Shattered Trident

19. EVACUATION

9 September 2016

0120 Local Time

USS North Dakota

West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

The captain was in a foul mood. Jerry paced silently around the confined control room looking first at the sonar operator’s screens, then the useless fire control displays—still no trace of Chakra. After putting some distance between them and the Akula following Minot’s sinking, North Dakota had lost contact, but that was expected. Some forty hours later, Jerry’s sonarmen still hadn’t reacquired the elusive Indian. The only clues they had of Chakra’s whereabouts were two sets of distant explosions leading them northward, toward the Gulf of Tonkin.

Jerry paused by the UUV control console. “Anything from Fargo?”

“Sorry, Skipper, nothing,” replied the petty officer.

Sighing deeply, Jerry gave the enlisted man a solid pat on the shoulder and made his way back to the CWS—the starting point for yet another lap. Thigpen watched as his captain beat a well-trodden path in the linoleum deck, and after almost two hours, his patience was gone. Inching closer to Jerry he whispered quietly, “If you want the watch, Captain, I don’t mind turning it over. I have plenty of other stuff to do.”

Jerry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Thigpen’s tone and the use of the word “captain” were a clear indication of his frustration. It was Thigpen’s watch as the command duty officer, Jerry’s had ended at midnight, but his silent lingering was putting everyone in control on edge.

“Sorry, XO,” said Jerry. “It just grates me that we can’t find this guy.”

“Join the crowd, sir,” Thigpen responded flatly. “But with all due respect, Captain, your rambling about is driving everyone in control crazy; and you know how short a trip that is for me.”

Thigpen’s quip took most of the bite out of his comment, but the message was loud and clear. Jerry was distracting the watchstanders with his moping about, and as CDO, Thigpen was completely in the right to put a stop to it.

“All right, all right, XO,” replied Jerry, chastened. “I’ll… just sit over here if you don’t mind.” Jerry pointed to one of the empty fire control chairs.

“As long as you behave yourself,” jabbed Thigpen sternly. Lymburn desperately tried to stifle a laugh, but ended up emitting a loud snort instead.

“Something wrong, Q?” Jerry asked with mock annoyance.

“No, sir. Just clearing my throat. Ahem, Ahem,” replied the young lieutenant, smiling.

“Hmph! Insubordinate twits,” Jerry muttered.

INS Chakra

50 km West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

“Report, Number One,” demanded Samant as he strode into central post. He’d ordered Chakra to action stations just before he left the torpedo room, where he had supervised the loading of the first six land-attack cruise missiles.

“Yes, Captain, all compartments report they are at action stations. All torpedo tubes are at action state, with the exception of opening the bow caps. The target’s coordinates have been successfully loaded into the missile’s guidance computers,” Jain answered promptly.

“Did you double-check that the missiles’ navigation systems are selected to use Beidou satellite guidance?”

Jain nodded vigorously. “Absolutely, sir! The Klub missiles will use the Chinese’s own navigation satellites to guide them to their targets.”

“Excellent,” smiled Samant with satisfaction. When India first purchased the Russian Klub missile system, the deal included the 3M-14E land-attack cruise missiles. As received, the 3M-14E missiles’ onboard navigation system could only use the American GPS and Russian Glonass satellite navigation systems. However, before the missiles were loaded on Indian submarines, DRDO technicians replaced the Russian receiver with a home-built unit that could use all four satellite navigation systems, including the military signal from the Chinese Beidou, or “Compass” system.

Indian cyber spies had stolen the receiving chip design from a Chinese vendor’s network, and when it was exploited, discovered that the Beidou system had an accuracy degradation feature similar to the U.S. Global Positioning System’s “Selective Availability.” The Ministry of Defense ordered the chip to be reverse-engineered and installed in all Indian military navigation systems and applicable weapons—particularly missiles. The wisdom of this decision was justified early in the war.

Soon after the Littoral Alliance announced its existence, the CMC ordered the jamming of GPS and Glonass signals over selective areas of the Chinese mainland. The degradation to the satellite’s guidance signals reduced the effectiveness of some of the alliance’s early missile strikes, but once India passed on the schematics and some examples of the new receiver to her allies, Vietnamese and South Korean cruise missiles were soon fitted with the modification. The Chinese were just about to find this out.

“Helmsman, make your depth twenty meters. Prepare for a safety sweep,” announced Samant. “Open bow caps on all torpedo tubes. Stand by to fire, firing sequence tubes one through six, five-second intervals.”

USS North Dakota

“CDO, new contact, designate Sierra-five two, bearing zero three eight,” cried the sonar supervisor. “Contact is faint, just a few mechanical transients.”

Thigpen turned and looked over his shoulder. “Do you have a range?”

The sonar supervisor shook his head. “No, sir. I only got a few hits on the TB-33, definitely mechanical in nature. Nothing on any of the hull arrays.”

Jerry had shot out of the chair as soon as he heard the news and stood next to Thigpen. “Sounds like our boy, XO.”

“It’s a good bet, Skipper.”

“Hell, I’d take any bet right now. This guy is pretty cagey. If we’ve picked up mechanical transients, it’s only because he’s about to shoot someone.”

