4 October 2008
Severodvinsk
Barents Sea, five nm south of the Amga Buoy Line
Petrov was in the aft auxiliary machinery compartment when the summons came over the intercom: “CAPTAIN TO CENTRAL POST.” There was an urgency in the speaker’s tone, and Petrov wondered what new disaster had befallen them. There was no sign of anything amiss in the engineering plant. Chief Engineer Lyachin had just been showing him the improvised repairs to one of the motor generators, and Petrov had praised his resourcefulness.
Heading forward from the sixth compartment, Petrov used the process of elimination to try and bound the problem. The reactor and propulsion plant were both functioning within safe limits. If not engineering, then weapons? Unlikely, since they weren’t exercising those systems. Sailors saw him coming and flattened themselves against the passageway bulkheads, or ducked into doorways. The captain was in a hurry.
Sensors? Possible, he thought. Communications? Also a possibility. Each new suggestion made him increase his pace. As he leapt through the watertight doors, Petrov clutched the red case containing his IDA-59M close to his chest. The self-contained breathing apparatus was issued to everyone on board a Russian submarine and was designed to provide fifteen minutes of breathable air. That was long enough for a person to evacuate a compartment filled with thick, choking smoke.
In the central post, Kalinin started his report as soon as Petrov came into “It’s an alert, sir-an Urgent message from Northern Fleet Headquarters. I’ve ordered the boat to communications depth. Sonar reports no contacts.”
Petrov’s anxiety quickly changed to curiosity, mixed with impatience. He thought, “I hope it’s something other than a drill this time.”
There were several levels of importance or precedence used in fleet messages. “Routine” messages were the administrative trash that he and the rest of his officers plowed through every day. “Priority” messages concerned fleet operations, and were handled quickly, if the communications commander wanted to keep his job. “Urgent” messages had to be passed instantly. If America attacked, the fleet would be warned by an Urgent alert message.
The cautious Kalinin, like any good starpom, would not usually have maneuvered the boat without permission from his captain, but this was an exception. With an alert message, there could be no delay. Minutes might count. Petrov nodded his approval of Kalinin’s actions and asked, “Is Mitrov ready?”
“Yes, comrade Captain. He’s in the communications post and will keep us appraised.”
Petrov watched the depth gauge rise. They’d been loitering near the edge of the sea ice, a hundred meters down. At that depth, Severodvinsk had to trail a long wire antenna to receive any signals at all, and they were limited to simple one-word codes — like “Alert!” That was the tradeoff with extremely-low-frequency communications. A submarine could receive messages at deeper depths, but they were incredibly short owing to the low bandwidth — little more than a “bell ringer” telling a boat to make contact. They’d received just such a message, calling them toward the surface where they could receive a more detailed message using a faster system.
“Slow to three knots.” Petrov’s order was echoed by the deck officer and the watch section engineer. It went against his grain to slow the boat, but it was necessary. As they ascended, they’d start bumping into ice floes on the surface. Severodvinsk’s sail was strengthened, but she wasn’t an icebreaker.
“Deck Officer, make your depth twenty meters.”
Once the top of her sail was close to the surface, they could receive the very-low-frequency transmission through the sail-mounted antenna assembly. Designed for use by submarines under the Arctic ice pack, where raising an antenna was not always possible, this specially designed system used four flat antennas that were flush with the top of the sail.
They’d have to come shallower than twenty meters to get a good signal, but Petrov wanted to make sure there was no one up there first, by raising a periscope and having a look around. He wasn’t too worried about exposing his position. These were Russian waters. Any aircraft overhead would have a red star on the side, and with the ice, it was unlikely there were any surface vessels.
But prudence demanded he know for certain. And then there was always the possibility of a large and virtually silent iceberg. He’d see one of these frozen monsters long before they could detect it with their collision-avoidance sonar. Mikhail Shubin, the deck officer, announced “Twenty-five meters,” and Petrov moved to the periscope. When Shubin announced, “Twenty-two meters, leveling off,” Petrov ordered “Up periscope” almost before Shubin finished his report.
Petrov held his face against the eyepiece and rode the scope up. At twenty meters, the optics barely cleared the surface. The idea was to expose as little of the scope as possible. In a calm sea, a few centimeters above the water was plenty. Waves made it harder. Today there were large swells and it was still raining.
He quickly turned the scope in a circle, first searching on the horizon and the surface of the water, then a second rotation to search above the horizon. The periscope was extended to its full height, and with most of the barrel still underwater the rocking of the boat didn’t make it easy to finish the safety search quickly. Long practice had taught him how to make a fast scan.
As Petrov ordered “Down periscope!” Kalinin checked his watch and said, “Thirty-two seconds.”
The captain reported, “No contacts. Make your depth sixteen meters.” He frowned, an artist rating his latest performance. “That was too long, I had to slow down because of the chop. There must be a gale blowing. There are good-sized waves up there, in spite of the ice.”
The periscope image was recorded on a hard drive and then displayed on a TV monitor in the central post. Kalinin and Petrov reviewed it together, looking for any contacts that might have been missed on the first quick viewing — all standard procedure.
