Blackmail

90 USS MICHIGAN

“Bearing, mark!”

Captain Wilson pressed the red button on the periscope handle, sending the bearing to combat control, then flipped the handles up as he stepped back. “Angle on the bow, port twenty.”

The Periscope Assistant reached up and rotated the locking ring, lowering the scope into its well. The entire periscope observation, from the time the scope broke the water’s surface until it slipped beneath, took ten seconds.

Shortly after exiting the Bosphorus, Wilson had spotted four Russian frigates patrolling the entrance to the Black Sea. With each combatant armed with periscope detection radars, Wilson couldn’t afford to leave the periscope up longer than a few seconds.

Wilson examined the nearest combat control console, which displayed a picture of the contact when he pressed the pickle—the red button. Using the two trackballs on his console, the fire control technician drew a box around the frigate, framing the waterline and top of the ship’s superstructure, along with its stern and bow. Wilson had identified the frigate as a Burevestnik M, referred to as Krivak II by NATO forces.

“Matches,” the petty officer reported. Wilson’s angle on the bow matched the contact’s calculated course, which put the frigate headed toward them, offset twenty degrees to port.

Wilson paused to assess the tactical situation. The nearest contact, Master one, was approaching at ten knots and would get dangerously close. Michigan couldn’t move out of the way, with the submarine’s speed limited to five knots to prevent a white wake behind the periscope while it was raised. However, Wilson didn’t need to move out of the way. Michigan was Weapons Free.

Taking out the incoming frigate wouldn’t be a problem. Steady on course and speed, he could have hit it with a straight-running World War II torpedo. The problem was, a torpedo exploding beneath its hull would inform the other three frigates of Michigan’s presence, and instead of patrolling the Black Sea in semi-boredom, the crews would go to General Quarters. As long as the frigates didn’t realize Michigan was nearby, the advantage weighed heavily in Wilson’s favor, an advantage he didn’t want to give up.

“Attention in Control,” he announced. “I intend to engage all four frigates simultaneously. I’ll do a round of observations on the other three contacts, then proceed to Firing Point Procedures. Carry on.”

Taking his position behind the attack periscope again, he ordered, “Prepare for observations, Master two, three, and four.”

Lieutenant Commander Beasley assigned each of the three operators on the combat control consoles to a different contact, and each man called out, “Ready.”

“Raise Number One scope,” Wilson ordered.

The Periscope Assistant twisted the periscope locking ring above them, porting hydraulic fluid beneath the scope barrel, and the periscope slid silently upward.

Wilson snapped the handles down and pressed his face against the eyepiece as the periscope rose from its well. After lining up on Master two, he pressed the pickle and announced, “Master two. Bearing, mark,” then shifted to Master three.

The next two observations were completed quickly, and Wilson flipped the handles up as the Periscope Assistant lowered the scope. The round of observations took thirty seconds. Not optimal with a frigate so close, but he needed the data.

The watchstanders manning the combat control consoles used the picture of each contact to calculate its course and range. Wilson called out the target angles from memory and each man reported, “Matches.”

Beasley hovered behind the three men on the combat control consoles, examining the three solutions. After verifying they were in agreement with the periscope observations, he tapped each man on the shoulder.

“Promote to master solution.”

The three men complied and Beasley announced, “I have a firing solution.”

Wilson called out, “Firing Point Procedures, Master one through four, tubes One through Four, normal surface presets, all weapons.”

Michigan’s crew went through their weapon release checklists and the required reports soon followed.

“Solutions ready,” Beasley announced.

“Weapons ready,” the Weapons Officer reported.

“Ship ready.” The Navigator completed the required reports.

Wilson examined the geographic display, updated with the four target solutions. Two of the frigates were ahead of Michigan—one near and one distant, with the other two frigates behind — also one close and one distant. Per protocol, Wilson would shoot the farthest target first, then time the release of his following weapons so all four torpedoes reached their targets simultaneously.

By cycling through the torpedo solutions on the Weapon Control Console, the submarine’s Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Mike Lawson, could have calculated the precise interval between shots. But that would take time, during which the nearest frigate would get dangerously close or a ship could maneuver, invalidating its target solution. Wilson would have to guestimate instead.

Wilson announced, “Tube four, first fired. Match Sonar bearings and shoot.”

The latest bearing to Master four was sent to Weapon Control, and Wilson heard the characteristic whir of the torpedo ejection pump as it pressurized and ported a slug of water behind the torpedo, ejecting it from its tube.

Sonar monitored the outgoing weapon, verifying it transitioned from solid to liquid fuel and turned onto an intercept course with Master four. The sonar technicians had their hands full monitoring their outgoing torpedo, because three more followed, with Wilson adjusting the interval between each shot as required.

After the Weapons Officer fired the last torpedo, Wilson moved behind the Weapon Control Console, monitoring the four outgoing weapons, speeding out on intercept courses with the four frigates. He’d done a decent job with the firing interval; it looked like the four torpedoes would go active at about the same time. The variable, however, was how good the target solutions were. A course, speed, or range error, even by a little on the distant frigates, could mean the difference between a hit and a miss.

As the four torpedoes approached their sonar enable points, Wilson returned to the Conn, stopping behind the attack periscope again.

“Prepare for observation.”

The Periscope Assistant reached up, waiting for the Captain’s order.

“Raise Number One scope.”

The attack periscope broke the surface of the water as the Weapons Officer announced, “Tube One, enabled.”

