Virginia Class

22

Ultraquiet running had been developed during the bad old days of the Cold War, a form of silent running specially designed for American attack boats trailing Russian boomers. Each sub skipper set his own preferences from a basic list of possibilities. For Virginia, ultraquiet meant the main coolant pumps were switched off in favor of natural circulation; all fans were switched to slow; the fresh water evaporator, laundry, showers, and all maintenance work were secured; and red lamps were switched on and white switched off throughout the boat in order to remind the crew that silent running was in force. The galley was secured except for uncooked meals — peanut butter, cold cuts, and the like — and all hands not on watch were required to be in their bunks. Reading was permitted for off-duty personnel, but no movies, card playing, excessive talking, or exercising were allowed.

During the Cold War, some boats had slipped along in stealthy pursuit of an unsuspecting Russian ballistic missile sub for a week at a time, until the unnatural quiet — the hushed voices and careful movements; the conversations carried out with eyebrows, shrugs, and grimaces — became what passed for normal, and the din that resulted when ultraquiet was secured seemed like a shocking violation of the natural order of things.

The control room was eerie in red light, like a scene out of some Dantean hell. The tension was palpable. The enemy submarine must be out there, not very far away.

Silently, Garrett went over a mental checklist for at least the fiftieth time. Tubes two and four were loaded, and the outer doors already open. Junior had been launched half an hour ago and steered to a point nearly half a mile northeast of Virginia's position, where the UUV was circling slowly, saving its batteries. The boat was rigged for ultraquiet and the crew were at their stations or in their racks.

What had he forgotten? Nothing he could think of. He would have liked to have been able to go ahead and load tube three as well, but reloading was a noisy procedure that could take twenty minutes, and he didn't want to risk being heard by the other boat.

On the control room monitor, dust motes, brilliantly illuminated like stars in deep space, drifted past. Carpenter had switched on the UUV's powerful external lights, bathing the water around the mobile device with illumination. Visibility was limited to perhaps twenty or thirty yards; beyond that range, the light was swallowed by the ocean. The chance of actually being able to see the enemy sub was slim, but there was a chance. The Kilo wouldn't be able to see the UUV's lights; that gave them an advantage unheard of in submarine warfare… the slender chance of actually spotting the other sub visually.

So far, though, there was nothing but drifting motes within a vast and empty ocean.

A tiny clicking from his chair console attracted Garrett's attention. On the console monitor, a window had opened, and words were typing themselves out in the window.

Garrett opened his touchscreen keyboard and typed out a reply.

And Queensly's reply came back seconds later.

Still, for someone of Queensly's skill, a feeling was a damned good thing to go by. When it came to listening to the sounds emerging from the surrounding ocean depths, Garrett put more credence in Queensly's feelings than he did in most men's presentation of solid fact.

The electronic postings of messages back and forth saved having a messenger go back and forth, and was quieter than intercom connections or the 1MC. The silence continued to drag out for another long minute.

The tactical situation was fascinating. Two attack submarines, both among the quietest vehicles ever to slip beneath the surface of the ocean, seeking one another in a game of double blindman's bluff, two opponents each trying simultaneously to hear the other while remaining completely silent. The first one to make a mistake was dead.

The control room monitor continued to show lighted motes of crud streaming past the camera lens, with empty blackness beyond. Garrett had taken a long shot launching the UUV. Without knowing the other submarine's exact course or depth, the chance of acquiring the target visually was remote.

However, he thought suddenly, leaning forward in his chair, there was another way to use the UUV.

Typing again, he posted a message to both the weapons console and to sonar.

The reply came back a moment later. done.

Carpenter didn't respond immediately. When he did, it was to say,

Junior, the sensor-laden reconnaissance/monitor platform, was still, essentially, an ADCAP torpedo. It could not reach the fifty-knot-plus speed of a Mark 48 ADCAP, but it could hump along at a respectable thirty knots.

And when it moved that fast, it would sound exactly like a torpedo in the water.

"Captain! Torpedo! Torpedo in the water!"

"Where?"

"Bearing three-five-eight, speed thirty knots, range eight hundred meters!"

"Helm! Come hard left rudder! Increase speed to twenty knots!"

An ambush! But how had the enemy detected them?

He would worry about that later. Right now, all that mattered was evading the other submarine's torpedo.

Unfortunately, with a maximum speed of twenty knots, a Kilo-class submarine wasn't much of a competitor in a footrace with a torpedo, but Jian could extend the time to impact by moving away from the incoming shot, and it would give him an opportunity to use countermeasures.

The problem was that eight hundred meters was damned close… maybe too close for a successful evasion.

"Control room, sonar! We're cavitating!"

When a submarine attempted to accelerate too quickly, bubbles could form on the blades of the propeller, and the collapse of those bubbles was both noisy and distinctive.

Yinbi's cavitation was unimportant for the moment. Obviously, the enemy had already spotted them somehow, and some extra noise would not make things worse….

"Captain!" Queensly called over Garrett's headphone. "I have a contact, close aboard! Sierra One-zero-three, bearing three-five-five, estimated range two hundred yards! She's a probable Kilo-class boat, and definitely close!"

"Thank you. Update me on the target's movements." Damn! Two hundred yards was point-blank range for submarine combat. In fact, the target might be too close for Virginia's torpedoes to arm before they hit the target. This was not a good situation!

