The Monroe Doctrine

by James Rosone

  In the summer of 1995, Johann and his sister had stayed with their great-uncle and his wife in Spain. He and their father were close, and their dad wanted them to stay with him during what would have otherwise been a terrible time for them. For whatever reason, their mother and father had grown apart and decided to divorce and go their separate ways. Neither of their parents wanted them to be around during that initial period and wanted the kids to have a summer to enjoy with their great-uncle instead of the uncertainty and fear of the future.

  Johann was thirteen at the time, a young boy starting to come of age, while his sister was just nine. He loved his parents and the thought of them splitting up broke his heart. It hurt his sister as well, who didn’t understand how people could suddenly stop loving each other. Their uncle, being the wise old man he was, saw the divorce was taking its toll on them and made it a point to take them on some adventures of their own and build some happy memories for them to remember instead of focusing on what was happening between their parents.

  It was during that summer and those adventures on and near the water that Johann had developed a real love for the sea. His uncle lived in a small Spanish village, not too far from the British territory of Gibraltar. He had worked for more than twenty years at the British naval base and had regularly taught a class on how to deal with the stresses of underwater combat, from fighting one’s ship to dealing with the crew. Having served and survived the Kriegsmarine silent service for six long years and being among the top U-boat aces of the war, he knew a thing or two about the topic he was teaching. Despite being eighty-five years of age, the man’s mind was sharp as a tack.

  During that summer, his uncle had arranged for the younger Lassen to tour British, French, and even American fast-attack boats that took their leave at the naval base. It was an incredible experience, listening to his uncle’s war stories, meeting current submariners, and seeing some of the subs.

  His great-uncle might have set him on the journey to becoming a submariner just like him, but it was the Chinese attacking Germany and NATO that saw him where he currently was today—about to lead the German silent service to its first underwater battle in more than seventy-nine years.

  Captain Lassen’s boat, the U-39, was the newest U-boat in the German Navy. Presently, they were gliding through the waters some ninety meters beneath the surface as they approached Perim Island off the coast of Yemen and the gateway to the Indian Ocean.

  The U-39 was traveling in a wolfpack with a U-37 and a U-38 as they advanced ahead of the NATO task force being assembled near the mouth of the Suez Canal. Then the task force would begin the job of clearing the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean of Chinese submarines and put an end to this sinking rampage currently taking place.

  In their approach to the first major chokepoint exiting the Red Sea, the wolfpack had staggered themselves at varied depths from ninety to two hundred meters. The latest intelligence report they had was that at least one Chinese sub was operating in the area. The last thing they wanted to do was walk into a trap, so they were approaching the area with caution.

  “Captain, we’ve arrived on station,” announced his XO in a tone that sounded calmer than his facial expression appeared.

  “Excellent,” replied Captain Lassen. “Let’s come to periscope level and report it. Once we’ve sent our status update, go ahead and bring us back to a depth of fifty meters and let’s begin the hunt.”

  As the chief of the boat echoed his command, Lassen felt his stomach tightening. His hands felt sweaty, causing him to rub them on his trousers. His hands always did this when he was really nervous.

  Seconds later, the sub began the ascent to periscope level. As that was happening, the communications officer put together a short message containing their current coordinates and the last several days’ worth of contact reports. Once the communications mast was raised, the electronic message would be transmitted to the surface task force commander, who’d relay it to Joint Forces Command Naples and the rest of NATO.

  *******

  Two days had gone by since their initial transmission. Still, they hadn’t detected any Chinese surface or subsurface contacts.

  During their last communication report, they’d received a couple of reports of interest. The first was about the American deployment of a squadron of P-8 Poseidons to the King Abdullah Air Base in Jeddah. They were being assigned to NATO to help aid in the submarine hunt underway. The second was a report that the American 173rd Airborne Brigade had conducted an assault on the Chinese naval base in Djibouti, removing the last remnants of their forces in the area. The last piece of information they’d received was that the Chinese surface flotilla of ships appeared to be steaming forward at full speed, traveling in their direction.

  Lassen’s new orders were to lead his wolfpack toward the enemy fleet and sink them. With their orders in hand, Lassen devised a plan and made sure the other two U-boats understood what was expected of them and how their wolfpack was going to carry out this attack.

  Lassen’s sub would take the lead while he had the U-38 trail ten kilometers behind him. He wanted to make sure the Chinese sub didn’t somehow slip in behind their baffles, and if they did, the U-38 would be there to sink ’em. The U-37 would then position themselves fifteen kilometers to the left as they stayed abreast of him. This way, the two of them would advance in a line while still giving each other enough room to maneuver.

  Ten hours into their new course, some of the crew were starting to get antsy. This wasn’t a training mission—there was at least one sub out there looking to kill them, and half a dozen surface ships with ASW helicopters. If they made even a single mistake, it could cost them their lives.

  Lassen, on the other hand, was a patient man. Patience was kind of a must for a submariner, especially now that Germany was at war. Prior to leaving port, he’d heard rumors of an American captain who’d put over one hundred thousand tons of steel on the bottom—a feat that had earned him the title of Submarine Ace, a prize not claimed since the days of World War II. Lassen wasn’t a vain man, but it was a title he wanted so badly, he could taste it.

