Scorpion in the Sea

FIFTY-SIX

The Captain sat erect in his steel chair at the head of the wardroom table. The officers watched him attentively as he re-read the message from naval headquarters. The Musaid stood behind him as always, his eyes focused on the other end of the wardroom. The Captain cleared his throat.

“The evening of Friday is confirmed,” he announced. “The day after tomorrow.”

“We will conduct a daylight attack, then?” asked the Engineer, his eyes intense.

“I think a twilight attack better describes it,” replied the Captain. “The intelligence report indicates the carrier must be in the basin by 1900 to ensure sufficient depth of water. So sometime between 1600 and 1900, probably closer to 1730, we will make the torpedo attack. But there is more.”

The officers leaned forward.

“The agents report that the three ships escorting the carrier are based in Norfolk in the state of Virginia, to the north of Mayport; our agents in Norfolk confirm the names.”

He looked up at them with a cold smile.

“This means Coral Sea will be alone.”

“An easy target, then,” observed the weapons officer. “We know the most likely approach route from the sea, we know the area which she must pass through to make the sea buoy, and we know the arrival time in the basin. We can kill her at sea,” he said with an excited grin on his face.

The weapons officer had little faith in the mines, and wanted the torpedoes to succeed. The Captain appreciated the weapons officer’s blood lust. They were all excited by the prospects of finally making the attack. But there were still risks. He held up his hand in admonition.

“What we do not know is whether any escorts will be sailed from Mayport,” he began. “And we do not know if the carrier herself will put up helicopter screens. They could make this very difficult because the water is quite shallow along the attack area. But the report analysis indicates that since she is coming home after a month in the Caribbean, the carrier’s airplanes will all be flown off and dispersed to their bases around Jacksonville that morning, and that the concentration will be on getting safely in and their people ashore.”

He permitted himself another wolfish grin.

“But, yes, this may succeed beyond our best dreams.”

“When shall we plant the mines, then,” asked the operations officer. “Tomorrow night?”

The Captain nodded.

“Yes, tomorrow night. We have reviewed the practice run, and we will allow another hour to make the approach. The field will be planted at the same time, around 0200; the weather will be what it will be. The Navigator has found two other lights which can be used for rough cross bearings in case we cannot see the river range. We did not really get to practice the firing of the mines the other night, but that is a relatively simple detail once we put the Al Akrab in position. Open the outer doors, fire three tubes, close the outer doors and run for the sea. Deputy, brief the approach plan.”

The Deputy unfurled the approach chart on the wardroom table; the other officers stood and gathered around him to look down at the chart.

“Sir: we are currently fifty miles out from the base,” he began, pointing with his finger to their current position. “We will begin a submerged approach this evening, aiming for a point here, where there is a shallow, submarine canyon. We will spend the entire day there tomorrow, and then begin a submerged approach to this point, twenty miles out from the river. Our plan is to surface at midnight, run in on the diesels for an hour and a half in the darkness while recharging, flood down and switch to electrics for the final approach at 0200. We have established that there is no radar surveillance of the base and river approaches. Once the mines are laid, we will withdraw on electrics, switch to diesels and run on the surface while recharging batteries until 0430, submerge in this area here, and then commence a slow, submerged transit to the attack corridor, which we estimate to run from here to here.”

He pointed to a long, trapezoidal shaped box drawn on the chart, beginning with its wide end some fifty miles out from the base, and narrowing down at the seaward end of the river approach channel.

“Why this shape, Deputy Commander?” asked the weapons officer.

“Because she can enter the box from many directions, and thus there is uncertainty at that end. There is no uncertainty about where she must be when she finishes transiting the box. Thus it narrows.”

The Captain put his finger about two thirds of the way down the box.

“Here would be ideal. The water depth is sufficient for a submerged approach and for some, but not much, maneuvering room. There is this gradual ridge running north-south, behind which we could loiter and be masked from sonars looking inshore. The box has begun to narrow, which means that the probability of Coral Sea being in the box has begun to rise, and thus we ought not to end up in a pursuit maneuver. That is important — we cannot pursue on the surface, and there is limited depth for any submerged maneuvering. The essence of this plan is that he must come right by us.”

“Sir. You will fire from ahead?” asked the Engineer.

“No. I will fire from the quarter, as he goes by. Remember these are steam driven torpedoes and they leave a wake.”

The mission planning in Tripoli had been specific on the torpedo type. The Russians had the best electric anti-shipping torpedoes in the world, but their older, straight running, steam driven torpedoes packed the largest warheads in the world in a torpedo that went better than fifty miles an hour. They had decided to trade off the detectability of the World War II type torpedo wakes for the lethality of those 2000 pound warheads. The Deputy stood back from the chart.

“Are there any questions?” he asked.

The officers continued to study the chart. There was not much to ask; the plan was straightforward.

“This is a simple plan, but there are many things that can go wrong,” said the Captain, leaning back in his chair. “The weather, the schedule of the carrier, passing escort vessels, an equipment casualty here in the boat, interference from merchant shipping, both in the river tomorrow night and in the operating areas the next afternoon. We cannot plan for all of these things — we must simply be alert, aware, and ready to deal with the unexpected.”

He looked around the table at his department heads, making sure he had their attention.

“I want all of you to go through your spaces in the next twenty-four hours. Prepare the boat for battle. Prepare the boat for underwater damage, for silent operations. Prepare the men to fight. Review with them damage control procedures, isolation procedures, medical first aid. We did not come out here to die for the Jamahiraya; we came out here to exact justice from the Americans, to execute a smashing success against the American Navy, and to return as heroes to our homeland. The outcome of this battle shall be as Allah wills it, but if the enemy continues his sleep, we shall do all of these things. That is all.”

The officers stood, waited for a moment to see if the Captain was going to leave, and when he did not, they filed past him. Their voices rose in excited tones as they scattered to their various compartments to make final preparations. The Captain put his head in his hands, his arms akimbo on the table. The silence in the wardroom was broken only by the sounds of fans and the air vents as the submarine loitered 300 feet beneath the surface.

“Well, Musaid, we are nearly there,” he said, lifting his face out of his hands and rubbing his eyes. “How long has it been — six weeks?”

“Nearly that, Effendi,” rumbled the Musaid, who remained standing behind the Captain’s chair.

“I think we actually have a good chance to do this outrageous thing,” said the Captain. “The Americans are truly asleep. What we must watch for now is the chance thing, the unexpected thing, the hissing thing that emerges from a sand dune and strikes your foot while your eyes are fastened upon the horizon. We have had an abundance of good fortune so far; I fear for the day of battle that we may run out of it. Make your way through the boat for the next night and day. Sharpen the men’s edge, build their confidence. There are still those who think this is a suicide mission; make sure they understand that I do not feel that way and that I will make every effort to get all of us home.”

“As you command, Effendi.”