by Stephen Makk
Nathan raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t think they’d be here so quick.”
“They worked at it around the clock. Didn’t want to miss the big one.”
“Stanley, any word from the Pacific Fleet?”
“Yes, Ivan sent two boats out from Petropavlovsk. USS Key West and USS Oklahoma City are playing doctors and nurses with them.”
Nathan laughed. “We’ll hang out quietly here until we hear them. That way we can speak on Gertrude when we hear them.”
“Ok, Nathan, will do. Minnesota ends.”
He also thought it would be a good idea to have a planning session with Nikki when she awoke. He looked at the time. If she wasn’t up by 17.00, he’d give her a shake.
“Benson?”
“I know, sir, you want to know if Ivan’s taking a morning dump.”
Three big ears hung 850 feet down in the blackness. They looked like bow sonars, listening, waiting. Waiting for the Russian Northern Fleet. They’d be here, that was for sure. When they did arrive, they’d be up against demons of the deep and it’d be bad, very bad.
13
An hour later, in USS Stonewall Jackson’s control room, the Virginia Visionary reported.
“Sir, I have definite contacts: two or three Akulas and one Yasen. They’re up among the ice ridges. The signal’s strengthening and then fading. Bearing 32 degrees.”
And so it begins, thought Nathan.
The battles of Salamis, Trafalgar and Midway were fought in sight of each other; the wind, cloud cover and tides played a part.
Here, unseen in the darkness, tomb black and cold, this is where the Arctic battle would be decided.
The Battle of 85 Degrees North.
“Give me your best positions, Koss. Where are they?”
The Navigation Officer pointed to the chart display. “Around here, sir. It looks like route one from Murmansk. They got here as fast as they could.”
Nikki walked into the control room.
“You look like you need a coffee, XO.”
“I’m ok, sir. I’ll get one later.”
“No, now. Follow me.”
They walked into the galley, got two coffees and sat.
“We have at least three enemy boats coming our way from the cap edge; no doubt there’ll be more. Minnesota and Tucson are close by. Apparently USS Santa Fe, Connecticut and 73 Easting are less than ten hours away.”
She yawned. “How far are we from the icecap edge?”
“About 130 miles.” He grinned at her cute, sleepy-head expression. “Tactics? I’d like to know what Miss Georgia would do?”
She smiled. “Then you better ask her, but don’t let me see you near her. If you ask me…” She thought about it looking into her coffee. “What is it about coffee in the morning? It’s the smell.”
“Yeah,” he replied, “that and Napalm.”
Nikki rolled her eyes. “Use our strength, we’re quiet.” She smiled. “He won’t know we’re there. Might also be a good time to let the dogs off the leash.”
Nathan nodded.
“Have you decided what to do with Minnesota and Tucson?”
“Not yet. I’d like to wait on the other two nukes, but we haven’t time.”
“How about using them in flanking attacks, Nathan?”
“Yeah, sounds good. Putting us up close to the Russian boats will help as we’ll be close to the edge of the ice; we’ll need power at some point. And it fits into what I have in mind for 73 Easting.” Nathan outlined his plan.
She smirked. “Ok, good, that could work.”
They returned to the control room.
“Lemineux, get Minnesota on Gertrude.”
The Communications Officer set up the link, and Nathan picked up the handset.
“Captain Stanley, USN.”
“Hi, Blake here. I’m going to advance up towards them. I’d like the pair of you to carry out a flanking attack. I’d like to wait for the other two, but we’ve not enough time. I need you to stream the wire and relay something to 73 Easting.”
“Ok, we’ll outflank them. What’s your message?”
Nathan explained his plan.
“We’ll transmit that on our way to meet Ivan. Minnesota end transmission.”
Nathan looked around his control room. The crew were all staring into screens concentrating. They were a good, competent crew; one of the best in the Navy. It was his job to take them into battle and lead them safely home. He felt the weight of that awesome responsibility; that and a little fear. Could he do it?
