SSN

6. Ambush

Cheyenne’s crew was well rested after their relatively relaxing stay on board the submarine tender McKee. Cheyenne had been rearmed and their food and supply stocks had been replenished. Captain Mackey was even looking forward to his next mission.

According to naval intelligence, that mission was going to be a “breeze” compared to his last several — and Mack hoped they were right. By now, his officers and crew were combat-hardened veterans who had more than paid their debt to their country. If Mack had his way, he’d give each and every one of them a medal and a promotion for their service.

The captain called the executive officer into his small stateroom. This was one of the few places where the captain could have a quiet moment to himself. He had asked the executive officer to join him because he didn’t always trust naval intelligence and he wanted a second opinion on the orders Cheyenne had received.

When the executive officer arrived, Mack handed him the message. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

The orders called for Cheyenne to enter into the Chinese-claimed Spratly Islands and patrol several of the now-abandoned oil rigs in the area, including the partially built rig bordering on Swallow Reef.

The executive officer studied them for two minutes and then looked up. The look on his face made it clear that he wasn’t any happier than Mack was. A week earlier, naval intelligence had proclaimed those waters too dangerous to enter. Now they were claiming that they’d been deloused and were clear of all enemy submarines.

Mack had gotten what he’d wanted — confirmation of his suspicions. Cheyenne had her orders, and she would carry them out, but she would be expecting trouble, no matter what those intel guys said.

“Gather the officers,” he said. “I want them all in the wardroom in fifteen minutes.”

Ever since he’d first met the executive officer, Mack had liked him and trusted his opinion. During wartime, Mack knew, one could never be too reliant on intelligence reports from thousands of miles away. The executive officer had agreed with his feelings on their orders and that made Mack trust him even more.

Fifteen minutes later, the wardroom was quiet when Mack entered. He looked around at the assembled officers and decided to get right to the point.

“We’ve been ordered to enter the Spratly Islands chain and patrol several oil rigs in the area that are believed to be possible locations for submarine supply depots,” he said. “Naval intelligence doubts this finding, but they have sent us to investigate nonetheless.”

Because the intelligence analysts didn’t think that they would find anything in the area, CTF 74 had decided it would be cost efficient to load Cheyenne with only twenty Mk-48 torpedoes; no Tomahawks and no Harpoons. So even if Mack did find a remote Chinese operating location, he couldn’t attack it with Tomahawks as he would have liked to. He was ordered to report back, and then the Navy would order an air strike.

He hated this kind of thinking.

The assembled officers were silent, waiting for him to continue. “Naval intelligence reports that due to our successful actions during the past several weeks, as well as the actions of the rest of the Navy, the Chinese units in the area are running low on supplies and morale. They expect that, at the most, we will come into contact with only a handful of submarines in these waters.”

Mack looked around the room, assessing his officers. “This mission is supposed to be an easy one,” he said, “but you all know what that means. It just means we have to be extra careful and keep on our toes. I don’t like being that close to Chinese-occupied waters any more than you do. But we have our orders.”

After the usual number of questions, the wardroom was cleared and the captain went back to his stateroom, where he again examined his orders. He still didn’t like what he was reading.

Mack looked at the chart he normally kept in the wardroom. It was one of the few good charts he’d ever seen of the Spratly Islands. The chain was oval, shaped roughly like a football, with four islands that Cheyenne needed to patrol.

As Mack examined the chart, he decided he would steam silently from the north into the waters surrounding Discovery Great Reef. From there, he would proceed in a counterclockwise direction, continuing west and south until he arrived near Cuarteron Reef, right in the center of the oval.

From there, Cheyenne would travel to Swallow Reef, near the southern border of the islands, and then sail northeast until she arrived at her last search area, Carnatic Reef. Assuming that intel was right — an assumption Mack was not prepared to make — and the area was clean, Cheyenne would then continue on to the north to await further orders.

Cheyenne was now passing the island of Palawan to the east. Navigating the remaining 200 miles in the narrow but deep channel leading to Mindoro Strait would require a number of GPS fixes en route. The submarine tender McKee, from which he had just finished rearming, would remain on station in the Sulu Sea until ordered by CTF 74 to relocate.

After the recent submarine attack on McKee, the Independence and the Nimitz Battle Groups had each decided to part with one ASW helicopter, and the two LAMPS III helos were now being flown to McKee’s position.