Although a color image, it was nothing but grays, with a dark mottled sky and darker gray water that occasionally lapped over and smeared the periscope lens. This close to the edge of the ice pack, the ice floes were different shapes and sizes, dancing on the waves as they were tossed about by the wind. Under a clear sky, Petrov had seen them splashed with blues and greens. Now they were dirty, almost greasy, uneven lumps.
He’d been born in the north, and he’d served in the Northern Fleet his entire career, but that only allowed him to cope with the environment better than men from the south. No amount of acclimatization would allow a wise man to become complacent when out on the Barents Sea. It was still a cold and hostile place.
“We’re receiving the message.” Mitrov’s voice on the intercom sounded almost triumphant. Communications officers lived for such times. A few moments later, the intercom announced, “Message complete. Decoding.”
Petrov ordered Kalinin, “Get us back down to one hundred meters, but stay at three knots. I’ll be in my cabin. Join me there once we’re at depth.”
He’d barely reached his cabin before the communications commander knocked and almost broke the door down. Mitrov thrust the page at him. “Contact report, sir.”
DTG: 0735 04/10/2008
TO: PLA Severodvinsk, K-329
FROM: Operations Directorate. Northern Fleet Headquarters
Amga warning buoy 11 reports acoustic contact on 04/10/08 from 0231–0240 hours local, probable Western submarine. Location 70° 40’ 15” North Latitude, 046° 48’ 50” East Longitude. Contact moving northeasterly at slow speed. Locate, identify, and report. Trail and disrupt operations if possible. More contact information to follow as obtained.
Petrov looked at his watch as he bolted from his cabin. Mitrov scrambled out of the way. It was 0747. Fleet headquarters had just told him the location of a Western submarine as of five hours ago. He spotted Kalinin en route to his cabin. The starpom saw his captain at the same time, got out of the way, and then fell in behind Petrov.
“We’ve got one, Vasiliy! Those damn things actually work!”
“The warning buoys?”
“Yes!” replied Petrov excitedly as he shot up the ladder.
Seconds later, they both raced into the central post. Eagerly looking around for the deck officer among the watch section, Petrov spotted the red and white armband with the gold star over by the combat information and control or BIUS consoles.
“Deck Officer, make our depth one hundred fifty meters, change course to zero six zero, and increase speed to fifteen knots.” Over his shoulder, Petrov explained, “That will get us started in the right direction while we compute a proper intercept course.”
As Shubin issued the conning orders to swing Severodvinsk around, Petrov headed straight for the chart table. He threw the message at the quartermaster. “Plot this location.” With the speed of a veteran, the navigation warrant officer found and marked the spot. Petrov compared it with their current position, then ordered, “Change course to zero four five.”
He laid a ruler along their new path, studying the chart, then said, “Just our luck. We are not in the best of positions. The contact’s location is a little over five hours old. Theoretically, he could be right on top of us even if he were doing five knots. Odds are he isn’t quite so close, but we can’t make that assumption.”
Pausing briefly to weigh his options, Petrov tapped his fingers on the chart table. He measured the distance for a second time, frowned, and then tossed the dividers down onto the chart. “No, we can’t afford to make rash assumptions right now. Deck Officer, slow to ten knots.”
As he ordered the speed change, Petrov walked over to the ship’s announcing system. Flipping a switch, he picked up the microphone. “This is the Captain. Fleet headquarters has provided us with the location of a Western nuclear submarine. We are going to find this intruder and show him what the Motherland’s newest attack submarine can do. All hands stand by to assume combat alert status.”
Petrov switched off the microphone and hung it up. He paused again, and forced himself to draw a slow breath, then another. Excitement filled him; his former worries about the boat’s material state were no longer of primary concern. There were minor mechanical problems, and they were to be expected, but they could be overcome. Coming back to port with something more than just a list of needed repairs — that would make this a real shakedown!
The entire central post watch section waited expectantly in absolute silence. He’d flown in, spitting orders and energizing the boat. Petrov stood for a moment, considering his options, then walked back over to the chart table.
“At 0230 hours, a little over five hours ago, a nuclear submarine, probably an American attack boat, was here.” He stabbed at the mark on the chart. “We are going to find him and make his life hell.
“Starpom, have Mitrov construct a sonar search pattern based on our best arrival time in the area and the American’s reported movements to the northeast at slow speed — assume eight knots. And see if we can do better than ten knots without them hearing our approach. Every minute we shave off narrows our search.
“As soon as you’ve calculated our arrival time, put it in a signal buoy along with our current position. Tell fleet headquarters we are en route. We’ll send another message once we’ve obtained his hull number.” Petrov smiled grimly, and he was pleased to see every man in the central post smiling as well.
