The Trident Deception

by Campbell, Rick

  He turned to his Weapons Officer. “Open outer doors, tubes One and Two.”

  USS KENTUCKY

  Sonar Supervisor Tony DelGreco, underway on his eighteenth patrol, adjusted his headphones for the umpteenth time this watch. The headphones, with their uncomfortable earmuffs, were connected to the submarine’s spherical array sonar, providing an audible companion to the visual display in front of him. The Navy had succeeded in designing headphones that were universally unpleasant to wear, so the three sonar techs took turns wearing them in shifts on their six-hour watch, giving their ears a break in between their two hours of penance each watch.

  First Class Petty Officer DelGreco was on his third sea tour aboard a ballistic missile submarine, or boomer. He had logged hundreds of watches in Trident Sonar Rooms during his eighteen patrols, and thousands of hours wearing the despised headphones. As DelGreco adjusted the headphones yet again, he cocked his head to one side, startled by an unusual sound. It was faint but unmistakable—metal grinding on metal. As he pondered the source of the sound and what type of machinery might produce it, he heard it again; the same slow, metallic grind. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn it was a torpedo tube outer door opening. But it was lower pitched and smoother. Plus, they hadn’t received any water space advisories announcing the nearby passage of a submarine. One thing he was sure of, however, was that it wasn’t biologics. The sound came from something man-made.

  Looking up at the sound velocity profile, DelGreco checked the temperature of the ocean from the surface down to the Kentucky’s depth. Since they held no contact, the noise must have traveled along a sound channel, trapped between a positive and negative temperature gradient, channeling the sound much farther than normal ocean conditions allowed. But there was a negative slope the whole way down, the water consistently cooling from the surface to the Kentucky’s depth. There was no sound channel.

  Petty Officer Bob Cibelli caught the perplexed look on DelGreco’s face. “What’s up?”

  “Mechanical transients. Sounded like a torpedo tube shutter door opening, but not quite. Take a listen.”

  DelGreco rewound the digital recording, rubbing his ears as he handed the headphones to Cibelli. He hit Play, letting the junior technician listen.

  “It’s different from the recordings in the trainers,” Cibelli agreed as he handed the headphones back to DelGreco. “Think we should inform the OOD?”

  DelGreco mulled over whether they should bother the Officer of the Deck with what they had heard. The ocean was filled with hundreds of sounds they could never quite place.

  “Naw,” DelGreco finally decided as he replaced the headphones around his ears. “Must be a trawler having a bad day somewhere.”

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  “Steady course north.”

  “Very well, Pilot,” Gallagher replied.

  The North Carolina had completed its latest maneuver, reversing course from the southern trajectory it had remained on for ten minutes, long enough to calculate a bearing rate to the contact and determine it was close. Much closer than Gallagher had expected. Their target was a quiet one indeed, truly on par with U.S. Trident submarines.

  Gallagher had assumed the Conn when the North Carolina manned Battle Stations. Under routine operations, the submarine’s Officer of the Deck held both the Deck and the Conn; responsibility for the Deck meant overseeing the basic operation of the submarine, while the Conning Officer controlled the ship’s course, speed, and depth, and issued all tactical commands. These two functions were split during Battle Stations, the Deck Officer managing the ship’s routine evolutions while the Conning Officer led the submarine into battle.

  The North Carolina’s towed array steadied, and reliable bearings began streaming into the Combat Control System. Slowly, the two fire control technicians and one junior officer began generating target solutions, adjusting parameters for course, speed, and range, constantly improving their solution. The XO, in charge of the Fire Control Tracking Party and responsible for determining the target’s solution within acceptable tolerances, hovered behind the three men as they refined their solutions.

