U.S.S. Seawolf

by Patrick Robinson

  The CO had all of Seawolf’s intelligence-gathering equipment on the top line, and the Electrical Intercept (ELINT) and the Communications Intercept (COMINT) were on high alert, the ESM Mast jutting up out of the water with the periscope. Judd was observing a beautiful calm morning on the surface, but with very poor visibility, as they made their way quietly through the known operations area of the Xia.

  Sonar called that the Xia was making unusual noises and could be preparing to surface, but Judd could not see very far through the sunlit mist. His sonar chief thought the Xia had gone quiet as she waited between trials, whatever it was they were testing. And suddenly Seawolf’s comms picked him up again on the ESM mast.

  “Captain-ESM. Racket two-seven-zero…STRENGTH FOUR-TWO…X-Band…approach danger level.”

  “Captain, AYE…DOWN ALL MASTS!”

  Still at periscope depth, the Americans ran on for 4,000 more yards, the CO occasionally raising the periscope, straining for a fleeting glimpse. And quite suddenly, lo and behold, there she was, a dim shape in the haze, right up ahead.

  “My God!” breathed Judd Crocker. “There she is, our top priority. Is this some kind of a break or what?”

  “Captain-Comms. We have an extremely loud signal on your periscope warner.”

  “Captain, aye.”

  But Seawolf had her target in the cross-hairs. Linus Clarke returned to the conn, drawn by the bush telegraph of a submarine when something big is about to happen.

  “We got her, sir…?”

  “We got her, Linus. She’s just lying there, doing zilch, surfaced, making about five knots, on two-seven-zero.

  “I don’t think they have the remotest idea we’re around. They reckon if that barrage back off Taiwan hit nothing, nothing was there.”

  “Well, it is oh-six-hundred, sir. They probably think the entire United States Navy is on vacation for the Fourth—and they’re dead safe to sit down for a nice breakfast. Sweet and sour cornflakes. Chopsticks drawn!”

  “Heh, heh, heh.” Despite their obvious differences, the CO liked the company of Linus Clarke, and he said quietly, “I’m going right in under his stern for the underhull fathometer run.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Seawolf hurried on, into water already shelving up as they closed on the distant mainland. It was not an easy patrol. This being their first day in the area, they had no feel for local inhabitants, no idea who might be scouting around, no place to hide if they should get caught.

  Clarke was plainly excited by the prospect of the next hour. He was mercurial in his thoughts: “Should we move under quickly…get right in and do our business…or should we take it slow and quiet?…Personally I’m in favor of speed…let’s go for it.…I mean, we don’t want to get caught out here off her stern with our pants down.”

  And for once he got it roughly right.

  The captain said, “I just wish we had more time for a thorough recon of the whole area over here, but time we don’t have. Linus, I’m going straight in.”

  Seawolf came forward at six knots, leaving no wake on the surface. At 350 yards the CO took a last look to confirm the exact bearing and distance of the Xia.

  “FIVE DOWN…MAKE YOUR DEPTH 110 FEET…make your speed eight.

  “Conn me in on sonar, XO.”

  “Passing eighty feet, sir.”

  “UP PERISCOPE.”

  At this close range, every yard counted. And for the first time, Seawolf seemed sluggish, not getting down quickly enough, as if hanging in the water, still going straight, with momentum that appeared to be lasting forever.

  “CHRIST! Sir, she’s real close,” called Linus.

  “Okay, okay. I got you. Keep talking me in…come on, Seawolf, for Christ’s sake, fast down and level…”

  “There’s her screws. Bearing. MARK.”

  “Bearing right ahead, sir. True. Two-seven-zero.”

  “Read off the sky-search angle, someone.”

  “Three degrees below horizontal, Captain!”

  Linus’s voice was rising.

  “Good.”

  “Bubble amidships, sir. Depth one hundred ten feet…course two-seven-zero.” Andy Cannizaro’s voice betrayed tension, but it was firm and clear.

  “Captain, aye…that angle’s not so bad as you think…it’s the refraction, Linus…the periscope’s gonna pass underneath her, believe me…start the fathometers.”

  “Upward fathometer recording, sir. Steady trace from the surface, fifty-six feet from the top of our sail, sir.”

  “Captain, that’s nice.”

  Judd Crocker was now performing the most delicate balancing act of his life, as Seawolf matched speed with the bigger Chinese boat, which now rumbled along the surface directly overhead, casting a mammoth black shadow over them, its massive screws thrashing water right above them, threatening instant decapitation of the sail if the American submarine rose more than about 15 feet in the water. But the burly yachtsman from Cape Cod knew all too well what happened when the propellers of a big nuclear ship smash into the hull of another: A lot of steel and sometimes a lot of people end up littering the ocean floor.

  Judd held her steady, at six knots, keeping his ship exactly under the center of the Xia’s keel, with no time now for even a thought about the Chinese sonar room right above them.

  “The Xia maintains speed and course, sir…”

  And then the operator called it: “MARK! Upward sounder showing twenty feet above our sail, sir. I’m looking up right now, right on her center line.”