USS Seawolf
Jerry and his men finished compiling the survey data from the eighth run in good order. Seawolf was now headed for the next rendezvous site. It was time to pick up LaVerne. Jerry felt a deep sense of satisfaction that the work was going so well, but frustrated that so much still needed to be done. The extensive data collection would have to be analyzed when they returned, and then another unit would have to come back and actually place the sensors. It would have been much more satisfying to finish the job, but Seawolf couldn’t do the detailed analysis, and she wasn’t equipped to work on the seabed.
It was 0810, and he hadn’t seen his stateroom since yesterday evening. The survey work would continue around the clock, both because there was so much to do, and to minimize their time in these waters. Jerry was tired, but forced himself to properly organize their notes and survey results before stepping away from the chart table. It was only fair to the watchstanders, and he’d be glad, later, when they were handing it in for analysis. The CO had scheduled a short midpatrol break to give the crew time to rest, clean up, and conduct the necessary maintenance that had been put on hold while doing the surveys. Jerry looked forward to catching up on his department’s administrative issues, which were slowly piling up while he and his QMs put the data package together. Once LaVerne was back on board, they could all slow down a little.
Jerry yawned; one of those deep yawns that cracks a jaw joint. He had a couple of hours before they recovered LaVerne, and he planned to spend all of it horizontal.
Severodvinsk
As they closed on the unknown sub’s reported position, Petrov kept his crew busy preparing for their first encounter. They were all eager to think about something other than the sub’s mechanical problems, and there was much to be done. His men were barely used to working together, and he set up drill after drill for the sonar and fire-control teams.
Captain Third Rank Vladimir Mitrov, in charge of the sonar personnel as well as communications and radar, was tasked with computing detection ranges against different classes of Western submarines. Petrov reminded him that the advantage lay with Severodvinsk. She was not only an advanced design, she’d never been heard by the West. They were an unknown, and it would take time for them to decide who they were and how to react — time Petrov would use to his advantage.
Just to be on the safe side, Petrov also drilled the torpedo room crews. He did not expect to fire on the intruder. These were international waters, and he had no intention of starting a war.
But what were the Americans’ intentions? Petrov ran scenarios through his own mind, testing and preparing his own reactions. The first part was easy, at least in theory: Find the boat. Then, collect enough hydroacoustic information to identify its type and nation of origin. Beyond that, it really depended on what the intruder was doing.
Western boats often probed Russian waters, gathering information, even practicing mock attacks against live targets. They usually kept out of the way, given the covert nature of their mission, but they had occasionally interfered with exercises in the past, either deliberately or accidentally. Simply discovering the intruder’s presence could end his mission, since his presence was no longer secret.
It was really a test, for both sides. The West baited the Russian bear, teasing him right in front of his own den. Was the bear fast enough and strong enough to catch him or drive him off? If Russia couldn’t keep the waters in front of her home bases clear of intruders, why have a navy at all?
And this was not just a game. A few years ago, Gepard had also been Russia’s newest and best when she left Sayda Guba to find an American submarine discovered in the Kara Sea. Nobody Petrov had ever talked to had the complete story, or the same one; the only consistent fact was Gepard had been lost with all hands. She had been ordered to intercept the American sub in international waters. What happened was known only by the two submarines involved, and Gepard had taken all her knowledge to the bottom.
So what were the intruders doing there? According to the fleet operational schedule, there was nothing of interest scheduled in that area. Was it something on the seabed? NATO subs often attempted to recover Russian materiel.
Could they be investigating the Amga buoys themselves? That was an unwelcome and disturbing possibility. As soon as it occurred to him, Petrov hoped it wasn’t true. According to the briefing he’d received, the warning buoys had been laid in complete secrecy, and were totally passive in operation. Knowledge of their existence would mean security had been severely compromised.
The central post alerted him to another urgent transmission, and Petrov brought Severodvinsk near the surface again, taking as little time as possible to receive the message before racing southwest again. Mitrov hurried into the command center with the message printout.
Petrov scanned it quickly, then briefed the starpom and his tracking team. “They think it’s an American, a first-rank boat at that. It has almost no discernible narrowband components, and what little they heard was detected at close range, very close to the buoy. They were moving slowly as well, possibly less than five knots.”
“That’s not an effective search speed. Could they be loitering in the area? Waiting for something?” Kalinin was thinking out loud.
Petrov was dismissive. “Possible, but pure speculation. We can’t guess at his activities from this. The bad news is, we’re looking for a very quiet boat, of advanced design, at very low speed. The good news is, at slow speed, he’s still close to the position we were given.
“Starpom, assume that he’s making no more than five knots and adjust our search pattern to look for an extremely quiet vessel. If he’s increased speed and we miss him, we’ll need a second, wider search plan.”
Kalinin nodded, acknowledging Petrov’s instructions but busy with a calculator. “Recommend slowing to eight knots in twenty minutes, and to five knots another half an hour later. That should allow us to enter the area with a minimum probability of detection by a first-rank boat at creep speed.”
“How much margin in your calculations?” Petrov asked.
“Twenty-five percent.”
Petrov looked down at the chart, silently weighing Kalinin’s recommendation with his own assessment of the situation. A slight frown developed. After a brief moment, he turned toward his starpom, shaking his head.