  They had held the target on three legs now—their original westward path, and on southern and northerly courses. Against a steady, unsuspecting contact, that would normally provide enough data for the operators and the Combat Control System algorithms to develop an adequate solution. The XO monitored all three combat control consoles, comparing the three solutions against each other as well as the automated result from the Combat Control System. For a given bearing rate or even several legs of data, there were multiple possible solutions for the target. How well the solutions tracked with each other as well as the raw sonar data on the screen was an indication of how solid their estimates were.

  All three operators and the Combat Control System’s automated algorithm converged on a single solution for their contact, varying by only one hundred yards in range, a few degrees in course, and a fraction of a knot in speed.

  The XO tapped one of the fire control techs on his shoulder. “Promote to Master.” The Fire Control technician complied, and the submarine’s geographic display updated with the Master solution to their target. Turning to the Captain behind him, the XO reported, “I have a firing solution.”

  Gallagher announced loudly, “Firing Point Procedures, Sierra five-seven, tube One.”

  USS KENTUCKY

  A few minutes earlier, Commander Malone had returned to his stateroom, expecting to find the two offgoing watch officers waiting to report their relief. Every six hours, from the moment the submarine cast off the last mooring line until the ship returned to port, the offgoing Officer of the Deck and Engineering Officer of the Watch reported to the Commanding Officer what had transpired during their watch and the current conditions throughout the ship. Even if the Captain was asleep, the two officers would wake him to report their relief.

  Rather than be awakened each night, Malone toured the ship, arriving back at his stateroom in time for the officers’ report. But tonight no one was waiting. The two officers must have had a second helping of midrats, or perhaps they were discussing some issue with one of the watchstanders on duty. Rather than wait, Malone decided to swing back through Control. The offgoing OOD was the Sonar Officer; perhaps he was tied up with an issue in the sonar shack.

  A moment later, Malone was back in the Control Room, opening the door to Sonar. Three petty officers were in the darkened sonar shack—the lights were extinguished to aid in detecting the faint traces on their displays. Malone closed the door behind him to keep out the light.

  Petty Officer DelGreco looked up from his display. “Evening, sir. What brings you back to Sonar tonight?”

  “Have you seen Lieutenant Costa?”

  “He came through a few minutes ago on his after-watch tour. It seemed like he was running a bit late.”

  “Yes, it does seem that way,” Malone agreed. He glanced at the sonar displays; there were no automated trackers assigned. “Looks pretty dead out there.”

  “Yes, sir,” DelGreco replied. “Not a single contact this watch.”

  Malone was about to leave Sonar—the two watch officers would arrive at his stateroom momentarily—when DelGreco added, “We did hear an unusual mechanical transient awhile ago, sir. Cibelli and I both listened to it, but couldn’t place it. Do you want to take a listen?”

  “Sure,” Malone replied.

  DelGreco handed Commander Malone the headphones and pulled up the recording.

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  Commander Gallagher stood patiently between the sonar and combat control consoles, waiting for the three reports required before the North Carolina could launch its torpedo. It would take less than a minute, but after commencing Firing Point Procedures, the submarine’s Commanding Officer would wait for the XO to inform him the firing solution had been fed to the Weapon Control Console, the Weps to report the appropriate weapon presets had been selected and sent to the torpedo, and the Navig
ator to reply that the submarine was prepared for potential counterfire. At that point, Gallagher would give the order to launch one of the North Carolina’s two MK 48 Mod 7 torpedoes, which at this range would be a sure hit. Even if the target alerted the instant the North Carolina fired, it was too close to successfully evade, and no decoy they could eject into the water would fool their new Mod 7 torpedo.

  Gallagher looked up as the lights in Control flickered. The Electrical Operator in Maneuvering had apparently just split the electrical buses, isolating the turbine generators from the motor generators and the essential electrical loads they carried. A second later, the Engine Order Telegraph, normally controlled by the pilot, shifted to all stop. The explanation came across the 7-MC a moment later.

  “Conn, Maneuvering. Reactor scram.”

