by Larry Bond
Poring over the available data, the two struggled to guess where Chakra would go next. That the first target would be Hong Kong was intuitively obvious. Figuring out the second one was far more difficult. The multiple commercial facilities at Ningbo-Zhoushan and Shanghai placed both in the top five busiest ports, with the Shanghai International Port on the edge of the Yangtze River being number one. And while a submerged submarine could approach all of the ports, some were considerably easier than others.
Jerry and his executive officer were in the radio room talking with their superior at Squadron Fifteen. They’d received an urgent message a quarter of an hour earlier for the submarine to come up to periscope depth and make contact. Since Petrov and Samant were barred from that part of the ship, they hung out in control and watched as the crew expertly handled their boat. Both were still in awe of the sheer processing power that a Virginia-class submarine possessed.
Still, Samant felt uneasy, out of sorts, there was something wrong with this picture. Then it struck him; there were too many pictures. Everywhere he looked there were multiple display screens. The two vertical flat-screen panels forward were simply enormous. The starboard display had the output from one of the BVS-1 optronics masts on it. Samant sighed and shook his head.
“I’m still not comfortable with this central post configuration, Aleks. It doesn’t feel right to not have a periscope!” he grumbled.
“I understand how you feel, Girish, but this is the future. The newest Russian submarines are going down this path for the same reasons the Americans have, to make more information available to the commanding officer.”
“Not all progress is necessarily a good thing,” Samant shot back. “There’s a feeling of control, of being in command, when one stares at his adversary through an eyepiece. This is like watching a video game!”
Petrov chuckled. “You’re sounding like a hopeless romantic, Girish. You have to remember that these ‘children’ grew up with video games. We just have to accept that how we did things is behind the times, old-fashioned, obsolete.”
Samant turned to Petrov, a crushed expression on his face. “Thank you for making me feel ancient, Aleks.”
“You’re welcome, my friend,” Petrov laughed. He was definitely feeling more like himself, and he enjoyed being able to poke fun at his Indian comrade. Samant just growled in frustration.
* * *
“Well, we finally got a break,” Jerry declared as he and Thigpen came out of the radio room. “A Taiwanese submarine got a solid contact and reported in. Please plot these positions,” he said to the quartermaster, handing him a piece of paper.
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied the petty officer.
The four officers gazed at the chart as two dots popped up. “The sub reported contact here, and about six hours later a Taiwan P-3C got a weak hit here. This puts them on a course to the southeast. Jain’s going around the east side of Taiwan,” explained Jerry.
“Any indication Jain knows he’d been picked up?” questioned Samant with excitement.
“I think that’s a given, Captain. The P-3 dropped a DICASS bouy when they tried to maintain contact. They failed, but Jain would’ve had to be completely deaf not to hear it.”
Thigpen smiled and said, “Talk about a prompt jump in the pucker factor. An active sonobuoy coming from out of nowhere, those boys probably had to change their britches!”
Samant nodded; he too was encouraged by the news. “This also means Jain had to slow down. Since he knows he’s being hunted, he’ll have to reduce speed to try and stay undetected. This will make it easier for us to catch him.” The Indian then measured the distance between the P-3’s reported position and North Dakota’s at the same time. The two locations were only seventy-two miles apart. “At our present speed we can make up the distance in ten hours, perhaps less.”
“Or we could get out ahead of him,” Petrov observed, pointing to the Penghu Channel on the chart.
“I was thinking the same thing, Alex,” agreed Jerry. “Since Jain has slowed down, and probably gone to ultra quiet, our detection range will also be reduced. And if we maintain our current speed, he could pick us up first and evade. But, if we go around the west side of Taiwan, we have a shorter distance to travel and we can fly through without having to worry about being heard.”
“An old-fashioned end-around, eh, Skipper?” remarked Thigpen.
Jerry nodded. “Basically.”
“So it’s your intention to set up another ambush?” asked Samant.
“Yes, Captain. But the question that still needs to be answered is, where do we go?”
