by Larry Bond
Toggling his mike, he passed instructions to his wingman. “Red 45, disregard standard tactics. Drop three RGB-48 buoys to the northeast of the datum, triangular pattern. I’ll do the same to the northwest.”
The flight commander was desperate to get sensors in the water as soon as possible. If the American was trying to disengage under the cover of the countermeasures, he’d be moving faster than usual, which meant the two helos couldn’t afford the time needed to hover and dip. Besides, the dipping sonar would be badly affected by all the noise in the water; the passive RGB-48 sonobuoy with its much lower frequency range would not. The only problem would be in finding enough open water to drop the buoys safely. A crushed sensor wouldn’t do them any good.
Mirsky pulled the Helix into a sharp, low hover as Mitrov verified the sea surface below was free of large ice chunks, and then started dropping the buoys. Once in the water, the sonobuoy released its hydrophone assembly, which sank to a depth of fifty meters.
It wasn’t even a minute before Mitrov barked, “Contact, bearing one three five. Target appears to be moving to the northwest at moderate speed.”
“Got you, you bastard,” growled Mirsky, smiling. Pulling up on the controls, he put his machine back into flight mode, streaking low over the water toward the ice-encrusted shores of October Revolution Island. He had to give the American captain credit; running along the rocky coast took courage. The water wasn’t even forty meters deep. Clicking his mike, Mirsky ordered his cohort to follow. “Red 45, submerged contact heading northwest. Fly twenty-five kilometers along course three two zero. Drop another sonobuoy pattern and stand by to release ordnance!”
USS Jimmy Carter
* * *
“CONN, SONAR, TORPEDO IN THE WATER! BEARING ZERO FOUR EIGHT!” blasted the intercom speaker. Weiss was stunned, his expression asked, “How did they know?”
Jerry spun about and looked at the WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver; it remained silent. Pointing to the blank display he shouted, “The torpedo hasn’t enabled! Turn to the right!”
Weiss caught on quickly. “Helm, right full rudder! Steady on course zero seven zero!”
Carter rolled to starboard as the rudder bit, swinging the bow hard right. The incredibly high bearing rate meant the weapon was close—very close, and yet the torpedo’s seeker continued to remain silent as it roared past them. There wasn’t time to ask any questions as the intercom blared once again. “Conn, Sonar, new contact bearing zero five five! No, correction. Regained Sierra one six, drawing left rapidly!”
“Range to target?” shouted Jerry instinctively.
“Three eight double oh yards and decreasing!” answered Segerson tensely.
“Bearing rate is left thirteen degrees per minute!” added Owens.
“Jesus! She’s right on top of us!” uttered Weiss.
“And may not know it, Lou!” exclaimed Jerry as he snapped his fingers. “Shoot, for God’s sake! Shoot!”
“Snapshot! Sierra one six, tube eight! Minimal enable run!” yelled Weiss.
Segerson jumped between consoles, making sure the targeting data was good. Once he was satisfied, the fire control technician grabbed the firing key handle, rotated it to the left and called out, “Set … stand by … shoot!”
Red 48
* * *
The two Helix helicopters barely slowed down as six more sonobuoys were laid out in two triple chevron patterns. Both sensor operators picked up their prey quickly and verified the target was passing amazingly close along October Revolution Island. Mirsky stationed Red 45 ten kilometers to the north, in case his torpedo missed, updated the contact’s course and speed, and hit the attack button.
The Ka-27M automatically positioned itself over clear water right along the target’s projected path. Once the fire control computer was satisfied the vehicle had met the necessary flight conditions, it released a UMGT-1 torpedo. Mirsky immediately pulled the helicopter away from the ocean’s surface and announced, “Weapon dropped!”
The torpedo plunged underwater and drifted lazily for a moment as the seawater-activated battery came up to power. The propulsion motor accelerated the weapon to forty-five knots as it executed a large circle search; the acoustic homing head began pinging. On its second pass, the torpedo detected a faint echo, but with lots of Doppler. Peeling out of its search pattern, the weapon shot toward its target at full speed. Seconds later it impacted and exploded.