“Take it out, Vasiliy. No margin. Time is our enemy. We’ll depend on surprise. I’m willing to make the assumption that he doesn’t know about the buoys, so he can’t know he’s been detected.”
Looking dubious, the starpom recalculated. “In that case, hold this speed for another half an hour, then slow to eight knots, and go to five knots forty minutes later. We will reach the edge of the search area in eighty-five minutes.”
“Agreed, and set silence mode when we slow to five knots. Pass the word that all compartments will be personally inspected by me to make sure it’s properly set.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As the watch section hurried about to carry out his orders, Petrov forced himself to walk away and let his men do their work. He had to pour some of his excitement back into the bottle. Splash it around too much and his crew would start making mistakes. But it was so hard to just stand there and wait. Surprisingly, it didn’t take very long.
“A little over thirty minutes after setting silence mode, Petrov was summoned yet again to the central post. As he entered the command center, he found the normally bustling central command post as quiet as a morgue. Shubin was hunched over one of the BIUS consoles, staring intently at the display.
“Report,” order Petrov curtly.
“Hydroacoustic contact, Captain. Bearing red zero seven three.”
A quick glance at the BIUS display told Petrov what he needed to know. “Helmsman, rudder left full. New course three four zero. Deck Officer, quietly, I repeat quietly, set readiness condition one, combat alert. And be quick about it, Mikhail Olegovich.”
“Yes, Captain.”
While Shubin brought Severodvinsk to battle stations, Petrov quickly ducked into the sonar post where Mitrov and a senior warrant officer were busily adjusting the passive sonar settings on the control consoles, desperately trying to find the contact they had heard just moments ago.
Speaking softly Petrov asked, “What do you have for me, comrades?”
“A short sequence of transients, Captain, bearing red zero seven three. Definitely mechanical in nature,” replied Mitrov.
“Show me,” demanded Petrov.
The warrant officer handed his captain a set of headphones and called up the historical display and replayed the signal. Sure enough, there was a faint series of mechanical-sounding clunks to the north. His men had done well to pick up the weak signal with all the ice noise around them.
“Captain. ” whispered Mitrov as he pointed toward his display. There on the screen, amid the interfering speckles from the ice, appeared a faint coherent trace, and then another.
As the three men watched the trace lines slowly get longer, Kalinin stuck his head into the small room. “Captain, combat alert has…” A sharp wave of Petrov’s hand cut his starpom off.
In total silence, Petrov watched as the first trace got a little stronger, showing a slight left-bearing drift. The second contact was much weaker and had no discernible bearing rate at all. Mitrov hit a few buttons and an automatic tracker locked on to each of the contacts and started sending data to the fire-control system. With a wicked grin on his face, Petrov turned toward Kalinin and said, “We have him, Vasiliy. We have him!”
USS Seawolf
ETC Hudson had expected to find his department head fast asleep. He didn’t monitor Lieutenant Mitchell’s every move, but by his reckoning, the young officer was running about half empty, and that will catch up with a body after a while. Nobody wanted a cranky lieutenant.
But Mr. Mitchell was up and half buried in paperwork. The door was open, but Hudson still rapped politely on the doorframe. Jerry looked up and smiled. “Chief, excellent, come in. Here are the draft E-6 evaluations you gave me last week. I’ve made some changes. ”
Hudson glanced at the forms, marked with a red pen, then reported. “They’re preparing to recover LaVerne, sir.”
Jerry sighed and pushed himself back from the desk. “So soon?”
“They’ve already deployed the recovery arm.”
“Thanks, Chief, I’ll be along. ”
Suddenly the BONG, BONG, BONG of the general alarm filled the passageway, and both men dashed for the control room. The captain had promised that once UUV operations started, there would be no drills. Something was very wrong.
Jerry held in his questions as he hurried over to the plotting table by the fire-control consoles. He listened as Will Hayes quickly turned the deck over to Stan Lavoie, the General Quarters OOD. “New sonar contact, Sierra three zero, is on our port quarter, bearing one six five. The computer says it’s a submerged contact, close by at slow speed, with a zero bearing rate. Tracking party’s still getting set up, so they can’t confirm.”
Then Captain Rudel showed up and Hayes had to repeat himself. He’d barely finished when Rudel asked, “And the UUV?”
Hayes shook his head. “Still approaching the basket. About five hundred yards to port. ”
Hayes’s report was cut short when the WLR-9 acoustic intercept receiver started wailing.
“Conn, sonar, Mouse Squeak transmissions in the direction of Sierra three zero. Bearing one six five.”
Rudel quickly looked at the WLR-9 display and saw that the transmission frequency and pulse type matched the collision-avoidance/mine-hunting sonar on Russian submarines. “Mr. Mitchell, get the arm back inside, and send the UUV away.”
Jerry acknowledged the order and checked the chart. There was a likely spot over deep water a few miles from here, and it was already programmed..
