Seawolf Class

17

The war began in earnest at approximately 1730 hours, Tuesday, May 20, and it began in the office of Li Guofeng.

Admiral Li was a survivor, one of the old guard of the PLA who'd somehow retained position and rank through the swirl of purges, reorganizations, and administrative house cleanings that had been the norm for any long-term military career within the People's Republic. He still favored plain olive-drab working uniforms without the gold braid and finery of rank, a holdover from the days of Mao when rank, theoretically, at least, was considered counterrevolutionary and bourgeois.

The man who'd just entered his office held similar taste and similar tenure. General Zhang Yun Hai was the commander of the Fujian District ground forces and, as such, was one of the most powerful men in the PLA. Since Fujian was opposite the Strait of Formosa from the old enemy, Taiwan, the local militias and PLA forces received the best of men, equipment, and military appropriations, second only to the Beijing District itself. It had long been established that the final reunification of China would begin from Fujian, with local forces invading Taiwan. Too, if the rebels in Taipei were ever foolish enough to attempt an invasion of the mainland itself, the blow would surely fall there.

Technically, the two men were at the same level of rank, but Zhang was nominally Li's superior by virtue of a year's seniority. Li was in overall command of PLA fleet assets in Fujian and here in Guangdong and was charged with the defense of the PRC coast from Hainan to Fuzhou. They shared command with a third man, General Lung Ziyi, who was in charge of the Fujian District's PLA air units, but Lung was in Beijing now, and Zhang was in control of the local air force.

Neither of them trusted Lung, a newcomer and a decided sycophant with the political cadres in the capital.

They sat in Li's office, drinking green tea and studying the map spread out on the desk between them. Several aides were with them, marking the locations of enemy and neutral vessels and aircraft in the area.

"But can we get the Americans to break off the negotiations?" Li was saying. "World opinion will stand against us if we attack while in the midst of negotiations."

"Beijing should not have allowed the negotiations in the first place," Zhang said. "It is diverting us from our true will, our true course of action."

"They vacillate, unsure which way the winds are blowing. We need to help things along."

"Agreed. But—"

He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come!" Li said.

An orderly on the admiral's staff stepped inside and saluted. "Comrade General! Colonel Wong to see you, sir. He says it is most urgent."

Li exchanged glances with Zhang. "Send him in."

Colonel Wong Hui Ling was on the HQ staff for the Fujian Military District and as such reported directly to General Zhang. However, during Zhang's visit to Guangzhou, he'd stationed himself in the Fleet Communications Center, where he was monitoring the situation along the coast. A small, thin, acid-faced man, he was known to be extremely ambitious… and therefore dangerous politically. The trick was to keep him so busy with important and heavily detailed work that he didn't have time to play politics.

"Comrade Admiral," Wong said, saluting. "Comrade General, an important radio message just came in. It's from Tong'an."

"Ah!" Zhang said. "They have taken the bait?"

"So it would seem, sir. Elements of the Xiamen Guard and local militia have engaged a strong force in the hills above Tong'an. We believe them to be Taiwanese commandos."

"The reinforcements have been moved into place?"

"Yes, sir. As ordered. We have them trapped."

"It would seem, Comrade General," Li said slowly, "that this gives us the opportunity we have been looking for."

"Indeed. With enemy commandos on our shore, at the same time as we are engaged in peace negotiations with the West, it will be us with whom world opinion stands."

Li swept his hand across the chart on the desk. "We have a number of possible naval targets here. The American carrier elements are still too far at sea for an effective strike, but some of their frigates are already within the strait."

"Is it wise to attack the Americans as well as the Taipei rebels?" Zhang wondered. "If we restrict our strikes to Taiwanese forces, we can more effectively maintain our contention that this is strictly an effort to reunify China."

"We have discussed this, General," Li said, "many times. The Americans came to Taiwan's defense when we began lobbing missiles at Taipei. They deployed a number of fleet elements, including their new Seawolf-class submarine to the strait. We need to demonstrate, without equivocation, that we control the Strait of Formosa. Not Taipei. And not the Americans." Reaching out again, he pointed at a blue symbol drawn on the map, seventy kilometers off the coast near Xiamen— and the rebel stronghold on Kinmen Island. "This ship.

What is it?"