“We’re still working on that problem, Jerry,” said Petrov. Then, pointing to himself, Samant, and Thigpen, he added, “Give us a few more hours and we’ll have a recommendation for you.”
“Very well. In the meantime, XO, change course for Penghu Channel.”
21
APPROACHES
17 April 2017
1300 Local Time
Squadron Fifteen Headquarters
Guam
* * *
Jacobs met him at his office with a fresh mug of coffee. It seemed to Commodore Simonis that he had taken up residence in the watch center lately, and while he was grateful for a change of scene, he didn’t know if a videoconference with Captain Jerry Mitchell would qualify as a break.
To transmit a video signal, a submarine had to come to shallow depth and raise an antenna, or surface completely. Either way, he’d have to slow down, and Mitchell wouldn’t do that now unless it was important. And probably bad news, thought Simonis.
Jacobs had already set up the link, and the commodore could see Mitchell waiting on the display. He didn’t waste Jerry’s time on pleasantries. “Report, Captain Mitchell.”
“Sir, it’s our firm belief that Chakra is going to bypass Ningbo harbor altogether,” Jerry announced. “I need a new patrol box, toward the north, covering Dachu and Dahuanglong Islands.”
That got Simonis’s attention. “Explain.”
“I know you’ve looked at the approaches to Ningbo. It’s an incredibly difficult shot even for an experienced submariner. It’s very shallow water, the torpedo has to make more than one turn around islands to get to the port facility, and there’s a ton of shipping in the area, including fishing boats and now patrols. There are very few spots where he actually has water deep enough to make an approach and still be in torpedo range.”
Simonis nodded. “Concur, that’s why we’ve got you guarding the southern approach. It’s the best of Chakra’s several unattractive choices.”
“I agree, sir. It’s where I’d make the shot from, and Captain Samant thinks that was Jain’s original plan. But the situation has changed. Jain knows he’s being hunted. He wouldn’t go around Taiwan otherwise,” replied Jerry as he gestured to someone offscreen.
Samant came into view and sat next to Jerry. Simonis saw the Indian and his nostrils flared. Jerry knew his commodore wouldn’t be pleased and preempted him. “Yes, sir, I know, he’s in radio, but we really don’t have time for that. You need to hear his argument from him.”
“Very well, we’ll discuss this later. Captain Samant, would you please explain.”
“Captain Simonis, Jain wouldn’t skip Ningbo if he thought the Chinese were still ignorant of his presence. But he knows the Chinese can saturate those few spots where it’s even possible for him to take a shot with ASW assets. With an alerted defender, the risk becomes too great—indeed, it’s suicidal. I would not make the attempt.”
Simonis had just been looking at the chart of Ningbo harbor. He agreed it was a mess, but reading Jain’s intentions was a lot harder than reading a nautical chart.
“I respect your evaluation, Captain Samant, but we’ve got North Dakota’s two UUVs searching Hong Kong now, and if Jain gets by us and plants one in Ningbo…”
“Add this to the equation,” Samant replied. “He’s lost at least one day, perhaps more, because of his unexpected detour around the east coas
t of Taiwan. He’s behind schedule, and even though we don’t know exactly what that schedule is, it’s still there because he launched the torpedo into Hong Kong. Add to that the fact that he’s being hunted, means he can’t just rush up to the firing point. He’ll have to slow way down and thread his way through heavy shipping traffic in thirty meters of water, all the while trying to stay covert with an alerted adversary out looking for him. Even if he could do it, it’s going to take him a lot of time, much more than they probably planned for originally.”
Jerry continued, “Look at Shanghai, just to the north on the other side of Hangzhou Bay. The geography’s more amenable for making an approach, and there are actually two targets fairly close to each other. There’s the Shanghai International Port, at the mouth of the Yangtze, and the Yangshan deep-water terminal that sticks out into the bay. Shanghai International is at the top of the list due to its huge capacity, but Yangshan’s is just a little below Ningbo’s. Either one is worthy of a nuke, according to that list.”