“Conn, sonar! Sierra three zero is increasing speed!” There was concern in the sonar supervisor’s voice. A few seconds later, the intercom announced, “Sierra three zero is cavitating! Near zero bearing rate!” The last word was almost shouted over the intercom. Jerry recognized ST1 Stapp’s voice. He wasn’t easily rattled.
“Captain, recovery arm is stowed and the outer door is shut on tube two,” reported Shimko as he took his battle-stations position by the fire-control consoles.
“Very well, XO. I want a TMA solution on Sierra three zero immediately. Engineer, get us moving.”
Both men responded with, “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s speed is thirty-plus knots. Blade rate does not match any known Russian submarine.”
Rudel and Shimko looked at each other, both confused by the sonar supervisor’s report. Rudel reached up to the intercom. “Sonar, conn. Please confirm your last.”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s acoustic signature does not match any, repeat any, known Russian submarine.”
“Who the hell are we dealing with?” asked Shimko.
“We’ll worry about that later, XO. For now, let’s concern ourselves with getting out of here.”
“Yessir!” Shimko replied enthusiastically. Then ten seconds later, “Captain, WAA range is… is seven hundred yards and closing!”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is closing rapidly. Bearing rate is slightly to the left.”
“He’s passing down our port side!” exclaimed Shimko.
“Helm, hard right rudder!” shouted Rudel.
“Captain has the conn,” announced Lavoie. While this statement would appear trivial to an outside observer, particularly given the circumstance, its importance was crucial. From this point on, until Rudel decided otherwise, he was giving the conning orders and everyone in control needed to know this.
A moment later Jerry heard the noise himself, right though the hull. It started as a soft rush, like a ventilation fan in high speed, but a few seconds later it was a solid rumble, and then a loud swishing that could be felt as well as heard.
A few more seconds and the sound was past them. Just as it started to fade Jerry felt a vibration in the deck and then the whole boat was rocked first to starboard and then to port. Jerry had been leaning against the chart table and had reflexively grabbed at it. The watch stared at each other, wide-eyed.
Severodvinsk
“Sonar officer reports closest point of approach was four hundred meters,” said Kalinin.
“That will make them think twice!” laughed Petrov. “Make turns for ten knots. Shubin, do you still see their remote vehicle?”
“Yes, sir. Bearing red zero six five, range seventy-four meters, speed about three knots. It’s still heading toward the American sub.” Shubin was tracking the American UUV with Severodvinsk’s MG-519M mine-hunting sonar. It was no good as a general search set, but its high-resolution range and bearing data made it perfect for finding small objects nearby. “Recommend slow turn to port, or it will pass into our blind spot aft.”
“Agreed. Helm, left standard rudder, reverse our course, steady one five five. Starpom, don’t lose that thing’s position. If we’ve cut its tether, it should slow down and stop now. With luck, it will sink to the bottom, and we can mark the spot. What’s the American sub doing?”
“Passive sonar’s still limited from our high-speed pass, sir, but he was just starting to turn to starboard as we went by”
The American was being slow to react. After surprising him so completely, Petrov had expected a more violent reaction.
The high-frequency active sonar display showed two objects: the larger American sub, and a much smaller blip, no larger than a torpedo. The U.S. boat had been stationary, hovering, and it was obvious they were up to something that involved a remotely operated vehicle. Planting something? Recovering something? Whatever they were doing, it was not in Russia’s interests.
The obvious move was to break the tether on their ROV. The Americans would be forced to abandon it, and Severodvinsk would guard the device until it was salvaged. The U.S. would not be able to deny the physical evidence, and the clues it provided would tell what the Americans had been up to.
“Sonar, report.” Petrov was impatient. He’d made his move and was waiting for the Americans to react. Part of his impatience was because they had no good moves to make. This was his field, his game.
Mitrov responded, but he sounded puzzled. “The American sub is moving away slowly. Last good bearing before he went into our baffles was green one four five. The remote has turned sharply and is now heading away from the U.S. sub at a higher speed.”
“Toward us?” Petrov’s question held concern. It could still be a weapon.
“No sir, it’s going northwest at about five knots.”
“Then it’s still under control,” Petrov remarked, thinking aloud. “Apparently, we missed the tether.”
By now, Severodvinsk had reversed course and was heading to the rear of the slow-moving U.S. submarine. “Position us for another pass, closer to the American. Closer this time.”
USS Seawolf
“All hands, this is the Captain.” Rudel’s voice was calm. “We are not under attack. Nothing has collided with us. A Russian attack boat just made a fast, close-aboard pass down our port side. They’re not happy about us being here. He seems upset, so we are not going to do anything to provoke him.”
Rudel put the microphone down and asked Jerry, “Is the UUV heading away from us?”
Jerry nodded. “Just finished sending the instructions, sir. LaVerne’s been ordered to loiter at point Romeo One, about ten miles from here.”
“And the quickest course away from the Russian coast?”
Jerry didn’t have to look at the chart. “Toward Romeo One, recommend three zero zero.”
“Very well. Make turns for five knots, right fifteen degrees rudder, come to course three zero zero.” That would take them through almost three-quarters of a full circle, but the quicker turn to the left would take Seawolf directly in front of their maneuvering adversary.
