The Vigilant Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  “I share your concern but I’ve been ordered to proceed.”

  Several hours earlier, the S5 hydrophone network lost track of the Novosibirsk when it reduced speed. After numerous attempts to find the submarine with acoustic sensors, Captain Zhou reported the loss of signal to the Central Military Commission headquarters in Beijing. He recommended delaying any action until the Novosibirsk’s sound print was reacquired. The CMC ignored Zhou’s suggestion. He was ordered to prosecute the attack based on the sub’s projected course. Serpent Station Six was activated.

  Dr. Meng checked the screen. A solid red line marked the Russian submarine’s route from the Luzon Strait into the South China Sea, covering a distance of almost sixty nautical miles. Beyond that point, the line changed to a dashed red line—the projected course of the Novosibirsk. Scattered across the sub’s estimated course were dozens of sonar contacts—commercial ships, fishing vessels and yachts.

  Meng pointed to the dashed line. “Look at all these surface contacts. One or more of the Viperinas might attack them instead of the target. The system has not been tested enough to exclude that possibility.”

  Captain Zhou heaved a sigh. “My hands are tied, Park. Besides, the scenario you’re worried about has been tested. None of the units ever malfunctioned like that.”

  “That’s because the tests were run with single units. We’ve never run a test with multiple Viperinas prosecuting a coordinated attack while several surface craft operated above them.”

  “You’re still worried about the unit to unit comms?”

  “Yes. I’ve never been happy with the workaround. The American code was just patched. It should have been reprogrammed specifically for our use and then thoroughly tested.”

  After reflecting on Meng’s apprehension, Zhou said, “Help me get through this current situation and then I’ll request that Fleet address this specific issue, citing your concerns. If the testing reveals a problem, I’m sure Fleet will approve complete vetting of the code.”

  “All right.”

  While Captain Zhou conferred with one of his subordinates at a nearby console, Dr. Meng stared at the giant screen, focusing on an icon marking the location of Serpent Station 6. Her career was on the line, controlled by half a dozen autonomous killers patrolling the ocean depths in search of prey.

  Chapter 50

  From the S5 command center on Hainan Island, Captain Zhou authorized the attack command. A parabolic antenna mounted on the roof of the Shendao Fleet Logistics and Support Center building transmitted the encrypted signal to an overhead PLAN satellite. The satellite relayed the command to Tsunami Warning Buoy Station Four located in the northeast quadrant of the South China Sea. The moored buoy’s microprocessor converted the radio signal to light impulses and forwarded the message via fiberoptic cable to Hydrophone Array 42. Located on the bottom two miles deep and 20 miles northeast of Stewart Seamount, the undersea station’s principal function was to listen for submarines and report its findings to S5. It also served as S5’s link to Serpent Station Six, which rested on the north slope of the seamount in 1,600 feet of water.

  Although the majority of HA-42’s equipment consisted of passive acoustic receptors, it also contained two active sonar transmitters. Responding to the S5 directive, the primary sonar unit communicated the attack code to Serpent 6 using an encrypted signal.

  Station Six’s hydrophone unit detected the acoustic broadcast and activated all six Viperinas. The weapons were released. They hunted in pairs.

  Vipers 1 and 2 swam toward the projected course of the Novosibirsk. Vipers 3 and 4 took up position five miles to the northwest. V-5 and V-6 repositioned five miles to the southeast.

  Upon reaching their assigned attack coordinates, each set of vipers deployed into tracking mode. One unit extended its full length horizontally—eighty-two feet—while its companion deployed vertically. The vipers eavesdropped, each set of eighty omnidirectional mini hydrophones searching for game.

  Ninety-three minutes after deployment, Vipers 1 and 2 detected the Novosibirsk’s propeller. The Russian submarine was seven nautical miles to the northeast, closing at twelve knots.

  V-1 and V-2 converted to attack mode and sprinted ahead.

  * * * *

  Aboard the Novosibirsk, a bulkhead speaker in the central command post blared. “Captain, sonar. Contact dead ahead, range four kilometers.”