“But that’s just it, Skipper,” complained Thigpen. “There is nothing else out there even close to that bearing to shoot at!”

“Not even a Chinese sub?”

“No, sir, not that we can see. And we’ve had no problem picking up lots of transients and strong tonals from Chinese boats long before we get broadband contact.”

“So, if it isn’t a surface ship, or another submarine, then…” Jerry just stopped, letting his statement dangle. He had a coaxing expression on his face, pushing his XO to finish the thought. Thigpen caught on immediately.

“Wait a minute, are you suggesting…”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

“Oh, shit,” Thigpen uttered quietly.

“Yup, that’s about right,” concluded Jerry.

Lymburn looked back and forth at the two men, totally confused by their cryptic conversation. “What!?” she exclaimed. “What’s the matter… sirs?”

Thigpen held up his left hand, signaling for her to wait. “Patience, Grasshopper,” he said as he pivoted back toward the command workstation. “Pilot, right full rudder, steady on course zero five zero. All ahead standard.”

As the pilot responded to the orders, Thigpen grabbed an interior communications handset and punched in the number for the engineering officer of the watch. “Maneuvering, Conn. Shift reactor coolant pumps to fast speed. Stand by for flank bell.”

North Dakota heeled slightly as she accelerated through the turn. Swinging toward the contact, and gradually picking up speed, she began to close the distance.

Thigpen shook his head as he looked at the electronic plot on the port VLSD. He was not happy with the geometry. Glancing over to Jerry, he said, “Assuming it’s our friend, and assuming he’s still headed in a northerly direction, I’m biasing us to come in behind her. But I really dislike putting whatever it is in the towed arrays’ forward beam. Our bearing data will suck.”

“Do we have a choice?” Jerry asked stoically.

Thigpen sighed. “No, sir.”

“Then we don’t have a problem, XO.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied. Then more defiantly added, “But I still don’t have to like it.”

Jerry rolled his eyes; Thigpen was just being stubborn. “Very well, XO, permission granted to not like it.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Thigpen, satisfied.

Lymburn, sensing a break, moved closer. “Captain, XO, I still don’t understand what’s going on.”

“Ah, yes, sorry about that, Q,” Thigpen apologized. “Here’s the deal. We think Sierra-five two is the Indian Akula. If so, then the mechanical transients we’ve detected are likely torpedo tube preparations. As we hold no other contacts near the bearing, the Skipper is guessing that our friend out there is about to…”

“Launch transients!” sang out the sonar supervisor abruptly. “One weapon… two, solid rocket ignition. XO, Sierra-five two is launching missiles.”

“…launch missiles,” said Thigpen dryly, completing his sentence. He then leaned forward, and acknowledged the report. “Very well, Sonar Supervisor. Did we get a range?”

“No, sir. Sierra-five two is still in the wide aperture arrays’ baffles. Contact is drawing left, bears zero three five.”

“Sonar, were you able to get a weapon count?” interrupted Jerry.

“Not a good one, Skipper. At least two missiles, probably more. The noise from the rocket motors drowned everything else out.”

“Orders, Skipper?” asked Thigpen.

“He’s not done yet, he’s probably reloading for another salvo,” Jerry opined. “Time to let him know we’re here, XO. Put the spurs to her.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” Thigpen responded enthusiastically. “Pilot, left standard rudder, steady course zero three five, all ahead flank. Sonar, stand by to go active on Sierra-five two.”

INS Chakra

“First missile salvo launch complete, Captain. Bow caps are closed on tubes one through six, and the loading of the second salvo is under way,” reported Jain.

“Very good, Number One, but tell the boys in the bomb shop to be quick about it. We just broadcasted our location to the world, and I have no desire to tarry here more than is absolutely necessary,” Samant demanded.

“Aye, Captain.”

Samant was pleased. They’d gotten off the first six land-attack cruise missiles without a hitch, and the loading of the second salvo was well under way. In another few minutes, he’d be finished launching the last of the twelve-missile strike. Some fifteen minutes later, the oil refinery at Beihai would receive a very nasty surprise. The Chinese undoubtedly expected any Littoral Alliance cruise missile that used GPS or Glonass to miss their target. How ironic that their own satellite navigation system would foil their plan. He reveled in the fact that this was the first strategic strike by an Indian submarine on Chinese soil; his place in the history books would now be secured. But Samant had little time to fully appreciate his achievement, as the intercom speaker suddenly blared.

“New contact, number eight seven, bearing two one eight. Contact is submerged and closing at high speed!”

Damn the American! cursed Samant silently. It had to be him; they would have surely heard a noisy Chinese SSN long before now. Samant’s patience was exhausted, the American had become more than a mere nuisance and he intended to deal with this interloper once and for all.

“Number One, begin tracking the new contact. Stand by for rapid-fire torpedo attack, tube eight.”

Jain looked incredulous, he seemed confused by the order. Samant didn’t appreciate his hesitation. “You heard me, Number One. Prepare to attack contact eight seven.”

“Captain,” replied Jain forcefully. “With respect, sir, I must remind you that we are not authorized to fire on any American vessel.”