  “Beautiful,” whispered Judd, trying to be quiet, like the rest of his men, afraid that somehow their own heartbeats would give them away.

  Still at the periscope, he had the picture right in focus. “MARK! Large grating on her keel line…very slightly to starboard. Helm…come right one. I repeat, one degree.”

  And now the CO ordered a fractional increase in speed for Seawolf to complete a long run straight underneath the Xia, moving slowly from stern to bow.

  CO: “MARK! Intakes right above, port and starboard…MARK! Second grating…”

  And all the while the racing pens of Seawolf’s upward fathometers flew across the moving-paper recorders, making a pinpoint-accurate picture of the Xia’s keel, her precise shape and measurements from her waterline downward. With agonizing slowness they edged forward, and now no one was speaking, and the only sound came from the sonar room as the moving pen kept writing, and, as Lt. Commander Omar Khayyám might have added, “and, having writ,/Moves on.”

  It was the fathometer man who broke the silence. “MARK! We’ve lost the hull trace, Captain. We’ve gone right by…we’re back looking at the surface.”

  Seawolf’s team had done it. The first half of the critical picture was in the bag, but now the CO would have to attempt another desperately dangerous maneuver, coming right around the stern of the Xia, and risking everything for a second crucial set of pictures, to be taken through the periscope camera, right off her stern, up close and personal. This would complete the picture, giving the measurement of the missile tubes above the waterline.

  “RIGHT FULL RUDDER…MAKE YOUR DEPTH SIXTY-TWO FEET…THREE UP…MAKE YOUR COURSE ONE-EIGHT-ZERO.”

  Seawolf swung away, making a hard turn to starboard, right off the Xia’s bow, from just below her keel, the beginning of a wide, fast three-quarter circle that would take her right around the Chinese submarine, and across her stern as it ploughed slowly along the surface.

  “MAKE YOUR SPEED FIVE KNOTS…”

  “UP PERISCOPE!”

  And now they were directly in the photography-run procedure, with a view less than 100 yards away.

  Judd Crocker stared out at the Chinese submarine while Seawolf’s photographic system snapped off the shots. It seemed to take forever. And suddenly Judd saw men appearing on the bridge of the Xia. At least he thought they were just appearing. He was certain they had not been there when he first looked, it seemed moments ago.

  And then his fears were dramatically confi
rmed. One of them pointed straight between Judd Crocker’s eyes, directly at Seawolf’s periscope.

  Nonetheless he held his nerve, waiting for the camera crew’s report. By the time it came, eight seconds later, there were three Chinamen, all pointing at Seawolf’s periscope.

  Strangely Judd said nothing, but kept the mast up for another whole minute, providing the Chinese on the bridge with a spectacular view of the American periscope heading south.

  Linus thought that as camera runs go, this one had been a disaster. The periscope had been clear of the water for a minute and a half, God knows how long after the report of completion. Linus Clarke, not for the first time, thought his captain had completely lost his grip.

  “Captain, sir…your periscope’s been up for ninety seconds…they’ll surely see us,” he added anxiously. But late.

  “You’re surely right, Linus. Why do you suppose I don’t give a rat’s ass?”

  “Jesus, Captain, beats the shit out of me.”

  “Down periscope.” Judd Crocker made that last order at the very final moment, giving the Chinese on the bridge just a few seconds more to watch him vanish, directly to the south.

  But now the CO’s escape options were closing. IF they had been spotted, and he must now assume they had, since it would have been a minor miracle if they hadn’t, he should clear the datum. To the west made little sense, because that way led to the shallow water surrounding the island of Hainan and the Chinese Navy base. To the north were the busy operational waters of Admiral Zu Jicai’s Southern Fleet headquarters, and it seemed quite likely that the Xia might be heading home, since her exercise area contained a plain and obvious intruder.

  For the moment he had to get away from her, because if that ship was about to summon half the Chinese Navy to locate Seawolf and hunt them down, well, he had to know that, which meant listening to her enemy report to base. This might not happen for at least 20 minutes: drafting, formatting, command approval, encryption, and radio tuning. All this preceded the transmission of a highly classified military signal.

  And he thanked God for his two Chinese-speaking “spooks” from Naval Intelligence, who would pick that signal apart a lot faster than it had been put together. And now he was ready for the course change to three-six-zero.

  “Right standard rudder…make your course north…speed ten.”

  And for 15 minutes they ran on, from two miles off the Xia’s port quarter and crossing her stern, heading inshore. The navigational plot confirmed she was still heading west.

  So far as Linus could see, the situation was precarious enough already without heading straight for the Chinese southern naval headquarters.

  Clarke was now seeking reassurance from the captain, not directly, of course, but there was anxiety in his voice as he ventured, “Probably lost ’em now, right, sir? Guess we got away with it? Time to head for deep water?”

  But Judd Crocker was deep in thought, and he believed they had most definitely been located. “Make your speed eight knots…up periscope. Comms-Captain…be alert for a contact report from Xia…any second now…lemme know when it’s in.”

  “Comms, AYE.”

  Another five minutes went by, and Seawolf continued northward.

  “Captain-Comms…contact report coming in…translating.”

  “Captain, aye.”

