Power Play

CHAPTER 4 USS MICHIGAN

USS Michigan was headed east across the Pacific Ocean, approaching the end of its communication broadcast window. Standing on the Conn in the submarine’s Control Room, Lieutenant Clif Bradley lifted his hands in the darkness, rotating the periscope ring above his head.

“Raising number two scope.”

As the periscope slid silently up from its well, Bradley held his hands out near his waist on each side of the scope barrel until the periscope handles hit his palms. When the scope finished its ascent, he snapped the handles down and pressed his face against the eyepiece, checking the periscope settings. With a flick of his left wrist, he tilted the scope optics skyward. But there was only darkness.

Bradley called out to the microphone in the overhead, “All stations, Conn. Proceeding to periscope depth.” Sonar, Radio, and Nav Center acknowledged, then Bradley ordered, “Dive, make your depth eight-zero feet.”

The Diving Officer directed the two watchstanders in front of him, “Stern planes, ten up. Helm, full rise fairwater planes.”

Five hundred feet behind them, the control surfaces on the submarine’s stern rotated, pushing the stern down until the ship was tilted upward at a ten-degree angle, while the control surfaces on the submarine’s sail shifted to full rise.

“Passing one-five-zero feet,” the Dive called out as Michigan rose toward the surface.

Peering into the periscope, Bradley scanned the dark water, looking for evidence of ships above, their navigation lights reflecting on the ocean’s surface. As Michigan ascended, it was silent in Control aside from the Dive’s reports. There would be no conversation until the periscope broke the surface and Bradley called out No close contacts or Emergency Deep. Submarines were vulnerable during their slow ascent to periscope depth, unable to move quickly out of the way if there was a nearby surface ship Sonar hadn’t picked up or its position was incorrectly calculated by Combat Control.

With a submerged displacement of eighteen thousand tons, Michigan was less maneuverable than the nimble fast attacks. The former ballistic missile submarine was almost two football fields long, seven stories tall, and as wide as a three-lane highway. Converted into a guided missile submarine, Michigan now carried 154 Tomahawk cruise missiles loaded in twenty-two of its twenty-four missile tubes, with the remaining two tubes converted into access hatches to two Dry Deck Shelters (DDS) attached to the submarine’s missile deck. Within one shelter rested a Swimmer Delivery Vehicle — a mini-sub capable of transporting Navy SEALs for clandestine operations — while the other shelter held two Rigid Hull Inflatable Boats for quick transport ashore. Aboard Michigan tonight, in berthing installed in the Missile Compartment during its conversion, slept two platoons of Navy SEALs, ready should their services be required.

Their services would not be necessary tonight, nor the rest of the deployment. They were heading home to Bangor, Washington, in the Pacific Northwest, following a hectic deployment through the Suez Canal into the Mediterranean and Black Sea. Tonight’s journey to periscope depth was a welcome reprieve from the tense forays over the last month as Russia invaded Ukraine and Lithuania, and Michigan battled Russian frigates and launched Tomahawk missiles against America’s adversary.

As Michigan rose toward periscope depth, Bradley couldn’t see the submarine’s Commanding Officer in the darkness, but he felt his presence. Sitting on the starboard side of the Conn monitoring his submarine’s ascent was Captain Murray Wilson, the most senior captain in the Submarine Force. Having previously commanded the fast attack submarine USS Buffalo, Michigan was his second command.

Bradley continued his circular sweeps, peering up through the black water, spotting a small wavering disk of light in the distance; the moon’s blue-white reflection on the ocean’s surface. He gradually tilted the scope optics down toward the horizon. As the Dive called out eight-zero feet, the scope broke through the water’s surface and Bradley commenced his circular sweeps, searching for nearby contacts: quiet warships or deep draft merchants bearing down on Michigan as it glided slowly at periscope depth.

After completing his search, Bradley called out the report everyone in Control was hoping for. “No close contacts!”

Conversation in Control resumed, and Radio’s report over the speakers broke the subdued conversations. “Conn, Radio. Download in progress.”

Navigation followed with the expected report, “Satellite fix received.”

Bradley acknowledged Radio and Nav Center, then after the usual two-minute wait, Radio confirmed Michigan had downloaded the latest round of naval messages. “Conn, Radio. Download complete.”

They had accomplished the two objectives for their trip to periscope depth, so Bradley ordered Michigan back to the safety of the ocean depths.

“All stations, Conn. Going deep. Helm, ahead two-thirds. Dive, make your depth two hundred feet.” Michigan tilted downward, leaving periscope depth behind. “Scope’s under,” Bradley announced, then reached up and rotated the periscope ring, lowering the scope back into its well.

The lights in Control flicked on, shifting to Rig for Gray, allowing everyone’s eyes to adjust, then shifted to White. As Michigan leveled off at two hundred feet, a radioman entered Control, message board in hand, delivering the clipboard to the submarine’s Commanding Officer. Wilson flipped through the messages, reading two in detail.

When he finished, he ordered Bradley, “Have the Nav and Commander McNeil meet me in the Battle Management Center.”

Bradley acknowledged and dispatched the Messenger of the Watch while Wilson entered the Battle Management Center behind the Control Room. The former Navigation Center had been transformed during Michigan’s conversion from ballistic to guided missile submarine. It was now crammed with twenty-five multipurpose consoles, each with two color displays, one atop the other, plus several sixty-inch plasma screens mounted on the bulkheads. The ship’s Navigator, Lieutenant Charlie Eaton, was the first to arrive, followed by Commander John McNeil, in charge of the SEAL detachment aboard Michigan.

“Change in plans,” Wilson announced, handing the message board to McNeil. “Home is going to have to wait a while longer. We’ve been diverted for a scavenger hunt.” When McNeil finished reading the message, Wilson asked, “Do you have what you need to retrieve the torpedo?”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” McNeil answered. “We have buoyancy devices for the heavier weapons. How are we going to find the torpedo, though?”

“If its end-of-run pinger is still working when we get there, it should be easy. We’ll pick it up on Sonar. If not, we won’t find it.”

Wilson turned to his Navigator. “We’ve also received our new waterspace message. They’re routing us into the Barents Sea by the most direct path.”

A perplexed expression formed on the Navigator’s face. Michigan was in the Pacific Ocean, and the most direct path to the Barents Sea was over the top of the world, under the polar ice cap. “They’re routing us under the ice?”

“Yep,” Wilson replied. “Our new track turns us north in an hour.”