Samant was irritated on the one hand by his first officer’s response, but impressed on the other. Jain was proving to be a fast learner. He’d already figured out the likely identity of the new contact.

“Very well, Number One,” Samant conceded with a slight smile. “Would you condone a warning shot?”

“A warning shot, sir? With a torpedo?” Jain sounded incredulous.

“Yes, Mr. Jain,” answered Samant, using the first officer’s name to reassert his authority. “We’ll fire a single torpedo, but the seeker will be disabled and we’ll offset the weapon ten degrees to starboard. That should suffice to make it impossible for the torpedo to hit the American submarine.”

“It’s still bending the rules a bit, sir,” said Jain carefully. “But given the circumstances, I believe a review by a higher authority will find it acceptable.”

“Splendid!” cried Samant. “Track contact eight seven, stand by for deliberate torpedo fire. Disable the seeker on the torpedo in tube eight.”

“Torpedo seeker is disabled, Captain. And tubes one through six are loaded, rear doors are secured,” reported the primary fire control operator.

“Bring tubes one through six to action state, and open the bow caps.” Samant picked up the intercom microphone and selected the sonar room. “Sonar, go active on the port flank array, three pulses.”

USS North Dakota

The alarm from the WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver beat the sonar supervisor by only a couple of seconds. “Skat-3 transmissions, three pulses, correlates with Sierra-five two, classify the contact as an Akula class SSN.”

“Answer in kind, XO,” Jerry commanded.

“Aye, sir. Sonar, go active on Sierra-five two, three pulses.”

Three invisible, but intense sound waves shot out from North Dakota’s active conformal array. Upon reaching the Indian submarine, the sound waves bounced off the air-filled pressure hull. Even though the Akula was covered in anechoic coating, the sub was too close for the coating to have a significant effect. North Dakota’s passive conformal array got three good returns.

INS Chakra

“Captain! Confirm American BQQ-10 sonar, bearing two one zero. Matches bearing to contact eight seven, range eight thousand seven hundred meters and closing rapidly!” The sonar officer sounded ruffled over the intercom.

“Solution status, Number One,” barked Samant.

“Contact is pointed right at us. Course, zero three zero, speed, thirty-two knots. Solution is ready!”

“Set torpedo course, two two zero.”

“Course set!” Jain replied.

Samant nodded. “Stand by… FIRE!”

Inside tube number eight, a Russian UGST torpedo was violently expelled by a sudden wave of fast-moving water. At first, it coasted downward in a shallow arc as the onboard computer started up the engine. Once up to speed, the torpedo turned hard to port and began climbing back to its ordered depth. Soon it was roaring toward the American submarine at fifty knots.

USS North Dakota

Jerry and Thigpen looked at the command display. The active sonar had no trouble detecting the Akula. It was just a little under 9,500 yards away, moving slowly to the northwest.

“Ping him again, XO. Let’s make him feel uncomfortable about staying here.”

“Aye, Skipper. Sonar, go active on Sierra-five two, three more pulses,” ordered Thigpen. Once again, three pulses went out, and three good returns were detected. But the Indian wasn’t reacting; his course and speed were unchanged.

“Nothin’, Skipper,” Thigpen grunted. “He’s ignoring us.”

“He’s a cool one, that’s for sure. I think he knows he’ll be able to launch his second salvo before we can get too close.”

“He certainly is a cheeky fellow,” remarked Thigpen.

Jerry ignored his XO’s comment, choosing instead to focus his thoughts on his alternate number. The man knew how to handle his boat; of that there was no doubt. But what was he like? Where did he get his education, his training? What motivated him? All these questions, and more, swirled around in Jerry’s head. And all of them were, at the moment, unanswerable.

“Skipper, you want me to hit him again?” Thigpen’s question jerked Jerry from his musings. He’d have to deal with his questions later.

“Yes, XO, but this time, hammer him. Go continuous, keep pinging him,” Jerry said resolutely.

“Aye, sir. Sonar, go continuous active on Sierra-five two.”

Jerry’s head snapped up immediately; he didn’t hear the expected repeat-back of the XO’s order. Looking toward the sonar station, he saw the supervisor and a senior sonarman staring intently at the same screen. Thigpen saw it too.

“Talk to me, Sonar Supervisor,” the XO demanded.

“XO, there’s another contact in the general direction of Sierra-five two. It’s hard to make out with all the flow noise on the towed arrays, but there is definitely something out there.”

“Petty Officer Andersen, do I need to start being worried?” Jerry was able to sound calm, but his heartbeat had just shot way up.

“I’m not sure, sir. It kind of looks like…” The sonar supervisor stopped in mid-sentence as another set of faint lines showed up on his display. After some quick manipulations of the controls, the lines were enlarged and matched against the acoustic database—a flashing red “Torpedo Warning” indicator popped on the screen. Andersen’s face went white.

“Torpedo in the water! Same bearing as Sierra-five two!” he shouted.

“Captain has the conn,” thundered Jerry. “Pilot, right standard rudder, steady on course…” He paused as he looked quickly at the geoplot on the big screen. “… one four zero, maintain flank speed. Torpedo defense, launch an ADC Mark 5 and mobile decoy, standby ATT.”