The SH-60s would be operated from McKee’s landing pads in order to protect the tender from any possible future submarine threats. The SH-60Bs were also equipped to carry the Penguin antiship missile, which would offer McKee an antisurface defense as well. The Navy would not be taking any more chances by sending a defenseless tender into the line of fire.

One other good thing came out of that attack on McKee—at least from Mack’s point of view. McKee’s captain was very appreciative of Cheyenne‘s timely rescue and had provided as much fresh fruit as Cheyenne’s storage spaces would allow. Fresh fruit was scarce on board a submarine and stocks often ran out quickly. This gesture on the part of McKee‘s captain was greatly appreciated, and while the fruit would not last long, it would help ensure that the beginning of Cheyenne’s cruise would be enjoyable.

Having found a Ming SSK in the Sulu Sea, Mack could not afford the luxury of running on the surface until clear of Mindoro Strait. Still, the channel out to the Sulu Sea was narrow and treacherous, so Mack decided to supplement the GPS fixes with occasional active sonar. The threat of other Chinese submarines was real, but so was the threat of running into the side of the channel.

Once past the shallow waters of Mindoro Strait, Cheyenne accelerated to twenty knots, on course 300 toward the start of her counterclockwise search of the Spratly Islands. Upon arrival, Mack ordered the OOD to run at four knots until they determined that the area was clear before continuing on their way.

The TB-23 towed array was streamed to help in the search of the deep water in case there were Chinese SSNs trying to slip in from the north. After a careful sonar search, Cheyenne increased speed to full and altered course for Discovery Great Reef.

The more Mack thought about this current mission, the less he liked it. He was all too aware of how easy it would be for a diesel submarine like a Kilo to hide in the island waters near the oil platforms. An enemy submarine could lie in wait near the bottom of the shallow water, hiding until Cheyenne came within torpedo range. They could even bottom without damage, since the Chinese diesel submarines didn’t have a GRP (glass-reinforced plastic) sonar dome or seawater cooling for a steam propulsion plant to worry about. Captain Mackey didn’t like that thought at all.

Mack decided that once he was within twenty-five miles of each search area, he would reduce Cheyenne’s speed to eight to ten knots and that once he was with ten miles he would slow to four to seven knots. He didn’t want anyone sneaking up on them, and running slow was the best way to keep Cheyenne quiet.

When Cheyenne was twenty-five miles north-northeast of the Spratlys, Mack proceeded to the control room, looked at Cheyenne’s position on the quartermaster’s chart, and then ordered the OOD, “Slow to ten knots.”

“Slow to ten knots, aye, sir.”

The change in the speed of the submarine, while sudden, was not overly drastic for the crew. They had gotten used to the rough riding of a submarine in close combat.

Hours before, Cheyenne had shifted from the TB-23 to the TB-16 towed array. The sonar operators were listening quietly, but heard nothing on the towed array or the spherical and conformal sonars, and the sonar supervisor soon reported that there were no contacts. Mack was pleased with that report. He knew that if they were to encounter an enemy submarine, they would be in for a dangerous, shallow water fight.

Cheyenne was not at home in coastal waters like these. The Los Angeles class submarines were designed for blue water operations. Cheyenne and her sister ships performed best in the open ocean. While they still performed well in areas like the South China Sea and, more specifically, the Spratly Islands, their superiority gap was narrowed markedly.

A Los Angeles class SSN was 360 feet in length — nearly 100 feet longer than an Alfa submarine, and the Chinese and Russian Kilo submarines were smaller still. The Kilo was a perfect weapon system for these dangerous waters. Measuring 229 feet, it could weave in and out of tight spots that Cheyenne would not even want to venture into.

As Cheyenne approached Discovery Great Reef, Mack decided to remain relatively shallow. That would allow Cheyenne to copy any radio traffic that might be broadcast to them. In addition, he didn’t trust the water depths in this area. He figured he had a better chance of running aground than he did of being detected by the enemy.

When Cheyenne crossed the 100 fathom curve inbound for Discovery Great reef, Mack ordered, “Come to periscope depth.”

Cheyenne had already been running shallow at 200 feet. Now, however, Mack would use the periscope to check out the notorious “oil platforms.”

“Conn, sonar,” the sonar supervisor called a short time later. “I think we’ve got a contact on the towed array. It sounds faint, but it may be a submarine… although the computers haven’t been able to confirm a thing.”