  Gallagher stared at his XO in disbelief. The reactor had been instantaneously shut down by the reactor plant’s protection circuitry, driving the control rods to the bottom of the core in less than a millisecond. In twenty years aboard nuclear-powered submarines, not once had he experienced an unexpected scram. They trained for the fault constantly—verifying watchstanders knew the appropriate actions—but Gallagher had never seen it occur outside of a training exercise. The core was no longer generating heat. And without heat, there was no steam for the submarine’s turbine generators or main engines.

  The North Carolina had just lost propulsion and was now coasting to a stop as she cut across their target’s path eight thousand yards ahead. Without propulsion and the ability to evade a counterfired torpedo, they were a sitting duck. Once their target detected the North Carolina’s torpedo launch, it would return fire down the line of bearing of the incoming torpedo, right down their throat. Without propulsion, the North Carolina would not engage its target unless it was fired upon first.

  Even worse, the North Carolina was coasting to a stop directly in front of their target. Their target would close to within a thousand yards, and the North Carolina would almost surely be detected. If the reactor wasn’t back up before then, they would be in trouble. Deep trouble.

  If the watch section in the Engine Room quickly identified and corrected the fault, they could commence an emergency reactor restart, bringing the reactor back into the power range in a matter of minutes. If not, they’d be defenseless, unable to evade an incoming torpedo. They might take out their target, but there would be no hope for the North Carolina. Everything hinged on whether they could quickly identify and correct the problem.

  The report over the 7-MC answered that essential question. “Conn, Maneuvering. Dropped control rod. No fault found. Unable to commence Fast Recovery Start-up.”

  Gallagher shook his head, his disbelief turning to frustration.

  Un-fucking-believable.

  They had been only seconds away from launching their MK 48 torpedo. Had the reactor stayed up a minute longer, their target would have been sunk. But now, without propulsion, the North Carolina could not fire. After the Officer of the Deck acknowledged Maneuvering’s report over the 7-MC, Gallagher terminated the pending torpedo launch. “Check Fire. Continue tracking Sierra five-seven.”

  He debated whether to stay in Control or head aft to assess the situation. The ship was at Battle Stations and his place was in Control, guiding them as they engaged in combat. But they could not prosecute the target until the reactor returned to power. And the North Carolina itself would soon be in peril if the fast-attack submarine was still powerless when their target passed by.

  They had to get the reactor back up. And fast.

  Gallagher decided to head aft, transferring the Conn back to the Officer of the Deck. Before departing Control, he ordered his OOD, “Inform me immediately if the target maneuvers.”

  USS KENTUCKY

  Malone pressed the headphones against his ears as DelGreco played the recording. The sonar techs were right—it was definitely a mechanical transient. He had never heard this type of sound before, but his instinct told him there was something important about it. That DelGreco had thought enough about the unusual sound to bring it to his attention meant there was potentially something there; something worth investigating.

  “Good ears, DelGreco,” Malone said as he handed the headphones back. “Tell you what. We’ll slow down to five knots and see if we hear anything else. Sound like a plan?”

  “Sure does, Captain.” DelGreco placed the headphones around his ears, returning his attention to the sonar displays.

  Malone stepped out of the sonar shack and approached Tom, sitting on the Conn. “Sonar picked up some unusual mechanical transients. Slow to ahead one-third so we can perform a better search.”

  Tom acknowledged the Captain’s order, then relayed it to the Helm. Gradually, the Kentucky slowed to five knots, reducing the flow noise of the water passing over the hull and past the towed array hydrophones.

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  As Gallagher approached the watertight door leading into the Reactor Compartment passageway, two reactor technicians assigned to the Forward Damage Control Team during Battle Stations raced past him. Grabbing the handle above the door without slowing, they launched themselves through the hatch feetfirst on their way aft to join the rest of their division. Gallagher followed them through the RC passageway and into the Engine Room, where the machinist mates were busy shutting it down, securing the steam loads on the reactor plant to keep it hot.