Mirsky saw the plume from the explosion break the surface and reach skyward. Petty Officer Mitrov cheered at their apparent success. But the flight commander wasn’t ready to congratulate himself just yet; he was more seasoned than that and knew he could have just as easily hit a rock. With an impatient voice he growled, “Shut up and search for the target, you fool! Red 45, monitor your sonobuoys for any sign of the contact; stand by to execute your attack!”
USS Jimmy Carter
* * *
The Mark 48 ADCAP torpedo catapulted out from the lower port torpedo tube and turned hard left as soon as it was under power. Segerson had set the weapon to run at slow speed initially, to make sure the torpedo’s seeker had enough time to acquire and lock on to the target. It was a good call. The acoustic homer enabled a scant seven hundred yards from the Russian attack submarine. Between the strength of the return and the high Doppler shift, the seeker’s logic readily locked onto the echoes and accelerated to attack speed.
There was very little the crew of Kazan could do. By the time they understood what was happening, the Mark 48 torpedo was at sixty-five knots and had already closed to less than four hundred yards. No decoy or countermeasure could save them now. The weapon hit aft, striking near main engineering and shredding a ten-foot hole in the hull. The submarine heeled over sharply, angling downward, and plowed into the bottom at almost twenty knots—its shattered hull lay within a stone’s throw of Toledo.
* * *
Weiss allowed himself a deep sigh of relief once he heard the explosion. He didn’t need a report from sonar; everyone heard the blast through the hull. There were no cheers in the control room this time, just silence as the adrenaline high started to wear off. Even Jerry felt a little ragged, but he’d been there before, and recovered more quickly. “Nice shot, XO,” he said quietly.
“Thank you, sir. Can we go home now?” Segerson’s little quip got a chuckle out of everyone in control.
Laughing, Jerry replied, “Don’t look at me. I don’t have the conn.”
Weiss looked down at his XO’s earnest expression and shook his head in amusement. “Oh, very well. Helm, left standard rudder. Steady on course zero two zero.”
The captain then hit the intercom switch. “Sonar, Conn, stay alert and keep your ears sharp to the west. There’s an Akula out there and I really don’t want to have to do this a second time.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Carter passed under the ice pack and over the drop-off into the Nansen Basin. Weiss took his boat deep and slowed down. Jimmy Carter maintained her northerly course until both Jerry and Weiss were confident that they had given Vepr the slip. Only then did the boat turn for home.
0615 Local Time
Prima Polar Station
* * *
Vice Admiral Gorokhov had bolted from the command center as soon as the Sever monitoring detachment had reported incoming torpedoes. He ran as fast as he could to the cliff’s edge and looked out into the mouth of the Shokal’skogo Strait with his binoculars. With the exception of a slightly darker hue of brown in the water around the mooring buoy, everything looked as before. And yet, he feared that the scene would be drastically different one hundred and eighty meters below the surface.
“Admiral! Admiral!” yelled Kalinin as he approached his senior officer. “Sir, one of the Ka-27M helicopters reports that it has successfully engaged an enemy submarine. That makes two confirmed kills!”
Gorokhov spun about seething, “I don’t give a damn about how many American boats we’ve destroyed, Captain! I want divers down on th
e launcher complex immediately! I need a full and complete damage report, and I need it NOW!”
“Yes … yes, Comrade Admiral. At once,” stammered Kalinin as he turned and ran back to the hut.
EPILOGUE
4 August 2021
2105 Eastern Daylight Time
Oval Office, The White House
Washington, D.C.