The contact was currently too weak for Cheyenne’s sonar operators to do much with. Mack made a mental note to keep checking on it, though. He was sure that if this was a submarine they were picking up, Cheyenne would be going after it soon.

Mack was also sure that whatever they were picking up had not yet detected their own presence in these waters. Cheyenne was currently running at only three knots to minimize the periscope “feather,” the wake caused by the periscope barrel as it moved through the air-water interface, and she was nearly as quiet as she could be.

“Captain, we are currently seventeen miles northeast of the first oil rig,” the navigator reported.

“Sonar, Captain, do you have any additional information to report on that contact?” Mack asked.

“Conn, sonar, we classify Master 48 as a probable submarine contact to the southwest. It appears that it’s on the other end of the abandoned oil rig from our position. It’s barely making a sound, though.”

Mack acknowledged the report and ordered battle stations manned and the towed array housed. He still didn’t know for sure what that contact was, but he had the feeling that Cheyenne was about to go into battle once more.

Southwest of Cheyenne, at the other end of the abandoned oil rig, a Chinese Kilo submarine was getting into position near Discovery Great Reef. The Kilo was running silently, and its captain was confident that they could not be detected. But then, based on estimates from Chinese intelligence, he did not expect any American SSNs to be near his position for at least another day.

The Chinese intelligence machine was very different from its American counterpart. The Chinese focused their intelligence on the human aspect, or HUMINT, while the Americans focused their intelligence on ELINT — electronic signals interception and satellite photography.

These differences made sense in terms of the backgrounds of the two countries. China had a massive population, with citizens and former citizens scattered around the world. America, on the other hand, had massive quantities of money that they could use to invest in their defense industry.

These differences came into play off the Spratlys. Cheyenne, with her advanced technology and sophisticated sonar equipment, was able to pick up traces of the Kilo. The Chinese boat, however, was relying more heavily on human observers — but Cheyenne’s submerged transit of the Philippine Islands area had precluded any HUMINT by Chinese observers on the islands.

The captain of the Chinese Kilo finally arrived in his position slightly more than one nautical mile west of the oil platform. He planned to wait there in silence for passing American naval vessels, hoping for some to venture close enough for him to strike.

He didn’t know it, but he was about to get his wish.

“Conn, sonar,” reported the sonar supervisor, “we just lost contact on Master 48.”

“What was the last position of Master 48?” Mack asked the fire-control coordinator.

The executive officer, who was acting as fire-control coordinator for this watch, said, “Captain, Master 48 was about nineteen thousand yards west of the Discovery Great Reef oil rig. Do you think she heard us?”

The question was a good one.

Could they have heard us? Mack wondered. The most probable reason that they would lose contact with a submarine was either that the enemy submarine’s noise was being shielded from Cheyenne‘s sonar, possibly by a thermal layer or the surf noise, or that the submarine had detected Cheyenne’s presence and had either stopped or was running silently. The silence indicated that if there was a submarine out there, it was probably a Chinese diesel boat, running on its batteries.

Slowly, Cheyenne approached the oil rig, which lay within one mile of Discovery Great Reef. The water was extremely shallow in this area and the huge rocks surrounding the now dilapidated oil rig served to shield the diesel’s sounds.

Cheyenne‘s passive sonar suite was severely degraded in the shallow environment of the littorals. In this environment, active sonar would work almost as well as passive, if they used MIDAS to discriminate between rocks and a submarine’s longer hull, but Mack didn’t seriously consider the idea. He knew that using his active sonar would give away Cheyenne’s exact position. He’d rather have both submarines blind than give away his position to the enemy.

Through the periscope, Mack could see the Discovery Great Reef oil rig. At a glance, he could tell that it had been destroyed during the Chinese occupation of the island. But he needed to give it more than just a glance. He was supposed to get some accurate photographs of the rig for intelligence back in Washington. In addition, he needed to ensure that the rig was not being used as a Chinese submarine depot that could rearm or refuel Chinese SSKs.

He made another quick circle as he “danced” the periscope around the surface. He could find no evidence that the rig was being used for anything — or that it was even in the process of being repaired — but still he was cautious. This was a very dangerous place for Cheyenne to be running at periscope depth.

Six nautical miles away, or about 12,000 yards from Cheyenne’s current position, the Chinese Kilo submarine was operating in its silent mode — running on its batteries. With no noise coming from their own ship, the Chinese sonar operators listened carefully to their low frequency sonar, searching the waters for the sound of any American vessels.