  His great-uncle had been an Ace during his time in the service. Now that Germany was at war—a real, legitimate war, on the right side of history this time—Lassen wanted to be an Ace just like his great-uncle.

  Unlike his uncle’s boat, the U-99, the Type 212A diesel-electric boats were among the quietest in the world. While the U-99 his uncle had commanded held fourteen torpedoes, Lassen’s boat carried thirteen DM24A 533mm torpedoes and two FL1800U countermeasure devices. His boat packed a considerably large punch. All that said, the German boats were small in comparison to their American, British, Russian, and even Chinese counterparts. Despite their size, they still hit well above their weight and were arguably much harder to detect.

  Looking at his watch, Lassen decided it was time to come up to check on things.

  “Come to periscope depth,” he ordered.

  Still moving at six knots, the boat rose and leveled off at a depth of 13.5 meters. Sure, they were making a wake, but the only ships nearby were a couple of freighters and some fishing boats. It was also the middle of the night.

  Lassen pushed his cap back and put his eyes to the periscope. In a crouched position, he made several rotations, switching between IR and electro-optical. He knew there wasn’t a Chinese ship in their immediate vicinity, but vigilance kept submariners alive.

  As he scanned the area around them, his Coms officer downloaded the latest intelligence reports from NATO and the American 6th Fleet. When he pulled away from the scope, he motioned for them to lower it; he’d seen what he needed, and they’d received their latest coms dump.

  Once the scope was down, his first officer tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the printed report from NATO. He read it, then read it again.

  “Thank you, XO,” Lassen said. Then he turned slightly so his voice would project across the room. “Attention in the Conn,” he declared loudly. He waited a b
eat as all eyes in the room focused on him. He took his cap off and hooked it on the periscope. A bead of sweat ran down the side of his face. He hated that physical feature of his body—he sweated when he was nervous, and he sweated when he was excited. His physician said he had an overactive thyroid. Nothing that required him to take medication, but it still annoyed him.

  “Listen up, crew,” he continued. “In a couple of hours, we are going to sail past Perim Island as we officially head into the Gulf of Aden. The latest intelligence report indicates there is a Chinese fleet steaming toward us. They have likely received word that our surface task force is moving to get in range of their ground forces on Perim Island. Prior to the Americans launching a ground assault on the ChiCom base in Djibouti, the PLA naval infantry established a small encampment on the island.”

  “What kind of force have they established there?” asked one of his officers.

  Lassen glanced down at the paper in his hand. “An American spy satellite shows what appear to be a battery of CJ-10 TELs. They are most likely equipped with antiship missiles along with a battery of those HQ-9 surface-to-air missile systems. Those are the ones that have been giving the Yanks such a hard go of it in Cuba. Intel also suspects the island is being garrisoned with roughly two companies of naval infantry. It’s believed the PLA want to close off naval traffic in the Red Sea and the Gulf Aden.”

  “That’s bollocks,” said one of the enlisted sailors.

  Lassen nodded in agreement. “It is. To deal with the ship and air threats on the island, a detachment of Combat Swimmers and Dutch Commandos are about to go ashore and neutralize them. Then a reinforced company of Italian amphibious infantry will be sent in to aid the Special Forces in securing the airfield. Once this threat is neutralized, the rest of the task force will transit into the Gulf and move to engage the remaining Chinese fleet heading towards us if we don’t sink them all first.”

  A few of the sailors laughed and grinned at that idea.

  “The report also says our Italian counterparts successfully got in behind the Chinese fleet. So they’ll be looking to engage them from the rear while we take them head-on. Make no mistake, gentlemen, this is going to be a knock-down, drag-out fight—one that not all our subs may survive.”

  First Officer Claus Hoffstedt asked, “What are we facing, Captain?”

  Lassen cleared his throat. “To start with, a Type 052D destroyer. This is the Chinese version of an Arleigh Burke–class destroyer, so it has exceptional ASW capabilities and cruise missiles. The ship carries two Harbin Z-20 helicopters. Signals intelligence indicates this is likely the flagship for their task force, so it’s going to be heavily protected. This ship is our primary target. The 52 is being protected by three frigates and four corvettes, so they’ll have plenty of ASW helos for support.

  “Not to be left out of the party, they’re traveling with two supply ships. That means their task force has a total of seven ASW helos. Adding a little spice to the mix, there’s likely a Long March fast-attack boat tagging along with them. Intelligence is unsure if it’s operating with the fleet or on its own. So you all know and are aware of these new subs’ capabilities, it’s managed to sink some twenty-three freighters and tankers this past week, so let’s not underestimate its lethality. We also have a report from an American P-8 that there might be an Iranian Kilo in the area, but they were unable to confirm that.”

  “Great. Any word on whether the Iranians are joining in with the Chinese or staying neutral?” asked one of Lassen’s officers.

  Lassen shrugged. “No idea. If they shoot at us, we’ll shoot back. That’s about all we can do.”

  “What about the threats on Perim Island? When are they going to be dealt with?” asked one of the officers.