Reports for the other three torpedoes followed, reporting they had turned the sonars in their noses on, and Wilson watched for a reaction from the frigates.

Three of the four frigates seemed oblivious to the rapidly closing danger, but one maneuvered sharply away about thirty seconds after the torpedoes went active.

“Detect, tube One!” Lieutenant Lawson announced, followed shortly by, “Acquired, tube One!”

The torpedo from tube Three also detected and acquired, with both torpedoes increasing speed and adjusting course to intercept their targets. The Weapons Officer followed up, “Homing, tubes One and Three.”

The torpedo from tube One closed the remaining distance, and as it passed under the frigate’s keel, seven hundred pounds of explosive detonated. The shock wave from the expanding bubble ripped through the frigate’s keel, and the upward water jet produced when the bubble collapsed tore through additional compartments, severing the ship in half.

The other two frigates reacted instantly, altering course and increasing speed, but not before a second torpedo detonated, producing a similar result. The halves of two Krivak II frigates bobbed in the water, drifting slowly apart as they filled with water.

Wilson focused on the two surviving ships, trying to calculate steers for the torpedoes chasing them. However, both frigates changed course at random intervals and in unpredictable directions. Wilson gave it a shot.

“Insert steers, tube Two, left one-eighty. Tube Four, right one-twenty.”

Lieutenant Lawson acknowledged and passed the order to the fire control technician manning the console, who entered the steers. The torpedoes accepted the new commands and veered onto the new gyro courses, while Wilson ordered his submarine reloaded.

“Reload Tubes One and Three, and make ready in all respects.”

Down in the Torpedo Room, the Torpedo Reload Party cut the flex hoses, letting the guidance wires snake out of both tubes, then shut the muzzle doors, drained the tubes, and opened the breech doors for reloading. Meanwhile, the two torpedoes chasing the evading frigates ran to fuel exhaustion and shut down. The two frigates immediately turned toward Michigan. The submarine’s four torpedoes, traveling close to the surface at high speed, had left a green trail in the water, easily followed back toward its source.

Wilson called to his Weapons Officer, “How long until tubes One and Three are ready?”

Lawson queried the Torpedo Room on his sound-powered phone headset, then reported, “Five minutes.”

Peering through the periscope at the frigates racing toward Michigan, Wilson realized he didn’t have five minutes. He stepped back and ordered the periscope lowered.

“Helm, ahead full, hard left rudder. Dive, make your depth six hundred feet.”

Michigan’s main engines came alive and the submarine picked up speed as it turned away from the incoming frigates and angled toward the bottom of the Black Sea. The frigates’ sonar systems went active, sending powerful pings echoing through Michigan’s hull, and the rhythmic churn from their screws grew louder as the frigates approached.

The first frigate passed overhead as Michigan leveled off at six hundred feet, and the Sonar Supervisor’s report came across the speaker. “Receiving multiple splashes on spherical array broadband. Bearings unknown.”

Wilson knew why Sonar couldn’t determine the bearings — the splashes were directly overhead. “Brace for shock!” he ordered as he grabbed on to the nearest railing.

Wilson had identified both frigates as Admiral Grigorovich class, each outfitted with an RBU-600 rocket launcher capable of firing salvos of up to twelve depth charges, automatically reloading from a magazine carrying ninety-six projectiles. Thankfully, Russian depth charges had only fifty pounds of explosives, give or take a few pounds depending on the projectile type. However, even fifty pounds, detonated close enough to the hull, could breach it. Seconds later, Michigan jolted as the first depth charge exploded.

The equipment consoles shook as a deafening roar swept through the Control Room. Before Wilson could request a damage report from the Chief of the Watch, several more charges detonated, shaking the submarine each time. The explosions continued, growing more severe. After the twelfth detonation, it grew silent. But not for long as the second frigate sped overhead.

Sonar reported, “Receiving splashes on broadband,” and Wilson gripped the Conn handrail firmly again.

This round of explosions was more violent, knocking unsecured items to the deck. Wilson requested a damage report, and the status of each compartment flowed in to the Chief of the Watch, who relayed the results from all spaces.

No damage.

However, the last pass of depth charges was too close for comfort, and as approaching twin screws and sonar pings announced the return of the first frigate, Wilson turned to the Quartermaster.

“Take a sounding.”

The Quartermaster complied, activating the submarine’s fathometer for one cycle. “Sixty fathoms beneath the keel.”

Wilson acknowledged, then ordered the submarine deeper. “Dive, make your depth eight hundred feet.”

The Dive complied, ordering a ten-degree down bubble and full dive on the fairwater planes, and Michigan tilted downward. As Michigan leveled off at eight hundred feet, the first frigate launched another salvo of depth charges, and their explosions were notably fainter than the first pass, with only minor tremors felt through the hull.

As the first frigate headed away and the second approached, announced by the increasing power of its sonar pulses, Wilson wondered if the frigate held Michigan on its active sonar, determining its depth. Splashes followed and Wilson’s crew waited with upturned faces, as if they could see the depth charges sinking toward them.

The next round of depth charges began to detonate. Lighting fixtures shattered and Wilson struggled to maintain his feet as he held on to the Conn railing. Water started spraying from the port periscope barrel seal in the overhead and Wilson looked up to examine it, shielding his face from the spray. In the midst of the last few explosions, the submarine’s flooding alarm sounded, followed by a report over the 4-MC emergency circuit.

“Flooding in the Engine Room!”