They heard nothing.

The Chinese had been loitering here, running silently on their batteries, for seventeen hours, keeping their depth shallow at 45 feet and their ears open. The captain was waiting for the Americans to walk into his trap.

After seventeen hours, however, the captain of the Kilo grew impatient. He’d had enough of this waiting. Slowly the Kilo pulled out of its hiding spot and began to pick up speed. Its captain had decided to make a run at six knots, slowly and quietly circling Discovery Great Reef, searching for any American naval vessels.

As soon as the Kilo moved, it lost its protection against American sonars, and Cheyenne heard it.

“Conn, sonar, we just reacquired Master 48. It’s a Kilo, single six-bladed screw. It just increased speed to six knots and it’s heading north.”

A short time later a BSY-1 operator reported the Kilo’s range, and Mack knew Cheyenne was in trouble. The Chinese submarine was only 11,000 yards away, which meant that Mack had unknowingly brought Cheyenne well within weapons range of the Chinese Kilo and her TEST-71 homing torpedoes.

“Make tubes one and two ready,” Mack ordered. “But do not open the outer doors!” He emphasized that. They were too close, and he didn’t want to give the Kilo any chance of detecting their location.

“Make tubes one and two ready but do not open the outer doors, aye, sir.”

Mack had a problem. He had the drop on the Kilo, but he didn’t have much maneuvering room. If the Kilo got off a return shot, Cheyenne could be in trouble.

And that was the least of his worries. His bigger problem was his lack of intel. Were there other Chinese submarines out there? Naval intelligence said no — but they’d missed one already. Who was to say they hadn’t missed more?

This was a problem because he would give away his position as soon as he fired on the Kilo — and even if that submarine didn’t fire back, there could be others hiding in the shallow water waiting to pounce.

Captain Mackey ordered Cheyenne rigged for ultraquiet. He wanted every effort made to ensure that nothing alerted the Kilo to their location. Word was quickly passed to all compartments over the sound powered phones. Non-vital equipment was quickly secured. The crew whispered when they spoke, wondering what would be next.

On board the Chinese submarine, the captain was growing frustrated. He was assigned to keep watch for American submarines, but he knew that he would never hear them unless they were close enough to fire their Mk 48s. Even under ideal circumstances his passive sonar was never up to par with the American BSY-1 system, but in these shallow waters his Russian passive sonar performance was even worse.

Frustrated, he ordered his sonar room to use their active sonar and ping the area, hoping to even out the playing field and get a better fix on his surroundings. He had no idea that the USS Cheyenne was attempting to close in on his position.

“Conn, sonar, the Kilo just went active on its fire-control sonar. He painted the entire area for us.”

Mack knew immediately that this was good news as well as bad. It was bad because the Kilo now knew where Cheyenne was and had also received a firing solution. The good news, however, was that the active ping had given the same data to Cheyenne. Even more important, that one ping had lit up the murky waters of Discovery Great Reef like a flashlight. Thanks to that ping, Mack now knew that the Chinese Kilo was all alone.

Mack had the upper hand, but he wouldn’t have it for long. He had to act fast — and act first.

He initiated the firing point procedures to attack the Kilo, Master 48. “Open the outer doors on tubes one and two,” ordered Mack.

“Open the outer doors on tubes one and two, aye, sir.”

“Match sonar bearings and shoot tubes one and two.”

“Match sonar bearings and shoot tubes one and two, aye, sir.”

Cheyenne’s torpedo tube muzzle doors opened and two Mk 48 ADCAPs knifed through the murky water toward the enemy submarine.

On board the lone Chinese Kilo, the captain was furious with himself. He had been tasked with waiting quietly for any American target, but he had lost his patience, and it had cost him.

He would have liked to blame it on timing and bad luck — that American submarine showing up just when he decided to take a stroll around the reef was unbelievably bad luck — but he knew he couldn’t shrug it off that easily. After all, he had no idea how long the Americans had been out there. No, the simple truth was he’d made a mistake. Now he could only hope that the American captain would make one, too.

That hope died almost immediately. He had barely formed the thought when his sonar room alerted him to their discovery. The American captain had not made a mistake. He’d beaten the Chinese captain to the punch, launching not one but two deadly ADCAP torpedoes before the Kilo had even gotten their tubes ready.

