The Monroe Doctrine

by James Rosone

  “You’re pulling rank on me?” Nappi had yelled. “You just want the glory of sinking the Chinese ships for yourself!” He had been livid.

  Paolucci had taken a deep breath and lowered his voice. “The Chinese have a new type of submarine,” he’d reminded him. “One that is allegedly quieter than any other sub. There’s already been an American boomer sunk, along with a pair of Arleigh Burke destroyers in the same battle.”

  Now Nappi understood why his friend had asked him to hang back. Paolucci wanted him to sink that Chinese bastard if it tried to slip in behind his baffles.

  “Petri, do not lose that boat! Record its acoustics,” Nappi ordered.

  I’ll be damned if we’re not going to help find a way to track these new subs, he thought as they positioned for a shot of their own.

  “Aye, Captain,” came the quick reply. The tension on the Conn was thick as the crew realized their lives would forever change in the next couple of minutes.

  “Weapons, prepare to fire tubes one, two, and three.”

  The weapons officer turned his head slightly as he replied, “Aye, Captain. Preparing to fire tubes one, two, and three.” A few seconds later, the officer added, “Weapons ready in all respects. Standing by to fire.”

  A few of the sailors shared nervous glances with each other. They were going to be the first Italian submariners to fire their weapons in anger at an enemy since World War II. They’d trained for years to prepare for this moment; now it was finally here.

  While they had been sitting in a trough, waiting for the enemy fleet to pass over them, Captain Nappi had had them open their six outer torpedo doors. That way, when it came time to fire on a Chinese submarine or ship, they wouldn’t give away their position by opening them right before they fired.

  “Sonar, how far behind them in their baffles are we?”

  The sonarman turned to see Nappi and the rest of the crew all staring at him, waiting for his answer. “We’re sixty-one hundred meters in his baffles, sir.”

  Now all eyes turned to Nappi. They looked on with apprehension, fear, and excitement. He was about to give an order that would save and doom the lives of hundreds, and they were probably glad it wasn’t a decision they’d have to make.

  Sticking his chin out just a bit as he sought to look stoic and in complete control of his emotions despite the butterflies bouncing around inside, he uttered the word, “Fire!”

  *******

  German Sub, U-39

  Mouth of the Red Sea

  Captain Lassen stood rigid with his arms folded across his chest. Sonar had ranged the Luyang III-class destroyer or Type 052D to be 9,940 meters and still closing.

  “Weapons, on my command, fire tubes one, three, and five at the destroyer on programmed tracks,” Lassen directed. “Target tube six at that wounded supply ship with them. We can’t let them bring more troops or equipment to Perim Island.”

  His weapons officer turned his head to the right as he called back, “Aye, Captain. On your command, firing tubes one, three, five, at the destroyer on programmed tracks. Tube six at the supply ship.” His bridge crew immediately went about getting the ship ready to shoot.

  Lassen watched the clock. He was trying to time this attack perfectly for maximum effect. The seconds slowly ticked by for what felt like an eternity until they reached his goal. Five, four, three, two, one.

  “Fire!” Lassen bellowed, louder than he’d intended. Excitement had gotten the better of him.

  “Weapons away, Captain,” came a very tense-sounding weapons officer.

  “Sonar, list all bearings as relative to own ship.”

  “All bearings relative to own ship, aye.”

  The junior sonar operator spoke up next as the engagement started to unfold. “Sir, the U-37 and U-38 have also fired.”

  “Acknowledged,” Lassen replied tersely as he stood at the master plot, looking at the digital weapon tracks. He took in the scene of the battle as the various torpedo tracks headed toward the enemy fleet.

  “Captain, torpedoes are in passive homing. Steady on track to target.”

  “Time to terminal homing of weapons?” he asked.

  “Five minutes, sir.”

  “Acknowledged. Set weapons to active homing and cut the wires in five minutes.”

  “Cut wires in five minutes. Aye, sir.”

