Blackmail

2 USS MISSISSIPPI

Twenty miles from the Roosevelt strike group, USS Mississippi was already headed east at ahead full. Moments earlier, they had detected missile launch transients bearing zero-eight-two, and were proceeding to investigate. The submarine’s Commanding Officer, Commander Brad Waller, was seated in the Captain’s chair in front of the navigation table, assessing the tactical situation while his crew manned Battle Stations. The launch transient was faint, which meant it was distant, but exactly how far was unknown. The only datum they had was the bearing. They needed more information, which meant they would proceed to periscope depth when Battle Stations were manned.

The submarine’s Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant George Skeens, sat at the tactical workstation near the front of the Control Room, shifting his attention between the left monitor, selected to the narrowband sonar display, and the right screen, showing the geographic display. The Navy’s Common Operational Picture reported the positions of the Roosevelt strike group to the west, although their locations were several hours old. There were no contacts to the east, in the direction of the launch transient. But there was definitely something there. Perhaps a contact would appear when their Common Operational Picture was updated during their next trip to periscope depth.

Seated in front of Lieutenant Skeens, the Co-Pilot reported, “Officer of the Deck, Battle Stations are manned.”

Skeens acknowledged and passed the report to Commander Waller, who announced, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn. Lieutenant Skeens retains the Deck,” which meant Waller would manage the tactical situation and control the submarine’s movements, while Lieutenant Skeens would monitor the navigation picture and handle routine ship evolutions.

“Pilot. Ahead two-thirds,” Waller ordered. “Make your depth two hundred feet. All stations, make preparations to proceed to periscope depth.”

Mississippi tilted upward, leveling off at two hundred feet while the sonar technicians scoured the surrounding water for surfaced and submerged contacts. Skeens was cycling through the various sonar displays on the left screen of his workstation when the Sonar Supervisor, standing only a few feet away behind the Broadband Operator, spoke into his headset.

“Conn, Sonar. Receiving a bell-ringer.”

Waller acknowledged the report. The small explosive charges dropped into the water nearby directed Mississippi to establish communications with the Roosevelt carrier strike group. Since they were already preparing for a trip to periscope depth, there was nothing else to do.

After giving the sonar technicians a few minutes to complete their search, Waller ordered, “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”

“Conn, Sonar,” the Sonar Supervisor replied. “Hold no contacts.”

“Pilot, come to course one-eight-zero.” Waller ordered a turn in case there were contacts hidden in the submarine’s baffles behind them.

The Pilot tapped the ordered course on the Ship Control Station display, and Mississippi’s computer adjusted the rudder to the optimal angle, turning the submarine to starboard. After steadying on the new course and waiting a few minutes for the towed array to stabilize, Waller ordered, “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”

The Sonar Supervisor again reported no contacts, which wasn’t surprising this far off China’s coast and far from the shipping lanes. However, it also meant they hadn’t closed the gap on their adversary.

Waller ordered, “Co-Pilot, raise Number Two Photonics Mast. Pilot, ahead one-third. Make your depth six-two feet.”

Mississippi tilted upward, beginning its ascent.

The fast attack submarine leveled off with the top of its sail four feet below the ocean surface, and the receiver mounted atop the photonics mast downloaded the latest round of naval messages and tactical updates. Waller watched the geographic display on the Officer of the Deck’s workstation update with the current positions of the Roosevelt strike group, accompanied by a white, scalloped symbol ten miles east of Mississippi. The launch datum.

As Waller studied the geographic display, the Quartermaster reported a GPS navigation fix had been received, then Radio followed.

“Conn, Radio. In receipt of a flash message.”

Waller replied, “Radio, Conn. Bring the message to Control.”

A radioman arrived a moment later, message clipboard in hand. Waller read the directive. A missile salvo had been fired at USS Roosevelt, with two missiles making it through, damaging the aircraft carrier and terminating flight operations. Mississippi had been directed to track down and sink whatever launched the missiles. They were Weapons Free.

Waller handed the clipboard back to the radioman, then ordered, “Pilot, make your depth four hundred feet, increase speed to ahead full.” Turning to the Quartermaster, he said, “Report bearing to launch datum.”

“Bearing zero-nine-three,” the Quartermaster announced.

“Pilot, come to course zero-nine-three.”

The Pilot entered the new course, and Mississippi turned back to the east, surging toward the launch datum.

Thirty minutes later, with Mississippi closing on the point, Commander Waller ordered Mississippi to slow to ahead two-thirds, reducing the flow of turbulent water across the bow, flank, and towed array hydrophones, extending the range of the submarine’s acoustic sensors. It had been an hour since they detected the launch transient, and whatever created it surely hadn’t loitered in the area. Assuming a transit speed of twenty knots, the evading submarine would be twenty nautical miles away by now, beyond the range of Mississippi’s sensors, assuming it was a quiet fourth-generation submarine.

Waller waited for the report nonetheless, which the Sonar Supervisor delivered moments later. “Conn, Sonar. Hold no contacts.”

It was a guessing game now, attempting to determine which direction the target had headed. Mississippi was near the eastern edge of its operating area and would have to request additional water if Waller decided to head east. The Reagan strike group was to the south, which meant it was unlikely the target had headed that way. The north seemed most probable, skirting around the top of the Roosevelt strike group, headed home to China.

Assuming, of course, the submarine was Chinese. Waller was sure the Office of Naval Intelligence was already working on it, evaluating the flight parameters of the missiles, as well as having Roosevelt’s crew scavenge the carrier for missile pieces. Hopefully, enough would be gleaned to determine the perpetrator, which would lead to the next question. Why?

Someone else would answer that question. Waller had been tasked with sinking their adversary. But he had to find it first.

“Pilot, come to course north. Ahead full.”

Mississippi swung to port, increasing speed.