* * *
Afterward, President Hardy would confess that he could not remember who he was meeting with, or why. His visitors were quickly ushered out after Joanna appeared at the Oval Office door, beaming. Without speaking, she handed her husband a single sheet of paper. Hardy read:
FLASH
050200Z AUG 21
FROM: USS JIMMY CARTER (SSN 23)
TO: CNO WASHINGTON DC
INFO: COMSUBFOR, SUBRON TWELVE
TOP SECRET//SCI
SUBJ: MISSION QUICKLOOK REPORT
1) OVERCHARGE EXECUTED. FOUR TORPEDOES FIRED, FOUR EXPLOSIONS HEARD CONSISTENT WITH TARGET’S LOCATION 0558G. NUMEROUS METALLIC TRANSIENTS DETECTED POST DETONATION.
2) SUBMARINE KAZAN ENGAGED AND SUNK DURING EGRESS FROM OP AREA.
BT
“It’s done,” Hardy said, almost without thinking, then pulled himself up short. “This doesn’t say much about the launch facility’s status—‘metallic transients detected post detonation.’”
Patterson sighed and admitted, “They probably don’t know, Lowell. If Kazan was in the area, they were likely too busy to watch the results.”
Instead of sitting on one of the couches, Joanna came around and perched on the edge of Hardy’s desk. He reached up to her and she took his hand, giving it a squeeze.
She observed, “We know Carter managed to launch the attack, sink a submarine nearby, and felt safe enough to send us a message.”
“And, even if they’d said the facility had been destroyed, we’d need independent confirmation,” Hardy agreed.
“I’ve had all the intelligence agencies listening hard to the Russian Navy communications network. Message traffic in the Northern Fleet and the Arctic has almost doubled, and the time frame for this activity is consistent with the time in Carter’s message. Better yet, some of it’s been in the clear, and they all describe an underwater attack and some sort of calamity.”
“Then that’s it.” Hardy called out for his chief of staff, who appeared instantly. In response to Sellers’s expectant look, he answered, “It’s good news, Dwight. Set up the press conference for an hour from now.”
Sellers nodded and disappeared. The first couple sat for a few moments, smiling like proud parents.
Joanna finally stood and announced, “If you’re going to have a press conference, I’ve got work to do.” She stroked his cheek. “And you’d better shave.”
5 August 2021
0430 Moscow Time
The Senate Building, Kremlin
Moscow, Russia
* * *
First word of the attack reached Defense Minister Trusov early that morning; the phone call from Admiral Komeyev seemed too incredible to believe. Unwilling to take the commander-in-chief of the Russian Navy at his word, or hopeful that he had somehow been misled, Trusov took the time to speak directly to the Prima base commander. The minister spent precious minutes absorbing the news, questioning Admiral Gorokhov for specifics, and struggling to overcome the surprise and shock he felt. He couldn’t delay reporting to the president for long, though, and finally yielded to duty. He called the president’s aide to arrange the earlier than usual meeting, got dressed, and headed for the Senate Building
As soon as Fedorin saw General Trusov’s expression, he knew it was bad news.
“Comrade President,” the minister started out slowly. “I regret to inform you that the Drakon launch installation has been destroyed.” Before the president could ask the obvious question, Trusov continued, “It appears to have been a direct frontal assault by multiple American submarines. The Sever sensor net reported torpedo noises and explosions near the launcher, as well as numerous submarine engagements between our forces and the enemy. The Navy CINC reports that two American submarines were hit and sunk during the battle.” Trusov sighed heavily, and added, “We have also lost contact with Kazan, and it is likely she was sunk.”
The Russian president listened to Trusov; he seemed distant at first, then furrowed his brow, concentrating, as if trying to understand the minister’s words. “That can’t be right,” he finally responded. “The launch site is heavily defended. There must be an error.”
“I confirmed the Navy’s report with the base commander himself,” Trusov answered patiently. “The recordings from the Sever net will be sent to St. Petersburg for analysis and confirmation, but at the same time as the explosions, the control station on the island showed alarm lights on all six launch tubes, as well as the four loaded torpedoes themselves. Gorokhov reports that it’s impossible to launch any of the weapons. He was sending divers to survey the damage.”
“Yes, absolutely,” Fedorin suddenly responded. “It’s vital that the launchers be repaired immediately. The weapons as well, if they have been damaged. When did you speak to the base commander?”
