Ninety Degrees North

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Ninety Degrees North Page 8

by Stephen Makk


  Russian Navy. Yasen class, K-571 Krasnoyarsk.

  “Sir, sonar. We have a strong contact to the north, several kilometres away,” said CPO Natalia Korobkina.

  Captain Volodin turned to her. “Do you have an ID?”

  “Not a certainty, sir, but given the previous contacts, I’d say it’s very likely to be a submarine contact. Probably an enemy SSN with the same profile as last time. I think we have a boat out there with a fault; it’s the same pitch as last time and sounds like a strong gas escape.”

  Volodin had had strong suspicions last time; now he was near certain. It was a NATO SSN, it had to be.

  “Down boat, trim for 120 meters, forward 8 knots. Come to zero degrees. Keep a good ear on him, Korobkina. Weapons Officer, designate contact as Tsel one. What’s our weapon status?”

  The Weapons Officer checked his monochrome display. “Tubes one to eight Type 53. Vertical launch silos one through four, Kaliber-PL, five and six Kh-101 hot tip. Silos seven and eight are empty, sir.”

  Type 53 is a wire guided fish, of course. Kaliber-PL are anti-ship and land-attack cruise missiles. Kh-101 is a cruise missile armed with a nuclear warhead. Both have a range of approximately 1,500 miles.

  Volodin stood by the Weapons Officer’s station and lowered his voice.

  “It’s time Tsel one swallowed a Russian Navy fish. Calculate firing solution for type 53, tube at your discretion.”

  The Weapons Officer smiled and set the controls selecting the fish. He knew it was stupid and would never admit it, but he selected his lucky tube. This one was Stesha, named after his first real girlfriend.

  “Sir, tube two selected. Targeting contact Tsel one.”

  The pride of the Motherland, the Krasnoyarsk, made her way north, quietly stalking her prey.

  Thirty minutes later she was in the vicinity of the contact.

  “Do you have anything, Korobkina?”

  “Sir,” said the Krasnoyask’s Sonar Operator, “it’s very faint but we’ve got something about four kilometres to the north.”

  “Maintain course and speed.”

  Volodin kept an eye on the time; at around two kilometres from the contact, it transmitted a single pulse.

  “Damn, it’ll have us. Come to a stop.”

  Korobkina looked to the Captain, concern on her face.

  “Sir, it’ll have detected us, but also the pulse has detected Novosibirsk, nine kilometres to our north.”

  Their sistership, K573 Novosibirsk, had been assigned to support them. Volodin knew they were in the general area but not precisely where. The enemy SSN would now be aware of both of them.

  “Chertovski ha.” This was turning into a crisis. At least they had a good fix now on the enemy.

  “I have a call waiting on the S phone,” she said. “It’s the Novosibirsk, sir.”

  The S phone was the Russian version of the USN Gertrude, an acoustic phone for conversations underwater. It was encrypted, but would give away their position to the enemy. Not that that mattered now after the enemy’s sonar pulse; they’d be aware of the pair of them anyway.

  He walked to the Conn and picked up the S phone. “Put him through.”

  “Commander Bortsov here. How are you Captain Volodin?”

  “I was fine until the Chertovski SSN pulsed us both.”

  The enemy SSN would know their positions now, so using the S phone’s acoustic signature didn’t much matter.

  “You know what we have to do, Bortsov?”

  “Yes, comrade Captain. Novosibirsk will do her duty, this NATO crew won’t be long for this earth.”

  “We’ll pincer him. Take Novosibirsk five kilometres northwest and come about. Slow, Bortsov. We’ll do a direct attack and either sink him or drive him towards you. He’ll find himself in the worst of all possible worlds, between two Yasen class.”

  “We’ll do it, Volodin.” He laughed. “He’s a dead man. Submarines have been lost under the ice before. Sunken hulls are hard to find down here.”

  Volodin smiled. “Yes, let them find this one. Good luck, good hunting.”

  Volodin looked at the time and calculated when it was time to make his move.

  The minutes passed by. Volodin looked around his control room bathed in its dull red night lights. Bortsov in the Novosibirsk would be making his slow, stealthy approach. It was time.