  “Sonar, Captain. What is it?” Petrovich replied using a handheld microphone.

  “Unknown. No propeller cavitation or mechanical signals. More of a hydraulic flow tone. Possible biologic.”

  “A whale?”

  “It’s not like anything I’ve—check that. I now have sonar contacts from both the east and west of the primary. All three appear to be converging on our heading…Captain they’re accelerating. Speed thirty plus knots.”

  “Standby sonar.” Captain Petrovich turned to the officer of the watch. “Battle stations, torpedo. No drill.”

  The watch officer relayed the captain’s order ship wide.

  Novosibirsk’s commanding officer turned his attention to the weapons officer at a nearby console. Petrovich fired off a series of orders.

  A minute and a half later, first officer Yermakov raced into the central command post. He had been in his stateroom showering when the battle order was issued. “Captain, what’s happening?” His crimson scalp was damp.

  “We’re about to be attacked.” Petrovich pointed to the horizontal plot table. The track lines of the approaching sonar contacts inched toward the submarine icon that marked the Novosibirsk’s location.

  “Torpedoes?”

  “Not like anything we’ve seen before. It’s something new—the bastards!”

  “Chinese?”

  “Who else?” Petrovich turned away from Yermakov to engage the weapons officer. “Weapons, status report.”

  “Captain, tubes one through four ready in all respects.”

  “Match sonar bearings and shoot tube one, Target One.”

  “Match sonar bearings and shoot tube one, Target One, aye, sir.”

  Petrovich repeated the order for tubes two and three, directing the torpedoes toward Targets Two and Three respectively. Tube four was held in reserve.

  Petrovich fired off another series of commands to the officer of the watch.

  * * * *

  Viperinas 1 and 2 swam parallel through the abyss six meters apart, their slender bodies undulating with synchronized serpentine locomotion. Starting at the head, each viper’s linear network of mechanical-electrical muscles contracted and expanded, thrusting the body from side to side in a series of S-shaped curves. By pushing against the water at maximum output, V-1 and V-2 sprinted forward at thirty-eight knots. They communicated optically, lasers in each Viper’s head trained on a band of light receptors located half a meter behind the head of its companion.

  Although the sonar sensors in each Viper had locked onto their prey, a new contact was detected. V-2 signaled to its partner that it would engage the new target. V-1 diverted to the east.

  V-2 prepared to attack the approaching target when the torpedo detonated.

  * * * *

  “Target One destroyed, Captain,” shouted Novosibirsk’s weapons officer.

  “Status on Fish Two and Three.” Captain Petrovich stood beside the weapons officer’s console.

  “Both tracking targets. Fish Two should—shit!”

  “What?”

  “Target One, it somehow escaped the blast. It continues to close. I don’t understand . . .”

  Petrovich read the tactical situation in a flash. “Two of those things might be running in tandem, possibly the same for the other directions.”

  “Oh God, Captain! We don’t have enough torpedoes.”

  “Snapshot on Target One with tube four. Now!” ordered Petrovich.

  “On the wa
y!”

  The Novosibirsk’s last torpedo raced out of the tube.

  * * * *

  Viperina 1 was just 550 feet away when its mate, V-2, blew up. The ensuing underwater shockwave knocked out V-1’s primary sonar system, leaving only the search sonar. After V-1’s computer brain rebooted its sonar system, it reacquired the primary target, which had altered course and increase speed. The Novosibirsk sprinted eastward toward Luzon Island.

  V-1 recalculated a new intercept course. The active sonar transmitter pinged the target. V-1’s single remaining sonar receiver homed in on the sound reflections from the fleeing submarine. It ignored the litany of other underwater sounds that propagated through the deep, including the torpedo that closed from the northeast.

  Twenty-six seconds later, 300 kilograms of high-explosive inside the warhead of the wire-guided Fish 4 from the Novosibirsk detonated.

  * * * *

  “We got it, Captain!” shouted the Novosibirsk’s weapons officer. Everyone aboard heard the explosion, which occurred less than a mile away.