Admiral Kamov, the CNO himself, had placed him in command of operation Ninety Degrees North.
He remembered his time on USS NYC; what would Captain Franks do?
Franks would consider the strengths and weaknesses of both sides and play to one, and avoid, if possible, the other.
He was in command of a submarine fleet. Did Kamov realise what he’d done?
As Fleet Commander, his big negative was communication. Modern communications were totally out of the window; even radio like the Second World War was fantasy. The ships of the line, like the ones at Trafalgar or the Battle of the Nile, had signal flags they could raise and lower to transmit quite complex orders.
Here, there was no line of sight; there were pulsed sonar codes, but they would give away their position. There was passive sonar: you’d have some idea of where your allies and enemies were and what they were doing, but that was it. You have superb hearing and that’s all you have.
Submarine warfare down there was like fighting in the old Greek Triremes. The Greeks had no highly developed signal flags like those used at Trafalgar. They could see what their own and enemy vessels were up to, and that was it. Here, if you switched sight for sound, you had a similar system.
An attack submarine is one of the world’s most sophisticated warships, but wanders about half blind. They were blind, but armed to the teeth in a darkened room with other blind enemies, equally well armed. Nathan knew it was a battle for idiots or submariners only.
“Planesman, come to bearing 32 degrees, trim for slow ascent, up bubble ten, speed eight knots, make your depth 400 feet.”
“Thirty two degrees, 400 feet at eight knots. Aye, sir.”
USS Stonewall Jackson slowly climbed up towards the foe.
“Four hundred feet, sir.”
“Make speed six knots.”
The boat slowly inched forward.
“Benson, give me a sitrep on our targets.”
Benson looked over with a faint smile. “Sir, forward of us are two hanging ridges; we have an Akula in each. I have a good return on the left-side one, but no current return on the right side. The channels are separated by approximately half a mile. They’re both there, but the channels twist and turn, so we see them and then they’re hidden. Range on left-most contact is three point seven miles; the other’s about a half mile behind.”
“Weaps, designate left contact as Tango 1, right contact as Tango 2. Calculate a firing solution on each. Flood tubes one and two.”
The Weapons Officer went to work. “Sir, Tango 1 and 2 are targeted. Unreliable solution on two, as the channel is hiding him intermittently.”
Maybe we can put temptation in his path, thought Nathan.
“Weaps, flood five, open outer doors, launch Deputy Dawg when ready. Bring him to the right and advance towards Tango 2.”
“Sir.”
The Pointer made its way through the darkness. Above were the hanging ice ridges. Slowly it headed to where Tango 2 advanced down the twisting valley.
“Sitrep, Benson?”
“Sir, Tango 1 is now fully visible most of the time; it’s nearing the end of the valley. Tango 2 makes an occasional appearance as it advances. Deputy Dawg is around a mile away from him and 600 feet deeper.”
This was going to be tricky.
“Weaps, open outer doors, tubes one and two.”
The Weapons Officer set up the controls and looked down for a few moments. He knew what was coming.
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“Deputy Dawg, increase speed to 17 knots. Emergency dive.”
“The dog is diving, sir. Eleven hundred feet and diving.”
“Bring him to the south, away from Tango 2’s valley.”
“Dog is heading 175 degrees, 1,300 feet. Sir, wait one… wait.”
The seconds ticked by… would Tango 2 take the bait?
“Sir, Tango 2 is diving; he’s flooding a tube. Turning south, he’s after Deputy Dawg.”
Come on Tango 2, dive, dive.
“Tango 2 is clearing the valley, he’s diving.”
“Weaps, launch tube 1 on Tango 1.”
The Weapons Officer looked up puzzled, but pressed the console buttons. Why were they going for the left-most Akula, and not the one now after the Pointer?
“Tube 1 launch, fish is running and hungry.”
“Depth on Tango 2?”
“Fifteen hundred feet. Deputy Dawg is 2,200 feet.”
“Launch tube 2 on Tango 2.”