  Lassen had ordered the three weapons aimed at the destroyer to overlapping kill boxes. He knew once the enemy commander realized they were under attack, they’d launch countermeasures and decoys to throw his weapons off. However, Lassen was confident at least one of the three torpedoes would score a hit and they’d send that destroyer to the bottom.

  An urgent call from the sonar operator sent a chill down everyone’s back. “Captain, ASW helicopter, bearing eight-seven degrees, range fifty-five hundred meters. It sounds like they just pinged the U-37 with their dipping sonar. That destroyer must’ve heard them fire their torpedoes and sent the helo in their direction.”

  He must have fired before us, Lassen thought. Damn, those Chinese were able to get a bearing on him fast.

  “Set torpedoes to active homing and cut the wires.” Lassen made the snap decision and decided to press home his advantage while he had it.

  “Aye, sir. Set to active homing and cut wires now.”

  “Set ceiling tubes two and four for twenty meters,” Lassen ordered.

  “Set ceiling for twenty meters, tubes two and four, aye.”

  He waited as the weapons technician programmed the commands into the weapons.

  “Sir, weapons ready.”

  “Fire tubes two and four!” Lassen barked.

  As the remaining torpedoes fired, he had them begin the process of reloading all six tubes. This would take a bit of time, so he wanted them to start on it now. Depending on the results of these six shots, they might need to expend the last of their torpedoes to finish this fight.

  Several timers counted down as the groups of torpedoes sliced the pitch-black waters toward an unsuspecting enemy fleet.

  Turning to his first officer, Lassen said, “XO, I think it’s time to shake things up a bit.”

  His second-in-command lifted an eyebrow at the comment. “What do you have in mind?”

  Lassen turned to his helmsman. “Ahead full, bearing seven degrees. Make your depth one-seven-zero meters.”

  “Ahead full, bearing seven degrees. Making my depth one-seven-zero meters, aye.”

  As the bow of the U-39 angled downward, the ship began to pick up speed. Lassen sought to take some of the heat off the U-37 by giving the Chinese something else to shoot at.

  *******

  Changzheng 32

  Gulf of Oman

  Commander Chen thought there would be more tension on the Conn as they prepared to fire. However, after having sunk twenty-plus ships in the last week or so, the crew was used to the sequence of events and what would come next. That was, until their sonarman yelped every submariner’s worst fear. “Torpedoes in the water! Bearing one-six-two degrees, range sixty-one hundred meters!”

  “What?! Time to intercept?” Chen demanded, trying to keep the panic in his voice at bay.

  “Sir, at present course and speed, they’re three minutes, fifty-five seconds out.”

  “Maneuvering, ahead flank! Thirty-degree down on the planes!”

  “Aye, sir. Ahead flank. Thirty-degree down.”

  The sub practically jolted forward and down at a sharp angle as the engines ran up to full power, shooting the sub through the waters at an incredible rate of speed.

  Time for the next miracle…

  “Launch countermeasures!”

  “Countermeasures away, Captain!”

  *******

  Chinese Destroyer Chengdu

  Senior Captain Zheng Su was on the radio to the captain of the corvette Luzhou. The man was barking orders while trying to talk to him. His ship was fending off a couple of enemy torpedoes while at the same time doing their best to engage the attacking subs w
ith their own torpedoes. From what Zheng was hearing over the radio, their fight to stave off a hit from those enemy subs was not going so well.

  Damn it! This is a hell of a time to have half our ASW helos down for fuel, Zheng lamented. We need them dropping torpedoes on those bastards…

  Turning his attention to the hand receiver connecting him to the corvette commander, Zheng said, “Captain, I don’t care what you have to do, but get your helo airborne now. If your ship goes down, we need your helo to survive. It may make the difference between the rest of the fleet surviving and not. Is that understood?”

  The other captain grumbled something but said he’d have the helo airborne in the next couple of minutes. “It may only have half a tank, but I’ll get it airborne,” he’d muttered.

  Zheng was incensed that their helos hadn’t detected any of these subs up to this point. He’d have to make a point of mentioning this during his review of the battle he’d be sending back to Beijing, if he survived the next few hours.