North Dakota heeled sharply to starboard as the rudder kicked over. Even with fly-by-wire controls, the submarine rolled heavily into the turn, vibrating noticeably as she swung around. Jerry knew speed was his main advantage, and he’d intentionally used less rudder to keep his speed up. The only indication that the countermeasure and mobile decoy had been launched was the blinking of icons on the large display screen. For a few tense minutes, everyone held on in silence, with only the sonar supervisor’s reports breaking the tense quiet.

Finally, he called out, “Captain, torpedo has passed CPA and is opening. Whew!”

A collective sigh of relief was heard throughout control.

“Sonar, did the weapon ever enable?” Jerry asked tersely.

“I don’t know for sure, Skipper. I don’t think it went active, but we had the ADC pretty much in our field of view during the whole turn. We could have missed it.”

“Very well.” Jerry was unconvinced; he knew his sonar operators were good. And it would be unlike them to miss something so loud as an active torpedo seeker even with the countermeasure in the way. Turning toward the rest of the control room watchstanders, he announced loudly, “Attention in Control. I intend to stay on this course for a little longer, then we’ll slow and take a look around. I don’t believe the Akula will pursue us, but we can’t afford to make that assumption, so stay sharp, everyone. Carry on.”

Thigpen pulled up beside Jerry. “I can’t believe that son-of-a-bitch fired at us! We’re lucky he misjudged the distance, the weapon probably enabled after it passed us.”

Jerry laughed cynically. “He didn’t misjudge anything, Bernie. He’s too good to make that kind of mistake. He deliberately fired the torpedo with the seeker off. A warning shot, with a very clear message—keep off the grass.”

“What do we do now, Skipper?”

“We report in, XO,” stated Jerry flatly. “The rules of this weird game appear to have changed yet again, and we need to let our bosses know. You have the conn. I’ll be in the radio room if you need me.”

9 September 2016

0145 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis took a healthy slurp of coffee while he read the initial intelligence reports on the missile attacks. It didn’t look good. He’d been called at his residence as soon as NORAD put out the warning. Fifteen minutes later he was in his office. His staff came in dribs and drabs a few minutes behind him. After a quick review of the situation, the CSO sent half the staff back home, but not before announcing that they were now on a port and starboard watch rotation. A sharp knock at the door pulled Simonis’s attention from the reports. His operations officer was in the doorway with a carafe in his hand.

“Need a recharge, Commodore?”

“Sure, Rich, come on in.”

Walker strode over and poured fresh hot coffee into Simonis’s half-empty mug.

“Did you see these reports?” Simonis inquired, pointing to the intel assessments.

“Yes, sir. It would appear this war is taking a turn for the worse.”

“Ha!” Simonis blurted. “Mr. Walker, you are a master of the understatement!” The commodore picked up the last report and read from its key judgments.

“At 1710 Zulu time PLA Second Artillery units executed multiple ballistic missile strikes against targets in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and the Philippines. While ballistic missile defenses were moderately effective, numerous missiles still reached their targets. Moderate to heavy casualties are expected.”

Simonis threw the paper back down onto his desk. “That’s not just a turn for the worse, Mr. Walker. It’s the first step on a very slippery slope that will lead to a nuclear exchange!”

The operations officer was surprised by Simonis’s fierce outburst. The attack on the Littoral Alliance nations was shocking, to be sure, but they were still limited, given China’s conventional ballistic missile capability. If China really wanted to plaster the targets they were after, the strikes would have been much larger. Furthermore, the attacks were largely on legitimate alliance military and oil infrastructure facilities—missile strikes on civilian population centers were a rare occurrence. In the operations officer’s mind, this attack was long overdue, a logical reaction to Littoral Alliance cruise missile attacks on Chinese oil refineries and tank farms.

Come to think of it, Walker didn’t remember Simonis reacting so strongly to the initial strikes by alliance cruise missiles, and those were attacks against targets on Chinese soil. For the commodore to suddenly jump straight to the conclusion that the war would inevitably go nuclear seemed a bit of a stretch. China didn’t need to go down that path, and indeed seemed to be avoiding it, as India hadn’t been targeted at all.

“Sir, how can you say that?” Walker protested. “This attack was expected, or should have been, given the Littoral Alliance’s strikes on Chinese oil refineries. And yet, China didn’t fire a single missile at India. That tells me China is trying hard to keep this conflict conventional.”

Simonis shook his head vigorously, his face grim. “Rich, you’re completely missing the big picture. When the Communist Party figures out they’re losing, they’ll go nuclear—they will have no other choice!”

Walker was stunned by Simonis’s conclusion that China was losing the war. The PRC had certainly been stung, but militarily they still had an advantage over the Littoral Alliance. However, before he could respond, the commodore’s yeoman knocked on the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Commodore, but Dr. Patterson is on the secure line.”

“It’s about time,” Simonis mumbled as he grabbed the handset. “Dr. Patterson, good afternoon.”

“Good morning, Commodore, although the ‘good’ part is seriously being debated here in Washington,” she replied.

