by Dave Edlund
“Well, sir, we have the Saint Petersburg holding a racetrack pattern to the east of Chernabura Island. We know she dropped off two covert teams—number of men uncertain, but most likely special ops. Both teams landed on Chernabura Island earlier today. Now the second team appears to be returning to the sub.”
“Okay, I concur—and?” Captain Berry was trying to nudge his XO further.
“We don’t know, sir.”
“Tom, you’re smart. Think like the enemy. I want to know what their plan is, what their next move is before they make it.”
“We know of no assets of any value on Chernabura Island, so why the Russian sub dispatched two teams to the island is a mystery. The fact that one team is returning to the sub and the other team is not suggests that only one team has completed its mission.” Meier shifted his gaze to the electronic chart.
“The submerged target that is now traveling away from the island will rendezvous with the Saint Petersburg soon; they’ll be running low on battery power.” Meier moved closer to the electronic chart, studying the positions of the hostile vessels as well as his own. Berry was not looking at the chart; rather he was studying his XO.
“The other team on the island… they will have to depart soon. The Saint Petersburg can’t afford to loiter in our waters much longer; the risk is too great. She will stay on her current racetrack course. Sonar will be closely monitoring all sounds. If any vessel approaches, she will silently depart and return to the rendezvous location, if possible; otherwise, the teams will be sacrificed. Once the recoveries are completed, the Saint Petersburg will depart due south, I’d wager not faster than six knots to maintain stealth.”
“Not bad, Tom,” concluded Captain Berry. Had the situation not been so serious, he might have even had a smile on his face.
“There is another possibility, sir.” Another scenario had come to mind as Meier was studying the chart.
“Go on—”
“Why were two teams launched separately? Each time the Saint Petersburg opened her doors, she ran the risk of detection. And two vessels closing on Chernabura Island at different times also increased the risk of detection. If the teams were working in concert, they would have launched at the same time.”
Meier paused for a moment and looked at his Captain. “I think the two teams were working independently. And if they had both completed their missions, why aren’t they returning at the same time? The Saint Petersburg wants to retrieve the teams and get back to the deep waters of the North Pacific—out of our territorial waters—as soon as possible.”
“Interesting—” Captain Berry began to pace, rubbing his chin—a habit of his when he was deep in thought.
“What about the other team, the one still on the island?”
“It is my opinion, sir, that the other team has either failed and been compromised, or its orders were to remain put for a considerably longer time.”
“I don’t think we can make any educated guesses as to the nature of the first team’s mission.” Berry was rubbing his chin again. “Why would the second team use a submerged vehicle and the first team a surface boat?”
Meier was following and he answered, “Because the first team was greater in number, maybe a strike force. The second team was probably a two-man team, given the audio signal we tracked—it sounds a lot like a sled.”
Captain Berry was nodding now. He and his XO had succeeded in melding their minds and now they were making progress. It was like having a computer crunching an abstract problem.
The XO felt his pulse rise, his head was nodding ever so slightly while he was saying to himself, yes, yes, it is making sense. Then he asked, “Sonar, present course of the submerged target?”
“Steady at one-five-zero degrees, speed six knots.”
“Captain, snipers usually work in two-man teams.”
Berry paused in his pacing, the flash of insight resonating with him. A sniper team could have been inserted and was now being extracted.
“Continue,” was all Berry said. His mind was racing forward, manipulating and working the collection of facts and suppositions, trying to piece together a scenario that explained what was happening. Meier was on a productive path, and Berry didn’t want to interrupt it with his own ideas—not yet anyway.
“The Russians inserted a strike team early this morning. They followed it up with a sniper team. Why would they be inserted at different times? Why not simply insert them all at one time?” Meier paused for effect.
“Go on.”
“There’s only one reason; the second spec ops team was an insurance policy in case the first team failed.” Meier finished. He was proud of his deductive reasoning and allowed himself a faint smile.
“Insurance policy? Are you suggesting that the sniper team’s mission was to… what? Shoot their own men if they were captured?”
“Think about it, Captain. Why risk detection by sending in two separate teams? You would only do that if you didn’t want the first team to know about the second team.”
They were both silent now. To Tom Meier, it all made sense. To Captain Berry, it sort of hung together, but he wasn’t totally convinced. Not yet.
“Okay. For the sake of argument, let’s say I buy your theory and the second team was a hit squad to make sure no one was taken prisoner. That means our Special Forces are on Chernabura Island?”
“Yes, sir, although I still don’t have any clue as to what their mission is.”
Captain Berry’s mind was racing. Could his XO possibly be right? Was he even partly correct? The ramifications were enormous. But the most pressing question for the master of the New Mexico was to prepare for what? He was ordered to be ready to lend assistance. But assistance in what form?
He had the capability to split the Saint Petersburg in two. She would sink quickly and almost certainly all would perish in the frigid waters. It was extremely unlikely that any crew members would have time to get into survival suits. But if that is what COMSUBPAC had in mind, why not be more explicit in his orders? No, that was not an option unless the Saint Petersburg fired first.
“Go on, Tom. Maybe you’re on to something.”