Within minutes the two Mk 48s had acquired the Kilo and their wires were cut. The Mk 48s were on their own as they entered the terminal phase of their “flight.”

The Chinese submarine launched a series of noisemakers, one after another, and began twisting through the shallow water in an effort to decoy the two torpedoes. It was no use, though. The Kilo had no more room to maneuver than Cheyenne did, and no time to run.

The Mk 48s were now using their powerful active seekers and they simply ignored the noisemakers. They stayed with the Kilo as it tried to evade.

Within minutes, two nearly simultaneous explosions announced to Cheyenne’s crew that their weapons had found their mark. The two Mk 48s had impacted, one next to the other, into the port side of the Kilo.

The explosion caused the Chinese boat to split in half after both sides had filled with water. Cheyenne had destroyed another boat — and not just any submarine. This was another Kilo, the pride of the Chinese navy.

“Conn, sonar, I don’t hear anything else in the area,” the sonar supervisor reported to the captain after the situation was under control.

“It looks like this area has been ‘deloused,’ the captain said. ”I don’t think that there are any other vessels operating in the area, but just to make sure let’s make a quick check around and then head to our second search area.”

Battle stations and the rig for ultraquiet were secured, and the reconnoiter around the reef came up empty. Cheyenne turned up no signs that there was a submarine depot operating in this locality. There was also no sonar indication of any other submarines that may have been operating with the Kilo.

Mack was not surprised, but he couldn’t help feeling a little relieved. “Plot a new course for Cuarteron Reef, search area 2, that takes us outside this shallow water,” Captain Mackey said to the navigator.

“Aye, Captain, We’ve already begun to plot the course,” the navigator replied.

Discovery Great Reef was close to Cuarteron Reef, but the trip itself would take several hours. Mack could have covered it in far less time, but he wanted to remain silent and chose to keep Cheyenne’s speed between five and ten knots. Once again, Mack was frustrated with his passive sonar performance in these shallow waters, but he was not going to risk giving away his position, so he kept Cheyenne quiet and hoped that if something was out there they would hear it.

As Cheyenne approached closer to the abandoned oil rig, Mack got more photographs of the oil platform. Less than three months ago, this area had been crowded with oil workers who were attempting to extract oil from the bottom of the islands. Now, however, there was not a soul on the rig, and the neighboring islands were completely occupied by Chinese troops who would have loved to attack Cheyenne if given the chance. But Mack wasn’t about to give them that chance. Not if he could help it, anyway.

“Sonar, conn, have you picked up any contacts yet?” Mack asked of the sonar supervisor.

“Conn, sonar, nothing at all, Captain.”

Mack acknowledged the report, but he wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or a bad one.

At three knots, Cheyenne crept around the entire length of Cuarteron Reef but found no sign of enemy submarine operations in the area. That was definitely a good sign, Mack thought.

“Next stop, Swallow Reef,” Mackey said to the executive officer before turning the conn back over to the waiting OOD.

The captain, satisfied with Cheyenne’s search, went back to his stateroom for some rest. He gave specific orders to the executive officer not to have him disturbed unless there was an emergency.

Several hours later the executive officer walked quietly into the captain’s stateroom and roused him. As soon as Mack opened his eyes and saw his executive officer standing over him, he knew something was up.

“What happened?” Mack asked. “Did you run us aground?”

But the executive officer was in no mood for humor. “We’ve got numerous contacts near Swallow Reef, Captain,” he said. “I think we found their submarine depot.”

Mack was on his feet and heading back toward the control room before his executive officer finished speaking.

In the control room, the OOD was examining the plotting tables. Mack glanced over at the OOD, then headed straight for the sonar room and looked at the sonar supervisor. “What have we got?” he asked.

“Sir, it looks like the abandoned Swallow Reef oil platform is the submarine depot we were sent here to find. So far, we’ve heard two submarines surface in the area. Both submarines then slowed, heading north. They have since begun to recharge their batteries on all diesels and we can hear lots of activity going on out there.”

“Do you have any classification on those two that surfaced?” Mack asked.

The sonar supervisor nodded. “We just picked up the contacts three minutes ago, sir. We’ve positively identified two submarine contacts, both old Romeos. But there might be more of them out there.”

This situation was exactly what Mack had hoped to avoid. He had detected a major submarine operation at Swallow Reef, but he had no permission to attack the targets. He wasn’t even sure that his Mk 48s could do a job that was best suited to Tomahawks.