“I completely understand. The situation is deteriorating rapidly. However, I’m hoping you have some good news for me.”

“You’re correct. The president wants you to recall your submarines. They are to return to Guam as fast as the tactical situation allows. We’ve done what we can and it’s time to evacuate the area.”

Simonis’s shoulders relaxed noticeably, as if a heavy weight had just been removed. “I will do so with pleasure, ma’am. The order will go out in ten minutes. Please express my gratitude to the president.”

“I will when I get the chance. Good luck, Commodore.”

“And to you, Dr. Patterson.” As the handset hit the cradle, Simonis looked at Walker and said, “Rich, I want a flash precedence message ordering all our boats to return to base. You have seven minutes.”

9 September 2016

0215 Local Time

USS North Dakota

West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

Jerry sat in the back of the radio room, replaying the last encounter with the Indian Akula in his mind. He ran through the scenario over and over again, trying to see where he’d made a mistake. The critical decision was to close the faint contact at high speed. On the one hand, if he hadn’t charged, the Akula wouldn’t have detected North Dakota. On the other, if he hadn’t, the Indian would have fired off his second salvo and possibly cleared datum before Jerry could reacquire him. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, he said to himself.

“Skipper, sorry to disturb you,” interrupted the information technician, “but we have flash traffic coming in.”

Jerry looked at his watch with confusion; it hadn’t even been four minutes since they sent in their report. “That can’t be in response to our last message—way too quick of a turnaround.”

“It’s not, sir. This message is a recall order. I’m printing it out now.”

The printer behind Jerry’s head whined to life and kicked out a single sheet of paper. Grabbing it, he called out to Thigpen, “XO! Flash traffic!”

Thigpen stuck his head into radio seconds later. He too looked perplexed. “My, that was fast! Has our commodore moved a cot into the radio room?”

“No, XO. This isn’t about our incident report. It’s a recall order,” said Jerry as he handed the message to Thigpen.

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. Simonis refers to ‘continued escalation,’ no further explanation provided, as the reason for the president to order a withdrawal. We’re to return to base ASAP.”

The XO frowned, his voice heavy with cynicism. “It would have been nice to have gotten this an hour earlier!”

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done, Bernie. Send the ‘return home’ signal to Fargo, and select a rendezvous point away from our last meeting with the Akula.”

“Aye, aye, Skipper,” responded Thigpen. He handed the message to Jerry and darted back to control.

With his XO’s voice in the background, Jerry scribbled a response on the message printout and handed it to the IT. “Send this. Message received. Rendezvousing with UUV, will advise when we begin transit back to base.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” the petty officer replied.

As the young sailor typed out his captain’s response, Jerry wondered what had happened to change the president’s mind. Whatever it was, he knew it had to have been really bad.

9 September 2016

0345 Local Time

Squadron Fifteen Headquarters

Guam

Simonis paced tensely in the back of the Squadron Fifteen operations watch floor. There was still no reply from Santa Fe acknowledging the recall order. Grumbling about Halsey’s ineptness, the commodore kept walking back and forth, stopping only to refill his mug. Between fatigue and overcaffeination, his patience was virtually nonexistent, his temper on a hair trigger.

Walker kept a watchful eye on his commodore. He knew Simonis was barely holding on, and had instructed all the watchstanders to give him a heads-up first when Santa Fe finally responded.

Out of the corner of his eye, Walker saw one of the duty ITs signaling him—the message was in. Shielding his right hand from view with his body, he made a typing motion. The petty officer nodded, clicked his mouse, and held up one finger; the message was coming out on printer number one. Walking slowly over to the printer bank, the operations officer pulled the message and read it quickly. His heart sank.

Simonis saw Walker’s expression, and demanded loudly, “What is it, Rich?”

“Santa Fe’s reported in, Commodore,” he answered.

“Well, it would seem that Commander Halsey likes to take his sweet time responding—”

“She’s been attacked, sir,” Walker added quickly.

“What?” Simonis’s expression changed instantly from anger to concern.

“Yes, sir.” Walker elaborated as he walked up the stairs to Simonis. “She got bounced by a Y-8 patrol aircraft, and took two depth charges close aboard. The port main engine is down, there is a bad main propulsion shaft rub, and both towed arrays are gone. Halsey also reports some personnel casualties, but nothing life-threatening.”

Simonis snatched the message from Walker, but before he even began reading it, barked, “What’s her position?”

“Sir, she’s currently near the western edge of her patrol zone, approximately forty nautical miles due east of the northeast tip of Hainan Island,” answered one of the watchstanders.

“She’s deep in Indian country, Commodore,” Walker observed, looking up at the large flat-panel display.

“I can see that, Rich,” snapped Simonis. “What’s the closest boat to her?”

“Theoretically, Texas is the closest. But Pascovich was the first CO to respond and he’s undoubtedly gone deep by now. He won’t be back up for a comms check for another ten hours.”

“What about Mitchell?” asked Simonis.

“Nothing since his acknowledgement of the recall order, sir, so he’s still in the process of recovering his recon UUV. Given Mitchell’s rude encounter with the Indian Akula, he’s probably moving cautiously,” Walker answered.