"Sir," an aide said, leaning forward to study the symbol, then checking the notebook in his hand. "That is an American vessel…a Perry-class frigate, the Jarrett. FFG 33. We believe she is performing an antisubmarine sweep ahead of the arrival of the American carriers."

"That ship might also be operating in support of the commando forces ashore," Zhang added. "Providing technical or communications support."

"That, at least, would be a viable claim," Li said. "Comrade General? I suggest that this is your next target."

Zhang considered for a moment, then nodded. "I agree." His eyes strayed south along the coast, to Hong Kong, where another blue symbol had been drawn. "And what of the American submarine Seawolf?"

" Changcheng is already tracking her, in concert with one of our diesel boats. I dispatched her down the Pearl River this afternoon, and she should be in the Hong Kong operations area by now. Her orders are to keep the Seawolf under observation, to follow her if she leaves port… and to be ready to sink her at our command."

Zhang nodded. "Good. This entire operation depends on your submarines, Admiral. The Changcheng, especially… but the diesel boats as well, operating in support. We will need to free the Changcheng from her escort duties in order to use her against the American Seventh Fleet."

"I agree."

"But the American should be sunk in international waters. Not in Victoria Harbor."

"Yes. As of our latest reports, the Seawolf is still at Hong Kong. We expect her to leave momentarily, however. There was an… incident in Kowloon last night, with some of the Seawolf's crew. The American sailors were under arrest. MMI hoped to interrogate them. Unfortunately, the local authorities freed them before MMI personnel could get there. We expect, however, that this will goad the Americans into putting to sea once more. They will not wish to be trapped inside that harbor or its approaches."

"Hmm. Which would be better, then? To sink her at the dock, and screw gwailo opinion? Or retain the semblance of legality, and sink her in international waters?"

"Best, General, would be in the harbor approaches.

The water is shallow, the channel too narrow to allow for maneuvering. She would be an easy target."

"But that would still make us look bad in the world's eyes, Comrade Admiral."

Li shrugged. "General, if war has already broken out — and the sinking of the USS Jarrett will be nothing less than a final and complete declaration of war — what matters it where we sink the Seawolf. If anything, sinking her in one of the Hong Kong approach channels makes recovery work simpler. Imagine what technological and military secrets must be stored aboard her!"

Zhang nodded, thinking about this for another moment. "Very well. Timing is critical, and I do not want to attack the Seawolf while she is tied to the dock. Perhaps we could intern her instead?"

"If they are still at the pier, of course." That would be infinitely preferable. The secrets to be won…

"If not—"

Another knock sounded. "Come!" Li said impatiently.

"Comrade Admiral!" the orderly said, handing Li a message flimsy. "This radio traffic just came in from Hong Kong."

Li read the paper, then smiled. "Our decision has been made, General. The Seawolf left her pier a few minutes ago."

"So, she is still in Chinese waters?"

"Yes. Moving into the east approaches to Hong

Kong."

"Then I suggest we commence the next phase of the operation at once." He looked at Wong. "Colonel. You will give the order to our detachment at Tong'an. Target the American frigate."

"Yes, sir!"

"If I may suggest, as well, General," Li said, "one of the new diesel boats is positioned here, not far from Kinmen. It could serve as backup in the attack."

"An overwhelming attack, from sky and sea." Zhang clasped his hands behind his back, staring down at arcane symbols scrawled on the map. "And so it begins."

"And so it continues, Comrade General. We merely complete what was begun when we swept Chiang from the mainland, fifty-four years ago."

"Patience is an extremely rewarding virtue, Admiral," Zhang said, "if a difficult one to observe. Fifty-four years… "

"The Middle Kingdom has traditionally followed the long, sure path, Comrade General, even if the journey takes a century."

"I wonder where it will lead us?" Zhang asked. "I wonder…. "

"Skipper! Look!"

Morton raised the binoculars to his eyes, looking down into the clearing. The SEALs had made a quick passage across the hills above Tong'an, closing on the sporadic sound of gunfire up ahead. They'd reached a spot overlooking a crossroads in a woods-shrouded meadow and had gone to ground when they saw several PLA troops moving along one of the dusty roads.

