The contact did not maintain course and speed to satisfy Sam Carter, which was no great surprise since its movements seemed too well planned. Combat was tracking it step by step with a direct feed-in from sonar. As often as Frank Welles noted changes in the return echo, Andy Bradick had a new course for Carter. They had been a team for too long to be fooled by simple evasive tactics. Bob Collier was able to adjust his course and speed in tandem with the recommendations of the others. As they passed astern of the contact, its propellers gave it away and a confirmed submarine was radioed back to Banker. Within a few moments the information would be encoded and sent to the Joint Chiefs of Staff, and they would interrupt Mr. Kennedy's hastily grabbed sandwich to inform him that the first Russian submarine was now being held down by units of Task Group Alpha . . . professionals in the art of sub hunting.
It was obvious to Carter that they had a diesel sub. A nuclear boat would already have raced away from the slower destroyers.
A pinwheel is an insidious scheme in the eyes of a submariner at two hundred and fifty feet. By intuition and a bit of listening, the ships above can be pinpointed, but their constant movement creates confusion. Just like a child's toy pinwheel, the ships move on the four compass points in a circular motion around their contact adjusting their position relative to each other as the sub changes its course and speed. And hovering on the outer perimeter, a couple of miles from the destroyers, were helicopters in a similar circle of their own with sonars lowered into the water below. The submarine that thought it had effected an escape from the ships would be doubly surprised to hear the familiar ping on its hull when no ship's noise was evident. And even farther off, fixed-wing aircraft were sewing lines on sonobuoys that bobbed inoffensively in the water. They relayed the movement from below to their parent aircraft, allowing cross fixes that gave the course and speed of their contact. The forces under Sam Carter's command were formidable, to say the least.
Darkness was beginning to replace the softness of dusk. “Captain,” David reported, “the gunnery officer reports that the men m the gun mounts are awfully hot and cramped . . . request permission to open the hatches on the mounts for a few minutes.”
“Permission granted. And ask damage control to wake up the supply officer. I want coffee and sandwiches for the crew before it's too dark out here . . . and have them bring some milk, too, for some of the youngsters,” he grinned.
The crew ate on station as best it could that evening, and found some relief as watertight restrictions were lifted for a few moments to receive trie food that was passed in to them. Darkness brought an increase in the force of the wind, enough so that whitecaps would have been evident if it had been light. A few times, Carter had sonar relay his request for the sub to surface and identify itself according to international law. He was not surprised by the sub's silence, nor its continuing efforts to evade his pinwheel.
Once again, Carter went to the ship's PA system. “This is the Captain speaking again; As you've no doubt heard, we are circling what we believe to be a Russian diesel submarine. Two of them were reported in the area in the last couple of days. Neither of them was able to refuel from its cow, since our carrier planes were escorting it. Our orders, which have been relayed from Washington, are to stay with the sub until it is on the surface. I do not expect anything other than a peaceful surfacing. We are not at war, and God forbid that we ever have to be. There will be no forceful acts on our part unless we are provoked. Each of us is responsible to Mr. Kennedy in his own way to ensure his orders are carried out peacefully. If it becomes necessary, we will wrap grenades in toilet paper, the same as we've done during exercises with our own subs, to make our point. I don't expect him to get away. As a matter of fact, I hope we'll be steaming alongside him tomorrow morning, though I don't think there will be time to exchange souvenirs.”
He was interrupted by David Charles. “Sub's dead in the water, sir. Wait one . . . funny noises in sonar. Mr. Welles believes he's increasing his depth. He may be trying to find a temperature layer down there.”
“David, tell the gun boss to have some grenades brought down aft. The least we can do is make it uncomfortable for him.”
A few moments later, when David reported the grenades ready, Carter ordered. “Tell them to drop the first one in thirty seconds and then two more after counting to fifteen each time, as we pass over him. And make sure Welles knows when we're dropping them. I don't need an ASW officer or sonarmen with punctured eardrums.” He turned to Collier, “Tell the other units over pritac what we're doing. I don't want to have some other CO trying to deck me in the ”O“ Club the next time.”
The noise of an underwater explosion is compounded since water tends to hold that sound, as opposed to air, which rapidly dissipates it. A grenade going off underwater may sound like a cannon shot to those nearby. Within a submarine, the explosion is magnified to the point that an untrained crew, or one with little experience, will think they have just been hit. The purpose of the toilet paper is to ensure that the sub's crew is kept as nervous as possible. The paper will gradually disintegrate as the grenade floats down until the handle releases, still taking a bit more time before detonation. A light wrapping of paper will bring an explosion at about 100 feet, while a gunner's mate with experience can wrap the grenade so that it might go down as far as 250 to 300 feet, or more. The deeper the water, the greater the pressure, the louder the bang ... all that effect for the price of a grenade! Welles estimated the sub to be at about 300 feet, and the grenade was wrapped by an expert.