  “Weapons Officer, flood tube two, open outer doors.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Make 12 knots. Let’s stir this enemy’s guts.”

  Krasnoyask advanced towards the enemy.

  “Korobkina?”

  “Sir?” asked the boat’s Sonar Operator.

  “What’s he up to?”

  “Nothing so far, sir.”

  Scooby’s sonar detected the SSN moving in, and his brain made a choice. It was a choice built in by the two company’s teams who programmed Scooby’s AI. He increased his speed to 17 knots and emitted the sounds of a tube being flooded.

  He angled upwards and came to 220 feet to bring himself closer to the ice ceiling. This should make him harder to detect due to backscatter.

  Scooby listened for a response from his pursuer. His AI decided that it would be best to allow the pursuer to come closer; he’d detected that he increased his speed to 20 knots.

  Deception strategies had been worked out and incorporated to increase the probability of him being thought of as an SSN. At a certain point, he’d come about and bear down on the approaching submarine, causing him to make a hard turn left or right.

  Scooby would carry out a Crazy Ivan manoeuvre. If an SSN you’re following turns and makes a run at you, you’ve little option but to turn out of the way. With this, you’ll give away your own presence. Soviet SSBNs had used this to flush out any following NATO SSN.

  Scooby waited; not yet, not yet, but soon. The enemy SSN would need to be a little closer.

  Russian Navy. Yasen class, K-571 Krasnoyarsk.

  The Weapons Officer was getting edgy. Come on, Volodin.

  “Do I launch on him, sir?”

  “Not yet, Weaps.”

  “Sir, I have a good solution and good launch attack parameters.”

  Volodin bristled; his decisions were being brought into question. He’d have words with Weaps after this event ended. “Hold your position. We’re driving him into Novosibirsk’s trap.” Volodin would wait a little longer.

  “Sir, we have an active ping from Novosibirsk,” said Korobkina. “Type 53 in the water; he’s launched, it’s running for the Tsel one.”

  “Weaps, launch tube two, target Tsel one,” snapped Volodin.

  The Type 53 was pushed from its tube, and it started its run after the enemy SSN.

  “Let’s see how he likes two 53s on him.” Volodin smiled.

  The two-death fish ran in. Volodin checked his timer. One minute 45 seconds to the end.

  “Tsel one is making a turn to the left,” said Korobkina, “Fifty three is following. Enemy releasing countermeasures.”

  The last seconds ticked by, then Novosibirsk’s fish exploded, followed five seconds later by Krasnoyarks’s. The sea under the icecap was pulsed by shockwaves and the waters boiled in turbulence. Blocks of ice fell from the cap. They’d return once the boiling ended by the physical law that said ice weighed less than water. The chaos was total. The sea’s stability returned.

  “Korobkina?”

  “Nothing, sir. Tsel one isn’t there anymore. He must have plunged to the bottom. I couldn’t hear anything during that strike.”

  Volodin nodded. “One NATO SSN lost under the ice. Northern fleet will be proud.”

  An hour later, Volodin was in his cabin writing his report when there was a knock on the door. He opened it and there stood Korobkina.

  “Sorry, sir, but there’s something you should look at.”

  Volodin followed her to the control room.

  “Here, sir, put these on and look at this sonar screen.”

  He listened to the recording. The turbulence died d
own and then odd sounds filled the void. The screen told him nothing; it looked like an abstract artist on glue. He handed back the headphones.

  “What is it?”

  “Sir, I detected it to the south of the explosions. Coming from a gap in the ice peak is the sound of a drive. It’s running down a channel between the hanging ridge.”

  “So, when was this recording taken Korobkina?”

  “Sir, one minute 40 seconds after the impacts.”

  Volodin slapped the back of her chair.

  “Chertovski ha. So this enemy turned left at the end. He was heading for this cleft in the hanging ridge. He’s got away, the lucky bastard. Pass the coordinates to navigation. We’re going after him.”

  Scooby’s AI had calculated that its immediate mission was over. It had endured the torpedo attacks and witnessed the confusion among the enemy that followed.

  Scooby’s job was deception first and foremost, then live to deceive again. It was time to return to Mother, so he headed for the lat and long he’d been given.