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero has zigged. Looks like he’s turning. His blade rate is also increasing again. Rapidly.”
“Sonar, conn, aye. Any classification yet? Who is he?”
“Hard to tell, sir.” Stapp’s voice was apologetic. “It’s a first-line attack boat given its speed, but it doesn’t match anything in the database. She’s very quiet, though. I’ve had somebody reviewing the recordings when she was on top.. ”
Then Stapp interrupted his report. “Blade rate’s still increasing, and the bearing drift’s changed from left to right. I think he’s going to make another run.”
“Helm, increase your rudder, right full. Get us some more separation to starboard.”
“Increase my rudder to right full, helm aye.”
“Should we use our HF sonar? There’s no point in staying covert,” said Lavoie.
Jerry thought that sounded like a good idea. It would be nice to have a better idea of where the Russian was.
Rudel paused before answering Lavoie, but shook his head. “No. I don’t know how he’d react to it. He might interpret it as a prelude to hostile action. Some Russians like to use HF sonars for fire-control ranging.” The captain spoke quickly, and Lavoie nodded his understanding as they watched the command displays and tried to fathom the Russian’s intention.
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is closing, zero bearing rate, signal strength all increasing. I’m starting to get separate bearings on different parts of the boat!” Jerry felt a lump of ice forming in his chest. The Russian was closer this time.
Rudel looked over toward the BCP and yelled, “Chief of the Watch, sound collision. All hands brace for impact.” As the collision alarm screeched, Jerry imagined men in spaces throughout the sub, with little idea of what was happening, being told to brace. Expecting what? A crushing blow, icy water, and a sudden death?
“Eventually we’ll have to break contact and sort out how he found us, but right now my only goal is to not make a bad situation worse.”
The Russian sub thundered by again, closer. This time the sound was stronger, more intense. Jerry could distinguish the beating of the sub’s propeller blades.
As it reached a peak, another sound, an even louder solid bang, resonated in the control room. It stopped, then came again, and again, in fast rhythmic pulses. The Russian had turned on his main active sonar and focused its energy into a tight narrow beam, pointed straight at Seawolf.
A nuclear sub’s main active sonar could send out a sound pulse that could be heard hundreds of miles away. It would kill a diver nearby. Almost in pain, Jerry tried to cover his ears, but by the time he could react, the Russian was gone, and welcome quiet returned.
Then Seawolf, all nine thousand two hundred tons, tilted to the right, pushed aside by the wake of the harassing Russian sub. Jerry was glad for the captain’s warning, but he’d lost his grip raising his hands. He almost fell, and several in control did stumble.
Shaken, Jerry saw his face mirrored in the rest of the watch, pale and wide-eyed, some picking themselves up.
Lavoie, compelled to state the obvious, said, “That was too close.”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is not, repeat not, transmitting known Shark Gill waveforms.” Shark Gill was the NATO nickname for the SKAT family of sonars on all current Russian nuclear-powered attack submarines.
Jerry watched Captain Rudel, waiting for a reaction, or new orders, but the captain was as pale as the rest. Jerry watched him scan the displays, even glancing toward the plotting table. He was a man in desperate need of information. What boat was this? What did the Russian captain want? Would his next pass be even closer?
“Skipper, who are we dealing with?” asked Shimko, clearly shaken as well.
Rudel initially looked just as confused as the others; then abruptly, his demeanor changed as an idea popped into his head.
“Navigator, check the intel traffic and see if a Russian boat has left Sayda Guba in the last few days.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” replied Jerry, still puzzled.
“You’ve got that look, sir,” quipped Shimko.
“I have a theory, XO. Nothing more.”
“Would you mind sharing this theory with the rest of us ignorant peasants?”
“I think it’s Severodvinsk, Marcus.”
Shimko took his captain’s theory and compared it to the available data. A nuclear-powered attack submarine with an unknown acoustic signature and unknown active sonar in the Northern Fleet led to but one conclusion—Severodvinsk.
“Ooh shit.”
“Yeah, that’s about it,” said Rudel. “Hopefully, Jerry will be able to confirm it once he gets done searching the message traffic.”
Lieutenant Commander Lavoie was searching as well. “Whoever he is, he’s real unhappy we’re here. Maybe he’s trying to drive us away.”
Rudel nodded, still thinking, but answering, “It’s a possibility. Maybe we aren’t moving fast enough for him. But then why block our path out?”
Lavoie continued. “If he’d wanted to hit us, he could have. He isn’t that crazy”
“I sure as hell think he’s nucking futs to get as close as he has,” remarked Shimko.
“Concur, XO. He’s crazy enough for me as well. Helm, all ahead two-thirds, steady on three zero zero.”
Severodvinsk
“What about the remote vehicle?” Petrov’s attention was almost entirely fixed on its progress. He’d let Kalinin take Severodvinsk in a right turn this time, paralleling the American’s turn on the outside.