Simonis was nodding. “All right, you’ve convinced me. He trades one high-risk, time-consuming target for one that’s not only easier to attack, but doesn’t add any time to his schedule. I’ll tell the staff to shift your patrol zone. And if Jain actually does try to attack Ningbo, the Chinese units there will have a decent chance of catching him, even without North Dakota. There are eight Yuan- and Song-class submarines at Daxie Dao alone, they will make for a rude welcoming committee.”
Jerry looked satisfied, but Samant just looked grim. Every time he used his expertise to help the Americans, he put another nail in Chakra’s coffin.
“Do you have a good ambush position in mind? North Carolina’s already up there, so I’ll make sure that your patrol zones don’t conflict.”
“Yes, sir, we do. There’s a lovely patch of water along the fifty-meter curve where we can look out into deeper water. It’s right alongside the best approach route to Yangshan. And Chakra will have to come in with her towed array stowed, which gives us a significant acoustic advantage.”
“When do you expect to be on station?” demanded Simonis.
“In about four hours, Commodore. Oh, and sir, can you please make sure the Chinese have all their submarines out of there? I don’t think you could call it a ‘blue-on-blue’ attack, but whether we shoot or they do, it wouldn’t be good.”
Simonis smiled. “Concur. I’ll make sure they’re clear.” He leaned a little closer to the screen. “And I’m giving you the hot spot, Captain.”
“Yessir, I understand. We won’t let you down,” Jerry answered resolutely.
“I’m not worried about that, Captain Mitchell, but I would appreciate it if you’d stop making my life so complicated.”
17 April 2017
1800 Local Time
USS Oklahoma City
Apra Harbor, Guam
* * *
“Squadron Fifteen, arriving!”
Habit overcame urgency as Commodore Simonis paused just long enough to salute the ensign fluttering at the stern of the sub and then return the OOD’s salute. Lieutenant Commander Gill Adams, Oke City’s XO, was waiting, but was careful to keep out of the commodore’s way.
Adams started talking as soon as Simonis returned his salute, and continued his rapid-fire briefing as Simonis took the ladder in the amidships escape trunk down into the boat, then headed forward toward control. “Bismarck reported the object eleven minutes ago. We called you as soon as we saw the images. It can’t be anything but a torpedo.”
Simonis was moving fast. Sailors either ducked into doorways or flattened themselves against the bulkhead. “What about the Chinese?” the commodore asked over his shoulder.
“The skipper was calling the Chinese liaison when I left.”
Commander Bruce Dobson, Oke City’s commanding officer, was the only one who came to attention when the commodore burst into the control room, and then only momentarily. More to the point, he immediately offered Simonis a sheet of paper. “This is the best image so far. It has to be the Russian weapon.”
It was a false-color sonar picture, but the torpedo’s shape was immediately obvious—angled down and apparently embedded in the harbor bottom. The front of the weapon was fuzzy and possibly misshapen, although it was hard to tell.
Dobson reported, “We were lucky that the torpedo went in nose-first. We’ve got clean pictures of the back end, and the fins and pumpjet are completely consistent with a Russian UGST torpedo.”
Simonis asked, “Just in case this was not the correct torpedo?” He almost laughed.
Dodson shrugged. “It could happen. And wouldn’t we all be very embarrassed?”
“What about the front end?” Simonis asked, pointing to the printout.
“There’s stuff in the mud that is likely messing up the return, and the weapon may have struck something hard when it angled over and into the bottom. It doesn’t look like the damage goes back as far as the warhead section. We should be so lucky. We will warn the divers, of course.”
A display on the bulkhead changed from a map of Hong Kong to an image of “Lieutenant” Li, who had either volunteered or been picked as the liaison with the Americans. He was visibly excited. “We have the images and the position you sent us! Captain Zhang has left to alert the helicopter crew. The minesweeper is almost on top of the location and the divers are preparing to enter the water. I’m going to connect us with the captain on the minesweeper now.”