“A wise course of action,” said Simonis, nodding approvingly. He paused and looked first at the message, and then at the electronic plotting board. There really was no other option.

“Very well, Rich, send a flash precedence message to North Dakota, copy Santa Fe. Provide a rendezvous point and have Mitchell link up with Halsey; keep Santa Fe’s speed to no more than ten knots. I want North Dakota to escort Santa Fe out of the South China Sea. You have—”

“Yes, sir, I know. I have seven minutes,” shouted Walker as he leapt down the stairs. “Jeff! Get me a position that both boats can reasonably make given Santa Fe’s mobility restrictions. Use North Dakota’s last position and shift it to the west by fifteen miles. Move, people. We’ve got a hurt boat to get home!”

9 September 2016

1430 Local Time

USS North Dakota

Southeast of Hainan Island, South China Sea

They’d initially detected Santa Fe half an hour earlier at the ungodly range of thirty-five thousand yards. Even at ten knots, the shaft rub was very noisy and Jerry wondered how the Chinese could possibly miss it. Still, he prayed that their acute deafness would continue, preferably for the next several days. Guam was a long way away.

“Skipper, new contact, designated Sierra-six three, bearing north,” announced the sonar supervisor.

Jerry and Thigpen both looked over the supervisor’s shoulder as he pointed to a few tenuous lines on his display. “What do you have, Chief?” Jerry asked quietly.

“Don’t know, sir. The narrowband is really unstable,” replied Chief Halleck. “There’s no discernable bearing drift as well. It could be a distant surface contact, but that’s just a SWAG.”

“That bearing isn’t in the direction of the normal traffic lanes, or any harbor that we know of,” Thigpen remarked. “Why do I have the sneaky suspicion this isn’t a coincidence?”

“Because luck hasn’t exactly been running in our favor lately, XO,” admitted Jerry with a hint of irritation. “Mr. Covey, begin tracking Sierra-six three.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

For the next six minutes, Jerry stared intently at the port VLSD, as if pure concentration could conjure up more information. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was no bearing drift at all, and sonar was still only picking up a couple of unstable tonals. But as each minute passed, Jerry became more and more agitated. There was something wrong here; his intuition was ringing with alarm bells. Finally in frustration he growled, “Chief, I’m starting to get really annoyed with this situation. I think we’re on an intercept course with Sierra-six three. Do you concur?”

“It’s a good possibility, Skipper. I’m not seeing, or hearing, any screw noise from the contact. If we’ve been constantly staring at his bow the whole time, that would explain the lack of any main-propulsion-related noise.”

Jerry walked over to Halleck and tapped the chief on the shoulder. He needed the man’s undivided attention. “Chief, I’m going to cut across the line of sight to try and generate some bearing rate. But I think we need to come shallow as well. If I remember correctly, we had a weak layer on the last SVP, but that was taken earlier this morning. If the layer has gotten stronger, and deeper, that would explain why we aren’t seeing more tonals.”

“Yes, sir, it would indeed.”

“Have your guys glue their noses to the stacks. I’ll bring us around,” Jerry said while patting the chief on the shoulder.

Turning back toward the ship control panel, Jerry called out, “Pilot, left full rudder, steady course three two zero. All ahead two-thirds, and make your depth one hundred and twenty-five feet.”

Moments after North Dakota reached her new depth, Chief Halleck sang out, “Broadband contact, Sierra-six three. Bearing zero zero six!”

“Very well, Chief,” Jerry replied with satisfaction. Then whispered, “Gotcha!”

“Tracking Sierra-six three, initial range, twenty-one thousand yards,” reported Covey.

Before Jerry could acknowledge Covey’s report, Halleck jumped in with unwelcome news. “Skipper, there are two contacts close together. Designate the second contact, Sierra-six four, bearing zero zero four!”

“Begin tracking Sierra-six four!” commanded Jerry. “Chief, I need a classification ASAP.”

“Working it, sir.”

Jerry watched the port VLSD as the fire control system’s output settled down to a consistent solution. Inwardly, he groaned. Whatever they were, the two contacts were headed straight toward Santa Fe. When Halleck made his report, Jerry already knew what he was going to say.

“Captain, both Sierra-six three and six four have two five-bladed screws.”

“Warships,” Jerry concluded grimly.

“Yes, sir. One is a possible Type 052 destroyer, the other looks like a Type 053 frigate,” answered the chief.

“Makes sense,” Jerry remarked. “Classic high-low mix.”

Thigpen also heard the report. His face showed his anxiety. “Skipper, I don’t think Santa Fe knows those two ships are even there!”

“I suspect you’re right, XO,” granted Jerry. “Without a towed array, Halsey doesn’t have an effective sensor. Between the strong layer and the increased noise from her shaft, Santa Fe’s spherical array probably hasn’t detected them yet.”

“Can we warn him?”

Jerry shook his head. “Santa Fe’s still too far away. And even if she did hear us, we’d have to transmit at such high power on the underwater comms gear that those two yahoos out there would hear it too.”

“Then… then what can we do?” pleaded Thigpen.