  Lassen looked at his watch and then back at the coms report. “The commandos should be making their assault on the island shortly.”

  The bridge crew nodded in approval. First Officer Hoffstedt then asked, “Are we going to try and engage the enemy fleet prior to the task force getting in range of them, or what’s the plan, boss?”

  Lassen smiled at the question. “We’re going hunting, gentlemen. That’s the plan. Now, let’s get back to work and make best possible speed to get in range of our torpedoes and start sending some tonnage to the bottom.”

  *******

  KSM (Combat Swimmer) Platoon

  Perim Island, Yemen

  Master Sergeant Dieter Heissler was hovering beneath the waves, just outside of the surf zone. The sixteen German Combat Swimmers, also called KSM, were part of a larger commando force of nearly one hundred Special Operations Forces from the German-Dutch 108th Commando Company of the Korps Commandotroepen or KCT.

  The German and Dutch commandos would infiltrate the island from the sea, using a handful of confiscated fishing trawlers as cover to get them in close to the island. Once they had destroyed the surface-to-air missile batteries on the island, an Italian force of two hundred and twenty commandos would carry out a combat jump to capture the airfield on the northern side of the island. Once the reinforcements had landed and brought some additional equipment with them for the ride, they’d collectively finish off the rest of the Chinese naval infantry and recapture the island. Then it’d be safe for the rest of the NATO surface task force to transit the Red Sea and enter the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean.

  Master Sergeant Heissler checked his watch, then motioned to his swim partner that it was time. They were now on the clock. They only had so many minutes to locate and disable the enemy SAMs before the Italians would arrive.

  The German commandos continued swimming towards the shore until they were chest-deep in the water. They were nearly close enough to rise out of the water as one unit. Then they would advance on the beach, ready to cover each other and lay down suppressive fire if necessary.

  When they stood, each commando swept their sectors with their HK417 assaulter rifles. When they didn’t spot any threats right off the bat, the commandos took their face masks off and switched over to their night vision goggles. The island was pitch black; if the Chinese had any lights on in the buildings dotting the shore, then they weren’t seeing them. That was a good thing—it meant they were likely alone.

  Heissler gave the signal to advance onto the land. It was time for his group to go hunting. The other groups coming ashore at their locations would be doing the same. The clock was ticking.

  The commandos made it into a dried-out wadi, where they took a couple of minutes to strip down out of their wet suits and don dry uniforms and their body armor. They’d lugged the equipment ashore with them in watertight bags. Once they were suited up for the next phase of their operation, Heissler motioned for the drones to be sent up. The little scout drones the commandos had brought with them would help them identify where the ChiComs had placed those HQ-9 radar units. They needed to find those little buggers and disable them. Once they were taken out, it would be safe for the Italians to hit the airfield bringing in their reinforcements.

  After affixing his throat mic and his radio, Heissler did a quick coms check with his team. Once they’d all radioed in, he made contact with the other KSM units. When everyone reported in, their commander ordered all the drones to get airborne and start sweeping the island for the radar trucks.

  “I’ve got our drone synced up with the others,” a junior sergeant told Heissler.

  Looking down at the soldier, Heissler saw his handheld device was showing an image of what their drone was seeing. On the right side of the screen were several tiny videos, showing what the other drones had spotted. It was a neat piece of technology they’d integrated into the Special Forces world over the last few years. In the past, they would have had to comb the island, looking for their target. Now they could blanket the place with scout drones that could cover more territory and show them things that they might never have noticed before.

  One of the unique things about these particular drones was the impressive suite of electronics they packed. They we
re equipped with thermal and infrared cameras, allowing the commandos to see in all weather and types of conditions they might encounter. They also included laser microphones that could pick up conversations from nearly fifty meters away. It was only a matter of time until they found the radar trucks and the missile systems.

  “I love these little drones, Master Sergeant,” the junior sergeant said with a mischievous grin.

  “Me too, Sergeant. Now, find us some targets to blow up and people to kill,” Heissler replied with a devilish grin of his own. This was the best part of their job—hunting fellow humans, prey that could hunt you back if you weren’t careful. Since the end of the war in Afghanistan, the KSM hadn’t had any real wartime missions to participate in. This new war was like a breath of fresh air for the Special Forces community.

  Ten minutes later, an excited voice called out, “Master Sergeant, I found it! Our primary target: it’s right there.”

  *******

  One Hour Later

  Heissler froze midstep. In his peripheral vision, he saw one of his men hold his fist up. Thanks to the quad-cans on his GPNVG-18 night vision goggles, he was able to see the three Chinese sentries as they rounded the bend. They’d spotted the small patrol just in time to drop to the ground and get out of sight.

  When he scanned to his right, Heissler saw the rest of his team had followed suit. Steadily, the Chinese soldiers approached them, talking casually and oblivious to the danger they were walking into.

  Sergeants Albrecht and Hearst let the patrol walk right past them as they readied their silenced pistols. Once the three guards had passed, the two operators brought their P12 pistols to bear on them. In less than a second, three spitting noises emanated from their guns before the bullets impacted the backs of the enemy soldiers’ heads, dropping them where they stood before they even knew what had happened.