systems officer and engineer officer and their other division officers remained on board Cheyenne to take care of the weapons loading from McKee and reactor start-up preparations. Captain Mackey, along with his executive officer, operations officer, and navigator, proceeded to the headquarters of the Tsoying Naval Base for their pre-underway briefing. They weren’t sure why the briefing wasn’t in McKee’s war room where their previous briefings were held. Although the hospitality of the Taiwanese was fantastic, it was still hard to be sure whom they were talking to when the Chinese were just across the strait.
Upon entering the conference room on the second floor, the captain was happy to see that security personnel from the CTF 74 staff were conducting an electronic sweep of the room, hunting for listening devices. This had been standard practice when the foe was the Soviet Union and now it continued as standard practice no matter who the foe was or where the meeting room was.
After Cheyenne’s officers arrived, and before they could settle into their places, a couple of heavies preceded what appeared to be a distinguished Chinese gentleman. He was Chinese; he turned out to be President Jiang. The heavies were two of his bodyguards.
Mack wasn’t too sure about this. A war patrol briefing with the Chinese there?
Noting Mack’s concerned expression, President Jiang told him to rest easy. He had only wanted to meet the famous Cheyenne captain Bartholomew “Mack” Mackey, and to thank him for his feats of fortune on behalf of all his people on the mainland. In direct defiance of the renegade Li Peng, songs were being written about Cheyenne in nearly every province of his country, children walked to school chanting “Cheyenne, Cheyenne,” and Wyoming had become the main subject of United States geography lessons.
After an uncomfortable exchange of pleasantries, Jiang left as quickly as he had arrived. Mack, who had been taken completely by surprise, was pleased to see him go. Cheyenne’s commanding officer wasn’t much for Chinese politics.
His war was a different story; Cheyenne was following orders. It didn’t matter much who the enemy was since the Russians were supplying submarines to nearly every Third World country that could afford the bill. Mack and his officers had become intimately familiar with the Romeos, Kilos, Alfas, and Akulas by now.
When President Jiang left, the briefing began. The Chinese had heard of Jiang’s surfacing in Taiwan, so they spent some of their dwindling currency on the purchase of a Russian-built Typhoon-class SSBN. Apparently they couldn’t trust their own Xia SSBN to be much of an intimidation factor, what with numerous CSS-N-3 ballistic missile test-launch failures, so they took delivery of a North Fleet Typhoon that had already completed its under-ice transit and was nearing the South China Sea. The briefing officer also mentioned that the Typhoon probably had some North Fleet Akula II SSNs “riding shotgun.”
That’s a waste, Mack thought to himself.
The Typhoon had been built with its double-hull construction not just for survival against torpedo attacks, but also to allow it to punch through the polar ice cap and launch its missiles with near impunity. The Mk 48s would have to be accurately placed to damage the SSBN. Screw damage would be assured; but the Typhoon also had dual spinners, in addition to the two main screws, with their 90,000 SHP (shaft horsepower), for enhanced slow-speed maneuverability and depth control in and around the ice keels.
The Typhoon’s ability to “ice-pick”—to hover in place under the ice for months at a time — would also make the Typhoon hunt more than a challenge. The lack of IUSS in the South China Sea didn’t help much, either. Mack decided he would probably have to use some Mk 48s in the “swim-out” mode as off-board search sensors in the patrol-area locations where Naval Intelligence estimated the Typhoon could be located.
Naval intelligence, Mack knew, was basing this on estimates that the Typhoon’s SS-N-20 SLBMs (submarine-launched ballistic missiles) were not capable of short-range ballistic trajectories like some of their earlier missile systems — especially on the Yankees — were. The Typhoon could launch at Taiwan from the Arctic Ocean where it would require the United States to detect and track the missile t
rajectory. By the time it was determined where the missiles were headed, it would be too late.
The captain decided that after today’s reactor startup Cheyenne would stay critical every time in port so long as there was a threat of ballistic missiles. If the Typhoon launched, there would not be time to conduct pre-critical checks, reactor start-up, and engine room light-off before the missiles detonated in the sky over the Tsoying Naval Base.
Upon returning to the ship, the combat systems officer reported the weapons loading complete, including two Harpoon missiles, just in case. Mack wasn’t happy that torpedo space was traded for Harpoons, but at least they weren’t loaded in the torpedo tubes.
* * *
After departing her mooring alongside McKee shortly before dark, Cheyenne got under way and headed to the north off Kangshan on the surface. Since the Russian RORSAT satellites had been sweeping the area for the Chinese, the intent was to fool the satellites into believing that Cheyenne would be patrolling to the north, when actually she would be doing an end around to the east of Taiwan, where the water was deeper. Cheyenne no longer had her running lights energized, nor the submarine ID beacon. She was running “darkened ship.” But she was not alone in running without any lights to give away her position.
The stillness of the night was broken by the staccato noise of gunshots — smaller caliber in the after port quarter and somewhat larger caliber in the after starboard quarter. These sounds were followed by the distinctive impacts of ricochets off both sides of the sail.
The source of the gunfire maneuvered past Cheyenne at high speed, essentially on the same course. There were two attack craft, and their passage could be heard by the bridge watch standers who had ducked down behind the safety of the high-tensile-stress steel.
“Officer of the deck, Captain,” Mack said. “Rig the bridge for dive and lay below ASAP. I have the conn.”
Never before had the bridge been rigged for dive so quickly. The spray from the opened main ballast tank vents nearly engulfed the men as they made the final closure of the bridge clamshell. Cheyenne was already passing forty-five feet when the last man reported being down, bridge hatches secured. Mack had finely timed the dive to ensure that the upper bridge-access hatch was shut before the surface of the sea reached that height.