It was extremely humid in the cramped submarine. The water temperature outside was cool enough so that heat wasn't the problem. But the combination of humidity caused by the always leaking water, and the increasing closeness of the air, made comfort of any kind impossible. Alex Kupinsky had no concern about his crew cracking under the strain. They were all hand-picked, as was he, and they offered no complaints. The most difficult problem for all of them was the fact that they didn't know yet what had brought about the apparent conflict with the United States, nor were they sure of the intentions of the American destroyers. The unknown was their greatest enemy.
The chief engineer had just reported that the fuel pump was acting up again, and that the air supply was good for a little more than five hours. And the bearing on the shaft was heating up again. He could not guarantee to his captain that it would last the night. If it reached a certain temperature, then they would have to shut down the shaft or risk it warping at 300 feet. Each of those problems were considered separately by Kupinsky. The fuel pump could be a problem later. He would try to keep his speed down except for a couple of rapid changes, especially if he could find a temperature gradient. The air supply was his major concern. While they could stay down for another five hours, the greatest problem was that the men's efficiency would decrease at a certain point, and then he might just as well surface. Since he was the only one aboard the boat with any knowledge of English, he understood the Americans on the underwater telephone saying they would hold him down until he had no choice but to surface. Then the grenades, which were indeed expertly wrapped, began to explode at the same depth as his boat. It was the worst of times to be facing the unknown.
“Tell Frank to request them to surface again. They've had time to think about those grenades now,” Carter nodded to David. The whitecaps had now grown into waves that were large enough to make the many course changes uncomfortable. One advantage, David knew, that a submarine had was the smooth weather underneath, but he decided he'd rather be on the surface at this point.
There was no answer to the grenades, nor to any of the repeated requests to surface. The night drew on and the men grew tired. They had been at their stations since before 1800, and it was now almost midnight. Six hours . . . any response would have raised their spirits, but it is difficult to perform consistently when there is no evidence that your efforts are having any effect.
“It's tough for them down there now,” Carter began to nobody in particul
ar. “It stinks in that sub, a lot worse than in CIC or main control. The air has been breathed by too many people too often, and it doesn't taste good at all. And I understand from submariners I've known that you get a headache after a while, a throbbing one that doesn't go away.” He knew everything he was saying would be relayed by the various talkers on the bridge to the other stations. “And can you imagine what it's like when those grenades go off? Which reminds me, David. Have them drop five more this time. Same precautions as usual.” After he was satisfied that his orders were being carried out, he continued, "I don't mind telling you ... the noise those things make when you're inside one of those boats. . . . No, sir, friends have told me when they came back to Pearl from a mission that half the stink in the boat was the shit in their skivvies." He went on and what he was saying passed through the ship, and he knew that shortly the men on the Bagley would stop worrying about themselves. They would respect their enemy's position.
The men on the other ships were just as itchy. Carter noted that the signalmen were talking more often with their lights. Once or twice, the other CO's mentioned the possibility of using stronger methods to convince the sub to surface. The captain of Bartlett had even suggested that he would be happy to roll one or two depth charges. He hastened to add that, of course, he would ensure that the depth and location would be far enough away so that there was no danger of damaging the enemy. Carter thought to himself how easy it was for the hunter to always consider a weapon larger than he needed.
Frank Welles had picked up an occasional screeching sound on his sonar, which he finally identified as submarine machinery rather than playful porpoises. The other ships heard it, too, and all agreed that their quarry was experiencing some mechanical problems. He'll try a few more tricks and then surface, Carter thought. He won't do anything rash unless he's provoked.
“Pinwheel Leader, Pinwheel Leader.” The voice was urgent over the primary frequency. “This is Backfire. Unidentified device in the water bearing two eight five my position.” It was Harriett again. “Initial identification . . . torpedo,” the voice bellowed. "Taking evasive action."
Before Carter could question sonar, the speaker over his head, the one that was used only for contact reports, answered, “We copied that transmission, Captain. It may be a noisemaker.” Carter ordered a turn toward the object.
After another fifteen seconds, Welles's voice came again, “Recommend emergency . . . negative! Forget that. . . . We've got a noisemaker definitely, repeat definite noisemaker. . . . He's just turned again, and he's picking up speed. That's his decoy.” There was a pause for a moment while Welles kept the key down on the speaker. “And what a wail in his machinery, Captain. He's got problems.” After another moment's hesitation he added, “Oh, sorry, Captain. I forgot the speaker was right over your head.” A click, then silence.
But Bartlett was not satisfied. “Pinwheel, this is Backfire. Contact precipitated action first. I am preparing for a torpedo attack. We have a firing solution based on their new course and speed after torpedo release.”
“That stupid son of a bitch!” Carter grabbed for the mike himself. “This is Pinwheel Leader. Break off all attacks. I repeat . . . break off all attacks. Device is identified as a noisemaker. Acknowledge, over.”
“Like hell it is,” Bartlett's CO came back. “We know what a goddamn torpedo sounds like. We're no sitting ducks.”
“This is Pinwheel Leader. I say again, break off attack. I am running down the bearing of the device in the water now. I will pass over it in ten seconds. It is not a torpedo . . . repeat, not a torpedo. All ships prepare to reform pinwheel. Contact has just broken through our circle.”