  “Captain-Comms…reception completed.”

  “Captain…roger. Down periscope.”

  “Send it right up to the conn.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Petty Officer Chase Utley brought it up in person and handed it to the captain, who scanned it quickly.

  “Good. They have us headed south at twelve knots from datum position 20.00N 111.30E.

  “Rig for silent running. Make your speed seven knots.”

  “But, Captain,” said Linus Clarke, “you givin’ up? That’s steering straight for the Chinese blowhole, straight for the Southern Fleet’s biggest base. That’s crazy.”

  “Not at all, Linus. That’s strategy. Because the last place they’d ever dream of looking for us is straight up their own ass.”

  0705. Tuesday, July 4.

  Office of Southern Fleet Commander.

  Zhanjiang.

  Admiral Zu Jicai stared at an amplifying signal from the Xia III: “0655. July 4. 20N 112.46E. Positive periscope contact visual close aboard. Assessed POSIDENT U.S. nuclear submarine. Last known course south. Speed 12. Clearing area to west.”

  Admiral Zu hit the buttons ordering his operational fleet into action: “Execute ASW contingency Plan Seven…search datum 20N 111.30E…search orientation one-eight-zero. Speed of advance 12.”

  The Southern Fleet had been on high alert for this for the past 24 hours, and the ships detailed for this mission prepared to leave, seek out, and if possible blow apart the American marauder.

  Four destroyers were casting their lines by 0742—three of them, Changsha, Nanning and Guilin, were almost identical to the Nanchang, which had taken part in the underwater barrage off Taiwan. They were all 3,500-ton heavily gunned guided-missile warships with antisubmarine mortars and depth charges, a bit slow but dangerous when they arrived. The fastest of the four was the updated Luda III, Zuhai, with its very advanced sonars and specialist CY-1 antisubmarine weapon.

  Admiral Zhang himself had personally ordered the Zuhai straight to Zhanjiang from the failed Taiwan trap, in readiness for the task Admiral Zu’s fleet now had to tackle.

  Five Jangjui-class frigates were also on their way. These were small antisubmarine specialists, similar to the Shantou, which had been in action off Taiwan the previous day. Zigong, Dongguan, Anshun, Yibin and Maoming, their sonar Echo Type 5s ready, were preparing to load their depth-charge launchers before they’d cleared the harbor wall.

  Two fast-attack craft were also dispatched, 500-ton Haiqing Type 037s, which carried China’s biggest ASW mortars, and were currently being built at the fastest rate of any patrol boat in the Chinese Navy. The Haiqings had very hot sonars, hull-mounted, active search and attack only at slow speed.

  From the naval airstrip, two frontline attack aircraft, Harbin SH-5s, were preparing for takeoff, engines screaming as they waited for clearance, their big powerful depth bombs and state-of-the-art Russian sonobuoys loaded.

  Two French-built Aerospatiale Super Frelon ASW helicopters were already in the air heading south. And these were really dangerous. They ran above the water at a steady 140 knots, and they carried HS 12 dipping sonar, with superb French-built search radar. Their specialist weapon was antisubmarine torpedoes, and they had the capacity to find their quarry. They’d be out in the ASW search area well inside the hour.

  Two Haitun helicopters were also dispatched. These refined Dauphin 2s, locally built, would travel at 140 knots all the way, with a range of almost 500 miles. Once out there, they could do a lot of searching, and they carried medium-range, radar-guided anti-ship missiles, should Seawolf be forced to surface.”

  Admiral Zu picked up the telephone and reported his actions to the Commander-in-Chief, who listened carefully. “I told you so, Jicai. They’re out there. They’ve been out there for days.”

  “But how did they avoid the underwater barrage yesterday?”

  “Because the American commanding officer knows precisely what he’s doing, that’s why. Remember, he’s faster than us, he’s quieter than us, and he’s a lot cleverer than us, because he’s had a lot more practice driving state-of-the-art submarines. Remember, too, Seawolf is lethal. Her combat systems officer is probably the smartest man in the U.S. Navy, next to her CO. I don’t know what weapons she’s carrying, but if she decided to sink one or all of our ships, she could probably do it.

  “Of course, I doubt she would. The Americans don’t really want a hot war any more than we do…but she mustn’t be provoked. We just want to blow a big hunk off her hull while she’s under the water, and then let her sink gracefully to the bottom…such a pity, Jicai, to lose such a fine ship under such unfortunate, accidental circumst
ances…if only we had known she was there.”

  040845JUL06.

  20.20N 111.30E. Speed 6.

  Periscope depth.

  Course three-six-zero.

  Seawolf crept north, toward Zhanjiang. She made no sound, and she left no wake. At 10 minutes before 10:00 A.M. Judd Crocker ordered her periscope up for a few seconds only, and instantly comms reported, “Multiple danger level X-Band rackets. CHAOS…no other word for it.”

  Though Judd could not know it, the sky was already alive with clattering naval helicopters a few miles to the south of them, and two patrol planes were making long circles around the central operations area. He risked a quick all-around look, and spotted the Xia four miles over to the west, heading north in the now-improving visibility.