Li typed on his keyboard, and the screen split and a second image appeared, even fuzzier and more badly angled than the first one. Simonis imagined it coming from a cell phone propped up on, or more likely taped to, some fitting on the bridge. They could make out pale gray bulkheads crowded with boxes and fittings, but there was nobody in the picture. After about twenty seconds, which seemed more like an hour, a crew-cut man in a dappled-blue camouflage shirt popped in from the side. He fired a string of Mandarin that hardly sounded like words to Simonis.
Li reported, “He says he sees the UUV’s strobe light, and has marked the location.” Minesweepers were very good at navigation. They had to be, considering their line of work. Simonis wasn’t worried about them losing the position.
Dobson replied, “Good. Tell him we’re moving the UUV away now. He should be able to watch it back away from his bridge.”
Although Bismarck’s sonar made it a vital part of the search, once it found and marked the position of the object, there was nothing it could do to help the divers. Both the Chinese and American planners had tried to find some way that the divers could attach a line to the UUV, and then follow it down, but the external casing was perfectly smooth. With the Chinese divers on station, the best place for the vehicle was out of the way.
Simonis watched as the petty officer on Oke City controlling the vehicle reported in a voice loud enough to be heard over the microphone, “Bismarck is moving two hundred yards to the south, speed three knots, sonar is off.” He emphasized the last word, and Simonis, Dobson, and Li on the screen all nodded approvingly.
Although short-ranged, the vehicle’s sonar was still powerful enough to be painful to anyone caught in its beam. During the planning for the search, and then again while the vehicles searched for the device, all hands had been briefed on the hazards associated with operating close to the UUV.
The minesweeper’s captain, whose name was Min, listened to Li’s translation, nodded, and shouted something over his shoulder.
Dobson then told Li about the possible damage to the front of the torpedo. “The forward part may be crumpled, but it doesn’t extend very far aft.”
Li spoke quickly to Captain Min, who answered, then reached toward the camera, his hand blotting out the image.
“They’re using a standard torpedo collar, the same kind we use to recover expended exercise torpedoes; the damaged nose shouldn’t be a problem. And the captain says that the next model of your UUV should have a pad eye on it.”
The image was shaking and flashing, and Li said som
ething in Chinese, but there was no immediate reply. A moment later the screen was flooded with light, and everyone could see the stern deck of the minesweeper, cluttered with diving gear and men, as well as the booms and winches used to handle the ship’s sweep gear.
Li translated Captain Min’s explanation. “He’s taped the camera to a fitting so we should be able to see what happens. There are two divers already in the water, and two more standing by if they are needed. The water temperature is good, twenty-three degrees Celsius, and the depth is only seventeen meters here, so they won’t even need to decompress.”
Simonis could see two divers, already in wet suits, surrounded by other crewmen and helpers. One of the divers was wearing a headset.
Dobson asked Li, “What’s the current like?”
Li answered quickly, without even passing the question to Min. “The tidal range near Stonecutters Island is only a meter or so. The tide is going out, but it shouldn’t be more than a knot. The biggest problem will be visibility. They are both wearing lights, and one of the divers has a handheld sonar, but they’re literally searching in the dark.”
All they could do was wait. The camera image jiggled and moved constantly, either from the motion of the ship or vibrations as equipment was used or from someone walking nearby. Simonis could see lines draped over the railing by the stern, starboard side. He knew one led to the collar, and another a communications line.
Five minutes into the search, the diver on the headset called out something, and Li translated. “Visibility isn’t good, but they’ve seen worse. They’re starting on a third circle, centered on the anchor.”
Simonis was a submariner, so naturally he tried to do the math. With two divers swimming abreast, searching with flashlights and sonar, they could sweep a section maybe two meters wide. They’d tie a line to the anchor, and hold it while they swam in a two-meter circle. Then they’d move out to four meters from the anchor and go around again. Then six meters, but it was a larger circle now. How far do you go out before you worry about having missed the torpedo? He wondered how good their handheld sonar was. On the inner or outer diver? Outer, he thought.