  Following him through the ice cleft was the Yasen class, Krasnoyarsk, and she was pissed, seriously pissed off.

  9

  USS Stonewall Jackson.

  Benson looked over to Nathan. “Sir, there’s two torpedo explosions out in Scooby’s area of operations. I don’t know if he survived.”

  “Two major fish explosions. That’s a big punch, we have to assume the worst. RIP Scooby.”

  “I can confirm that it looks like two Yasen class were involved, sir. I can’t be certain though, the echoes are confusing down here.”

  Nathan knew they had one task now, and that was get the package up onto the ice.

  “Koss, get me a bearing to the ice lead.”

  The Navigation Officer worked at his console. Nathan saw Nikki was itching to get involved. He caught her eye and motioned her down with his palm. He’d give Lt Koss a chance, the XO would take over if she could. He’d have words with her.

  “Two seven eight, sir.”

  “Planesman, 278 make speed for ten knots.”

  It was time to get the package ready, so Nathan walked back aft. He entered the galley where the SEALs were eating their breakfast.

  “Lieutenant Rice, we’re approaching your stop. It’s time to get off the bus.”

  The SEAL pushed his plate away.

  “There’s no rush, Lieutenant. It’ll be an hour before we’re ready. But when we are there, we’ll push up through the ice. Have everyone ready at the foot of the sail by then. We’ll let you out and then submerge. The Russians are down here and looking for us. Find your party up there and get them out.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll be ready.”

  Nathan left with two coffees, one for his XO.

  “Platoon Chief Konerko,” said Lt Rice. “Get the men ready when you’ve finished here.”

  “Sir.”

  The boat approached the ice lead. “Ok, Nikki, take her up.”

  “Planesman, vent for 70 feet fore and aft. Slow to three knots.”

  “Seventy at three, sir.”

  The boat neared the icecap. “Trim for 50 feet, all stop.” Nikki knew it was time for patience.

  “Fifty feet, all stop, aye sir.”

  Benson spun about. “Sir, sir.” The Virginia Visionary looked like he had a Jack Rabbit chewing his balls. “Contact, sir, he was in our baffles. He’s a half mile to our rear. Preliminary analysis is Yasen class.”

  “Let me, Nikki,” said Nathan.

  The XO stood back, and Nathan took control.

  “Trim for depth, let her sink.” USS Stonewall Jackson sank into the depths. She’d no forward speed at all.

  Nathan lowered his head. How the hell did that thing find us? He knew there’d be time for that later.

  “Weaps, get a Pointer out there.”

  “I have Ren in tube five. Flooding tube, outer doors open.” The Pointer was pushed from the tube. “Ren is swimming, he’s on the wire.”

  Nathan looked at the depth indicator on his monitor: 900 feet and still sinking.

  “Sir, I have possible trim sounds from the contact.”

  Benson listened carefully, he had that ability to live the sea. To be there, listening to her creatures near and far, the krill, the squid, fish he couldn’t name, but he knew them by their sounds. He gave them names. Shimmer fish: from the way a sound passed through the shoal. Sucking fish: it sounded as though they sucked at something every minute or so. Waterfall fish: he knew by where they lived and the time of year that they were shellfish. They sounded like they were swimming up a waterfall.

  “He’s diving, sir. A shallow gliding dive and making about 5 knots.”

  He must sense we’ve gone deep.

  Nathan looked at the depth gauge. 1100 feet. “Trim to maintain depth.” He looked to Nikki. “We’ll play dead for now. Let’s see what he’ll do.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Weaps, designate contact as Tango 2. Pick a tube and a Mk48, and slowly, very slowly, flood the tube.”

  Weaps ran his fingers over his touchpad and watched. “Tube three, sir. Flooding slow now. Firing solution laid in. Fish is waiting.”

  Nathan removed the ship’s intercom from its hook. “All hands, Ivan’s out there. Silent operations.” He replaced the handset. “Benson.” Benson looked up. Nathan flicked an ear. Benson nodded.

  Nathan walked over to Nikki. He held his mouth close to her neck below the ear. He could eat her; he sensed she wanted it too.