Jerry turned toward Thigpen. His expression was hard and determined. “We’ll do what we have to, XO. Copilot, sound general quarters!”

As the general alarm rang throughout the ship, Jerry added sternly, “If either of those ships even look cross-eyed at Santa Fe, I’ll put a Mark 48 into them.”

Control became abuzz with activity as the battle stations watchstanders filed in and took their positions. Jerry immediately began issuing orders to prepare North Dakota for battle. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he still had to be ready for the worst. Even though there was plenty of activity going on, time seemed to crawl by for Jerry, as the distance between him and the Chinese warships wound down ever so slowly. The problem was that he was at the wrong end of the triangle; the warships were closing faster on Santa Fe than he was on them. If he wanted to close the gap, he’d have to kick their speed up a notch or three, but that only raised more alarm bells. Thigpen was thinking along those same lines. He was worried and said as much.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Skipper. Why haven’t the Chinese warships gone active yet? Their hull arrays can’t be that good in passive mode.”

“They’re not, XO. One of those ships has a towed array. That’s how they’ve been able to track Santa Fe. I’m certain of it.”

“They could have an MPA in support.”

“A patrol aircraft would have attacked by now, and there’s no reason to expose your ships to a possible torpedo attack if you can engage from a distance. Those ships are closing in together, positioning themselves to execute a coordinated attack. You can bet there’s at least one helo in the air,” summarized Jerry.

“So what’s the plan, sir?” queried Thigpen.

“First off, XO, we need more information. An eye on the target,” Jerry replied. Then looking over at Covey he demanded, “What’s our status, Weps?”

“Sir, torpedo tubes one and two are ready in all respects with the exception of opening the outer doors. A Sea Tern UAV has been loaded into the number one signal ejector and is ready for launch.”

“Very well, Mr. Covey,” acknowledged Jerry. Moving back to the center of the control room, he cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “Attention in control. My intention is to launch a Sea Tern UAV to get a better view of the tactical picture. We need to watch this situation carefully. We don’t want to cause an incident, but if any of the Chinese units fire on Santa Fe, we will engage immediately with Mark 48 ADCAP torpedoes. Stay sharp; this ride may get a bit bumpy. Carry on.

“Pilot, all stop. Make your depth sixty-five feet.”

“All stop, make my depth sixty-five feet, Pilot, aye. Skipper, Maneuvering answers all stop.”

“Very well, Pilot.” Jerry watched as the speed started to drop. North Dakota had to slow down considerably before he dared to raise a photonics mast. Even at ten knots, the maximum safe speed for the mast, it would leave a huge wake—easily visible to an airborne helicopter.

To save time, Jerry used the residual speed to plane his boat up to periscope depth. It was only a few minutes until the pilot reported, “Captain, on ordered depth. Speed is six knots.”

“Very well, Pilot. Ahead one-third, make turns for five knots.” While the pilot repeated the order, Jerry faced Covey. “Weps, launch the Sea Tern. Then take the UAV station. XO, you can double up as weapons officer.”

“Aye, Captain,” answered both men simultaneously.

As soon as Covey hit the launch button, a slug of water forced the canister with the UAV out of the signal ejector. Floating to the surface, the canister’s end cap blew off as soon as the pressure sensor detected it was clear of the water. Milliseconds later, the micro-UAV was propelled out of the canister by a small charge. Once airborne, it climbed to five hundred feet and turned toward the Chinese warships. Based on the Switchblade micro-UAV, the Sea Tern was just over a foot long, with a small battery-powered motor that could get the tiny vehicle up to a maximum speed of seventy-five knots. But its best endurance was at half that speed. With its minuscule size and slow speed, the Sea Tern looked like a seabird to a modern radar. Thus, any reflected energy would be filtered out by the radar’s signal processor, essentially rendering the vehicle invisible while in plain sight. It wasn’t long before its electro-optical and infrared sensor data was relayed to North Dakota’s exposed mast.

“Skipper, the Sea Tern has acquired the Chinese ships,” Covey announced. “Sending the output to the starboard VLSD.”

Jerry and Thigpen looked at the large screen and saw the two warships in a line of bearing formation with the destroyer in the lead.

“Good call, Chief,” Jerry complimented his sonar supervisor. “We’ve got one Type 052B Luyang I destroyer and one Type 053H3 Jiangwei II frigate.”

Thigpen leaned forward, then pointed toward the screen. “Skipper, look at the Luyang on the IR display. See that black line streaming from her stern? You were right, she’s got a towed array!”

“Then she is our primary target. If we have to shoot,” Jerry replied calmly.

“Conn, ESM Bay,” squawked the intercom speaker. “I hold two surface-search radars from the warships, low signal strength, but no airborne radars.”

Jerry turned to Thigpen, perplexed. “They don’t have a helo up? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Maybe they’ve got a mechanical glitch. The Chinese have been flying them pretty hard lately,” Thigpen suggested.

“Going after a potentially hostile submarine with just two surface ships and no helicopters? That’s not too bright. There has to be another explanation,” argued Jerry.