“I would wager that a U.S. spec ops team is on Chernabura Island,” he repeated for emphasis. “I’d love to know what asset they’re defending, but I don’t. Since you and I don’t know the value of that chunk of rock, whatever it is, it must be extremely vital to be kept so secret. Do you agree?” Meier was on the verge of getting a little bit cocky.
“Let’s say I do.”
“So, it’s simple. The sniper team was sent in to eliminate any prisoners. Moscow wouldn’t want us interrogating their Special Forces.”
Berry nodded. “And the fact that the sniper team is exfiltrating while the strike team has not yet left the island means that the strike team failed its mission and the entire team was either terminated by our guys or the Russian sniper team took out any prisoners.”
“Maybe it just got too hot for the sniper team, and they never got a shot off?” suggested Meier.
“Maybe, but I don’t believe that possibility any more than you do.”
Captain Berry turned his attention to the chart table. “If you are right, the Russian sled should rendezvous with the Saint Petersburg around here.” He pointed to a small section of open ocean just about due east of the southern end of Chernabura Island.
The New Mexico was positioned south of Chernabura Island, roughly between the Russian submarine and the deep water of the North Pacific. Regardless of what happened, the Saint Petersburg would want to exit the shallow American territorial waters. To the south would be the most direct path to international waters, and more importantly, the deep waters where she could maneuver and evade pursuit.
The LCD chart screen, updated in real time, showed two red marks. Next to the mark representing the Saint Petersburg was the numerical label 01. The DTV was labeled 03. There was a single blue mark on the monitor to the south of the red marks indicating the relative position
of the New Mexico.
Captain Berry asked the sonar officer, “How long until the DTV reaches the submarine?”
“At present course and speed, approximately,” he looked at a digital display on the panel in front of him, “nineteen minutes.”
Berry stood facing the LCD, watching the red marks slowly approach, converging toward an imaginary point in between. He folded his arms, took a deep breath, and exhaled. Meier remained silent, looking also at the LCD, trying to see whatever his boss was seeing in the graphical display.
Maybe some coffee would help. Meier reached for his mug and took a gulp. Cold. He made a face and swallowed hard. He really wanted to spit it out but couldn’t. He placed the mug down, and a warrant officer appeared from nowhere, retrieved the empty and stale coffee mugs, and then disappeared again.
Tom Meier was proud of his deductive reasoning. He had surprised himself after being pushed by his boss into this ad hoc exercise. But once he cleared his mind of extraneous thoughts and focused on the task, he found it less daunting. By grouping the scattered, seemingly disconnected pieces of information, he was able to establish associations and fabricate missing pieces until he had a coherent theory.
The warrant officer returned and quietly placed two fresh, hot mugs of coffee on the chart table. Without taking his eyes off the LCD monitor, Captain Berry reached out and retrieved one of the mugs. He gripped it firmly and took a sip.
“Tom, how confident are you with your theory?”
“I stand by the logic, sir. It’s the only theory that explains the events, and it provides a rational motive.” He couldn’t back down now. Deep inside, he hoped he was right, or he would look like an idiot to his boss. Tom Meier figured this was a defining moment; either this event would accelerate his career or tank it.
Captain Berry took another long sip from his coffee mug. Then he spoke. “Sonar, what’s our range to the Saint Petersburg?”
“Range is 9,300 yards, sir.”
“XO, maneuver us closer. I want to be within 8,000 yards of that Russian sub… now. Speed seven knots.” Captain Berry’s return to the more formal address of his first officer signaled that the brainstorming exercise was concluded.
“Yes, sir!”
A plan was formulating in Earl Berry’s head. He could not shoot the sub, and by logical extension he figured he couldn’t shoot the sled either. But then again, what would be the point of that, even if his orders allowed him to shoot first? Whatever the mission had been, the sniper team was now off the island, and at least while they were in the water, they did not represent any immediate threat.
The New Mexico had not received any messages since their orders to remain on station and be ready to lend assistance. No one had asked for assistance, so what was he supposed to do?
Then it came to him. Captain Berry realized that his edge over the Russian sub went beyond the element of surprise. He was certain the Russians were completely unaware of the New Mexico’s presence. More importantly, the captain of the Saint Petersburg could not possibly know what rules of engagement were governing the actions of the New Mexico.
These two simple facts opened the door to a very risky and dangerous plan—but it just might work.
And if it didn’t, the New Mexico would need to defend herself using lethal force. Hopefully, if it all went to hell, the diplomats would be able to smooth over the confrontation, and World War III would be avoided.
The sonar officer reported, “Range 8,000 yards to Russian sub.”
Berry looked again at the LCD. The two red marks were getting close. “What is the distance between the DTV and sub?” he asked.
“Approximately 600 yards, sir,” replied the sonar officer.
“XO, do we still have Mk-48’s in tubes two and four?”
“Yes, sir. Tubes two and four are loaded as you ordered. The fish have been fed continuous data updates on the location of the Saint Petersburg. They are set to go active on command.”
“Flood tubes two and four. Then open the outer doors,” ordered the captain.
“Sir, the Saint Petersburg will surely hear the sounds and locate our position. She’ll know we are shadowing her.”