  Keeping the North Carolina’s reactor hot was imperative. In its simplest terms, the submarine’s reactor was just a sophisticated teakettle, generating the steam required to power the ship’s engines and electrical turbine generators. Keeping the reactor hot, conserving its stored energy, was an essential casualty response to an unexpected reactor shutdown. Unless the steam loads were quickly secured, within a few minutes the reactor would cool to the point where it could no longer generate steam, and without steam, the ship had no emergency propulsion.

  The throttles were already shut, stopping the largest heat drain on the plant, but the two electrical turbine generators were still spinning, draining heat from the core. The steam-driven generators would stay operational, providing the ship with power until electrical loads were reduced low enough for the battery to take over. Throughout the submarine, the crew rigged the ship for Reduced Electrical Power, securing pumps, motors, and electronic consoles, crippling the fast-attack submarine even more than when the main engine throttles had been shut.

  How long his submarine would remain crippled was the question. Gallagher stopped next to his Engineer, standing between two rows of cabinets containing the computerized reactor control circuitry. The indicator light for rod 2-3 glowed an ominous red, and the Engineer quickly informed Gallagher they had been unable to relatch the wayward rod. The Reactor Controls Chief and two RC Division petty officers were huddled around a time domain reflectometer, which sent light pulses down electrical cables and measured the time it took for the light to travel to the end and reflect back. Cables ran from the TDR to the Control Rod Drive Motor cabinet.

  The chief looked up. “There’s a break in the wiring between the rod control cabinet and the reactor core, at the fifty-foot point.” Laying a schematic on top of the TDR, the chief traced his finger along the diagram. “Which puts the break right here. Directly on top of the reactor core, where it connects to the rod latching mechanism.”

  The Engineer exchanged glances with Gallagher as the Reactor Controls Chief continued. “We’re going to have to enter the Reactor Compartment to fix it, if it’s repairable at all. We won’t know until we get in there. The only other option we have is to bring the reactor back up with the rod still on the bottom, but we’ll be limited to thirty percent power.”

  Gallagher contemplated the chief’s suggestion. The inherent stability of the submarine’s nuclear reactor now worked against them. If the nuclear reaction in any part of the core increased or decreased, the rest of the core immediately compensated, maintaining overall core flux at an equilibrium level. With a rod on the b
ottom and the surrounding fuel cells shut down, the unaffected fuel cells would exceed their temperature limits if the crew tried to bring the reactor up to full power.

  While the purpose of the reactor was to generate heat, it was vital the reactor be kept from getting too hot. It was protected by sophisticated automatic protection circuitry constantly monitoring the condition of the core, and also by the operating procedures the crew was trained to follow. If the guidelines were violated and the reactor operated outside its design parameters, the core could overheat. If the core overheated and the uranium melted through the fuel cells’ protective cladding and into the reactor cooling system, massive amounts of radiation would be released, overwhelming the primary and secondary radiation shields protecting the crew. And if the increasing temperature within the core wasn’t reversed by the reactor’s cooling systems, the ultimate catastrophe would occur—a complete core meltdown.

  If they brought the reactor back up with a dropped rod, they would have to limit power to ensure the core didn’t overheat. Gallagher converted the 30 percent power to speed in his head; they would barely be able to achieve ahead standard. If they had to evade a torpedo, ahead standard wouldn’t cut it. The only way they could engage their target and survive was to complete the repair and restore the reactor to full power.

  Eight minutes had already passed since the reactor scrammed, meaning their target would pass within a thousand yards in fifteen minutes. That wasn’t enough time.

  As Gallagher weighed his options, the ICSAP circuit next to him activated. He picked up the handset. The OOD was on the other end; their target had maneuvered, slowing to five knots, and it would now be thirty minutes before their target crossed their path. Just enough time, perhaps, to complete the repair.

  Gallagher turned to his Engineer. “Enter the Reactor Compartment.”