  “Status on Fish Two and Three,” Captain Petrovich said.

  Weps started to respond when a bulkhead speaker erupted. “Captain, sonar. Fish Two and Three just detonated.”

  Petrovich grabbed a microphone. “Are the targets destroyed?”

  “Unknown, Captain, we’re moving too fast for our sensors.”

  “Very well. Standby.”

  Captain Petrovich joined his first officer at the plot table. “Recommendations, Fredek?” Petrovich asked.

  “I think we should continue at flank for another ten minutes to make sure we outrun any survivors. We can then slow up and run a detailed sonar scan to check.”

  “I concur.”

  * * * *

  Viperina 6 continued its pursuit after V-5 intercepted the torpedo—Fish Three. Anticipating its prey’s retreat, V-6 continually calculated attack parameters. The underwater racket generated by the submarine running at thirty-five knots—forty miles per hour—provided a beacon for V-6’s sonar sensors to track the target.

  V-6 was in sonar contact with the other survivor—Viperina 3. V-3 was three miles west of V-6. V-3’s hunting partner, V-4, had tangled with Fish Two.

  The two surviving autonomous killers coordinated the hunt with sonar, utilizing algorithm’s based on observations of how a wolf pack takes down elk and caribou. V-3 tracked from the west while V-6 approached from the south.

  * * * *

  “Officer of the watch, reduce speed to twenty knots.”

  The watch officer repeated Captain Petrovich’s order and relayed the command to maneuvering.

  “Sonar, Captain. Make a complete scan.”

  “Sonar, aye.”

  * * * *

  Viperina 6’s sonar detected the reduction in the turn rate of the Novosibirsk’s propeller. V-6 slowed to reduce its sound print. Viperina 3, however, continued the pursuit.

  * * * *

  “Captain, sonar. Target bearing two four five degrees relative, range two point nine kilometers. Speed thirty-five knots.”

  Captain Petrovich fired off a series of commands to the watch officer. Within half a minute, the Novosibirsk turned southward, away from V-3, and accelerated to flank speed.

  * * * *

  Viperina 6 hovered, the trap now set. V-3 provided the diversion, driving the prey towards its hunting partner.

  * * * *

  “Captain, there might be more than just one of those things still left.”

  “I know. We’ll stay on this course for five more minutes and then proceed west.”

  Captain Petrovich and first officer Yermakov stood caucused at the plot table. Without additional torpedoes to fend off the attack, the Novosibirsk’s only hope for survival was to outrun the alien weapon. Or maybe not.

  “Perhaps we can create a diversion,” Yermakov offered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Eject a couple of mines. Maybe it will home in on one of them. We’d have to slow down to eject ’em.”

  Petrovich pounced on the plan. “Excellent idea Fredek.”

  * * * *

  Viperina 6 intercepted the Novosibirsk before the first mine could be ejected. V-6 wrapped its eighty-two-foot-long form across the top of the hull aft of the sail, straddling the missile compartment. Two dozen cruise missiles were housed inside the vertical launch tubes. Despite the submarine’s velocity, V-6’s half inch long titanium spikes gripped the steel hull with the vigor of a thousand pit bull terriers. Ten seconds after securing itself to the target, V-6’s computer issued the detonate command to the shaped charges embedded within the length of the weapon.

  All fifty-two of the individual two kilogram semtex charges ignited simultaneously, propelling hundreds of half inch diameter copper projectiles embedded within the plastic explosive into the pressure casing. Superheated slugs of molten copper sliced through the hull’s high strength steel alloy. Dozens of slugs penetrated the missile compartment, one impacting the warhead of a Kalibr anti-ship cruise missile. The 200 kilos of high explosives detonated.

  The blast triggered half a dozen other missile warheads inside the compartment. The resultant sympathetic explosions obliterated the submarine’s midsection, destroying the adjacent nuclear power plant and most of the accommodations section—the crew’s living quarters.

  The Novosibirsk descended in a death spiral.

  Chapter 51

  “Skipper, is that what I think I’m hearing?”