Thinking it over, examining the few possibilities available to him, Mack came up with a plan. It might not have been on the same level of innovation and inspiration as some of his earlier ideas, but it was the only thing that occurred to him.

He knew that Cheyenne would eventually be in position to attack both submarines, now designated Masters 49 and 50. He also assumed that there were probably more than two submarines rearming and refueling at this depot. What Mack wanted to do was to attack the depot itself and put it out of commission.

The question was — in addition to whether or not Mack and Cheyenne could pull it off — would CTF 74 grant him such leeway? Mack was pretty sure that the answer would be no, but just in case he called his combat systems officer and his communicator in for a meeting in the wardroom.

“Would it be possible,” the captain asked the combat systems officer, “to destroy that Chinese depot by hitting them with Mk 48s?”

The combat systems officer scratched his head before looking up at Mack. “I guess we could do it, sir. The oil platform acts as shelter to the submarines beneath it and we could target those submarines. That would, at the very least, severely disrupt operations at the mini-base.” He paused and looked at Mack. “But, sir,” he went on, “have we been granted permission to attack the platform and the submarines in it?”

“Not yet,” Mack said, glad that his officers were both involved and aware of what Cheyenne’s orders were. Turning to the communicator, he added, “Which is where you come in. I want you to draft a message to CTF 74, tell him what we’ve found, and request permission to engage the submarines in the depot and hopefully bring down the entire platform.”

“Yes, sir,” the two officers replied. They were dismissed and both went about their work. The combat systems officer went to the quartermaster to find the best locations from which they could launch their attack. The communicator went straight to the radio room.

“Make preparations to come to periscope depth,” Mack said to the OOD.

“Make preparations to come to periscope depth, aye, sir.”

Minutes later, Cheyenne was brought from two hundred feet to periscope depth. Once the safety sweep revealed no surface contacts, the radio communications mast was quickly raised, and the message sent and receipted for. Several minutes later, after an extremely rapid response from CTF 74, the mast was lowered and the captain entered the radio room, one of the most highly classified places on the submarine.

The radio room dealt with encrypting devices and top-secret messages, and the message Cheyenne had just received was no exception. As Mack entered, the communicator handed him a computer printout.

Mack glanced at the message, paused, and then read it again.

The executive officer came in just as Mack was finishing reading the message for the second time. The executive officer had completed a tour of the engineering spaces with the engineer officer. “The combat systems officer told me what’s going on,” he said. “Anything I can help with?”

Mack showed him the message, and then the two of them headed for the wardroom to work out the plan for attacking the Chinese submarine depot. When they had reached an agreement on the best plan of attack, Mack instructed the executive officer to provide the appropriate details to all the areas of the ship that would play a part in the execution of the operation.

The plan they had come up with was for Cheyenne to head north at a speed of eight knots. Once they were past Royal Charlotte Reef, and as soon as they came within 35,000 yards west of the depot, they would slow to five knots and approach the depot quietly at a depth of one hundred feet. That depth would allow the top of Cheyenne’s sail to clear any of the shallow draft vessels that might be loitering overhead. They would listen for any signs of submarine or surface ship activity and then they would close in for the kill.

Once they were within 30,000 yards of the transformed oil rig they would launch eight Mk 48s at the vessels being refitted under the platform. They would then head southeast until they had exited the waters of the Spratly Islands. Once clear, they would proceed northeast along the one hundred fathom curve until they were ready to reenter the islands chain and investigate their fourth search area — Carnatic Reef.

That was the plan. Now it was up to Mack, his officers, and the crew to execute it.

With battle stations once again manned, Cheyenne slowed to five knots as they approached weapons range.

“Conn, sonar, we just detected two Huangfen missile patrol boats,” the sonar supervisor said. “They sailed underneath the depot platform and pulled in next to the Romeos. I’ll bet they’re refueling, sir.”

“Sonar, conn, anything else? Any other surface ships in the area?” asked the captain.

“Conn, sonar, it’s hard to tell. This shallow water has turned our passive sonar inside out. Sometimes it gives us what we want. Other times it’s anyone’s guess.”

“Sonar, conn, aye,” Mack said. He thought for a moment, then said, “Okay, how long until we are in firing position?”

The fire-control coordinator answered him. “It should be three more minutes, Captain.”