With a rumble of heavy engines, two massive vehicles lumbered out from beneath heavy canopies of camouflage netting and woven tree branches. They appeared to be Chinese variants of old Soviet Zil-135 eight-wheeled trucks, carrying forty-foot, two-stage rockets on their beds. Troops were bustling around them, obviously getting them ready to fire. An armored personnel carrier squatted at the edge of the forest, standing guard.

Morton glanced at his watch. It still wasn't time to hear back from SOCOM, even if they still had the sat-com antenna set up. Sixteen SEALs armed with assault rifles — they wouldn't have a chance against those troops down there. They had no antiarmor weapons save for plastic explosives and their laser designator, but you had to get right up to the target to use the plastique, and the laser required someone on hand to deliver the guided force package, an aircraft or a ship capable of firing Copperhead rounds.

Besides, SEALs weren't intended to take part in heavy, stand-up slugfests with an alert and well-armed enemy. It would be suicide to try.

The SEALs could do nothing but watch, helpless, as the PLA soldiers suddenly scattered into the surrounding woods, the missiles elevated slightly, and then with a shrill whoosh one of the weapons hissed off its launch rail on a contrail that filled the meadow with a billowing white fog.

Seconds later the second missile fired, following the first on streaking contrails low across the hills and forest toward the southwest.

Were they opening fire again on Taiwan? Or was this something different?

Morton knew he had to get some answers from HQ, and fast, because until he did, he was fighting blindfold and with hands tied. And he had to find Tse and his commandos.

If he had just been dropped into the middle of World War III, he wanted the hell to know about it.

The wind was picking up, with the promise of a rain squall sweeping in from the northeast. The USS Jarrett plowed ahead through increasingly heavy swells, heading south just outside the twenty-mile international boundary.

The first warning of any threat came from her radar watch as one blip, then a second, appeared on her screens, angling in from the northwest. There was a critical moment's delay as the radar operator attempted to verify the sighting. No one wanted a repeat of the deadly accident that had taken place in the Persian Gulf, when a frigate much like the Jarrett had accidentally downed a civilian airliner, thinking it an oncoming missile.

There could be little doubt, however, once hard course plots were made. The incoming objects were skimming the waves, streaking directly toward the Jarrett on intercept courses at just under the speed of sound. Targeting profiles matched entries in the ship's target library: an improved Hai Ying land-launched solid-fuel-booster surface-to-surface missile, mounting a five hundred kilogram warhead, a range in excess of a hundred kilometers, and a speed of Mach 0.9, known in the NATO code lexicon as "Silkworm."

Operating this close to a potentially hostile shore, the Jarrett was already at full alert. General Quarters was sounded nonetheless, as Captain Bennings ordered the helm hard over. By presenting his stern to the oncoming missiles, he narrowed Jarrett's target area sharply and also gave a clear field of fire to the Mark 15 CIWS mount above the Jarrett's fantail helicopter deck.

The Close-In Weapons System, CIWS, known affectionately throughout the service as "C-whiz," was a Vulcan/Phalanx point-defense gun designed to destroy antiship missiles. The multibarrel M61A1 gun cycled at an incredible rate — hurling fifty 20mm depleted uranium rounds per second; the gun was served by two radars — one tracked the target and a second tracked the outgoing rounds. A computer compared radar data and constantly adjusted train and elevation automatically, to bring the two radar pictures together and deluge the target with a literal hail of destruction.

The maximum horizontal range was only about fourteen hundred meters — less than a mile; there was no second chance if the technology failed.

And the technology did not fail. The first silkworm missile was brought under direct fire at maximum rage. The CIWS above Jarrett's helipad swiveled, elevated, then sounded with its characteristic shrill, high-pitched whine, sending a stream of depleted uranium across the ocean swell astern. It fired… corrected…fired… corrected again, then loosed a final three-second burst dead on target. A dazzling flash half a mile astern marked the missile's death as the warhead detonated. Three seconds later the boom of the explosion reached the Jarrett across the open water.

Immediately, the CIWS barrel pivoted slightly and began firing again, using short bursts to walk the rounds into the second target. There was no explosion this time; the Silkworm broke apart under the barrage, chunks and pieces tumbling in smoke-trailing arcs into the water.

On board the Jarrett, cheers broke out, first in the combat center, then spreading throughout the ship. Captain Bennings barked an order over the ship's loudspeaker system, demanding quiet. The ship had just been fired upon, and they had to assume that they were now at war. More missiles might be fired at any moment.