  Commander Tom Bowman grimaced as he responded to Colorado’s executive officer. “It’s breaking up, heading to the bottom.”

  “Dear Lord,” muttered Jenae Mauk, horrified as the din of torn metal and collapsing bulkheads broadcast over the control room’s public address system.

  The Colorado monitored the undersea combat that took place offshore of Luzon Island in the Philippines. The submarine’s network of hydrophones and sonar sensors picked up the clash, transmitted across the expanse by multiple convergence zones within a deep sound channel. Commander Bowman had directed the chief sonar tech to amplify the battle clamor so everyone in the control room could hear.

  When the Novosibirsk bolted and launched its torpedoes, the sounds of cavitating propellers lit up Colorado’s sonar consoles. It took just seconds for the sonar team to identify the boat as Russian—Yasen class.

  “What do you think happened?” asked XO Mauk. Colorado heard part of the conflict. The weak acoustic sound prints from the Viperinas were lost in the background clamor from the churning submarine and its weapons. The actual battle location, however, was unknown to Colorado. Its sensors could only estimate the general direction of the underwater skirmish—from the east.

  “I don’t know. There was no sign of another boat.”

  “It was like it was fighting a ghost.”

  Mauk’s revelation registered with Bowman. “Damn! That Russian boat might have been attacked by what Tucson tangled with.”

  Commander Mauk was about to respond when the sonar supervisor interrupted. “Captain, I’m picking up something new.”

  Petty Officer Second Class Richard “Richey” Anderson manned his console just a few steps from where Bowman and Mauk caucused.

  “What have you got?” Bowman asked, now standing beside Anderson.

  Built like a fireplug, the late twenties tech pointed at his sonar display. “Something appears to have been ejected from the hull.”

  “Escape capsule, skipper?” Mauk offered.

  “That could be it. Yasens are rumored to be equipped with escape pods that can accommodate the entire crew.” Bowman made eye contact with the sonar tech. “Richey, where’s that contact now?”

  “I don’t know, Captain. We picked up what I assume was the initial separation but that was it. If it’s heading to the surface, it’s not making enough noise
for us to hear.”

  Bowman swiped a bead of perspiration from his forehead. “Let’s hope the crew made it out.”

  “Amen to that,” Mauk said.

  * * * *

  Captain Petrovich and seventeen other survivors were crammed inside the top level of the escape capsule as it ascended through the deep. The four meter diameter by six meter high cylinder was formerly housed in the Novosibirsk’s sail, aft of the bridge.

  After the missile compartment exploded, it took just seconds for Captain Petrovich to assess the condition of his command. Powerless and with catastrophic flooding in the aft compartments, emergency blowing of the surviving ballast tanks could not overcome the inundation.

  Petrovich issued the abandon ship command over the sub’s intercom, directing all crew to the escape chamber. Most of the central post crew made it along with a handful of men who were near the sail. Shock damage to passageways and hatch doors aft of the sail doomed the few that had not already been shredded by the blast or drowned by surging seawater.

  Half a minute before Novosibirsk reached crush depth, Petrovich sealed the capsule hatch door and triggered the explosive bolts that secured the steel chamber to the hull. Ejected from the sail, the pod began its ascent.

  First officer Yermakov monitored the chamber’s control panel, calling off depth levels. “Five hundred meters…four hundred…three hundred . . .”

  Captain Petrovich smiled at the men clustered at his side. “It won’t be long now, boys, and we’ll be topside.”

  “One hundred meters,” Yermakov called out.

  Petrovich watched as the terror creased faces of his crew began to subside.

  “Fifty meters.”

  Petrovich spotted a couple of grins. “Almost there now,” he called out, his voice reassuring.

  “Twenty meters.”

  “Hang on, boys,” Captain Petrovich shouted. “When we break the surface, it might be a little rough.”

  The top section of the capsule emerged from the sea, abruptly ending its seventeen hundred foot ascent. All eighteen men cried out their joyous salvation in a chorus of laughter, thanks and prayers that lasted a minute.