And at that moment, David was repeating the words as they came over his headset; “Combat reports submarine has broken toward the west. Sonar reports lost contact . . . he's in the baffles. Mr. Burchette is moving the helos into position now. Mr. Welles thinks he may have gone deeper, but says he has to be close to his maximum depth now.”
As the ships scurried back over the black, tossing water to reestablish their stations, Carter murmured, “He's smart. He knew he couldn't outrun us, so when his chances were down he used the trick he'd saved for last. Mitchum would have loved that.” He turned to David, “Ask if the helos are in position yet.”
“Captain,” asked Bob Collier, “Did you really feel that was a noisemaker when you gave that first order to the helm?”
“No, Bob, I really didn't know for sure. But put yourself in that sub's position. None of us want to start war, except maybe Bartlett. That boat down there is in serious trouble. If he was to attack, which we don't believe he's authorized to do, he knows he'd get sunk. It's likely his orders are just to keep from getting caught on our turf, and you know as well as I do that he was due to try anything to get away. He's tried every evasive maneuver he knows, but he didn't once try a noisemaker. I've been waiting all night for one, but he was smart enough to wait until we were all tired. What I really had to do was show Bartlett that we were sure it wasn't a torpedo. People will do crazy things and what I wasn't sure of is whether Bartlett might not just have fired that torpedo if we weren't in the way.”
“Helos have contact, sir,” David reported. “Combat says he's about twenty-six hundred yards off the starboard bow heading away from us at nine knots.”
“Okay, Bob, I think we'll have him in a while. Take us in there and calm down the pinwheel. It won't be long now.” Carter got down from his chair and stepped out onto the bridge wing nearby, staring into the dark waves, then up at the stars.
“David, have Mr. Welles tell the sub that we know he has an engineering casualty. Tell him we will make room for him to surface safely, that we don't intend to harm his boat in any way . . . tell him we stand ready to render any assistance he may require . . . and tell him to speak slowly and repeat it. I know someone down there has to understand English.”
There was no answer to Welles's carefully stated plea, but the elapsed time and the screeching sound that was occasionally picked up over the sonar told them that the sub's time was limited.
At 0122 on the morning of October 24 the first confirmation of human life below the surface was heard by the four ships. In barely discernible words, sometimes breaking off completely, they were told that the sub intended to come to the surface.
“Tell him we will stand away for safety,” replied Carter. “Request that he fire a flare to mark his location before surfacing, and we will then give him clearance to surface.”
The destroyers rapidly expanded their circle until there was no doubt that the boat would know there was room. A flare appeared toward the middle of their circle, flickered briefly in the wind, then rose straight up to mark the position of the sub.
“Tell him all clear,” Carter's voice rang out happily. “As soon as CIC has the first mark on him, I want an immediate course and speed. We'll adjust to where he wants to go.” As an afterthought, he added, “Make sure we have the fire-control radar locked on him. I'll want mount fifty-one to fire illumination.”
Frank Welles reported sounds of the sub surfacing at almost the same moment Combat reported radar contact. Bagley gradually moved in to take station five hundred yards on the port beam of the sub. It could not be seen clearly from the bridge. A black submarine on a dark night at sea is outlined only by the phosphorous from the waves breaking against its sail.
“Gunnery reports mount fifty-one loaded and ready for illumination.”
“Very well, David.” He turned to Collier, “Have the signalmen ask the sub if they require assistance. When they say no, have them explain in whatever international signal language there is that we're going to illuminate, that there are no shells in the guns. I don't want them pulling the plug!”
Signal lamps flashed back and forth for a moment. Then, after a brief period, flashing began again, followed by even more flashing.
“Captain, we don't seem to be able to explain about the illuminating shells.”
“Oh, for Chri
st's sake! David, ask if any of those aircraft have flares they can drop without scaring the pee out of that boat.” What a hell of a note, he thought. We've just spent seven and a half hours committing the power of the U.S. Atlantic Fleet to chasing that sub around the ocean, and we can't find a light!
“The trackers each have ten flares, sir ... forty-five seconds duration. They'll commence their own runs in one minute to try to keep everything lit up for the time being. If their timing happens to be off and the lights go out for a moment, their CO says he apologizes in advance, and it won't happen again. And he also sends his congratulations for a great job.”
“Have Jerry roger that and tell them we couldn't have done it without Navy air.” He stepped out on the wing to stare into the darkness where his prey was supposed to be. Bagley was rolling heavily on its present course, and he had to hold on to the railing. The lookout next to him was straining through his binoculars for a glimpse of the sub. “Don't think you'll see him for a few minutes, son. We've got to wait for the airdales to light him up.” He looked more closely at the sailor, who was probably no more than eighteen or nineteen years old. “How long have you been standing this watch?”
“I've been here since general quarters, Captain, except for being relieved from time to time.”
“Were you worried?,”
“No, sir. We all know that we're safe here. No one ever expected that you wouldn't get that sub, Captain.” Realizing that he had taken his glasses from his eyes, he quickly began scanning wherever the horizon might have been. “What are you going to do to him now, sir?”
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