  Now I know why they call this place the Gates of Tears, he thought. This place was a submarine trap, with all the canyons and crevices for them to hide in. Somehow, someway, despite all his best efforts, his flotilla had sailed into a well-planned trap.

  I wonder why that stupid AI didn’t discover this trap or given us a heads-up? he wondered. Maybe it’s not as smart as those idiots in Beijing believe it is.

  “I think that torpedo is going to hit the Luzhou,” commented one of the action officers as Zheng looked out one of the bridge windows into the darkness where the corvette was doing its best to stay alive.

  A tremendous flash of light illuminated the sea for the briefest of moments as the Luzhou took a hit near the aft section of the ship. Zheng cursed under his breath as the fire cast ominous shadows across the water.

  Returning his focus to the survival of his own ship, Zheng barked, “Launch our decoys. Ahead flank and take evasive action. There are bound to be more torpedoes in the water. We’re not going to go out without a fight.”

  The bridge crew relayed his orders, and the ship practically jumped as they went from twenty-five knots to thirty-nine, their maximum speed.

  “Weps, as soon as sonar has a bead on one of those enemy subs, I want you to fire some ASROCs at them. We need to start getting them reacting to us, and not the other way around.”

  As if on cue, the corvette Luzhou was hit by a second torpedo. A tremendous fireball erupted amidships as it ripped the corvette in half.

  Zheng looked out the window as they sailed past the fiery wreckage of the dying ship. As the two halves bobbed further apart in the water, he knew the vessel would be beneath the waves in minutes.

  If they weren’t in the heat of the battle, Zheng would order his ship to slow and attempt a rescue. But he had torpedoes of his own being targeted at him he had to evade.

  *******

  Italian Sub, S-526 Salvatore Todaro

  “Captain, submarine cavitation! Bearing three-three-one degrees, range ten thousand meters,” shouted the sonar operator excitedly.

  “Maneuvering, make your depth one hundred eighty meters, course three-three-one degrees, now!” barked Paolucci anxiously.

  As the commands were echoed, the Salvatore Todaro turned and headed for deeper waters. They were going to reposition and fire a salvo at this mystery sub.

  “Sonar, get me a status on that boat. Is it the same one you heard before?”

  “Yes, Captain. The signature is consistent with what I heard earlier. I believe it’s the same sub.”

  Paolucci nodded in approval as he smiled. Then he said the words he’d been itching to say since the battle had started: “Fire tubes one and two along that bearing. Set to active homing as soon as they clear the tubes.”

  “Aye, Captain. Fire tubes one and two along last known bearing and set to active homing.”

  “Captain, enemy submarine is evading torpedoes: same bearing, but further away.” There was a short pause as the sonar tech tried to listen to gain some additional information on the torpedoes already in the water. A smile crept across his face. He turned back to the captain. “They’re ours, sir! Three Black Sharks bearing down on the enemy sub.”

  “It’s Captain Petri! You wonderful bastard!” Paolucci shouted with genuine joy in his voice.

  *******

  Special Operations Company

  1st San Marco Marine Regiment

  Airfield, Perim Island

  Captain Antonio Mare jumped from the C-130 and was on the ground just moments later. His chute had barely enough time to open and slow him down before he was tucking and rolling on the ground.

  Commandos from the Gruppo Operativo Incursori, or Raiders Operational Group of the Italian Navy, were landing all around him. Once on the ground, they raced to their drop bags and grabbed for their rifles and other equipment. They didn’t know how soon the enemy would react to them, so they needed to be ready now.

  The senior sergeants and junior officers barked orders, rallying and organizing their squads and platoons just as they were supposed to. Captain Mare felt an immense amount of pride swell up in him. Years of training and hard work were unfolding before him.

  Four more C-130s flew low across the airfield, and a giant parachute was thrown out the back of each one. As the massive chutes filled with air, each one dragged a pallet out the back of the aircraft that contained one of their 4x4 Puma vehicles. Commandos raced out to the vehicles as soon as the sleds came to a halt. They opened them up and climbed in to get the turret-mounted guns set up, while a few other soldiers detached the vehicles from the sled. Packed inside the backs of the vehicles were tens of thousands of rounds of ammo and more than three hundred 60mm mortar rounds for the mortar platoon.