He might have been unconsciously acknowledging the starpom’s concern. The last pass had been only two hundred meters to port of the American, at an unbelievable thirty-three knots. Even their mine-hunting sonar had been blind at that speed.
Mitrov answered, “It’s still heading northwest at a steady speed. And we’ve identified the sub’s class. It’s an American Seawolf-class.” Petrov barely acknowledged the report.
“Even if the tether’s cut, it may have an inertial guidance and its own power supply. Assuming it’s a tethered vehicle to begin with.” Kalinin’s suggestion was certainly possible. It would explain the vehicle’s behavior, but it was unsatisfying. His evidence was slipping away. “We could follow it,” the starpom suggested.
“And leave the perpetrator?” Petrov retorted. “The remote vehicle can lead us on a wild-goose chase while the American escapes. And we have no way to stop or recover the device. No,” he concluded, “we will stay with the American sub.”
Petrov studied the tactical display. The American lay ahead of him, to the north. He’d increased speed to fifteen knots and was headed northwest, away from Russian waters. Severodvinsk was in a slow right turn, swinging past south.
For one moment, he contemplated letting the American go. He had confirmed its existence, identified it, and disrupted whatever they were trying to do. He had met all his mission objectives.
Even as this thought flashed through Petrov’s mind, he rejected it. He could trail them. He could follow them out of this area, watch them recover their remote, and then leave Russian waters, virtually unscathed. They could deny ever being there, and Russia would have only the word of Severodvinsk and her crew. And they still didn’t know what the Americans’ mission was.
They needed more proof. “Increase our speed to twenty-five knots and set up an intercept. I want to pass directly in front of the American. I’m not letting him leave the area.”
As Kalinin acknowledged and turned toward the helmsman, Petrov added, “And Vasiliy — no margin.”
USS Seawolf
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s blade rate is increasing again. Possible target zig to starboard. He may be getting ready to make another pass.”
“That’s it,” Rudel announced defiantly. “I’m not betting our lives on his seamanship. Increase speed to twenty knots. XO, prepare a spread of coun-termeasures. Two ADC Mk 5s, an NAE, and a mobile decoy.” He didn’t wait for a reply. “Sonar, conn. We’re speeding up. Stand by to go active on the HF set, but try and keep tracking him passively. Regular reports.”
Sonar’s first report put the Russian at two thousand yards, off their port quarter. “Blade rate is increasing. Contact has steadied up on a new course.”
“Sonar, conn. Good job, Stapp, you’re our eyes. Keep the reports coming.” Rudel released the intercom key and looked at the control-room watch. They were silent, expectant.
“There’s no point in only maneuvering. He can follow our movements and it just increases the chance of a collision. I intend to wait until he’s committed to his run, release a mobile decoy and some countermeasures, then break hard left away at speed. We will then head southwest and break contact. Comments?”
Jerry felt some of the ice in his chest start to melt. The skipper had a plan. It was reassuring to know the captain could still think clearly with a nuclear sub buzzing them.
“Captain, Sierra three zero now bears one seven five at fourteen hundred yards. Estimated speed twenty-three knots and increasing,” reported Shimko.
Rudel watched the display. “Very well, XO. What’s the status of the decoy?”
“CSA launcher ready, where do you want the mobile decoy to go?”
“Preset base course three five zero, maximum speed. Jamming function enabled.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s bearing is unchanged! Repeat, constant bearing, decreasing range. Speed now twenty-five knots.” If a contact didn’t change his bearing and the range decreased, there was only one possible result. Jerry wondered if the Russian planned to swerve at the last minute. Or did he really intend to ram them?
“Sound collision!” Rudel ordered. Once again, the collision alarm’s scream echoed in the boat.
“Course change, sir?” Lavoie asked to ease his own nervousness, but Jerry knew what the answer would be.
“Hold this course, Mr. Lavoie. We don’t know his plans, and if we zig while he zags…”
Severodvinsk
“Captain, the American’s speed increase has slowed our overtake.” Petrov could hear the relief in Kalinin’s report. A slower closure rate would reduce the chance of a collision.
“Increase speed to ahead flank. Continue the intercept, Vasiliy.”
“Aye, sir. Adjusting for the new speed. We should pass no more than a boat length in front of him. I’ve even factored in the amount of time it will take for us to cross his intended track.” Petrov knew the starpom was nervous, maybe afraid, but he still followed Petrov’s orders exactly.
“Our speed is now twenty-seven knots.”
USS Seawolf
“Range is eight hundred yards, Captain. Speed is now twenty-seven knots, still building, slight left bearing drift,” said Shimko nervously.
“Which he would have if he was overtaking,” Rudel mused aloud. “Chief of the Watch, pass the word, all hands stand by for hard maneuvers.”
“Conn, sonar, Sierra three zero’s speed is still increasing.”
“Sonar, conn, aye.”
“XO, tell me when he’s at five hundred yards.”
“Yessir.”
That was cutting things awfully close. Jerry wondered exactly what spot on the Russian boat the hull array was measuring its bearing from. And if the skipper ordered a turn, the sub’s pivot point was amidships, with the stern swinging wide.