Jarrett's sonar watch picked up the faint hum of the next attack minutes later… a spread of three torpedoes coming in from port. Bennings barked new orders, swinging Jarrett's knife-edged prow hard to port in an effort to turn into the torpedoes, to minimize the ship's target silhouette and perhaps to get inside the torpedoes' arming radius.

But it was already too late. Three wire-guided homing torpedoes fired from the PLA Navy submarine Hutiao, the "Leaping Tiger," went active, their onboard sonars pinging shrilly off the Jarrett's hull. Once active, their wires were cut, allowing them to swim free as they acquired their own solid tracking locks on the American frigate.

There was, unfortunately, no undersea equivalent of the CIWS. Moments later the first torpedo struck the Jarrett on her port bow, detonating with a savage explosion that ripped a fifteen-foot hole through her thin hull. The second torpedo missed or failed to detonate… but the third, running deep, passed directly under the stricken frigate's keel and exploded, nearly lifting the 2,700-ton vessel clear of the water and snapping her spine.

The Jarrett sank swiftly, most of her crew still at their battle stations as the frigate broke in half and the sea came crashing in. A pall of oily black smoke towered above the Strait of Formosa.

"You know," Garrett said thoughtfully, raising his binoculars to his eyes again, "I'm getting a really uneasy feeling about this. I think that destroyer to port is moving to cut us off."

Seawolf had made the turn around Hong Kong Island and was moving south now, picking up speed as she neared open water. There was less traffic in the water about them, and the shorelines to east and west were receding at last. For the past ten minutes, however, a Luda-class destroyer had been coming up on them fast from astern, passing them to port a good thousand yards off.

Now, though, the Luda's sharp prow had swung over and the lean, gray vessel was slicing through the water at twenty-eight knots, reaching past the Seawolf on a course that would put her squarely across the American sub's bow in another few minutes.

The Luda was a deadly looking craft, similar in design to one of the old Soviet Kotlins. Over 130 meters long, displacing 3,250 tons, she was long and sleek of hull, with a bridge house that appeared too large for her low hull, twin stacks widely separated by surface-to-surface missile tubes, and with armament of every description bristling on her deck from the twin 130mm turret mount on her bow to the conventional depth charge racks on her long, flat fantail. Her weaponry included 37mm and 25mm antiaircraft guns, ASW rocket tubes, depth-charge mortars… an arsenal geared to hunt down and kill submarines.

"I think you're right," Lawless said. Picking up the phone handset, he said, "Weps. This is the captain."

"Ward here, sir" crackled over the sail speaker.

"Give me the update on our loaded warshots."

"All tubes loaded, per your orders, Captain. Tubes One and Three are flooded. Outer hatches closed."

"Give me a track on target Romeo One-one-niner, and update."

"Aye aye, sir. Romeo One-one-niner now at relative bearing three-three-four, range nine-nine-oh, speed two-seven knots. We have solid tracking data on radar and sonar."

"Target Romeo One-one-niner, Tube One."

"Target Romeo One-one-niner, Tube One, aye, sir."

"Only one?" Garrett asked. The usual practice was to assign two fish to a target.

"I'm still worried about our shadow. I don't want to—" Lawless stopped, his gaze locked on the Chinese destroyer. "Uh-oh. This may be it."

A semaphore light winked from the Luda's starboard bridge wing. Garrett raised his binoculars to his eyes and spelled out the words as each Morse letter flickered across the open water. "Heave…to…or…I… fire…"

One of her bow guns flashed, as if to punctuate the order. The bang followed a couple of seconds later, as the shell keened across the Seawolf's bow and struck the sea, raising a thundering geyser of water ahead and to starboard.

"Lookouts below!" Lawless shouted. The sail lookouts promptly dropped through their hatches. "You, too, Number One."

"Captain—"

"I'm right behind you, damn it. Clear the bridge!" He already had the phone handset to his head. "Conn! This is the captain! Take us down!"

Garrett dropped through the open hatch in the weather bridge deck, catching the ladder halfway down and sliding the rest of the way to the first level on the rails. He hit the deck and looked up, waiting for Lawless to follow.

A thunderous cacophony filled the sail, like jackhammers pounding on sheet metal. Garrett shouted with stunned pain, hands to his ears. The Luda had seen the lookouts leaving their posts, perhaps noticed Seawolf beginning to settle into the water at the skipper's command, and opened fire…probably with light antiaircraft guns.