No sooner had Jerry said this, than Chief Halleck shouted, “Lamb Tail transmissions, bearing zero three seven, same bearing as Santa Fe!”

“I’m on it,” cried Covey as he instructed the UAV to turn toward that bearing. It didn’t take long before the large screen showed a Ka-28 Helix helicopter down low, hovering over the water, a dark line dropping from its fuselage.

“It’s dipping,” said Thigpen.

“And it’s got Santa Fe,” Jerry added. Suddenly, a small object dropped from the helo’s underside.

“What was that!?” barked Jerry. “Chief, what do you hear?”

“Nothing, sir. It just hit the water and sank…” Halleck stopped in mid-sentence, his face turning white. “Torpedo in the water! It’s pinging, but no propulsion noises!”

“Damn it!” groaned Jerry angrily. “It dropped an APR-2E rocket torpedo! Snapshot! Sierra-six three, tube one!”

The fire control technician at the weapon’s console began rapidly punching buttons. “Outer door on tube one open!” he cried. The sailor watched, his hands shaking, as the remaining indicators turned green. “Stand by… Shoot!”

Jerry felt the subtle vibrations from the ejection pump winding up; the torpedo was on its way. He’d just launched a weapon in anger.

“Normal launch, wire is good,” reported the petty officer.

Jerry could see the position of the torpedo on the port VLSD, sprinting off at high speed toward its target. “Very well,” he said.

“Captain, Santa Fe has deployed countermeasures. She’s turning,” reported Halleck.

“What about the APR-2, Chief?” asked Jerry anxiously.

“Still searching… No, wait, rocket motor ignition! It’s homing!”

Helpless, a mere spectator, Jerry issued a silent prayer while he waited with the rest of the people in control for the seemingly inevitable outcome.

“It missed!” shrieked Halleck. “The APR-2 missed her!”

“Praise be!” whispered Thigpen. But his relief was short-lived as Lymburn pointed to her display. He looked and immediately understood. Dejected, he said, “Skipper, Santa Fe has turned toward the Chinese warships!”

Jerry closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, Halsey had turned the wrong way. Jerry’s mind raced for anything that he could do to help the stricken U.S. boat. Looking up at the port VLSD, he saw his Mark 48 was six thousand five hundred yards away from its target; one thousand five hundred yards from the enable point when the seeker would activate. “XO, command enable own-ship’s unit.”

“Command enable, aye,” answered Thigpen. Followed shortly by, “Sir, weapon has enabled.”

Glancing over at Thigpen, Jerry nodded wearily. “Maybe I can scare them off,” he said quietly.

“Skipper!” yelped Covey. “Both ships have launched torpedoes!”

Jerry’s head snapped up toward the starboard display. He could see the remaining wisps of smoke drifting aft from the Chinese ships.

“Concur!” Halleck blurted out. “Torpedoes in the water! Bearing zero one five! Two Yu-7 torpedoes—damn! They do sound like Mark 46s!”

There was nothing left to do but watch, and wait. Like watching a fight in slow motion, Jerry stared at the screen as the three torpedoes crept toward their respective targets. His Mark 48 would reach the Luyang I destroyer first, but that would be of little help to Halsey and the crew of Santa Fe.

“Detect. Detect. Detect. Homing! Own ship’s unit has acquired the target,” shouted the fire control technician. “Target bears zero one six, range three thousand five hundred yards.”

Jerry acknowledged the report; his eyes remained fixated on the large display screen on his left.

“Santa Fe is deploying more countermeasures, Skipper,” reported Halleck. “Now she’s launched ATTs. Yu-7s have enabled, they’re searching.”

As the Mark 48’s icon merged with the one representing the Luyang I, Jerry turned toward the starboard VLSD. Suddenly a large white disk jumped up beneath the destroyer, as the explosive shock wave reflected off the sea surface. Two grayish pulses soon followed, the second one ripping its way through the destroyer’s hull and climbing high into the sky. Mortally wounded, the ship wallowed as her forward motion came to an abrupt stop. The Jiangwei II frigate peeled off hard to port, accelerating. Jerry could only imagine the fear they were feeling after seeing their larger brother blown in two. No one in control cheered.

Halleck didn’t bother reporting on the demise of Sierra-six three; his mind was on Santa Fe. His tense shoulders leapt forward quickly, his eyes and ears straining to pull information from the acoustic sensors. “Skipper! One of the ATTs hit!” he shouted excitedly.

“Yesss!” hissed Thigpen. An anti-torpedo torpedo had just taken out one of the Yu-7s. Just one more weapon to evade, but it was not meant to be.

Halleck’s face suddenly scrunched up, contorted with grief. His report was superfluous. “Loud explosion bearing zero three one. I… I hear breaking-up noises. Loss of propulsion plant tonals…”

Jerry reached over and gently squeezed the sonar supervisor’s shoulder. “Enough, Chief,” he added quietly. A depressing silence descended on the control room. Many of the men had tears welling, two of the young women were openly weeping. Thigpen fought to retain control. “What about the frigate?” the XO asked, his voice shaky.

Jerry shook his head. “Let it go. Sinking it won’t bring Halsey and his crew back. Set course for Guam.”