“Exactly the point,” replied Berry.
Understanding suddenly dawned on Meier. He relayed the order. “Flood forward tubes two and four.” There was a short pause, and then he ordered, “Open outer doors on tubes two and four.”
s
On board the Saint Petersburg, the captain had ordered her to slow to all stop, neutral buoyancy, to retrieve the divers. The divers and the DTV would re-enter the sub through the torpedo tube from which they exited at the start of their mission.
Suddenly the sonar officer jumped to life, having just heard the sounds emanating from the New Mexico. He knew well the characteristic sounds of torpedo tubes being flooded with water, the gurgle of air as it escaped the cylindrical chamber and was replaced by violently swirling water. The sound was very distinctive, and it must be originating close by. But how could that be? They were alone. No other vessels had been detected anywhere near to them.
“Sir! Torpedo tubes flooding!” His voice was loud, louder than it should be. And then he heard the sound of the outer doors opening on the torpedo tubes.
“Outer doors opening! Sir, they are preparing to fire on us!”
The captain was totally unprepared for this. He had allowed himself to believe that they had made it this far into American waters undetected. Was he about to pay the ultimate price for his arrogance? And who was preparing to fire upon him? It had to be an American submarine, but he had no time to figure it out. He was trying to assimilate the facts and formulate a plan. The mental pressure was enormous. He had been caught completely unaware and now, with the threat of torpedoes being launched at his boat and a DTV with two divers about to rendezvous, he had to come up with a plan.
“Where is the sub?” demanded the captain.
“Southwest of our present position—bearing approximately one-nine-five degrees. Distance… about 7,500 meters!”
The captain was weighing his options. Could he be certain the American sub knew of his presence? After all, the sub was still operating with passive sonar. In this mode, they could hear, but not accurately range to targets. Maybe they were simply conducting exercises. Maybe the American captain was only ordering his crew through combat drills, just as he did. Stay calm… think… can we still extract the sniper team and depart at top speed for deep water?
“What is the location of the DTV?”
“Approximately 200 meters from extraction, sir!”
While the captain was weighing his options, the sonar officer erupted from his chair, his voice very high. “Sir! The American sub has activated its sonar. They pinged us!” No one spoke for ten seconds. Then the sonar officer reported again. “A second ping! They know our location, and now they have confirmed distance and loaded a firing solution into their torpedoes!”
That was enough for the captain. He wasn’t going to let his boat be destroyed. The sniper team was expendable. Special Forces always were—they knew that.
“Full speed! Prepare counter measures! Take us as deep as you can. Heading one-four-zero degrees! All hands to battle stations! Sonar—find that American sub!”
This heading would take the Saint Petersburg southeast—close to the last known position of the American submarine but on a path to the continental shelf. Once there, the sea floor dropped precipitously.
“Not detecting her on passive sonar! Unless she goes active again, we won’t have a position update!”
The Saint Petersburg was the pride of Russia. It represented the state-of-the-art in non-nuclear submarine design. She had an advanced sound-absorbing coating on her hull, but that only helped to reduce sonar reflections at long distance. Still, the captain thought they had a decent chance of escape if he traveled at the maximum speed of 28 knots. But he had to reach deep water. If the American sub did launch torpedoes, she could use countermeasures—canisters
ejected from the submarine that made lots of noise—and hopefully her sound-absorbing coating would confuse the active sonar on the torpedoes.
The captain ordered, “New heading! One-five-five degrees, maximum speed!”
s
Captain Berry was pleased. His plan had worked. It was a bluff, of course, but the Russian captain had no way of knowing that. Meier was very much impressed, and he made a mental note to never forget this lesson. He figured it was the combination of surprises—first being very close to the Russian sub undetected and then announcing their presence by the unmistakable sounds of an impending torpedo attack. Meier smiled inwardly as he imagined the shock that must have registered in the Russian captain. He may have even soiled his pants.
With no time to think and the imminent threat of destruction, the Russians had little choice but to abandon their extraction plans and depart the area at the fastest possible speed. Their only other choice would have been to call Captain Berry’s bluff—turn and fight.
Berry had gambled that they wouldn’t choose that option. Obviously here on a covert mission and well within U.S. waters, they would not risk creating an international incident by being the first to fire upon a U.S. naval vessel. Such an outrageous act would likely lead to war. The best his country could expect would be a massive U.S. military retaliation—not good at all. In the end, the Russian captain had chosen exactly as Berry would have.
That left the sniper team and their two-man sled in the water with nowhere to go.
s
Yuri and Vasili had steered their sled exactly, following the GPS and inertial navigation system. Now, about 75 meters from the Saint Petersburg, they could just begin to make out the faint outline of the submarine. At a depth of perhaps 35 meters, she was shallow, which would make it easier for them to enter through the torpedo tubes. The submarine was stationary, and she looked huge hovering there in the dimly lit water.
Their dry suits had kept the two special operations soldiers reasonably warm, despite the fact that they were essentially motionless while being towed by the sled. Still, it would be good to be back aboard the submarine. They had learned long ago never to relax until the mission was completely over. And that meant escape—a return to international waters, undetected and safe from harm.