  She could feel his breath on her skin. This wasn’t fair.

  He got himself under control and whispered, “What’s our status with the power?”

  “Low, sir. Last I looked, and I look a lot, we had 14%. That’s danger area.”

  “Ok, Nik, we’ll try to get on with it.” They’d have to, he knew; that was very low.

  “Sir,” said Benson, “he’s come to a stop at 800 feet. He’s 300 feet above us and slightly behind.”

  “We’ll wait for now.” Nathan knew they hadn’t much time. This was a nuke and could hang there all week if he wanted to. “What are we doing down here?” he said, raising his palms. “We have half the goddamn Northern Fleet down here keeping us boxed in. It’s us who should be keeping them boxed in. We need to think this one through, right from first principals.”

  Nikki put her hand on his forearm. “Let’s have a word, sir. Please?”

  The two of them walked back into the companionway. Nathan nodded to Lieutenant Rice of the SEALs.

  Nikki stood with her back on the wall, and she beckoned him over. He stood close, as close as he dared.

  “Nathan, I agree with you about our aims here, but let’s discuss that when we have those white warriors up on top. That’s our focus now. Then we discuss things, tucked up in your bunk.”

  He pulled back and looked at her in surprise.

  She waited for several seconds and then broke into a grin. “In your dreams, tiger. Let’s get these men up there on the lid.”

  Nathan nodded, and they returned to the control room.

  “Weaps, the old ones are the best. How far away is Ren?”

  “One mile to the northwest, sir.”

  “It’s time for him to cover some ground quietly. Move him west five miles.”

  “Sir.”

  Ren moved off to the west, and Weaps increased his speed as he got farther away. As Ren moved through the blackness, ice ridges hung down into his world, and he was aware of their presence by micro currents and passive sonar.

  “Sir, Ren’s on station, five miles away.”

  This had better work, thought Nathan.

  “Turn him about and make 12 knots.”

  “Sir, he’s come about and is heading in.”

  It would take around 20 minutes to cover all the distance. After several minutes he decided to up the threat.

  “Get Ren to flood a tube and open outer doors.”

  “Ren’s executing.” Ren emitted the sounds requested, and these were picke
d up by the Krasnoyarsk’s switch guard bow sonar. The tale it told was: “Incoming SSN, tube armed.”

  “The Yasen’s moving off to the north, sir,” said Benson. “He’s taking a place off centre to Ren’s track, flooding tube, opening outer doors.”

  “How far away is Tango 2?”

  “One point six miles, sir.”

  Not far enough, Nathan knew. They needed him further away.

  “Weaps, move Ren out north. Make it seem that he’s making an outflanking manoeuvre.”

  The minutes went by.

  “Sir Tango 2’s two and a half miles away.”

  It was working slowly, but he’s not far enough away. Shit.

  Benson punched the air. “Yes.”

  “Benson?”

  “Sir, it’s Scooby, he’s back. He’s northeast of us, making six knots.”

  The control room smiled and high fived.

  “Scooby’s increased speed to ten knots. He’s flooding a tube, opening outer doors. Scooby’s on the attack.”

  The Pointer’s passive sonar had detected Ren and the Yasen class and his AI had decided that a simulated attack was underway. His on-board brain had decided to join in.

  Several had stood and were raising and pumping their forearms. They knew to remain quiet but didn’t want to. Nathan looked at Nikki, and she walked over, grinned, and high fived him.

  “Sir, we’ve a change in tack from Tango 2,” said Benson.

  “He’s increased revs, he’s making 16 knots. That’s some acceleration, shit. He’s turning to the north, going deep, speed now 20 knots.” Benson smiled and punched the air. “He’s getting the fuck out of dodge, sir. Two SSNs are more than he can handle.”

  Nathan grinned. “You can run, Tango 2, but you can’t hide. We’ll have your ass eventually.”

  Nathan turned to Nikki. “Ok, XO, get us to the layer and let’s do our job.”

  “Our power is under 10%, sir. We’re just manoeuvrable, just.”

  “Then get to it, Nikki.”

  Nathan walked back down the companionway. He stood by the SEALs and gave them a thumbs up. “Soon boys.”

 

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