“Mark, five hundred yards!” shouted Shimko.
Rudel spit out the orders quickly, as if he’d rehearsed them for days. “Launch NAE and ADC Mk 5s! Helm, all back emergency, left full rudder, steady on course two eight zero. XO, launch the mobile decoy.”
Severodvinsk
Shubin’s voice overflowed with panic! “Captain, we’ve lost contact with the mine-hunting sonar!”
“Equipment failure?” Petrov cursed inside. That would be their luck.
“No sir, it’s flooded with white noise.”
“A decoy, then. Say so and save us the trouble.” Petrov’s rebuke was deserved, but he checked himself. He was letting his frustration show. His people were excited enough already. “Mitrov, go active on the main sonar. Find them!”
Petrov could feel Severodvinsk still surging through the water. His boat wasn’t waiting, but he forced himself to wait for the echoes. He needed information to act.
“Two weak contacts, one to port, bearing red one three zero, and one to starboard, bearing green one two zero. Range to both contacts seven hundred meters.”
“Ahh, he’s trying to break away.” Petrov glanced at the BIUS display.
Kalinin looked up to his commander. “Which one do we pursue, Captain? The American could be either contact.”
“He’s the one to left, Vasiliy! Toward the remote vehicle! Helmsman, rudder hard left. Steady on two three zero. We’ll make a larger circle and head him off. I will not let him leave.”
“Captain, I recommend we slow down. With all this interference we no longer have an accurate tracking solution on the American.”
“No, Starpom! I will not give up the tactical advantage. We know where he was when he deployed the decoys. Maintain speed.”
Like everyone else, Petrov held on as Severodvinsk heeled over to port. With the combination of maximum rudder and flank speed, her turning circle would be a bit wide. They hadn’t even done this during sea trials, Petrov remembered. He watched Kalinin trying to calculate the separation between the two boats, but there was no way to know.
USS Seawolf
“Conn, sonar. Contact has passed into our baffles and there is interference from our countermeasures. He went active just before entered the baffles.” Stapp’s report was matter-of-fact, and expected. Seawolf’s stern, and the blind spot for her hull arrays, was now pointed directly at the Russian, while, hopefully, he headed north, chasing the simulator. For a short time, it would move like a submarine, and mimic the noises and sonar signature of one. But if Seawolf moved too fast, it would be a dead giveaway.
“Helm, all ahead one-third. Mr. Mitchell, can you find us a shallow spot along our course?”
Jerry only had to glance at the chart. The shallow area where Jerry and Hayes had experienced some trouble was nearby. “That shallow spot is close by, bears two six five, extends for”—he paused to measure—”twelve miles. Current sounding is seventy fathoms.”
“Helm, come left to two six five, make our depth three hundred feet.” Jerry saw what the skipper was trying to do. Slow to reduce their noise and to make it harder to distinguish Seawolf from the decoy, and hug the bottom to hide from active sonar. If Seawolf could break contact for a moment, Rudel would turn that into a minute, and then ten minutes, and.
Stapp kept up a running commentary. “Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is coming out of our baffles to starboard.” As expected, Jerry thought. “He’s still at high speed — very high speed.” Jerry thought he should slow down. Even the Russian’s active sonar would have problems seeing anything, and the countermeasures and decoy would only make things more confusing.
“Captain, I’m getting a slight left-bearing drift,” said Shimko as he watched the fire-control display. That was wrong, Jerry thought. He should be drawing right if he’s chasing the simulator. Jerry tried to piece together the discordant facts. Once again, the strong pounding from the Russian’s powerful active sonar could be heard through the hull.
“Sir, I now show constant bearing. He is closing on us! I can’t get a range on the WAA-nearfield effect!” Shimko shouted.
Jerry’s mental picture flashed into clarity. The Russian hadn’t taken the bait. He was turning with Seawolf, not heading away to the north. And he was very, very close.
“Helm, hard left rudder, increase speed to. ”
Something struck the hull, a monstrous hammerblow that rolled Seawolf hard to port. Jerry struggled to maintain his balance as the deck fell away beneath him. Pencils, books, and every other object on the tables were catapulted into the air. Jerry managed to hang on, but several members of the fire-control party were thrown by the massive shock. One sailor rose and struck the overhead, and another actually flew across the control room at waist level.
Just as Seawolf’started to right herself, a series of smaller but still powerful rapid shocks pushed her even further to port and downward, accompanied by a sound that mixed splitting metal with a horrible grinding noise. Jerry felt his feet go out from under him as the deck seemed to cartwheel. It was impossible to tell up from down. The sledgehammer-like blows and intense sound went on forever, changing from a clanging anvil to a wailing screech.
The shouted reports of the control party were almost drowned out by the noise. What he heard wasn’t encouraging. Jerry was desperately trying to find his footing when he heard Rudel yell for an emergency surface. Before they could execute the order, Seawolf’s bow again pitched down sharply and Jerry lost his grip. No longer supported, he slid headfirst into one of the plotting tables and all thought ended.