Tubes one and two were readied for firing. Because they had the exact location of the noisy Romeos, and because the Romeos were directly below the platform, they also had the exact location of the platform. They would launch all eight Mk 48s in succession as rapidly as possible, cutting the wires immediately after they had left the tubes. This left the torpedoes to hit their targets without guidance from Cheyenne.

Mack had the torpedoes fired two at a time, tubes one and two first, then tubes three and four. He did this twice, and the procedure didn’t take long. Cheyenne had recently had lots of experience loading and firing torpedoes, and that experience paid off.

“Conn, sonar, we just got another sonar contact,” the sonar supervisor said as the last two Mk 48s were launched. “A single Huchuan torpedo boat is heading our way. The noise level indicates it’s running at full speed.”

Mack had been briefed on the Huchuan hydrofoils and knew that the Chinese had more than seventy of them in service. He also knew that these small ships could reach speeds of more than fifty knots. The Huchuan was designated Master 53.

“What’s the range to the Huchuan, Master 53?” asked Mack.

“We can’t tell, Captain,” the fire-control coordinator answered. “The water’s too shallow and we can’t do an accurate TMA on the boat. Bearings are coming in over a twenty-degree spread.”

“Well, then,” Mack said, “we have no choice. We have to go active.”

This was one of the rare times Mack could feel right using his BSY-1 sonar system in an active mode. For one thing, the Chinese already knew where they were. Eight torpedoes on essentially the same bearing were a dead giveaway. Besides, he knew that any Chinese vessels with sonar in the area would be concentrating on the eight Mk 48s headed for the naval depot under the abandoned oil rig. With luck, they would be more worried about that and wouldn’t care about Cheyenne’s rushed getaway.

The Huchuan hydrofoil coming their way was Mack’s biggest concern at the moment, but the hydrofoils had no sonar. Without a sonar, they would be unable to determine if Cheyenne was active, or even if she launched a torpedo in their direction.

Cheyenne’s active sonar pings echoed through the hull. Being foil-borne, sonar was actually tracking the wake it generated, not the Huchuan itself. But that was enough for a “down-the-throat” shot.

When Cheyenne’s sonar went active, Mack was able to acquire an accurate firing solution to the Chinese patrol boat. He ordered tube one fired at the Chinese Huchuan. The Mk 48 was set to detonate, at a depth of ten feet, just beneath the foils.

The Huchuan, without a sonar system, was unaware that a torpedo was heading its way and continued on in the direction they expected Cheyenne to be. The captain of the hydrofoil had calculated Cheyenne’s position correctly — but that was also the same direction from which the latest Mk 48 was coming. This brought them closer and closer to the oncoming torpedo, closing rapidly at a combined speed of over one hundred knots.

“Conn, sonar, our Mk 48 just detonated beneath the PT boat.”

The Huchuan went airborne, propelled by the force of the water exploding up from beneath it. It rotated in a spiral as it flew, killing those sailors aboard without seat belts as they were thrown around like “BBs in a boxcar.” Moments later, those who had seat belts — mostly bridge personnel — were killed instantly when the boat finally hit the water, upside down, at fifty knots.

When sonar also reported eight extremely large explosions followed by a dozen smaller ones, Mack went to periscope depth and then broached to get the periscope high enough to visually assess the damage.

Mack was pleased with what he saw. They had blown up two Chinese submarines, Masters 49 and 50, two missile patrol boats, Masters 51 and 52, and a torpedo hydrofoil, Master 53. Most important, though, the Chinese naval depot was no longer usable, with fires raging on the platform as it tilted into the sea.

Cheyenne’s captain grinned fiercely, pride in his ship and his crew welling up within him. They’d been given a difficult assignment, and once again they’d carried it out.

He was about to order Cheyenne to resume her patrol, heading southeast, out of the islands, when the executive officer walked up to Mack, bringing with him a quiet sense of urgency.

“Captain,” he said, “we just received an emergency message. Our current mission has been diverted.” He showed the new orders to Mack.

Cheyenne was to deploy directly to the north of the Spratly Islands. A Chinese convoy was forming and would be heading south for the islands. Cheyenne’s orders were to sink it. But not just yet.

Cheyenne had expended more than half the Mk 48s she was given. She had enough left on board to complete her current mission, but not enough to take out an entire convoy.

Feeling his earlier sense of pride in his crew turn to frustration at the loadouts he’d been given, Mack ordered Cheyenne to return to McKee. They’d come back, he knew, and deal with that convoy… but not until they’d had the chance to rearm.