  The little Puma vehicles were essentially pack mules for the commandos, in addition to some light armor gun trucks. As his squads and platoons formed up and advanced off the airfield, illumination rounds started going off around the island. Several of them exploded over top of the airfield, shining a bright light on the newly arrived commandos.

  Gunfire erupted near the edges of the airfield as the Chinese naval infantry realized what was going on and little pockets of resistance formed. Shouts in Chinese echoed throughout the surrounding area. An old-fashioned winding alarm wailed in the distance, alerting the garrison they were under attack—as if they hadn’t already known that.

  The heavy weapons platoon was already getting their mortar tubes set up in a dried-out wadi not far from the airfield, and they’d already shot a handful of Chinese naval infantry who’d tried to attack them before they finished setting up. Now they were about to start dropping 60mm mortars on whatever targets needed busting up.

  Looking into the hills, Captain Mare saw green and red tracer fire zipping back and forth between different groups. He knew the gunfire was most likely coming from the German KSM units, the ones tasked with taking out the HQ-9 missiles so his men could parachute in.

  “Sir, we have the operations center up,” called out one of his staff officers.

  “Excellent. Great job. Let’s let the KSM units and others know we have the mortar pits ready. If they need some indirect fire, it’s here for them,” Captain Mare responded before he headed toward what looked like an abandoned building.

  “Mortars up!” shouted an NCO who was overseeing the mortar team not too far away.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Three 60mm mortars were on their way to some target.

  When he entered the building, Captain Mare immediately spotted his RTO, who handed him the radio. “It’s the KSM commander. He’s got a job for us.”

  Smiling, Mare took the receiver, eager to see what his commandos could do.

  *******

  Chinese Sub, Type 095A

  “Sir! Torpedoes in the water. Bearing forty-four degrees, range ten thousand yards and closing.”

  Chen took a deep breath and tried to relax himself. He was being fired at from two submarines and had nearly a half
a dozen torpedoes headed his way from two different vectors. The torpedoes from aft were closing at fifty knots and would reach his boat in roughly two minutes and forty-five seconds.

  All eyes stared at him, hoping he had a plan to save their lives and keep fighting. They’d accomplished too much and come too far to die now.

  “Maneuvering, come about to heading two-six-zero!” he barked. “Engineering, I need everything you can give me on the reactor,” Chen ordered. “Everyone’s lives are depending on it!”

  The maneuvering officer looked at him with a puzzled look on his face but nodded in acknowledgment.

  “The ridges off Fagal—they rise eighty-five meters off the seabed. We are going to use them to lose these damn torpedoes.”

  “Heading two-six-zero. Yes, Captain.”

  Looking around the Conn, Chen saw an earnest desire to live. He didn’t know if he could call it hope just yet, but what he’d just told them offered them something they hadn’t had a few minutes ago—a real, viable chance to live a little longer.

  “Sir, torpedoes have gone into active homing,” called out the sonarman.

  The tension was so thick, Chen felt he could cut it with a knife. Everything was riding on the next couple of minutes.

  “Range?” he asked.

  “Eighteen hundred ninety meters.”

  Damn, this is going to be close, he thought.

  “Launch decoys and countermeasures. Keep launching them as we pass over this ridge. Don’t stop.”

  “Yes, Captain!”

  The sound of the torpedoes’ sonar was growing louder as the weapons locked onto them. Chen made a point of flicking a piece of lint off his uniform, although he wasn’t sure why he felt the urge to do so.

  “Distance to ridge?”

  “Nine hundred fifty meters, sir.”

  “Distance from closest torpedo?”

  “Nine hundred seventy meters, Captain.”

  Chen exhaled audibly; this would be incredibly tight. If the torpedoes didn’t hit low enough on the ridge, the pressure wave would cripple the boat, and they’d still be put on the bottom.