Garrett grabbed the ladder railing and scrambled back up, poking his head up through the round and open hatch. Another fusillade of enemy fire swept the Seawolf's superstructure, rounds slamming into her sail.

Captain Lawless was slumped against the cockpit's starboard side, huddled down, as if cold. "Skipper!" Garrett grabbed his arm and pulled; Lawless's head lolled around, left eye staring, revealing the gaping horror where the right side of his skull had been. Blood and brain tissue and chips of bone were splashed across the deck and bulwark in scarlet surprise. The left side of Lawless's binoculars were still gripped in his left hand; his right arm ended at the wrist.

There was no time to retrieve the captain's body, no time to think. Reacting by trained instinct alone, the conscious part of his mind numb, Garrett dropped back through the hatch, slamming it shut above him and dogging it tight.

More rounds slammed into the sail, one punching through with a violent bang. Garrett kept dropping through the sail levels, sealing the last hatch above him as he dropped through into the control room.

Lieutenant Tollini and the COB met him, staring. Everyone on the bridge was staring, and it took Garrett a second to realize that his uniform was covered with blood. "Mr. Garrett… " Dougherty said.

"The skipper's dead," Garrett said sharply. "Dive the boat!"

"We're going down to periscope depth, Captain," Tollini said. "That's about as deep as we can go without bottoming out."

It took Garrett another moment to play back in his mind what Tollini had just said. The diving officer had called him "Captain."

"Are you okay, sir?" Dougherty asked.

He nodded. "Ask me again when we're clear of this, COB."

This wasn't the way he'd wanted to return to command… but as the second man in the rank hierarchy, he was captain after the captain's death. Men failed. Men died. The crew and the boat kept going.

"Maneuvering!" he called. "I am taking command. Bring the helm left, forty degrees. Make revolutions for fifteen knots."

"Coming left to four-oh degrees, aye. Make revs for fifteen knots, aye."

He hit the intercom button by the periscope station. "Sonar! Conn!"

"Conn, Sonar, aye!" Toynbee replied.

"We're coming left forty degrees. See if you can pick up our shadow back there when we drop him out of our baffles."

"Roger that, sir."

"Weps. I want you to swim the warshot out of Tube One. Wire-guide it around to port for a baffles shot."

Ward looked startled. "Aye aye, sir. Swim the fish."

This was a relatively new tactical capability for American submarines. Though they generally still launched torpedoes the traditional way, it was possible to drive a torpedo out the tube without the usual burst — and noise — of compressed air.

This allowed for relatively silent launches and more flexibility in targeting. Wire-guided Mk 48 ADCAP torpedoes were steered by a crewman on the submarine, using a computer-joystick arrangement that sent electrical signals down the slender wire tying the torpedo to the boat. Gone were the days when steam-driven torpedoes were fired more or less straight at a target using a periscope fix and plotting data off of a mechanical angle-on-the-bow computer. Most modern submarines didn't even have stern torpedo tubes; Sea-wolf mounted four forward tubes slanted outward through her hull from the torpedo room. Once a fish was clear of the sub, it could be steered in any direction.

A loud ping sounded through the control room.

"Conn, Sonar," Toynbee reported. "Active sonar from the destroyer. He's pinging us."

Not that he needs to, Garrett thought. He knows exactly where we are. But the turning maneuver might possibly muddy their sonar picture for a critical few moments.

"Conn, Sonar! I have our shadow, designated Sierra One-five-four. Got him on the scatter off that active ping."

"Tell me."

"Two hundred twenty meters astern, bearing three-four-seven. I've got faint screw noise now, too, same heading. We're tentatively IDing him as a Kilo."

Which made the most sense. A diesel boat could follow Seawolf soundlessly, tracelessly… and was small enough to be handier in these tight and shallow quarters.

Another ping echoed through the hull.

"COB? What's the draft on a Luda-class destroyer?"

"Four meters, Captain. Uh… five and a bit, if you add the sonar dome under the bow."

"Damn," he said. "This is going to be tight."

And then all eyes went toward Seawolf's overhead and forward, where they could hear the deep-throated chug-chug-chug of the destroyer's twin screws, steadily approaching….