“Tube 2 launch, sir, fish is running and hungry.”
Blake had played his cards; there were now two Mk48s in the water, running for the two Akulas.
Tube 1’s fish, a Mk48 CBASS, ran along the inverted ice canyon facing its prey: an Akula running towards it down the canyon. Its swashplate piston engine propelled it at 53mph down the centreline.
The ice walls smoothly reached down into the depths. Imagine the grand canyon inverted, with a missile flying down its center; that was the scene. The Mk48 fish turned left and right as it ran along the ice canyon. The fish was now closing on its prey; it was time to enter the terminal phase. It activated its phased array sonar to home in on the Akula.
The CBASS variant increased sonar bandwidth, transmitting and receiving pings over wideband, and its broadband signal processing techniques had improved search, acquisition, and attack. The CBASS is more resistant to enemy countermeasures and the torpedo's sensors can monitor the target’s electrical and magnetic fields – these are used to sense the metallic mass of the submarine’s hull.
The Akula launched its countermeasures, spinning and off gassing to port. These were defeated by the fish’s ability to detect the mass of the hull. The Mk48 slammed into the bow, and 650lb of high explosive ripped open the forward end of the Russian boat.
She blew a huge gas bubble into the sea, the control room was torn open, and over half of her crew died instantly. The Akula sank into the cold depths, away from sight, the first casualty of the battle of 85 Degrees North.
“Fish has gone terminal on Tango 2, pinging, pinging. He’s released countermeasures. Fish closing.”
The Mk48 wasn’t fooled; the hungry fish slammed home.
Benson stood. “Yes, hot datum. Eat that, Ivan.”
Nathan let a breath out and looked at Nikki. She looked relieved too.
“Wow, Nikki, my heart’s just about slowing now.”
She smiled and laughed.
He knew there were more down here though, but where?
“Sir, contact, contact,” said Benson. “Probable Yasen coming in from the northwest. Fast, over 15 knots, range four miles. One active ping, sir, he has us.”
“Weaps, designate Tango 3, get me a firing solution. Flood tube three, open outer doors.”
“Yes, sir.”
The battle raged; the hunter had become the hunted.
85 Degrees North had become a survival game; one USS Stonewall Jackson had to win.
14
SEAL force North. Arctic icecap.
“Keep down, but keep your eyes out there; he’s coming. When you see Ivan, give him the good news.”
“Will do, sir.”
Platoon Chief Whitt swished off on his skis to the right wing of his force. He’d opted for left- and right-hand teams of snipers with a central force that could switch sides depending on who faced the most opposition. Eventually, he came to the first man of the right wing of his blocking force.
“Any sign?”
“Quiet so far. We’ll stop the bastards when they arrive.”
Whitt left; presently he found Operator Ford who he’d given command of this wing.
“Hi, sir. No sign yet.”
“He’ll be along soon. All ok?”
“Yep, I couldn’t be better.”
Whitt grinned and left for the centre force, where he’d positioned himself.
One of the outliers of the north-side team was Operator Maris of Montana, a two-year SEAL; he’d applied from the 10th Mountain Division. Maris shivered. They told him he should be used to this; he’d spent most of his time stationed in Alaska. Maris knew you never got used to it being this cold. He took a look through his binoculars.
“What?”
There in the distance skiied two men. They pulled on their poles coming in his approximate direction, wearing packs and had what may be rifles on slings. The men wore the Arctic whites worn by soldiers deployed up here worldwide. He knew this was the opposition.
Maris was laid behind a snowbank, and he brought up his M4 rifle with its scope attached. He lined up on the leftmost man and squeezed the trigger, crack crack. The man fell.
He aimed at the next man, who was taking cover, and got two more rounds off. Crack crack. The man spun around and fell. A man to his right, out of sight, fired off his own rounds.
To the right, Ford’s men were under pressure. They’d dropped Russian VDV, but still they came on forwards. Rounds had ripped into them and SEALs had been dropped and killed.
“Sukky, let Whitt know we’re in need of reinforcements.”