Trusov checked the wall clock. “Perhaps an hour ago.”
“Then call him now. We will hear what the divers have discovered.”
Trusov had expected this, and it only took a few moments to arrange the call. He handed the receiver to Fedorin. “The base commander is Vice Admiral Gorokhov,” he reminded the president.
Fedorin almost snatched the receiver from the minister’s hand, while Trusov listened in on a second handset. “Admiral Gorokhov, how quickly will you be operational again?” demanded Fedorin. Trusov even heard an optimistic tone in the president’s question.
“Operational?” Gorokhov sounded astonished, even incredulous. “Comrade President, the divers have only completed a preliminary examination, but the damage is severe. They say the supporting launcher frame is completely wrecked. The Drakon torpedo transport launch canisters are either crushed or badly deformed. Radiation in the area is above norms, as well.”
“But can it be repaired?” Fedorin repeated sharply. “How long to restore the complex so that any undamaged weapons can be launched?”
Trusov could almost hear Gorokhov shrug. “Comrade President, I would need a detailed survey, which will take several days, before I could give you even a rough estimate of the time to repair—if it is possible at all.”
“Possible?” Fedorin had trouble with the word.
Gorokhov’s voice softened, as if he was bracing someone for bad news about a family member. “All the divers agree that the damage is quite extensive. Comrade President, please remember, they have all been involved in building the structure since the beginning, and they know it well. They report it may be faster to just start over. As for the weapons themselves, I fear they are damaged beyond recovery and will—”
Fedorin suddenly hung up, backing away from the phone. Trusov had to thank the admiral for his report before breaking the connection. The president laid his head down and covered it with his hands.
“It’s gone, Aleksandr Aleksandrovich,” Fedorin groaned, his voice filled with grief. “The entire operation depended on that single installation. It was the foundation for everything else that we planned. It was supposed to hold the Americans in check, and free us to act. And without the operation, what of Russia?”
Fedorin’s sadness washed over Trusov like a wave. The president had always identified with his country, and often spoke of his fears for its future. The invasion they had planned was designed to forestall that fate. But there were worse fates, like starting a war they could not win.
“Comrade President.” Trusov had to repeat himself before Fedorin lifted his head to face the defense minister. “We should begin issuing recall orders.” Fedorin didn’t respond immediately. The minister reminded him, “Some special warfare elements have actually infiltrated their targets, waiting for the code word to begin
the operation. We have to extract them before they are discovered.”
“But why…”
“Every minute our troops are deployed is costing us millions. If we are not going to go forward, then we should stand down. We will need to conserve…”
“No! Just that quickly, we’re giving up?” Fedorin straightened up in his chair. “Let’s launch the operation now, this minute. NATO isn’t ready. They have admitted their military forces can’t stop us.” Fedorin’s sudden enthusiasm almost convinced Trusov, but that option had been studied and gamed out long ago. The West always won.
“With American reinforcements they can push us back, and even if they eventually lose, it would be a long war, which would ruin us.”
“We can increase the attacks by special forces and cyber warfare. Paralyze Europe, and then move.” Fedorin was animated, excited by the idea.
“It would take too long to have any effect, Comrade President. And they would only encourage NATO to fully mobilize. Remember the American reinforcements that are already coming. Time is against us.”
“Then let’s just concentrate on one part of the original objective. Focus on the Baltic States…”
“No, Comrade President.” Trusov felt like a schoolmaster, correcting a student’s recital. “They would be able to concentrate their forces in that region. And even if we won, the reward would be far less.”
Out of ideas, Fedorin sat back, shrunken. “I could see the future so clearly, Aleksandr Aleksandrovich.”
“And you shared your vision with us, Comrade President. We wanted it as well, but it’s over now.”
Fedorin’s secretary opened the door with only a perfunctory knock. “Comrade President, Comrade Minister, the American President Hardy is on the television…”
Trusov cut her off. “Yes. I know. He’s announcing that America is sending reinforcements to NATO.”