The Operator took out his communication set and called out to Whitt’s force.
“Fox one from Fox three, over.”
“Fox three, Fox one, over.”
“We have…” There was a singing zip and a slap sound.
Ford looked at his radioman. He was face down in the snow with the back of his head missing. Grey and red splatters covered the snow behind him.
Ford grabbed the handset and kept down. “Fox one, we are under extreme pressure. Require assistance, over.”
“Copy, Fox three; wait one.” Twenty seconds later the voice came back on. “Hold your position, Fox three; help is on its way.”
“Copy, Fox one.”
Ford rolled over, sighted a man and fired twice. More enemy rounds came in. He felt down for his grenades; soon they’d be close enough for that.
He heard rounds cracking off around him and men shouting. The fight was in full flow. Ford knew they were outnumbered, but they were in good defensive positions and, after all, they were fucking SEALs.
USS Stonewall Jackson.
“The Yasen’s still running in fast from the northwest, sir. He’s too fast to hear, but he must have flooded a tube and opened outer doors; he’ll be getting ready a Type 53.”
Nathan thought fast. An emergency deep command would be the normal response, but this bastard was fast. That’s it.
“Planesman, all ahead full. Trim and make your depth 400 feet. Koss, get a bearing to Tango 1’s canyon.”
“Ninety two degrees, sir.”
“Planesman, make your heading 93 degrees.” Nathan barked his commands. “Weaps, ping the ice wall to refine the heading.”
“One ping, 94.5 degrees returned, sir.”
“Go for it, Planesman, steer 94.5. All ahead full.”
The boat raced for the ice wall and the open canyon.
Benson called out with a stressed voice. “Type 53 in the water, incoming.”
USS Stonewall Jackson entered the ice canyon, and the walls rushed by as she headed down the inverted canyon.
Benson listed to the return from their drives.
“Right turn coming up.”
“Planesman, ready.”
“Turn now, sir.”
“Do as he says, Planesman.”
The boat leaned to the right and pulled Gs as the crew held on to rails or hand holds; some wore harness restraints. Nikki looked at him, stressed.
“As far as the fish
is concerned, we’ll have disappeared, Nik.”
“Left turn coming up, sir.”
“Call it, Planesman. Listen to Benson; turn on his command.”
“Sir.”
The seconds ran by. Benson waited, listening to the underwater world, his home.
“Turn, now.”
The boat heeled to the left and the crew held on.
“Nathan,” said Nikki, “it may be time we put Lucy on the job. Maybe she can whisper sweet nothings to the fish.”
Nathan smiled and nodded. “Benson, stream the tail. Let Lucy out.”
Benson deployed the towed array sonar.
The towed array sonar, nicknamed Lucy Lure, was towed kilometres behind the boat. The high priests of underwater deception, L-3 Chesapeake Sciences Corp, had produced a secret device so covert that not even the Captain or any of the crew knew just how it worked. They were simply under instruction to feed it with power, connect it to the CRAY sensor computer, then listen to what it told them.
It will listen, jam, and lure enemy torpedoes. The sonar community was in awe of Lucy.
Nathan knew they’d have to leave the canyon at some point, and Lucy would vastly improve their detection ability. She could act as a lure and jammer.
USS Stonewall Jackson now raced down the canyon with the lure trailing behind her. With any luck the Yasen would have lost her in here.
“Shit, shit,” said Benson. “The fish has turned into the canyon. It’s still after us.”
The Weapons Officer thought the situation through. “Sir, we could use Lucy to make him think we’re much further behind than we are, then eject the countermeasures. The Type 53 has a proximity fuse. It may think it’s very close with the countermeasures going off, and pull the towed array in quickly, so it doesn’t get damaged.”
Nikki shook her head. “We’d have to do it exactly right or we’d lose the lure.”
“Better the lure than us, sir.”
“Yes, Weaps, but I don’t like it. Better to get very close to one wall and eject countermeasures to the opposite side.”