"I'm picking up cavitation, Captain. Sounds like he's really putting the pedal to the metal! He's at fifteen knots… make that eighteen knots… still accelerating. Changing aspect too. Looks like he's turning away from our UUV!"

The good news was that at twenty knots, the Kilo's sonar operators wouldn't be able to hear a thing.

"Maneuvering!" he called. "Bring us ahead slow. Come left to bearing two-seven-zero."

"Ahead slow, aye aye. Come left to two-seven-zero, aye aye, sir!"

Virginia had been hovering motionless as she waited, her bow pointed toward the northeast. She needed a bit of way, however — some forward speed— in order to turn. Garrett intended to pivot Virginia as sharply as possible, bringing her around until she was heading west. By that time, perhaps, Sierra-103 would have passed Virginia traveling south, opening the distance between the two.

At least, that was the tactical idea….

"Speed twenty knots, Captain! Heading now one-eight-zero!"

"Sonar! Range to torpedo?"

"Sir… estimate range… four hundred meters! Time to impact… one minute, twenty seconds!"

"Continue to give me range data."

"Yes, sir! Torpedo range now three hundred seventy meters… three hundred fifty meters…"

Jian closed his eyes, forming a mental image of the tactical situation. Yinbi was running south at flank, the enemy torpedo close behind. The American submarine must be somewhere farther north… how far north was unknown. American ADCAP torpedoes had a range of at least thirty-five kilometers.

He would have to be a lot closer than that, however. He could not possibly have detected Yinbi's movements at a range greater than, say two kilometers, and that was giving him a great deal of the benefit of the doubt.

"Range to torpedo now three hundred twenty meters… three hundred meters…"

No homing sonar yet. That meant the enemy torpedo was being wire-guided, which, in turn, meant the American had a sonar fix on them.

Damn it… how?

"We're closing the range between Junior and Sierra One-oh-three, Captain," Carpenter announced. "Three hundred yards!"

"Sonar! Position on Sierra One-oh-three?"

"He's due west of us now, Skipper. Bearing two-seven-zero, range one hundred eighty yards!"

It was tempting to fire a snapshot now, with the enemy's position so firmly locked in. Torpedoes armed themselves, however, after a set passage of time, a safeguard to prevent a torpedo from acquiring a target lock on the firing submarine, and circling back for what was euphemistically referred to as an own goal. Virginia's ADCAPs were set with a thirty-second delay, which translated to about eight hundred yards of travel. The time delay could be reduced, but that was not seen as a healthy tactic. Blowing your own submarine out of the water was not a move calculated to enhance a naval officer's career.

And so, Garrett waited.

On the control room monitor, a dark gray shadow was slowly taking shape, all but hidden in the murk. Garrett found himself fascinated. There'd been times during the Cold War when American subs had passed close enough to a Russian sub to be able to photograph the other vessel's hull through the periscope, but never had this level of detail been possible. He was actually seeing the enemy sub, not less than a hundred yards ahead of the remote UUV.

"Torpedo now at one hundred meters, Captain, closing at ten knots!"

Close enough. "Release countermeasures!"

"Countermeasures released, sir!"

"Down planes! Submerge to three hundred meters!"

"Submerge to three hundred meters, yes, sir!"

Jian grabbed hold of a handhold on the periscope housing as the deck tilted sharply beneath his feet. With just a little luck, the American guiding that torpedo would lose his lock on the Yinbi as the vessel vanished behind an expanding cloud of bubbles. In that brief moment of invisibility, Yinbi would dive, dropping beneath the thermocline and disappearing from the enemy's sonar screens.

Down… down… and down further still. Would the American torpedo follow?

If they could break the enemy's targeting lock, Yinbi could go deep, then circle back around toward the north.

Toward the enemy….

On the monitor, a cloud of silver bubbles exploded across the screen as Junior's lights cast weirdly shifting vistas of shadow and rainbow. For a moment, nothing was visible but the rushing bubbles; then the UUV burst into the clear. The ocean ahead was empty and dark.

"Lost him!" Carpenter exclaimed.

Once behind its countermeasures screen, the Kilo could have turned right or left, gone up or down. "Take Junior down," he ordered. "I'm betting the bastard is going deep."

That, after all, was what Garrett would have done, plunging beneath the thermocline to evade enemy sonar detection.

At first, nothing was visible but darkness. Then, as the UUV continued to descend, once again a dark shadow loomed ahead, barely visible against the even darker night of the ocean depths.

"Got him!" Carpenter exclaimed. "You were right, Skipper!"

"Switch on Junior's active sonar," Garrett ordered. "Let's shake this guy up."

Faintly, the chirp of a sonar pulse sounded through Virginia's bulkhead.

"Captain! Sonar," Queensly said over his headset. "We're below the thermocline, too. We may be illuminating ourselves!"

"Noted, Queenie. But our friend has other things on his mind right now. Keep tracking him!"

The Kilo was diving fast, still moving at a good twenty knots. The rush of water past his hull would drown out any sonar echo bouncing back from the Virginia. In any case, the Kilo's sonar people were probably completely focused on the UUV right now.

"Helm," he said. "Continue coming left… but open it up a bit. I want to swing around very gently and come in right on the bad guy's tail."

"Aye aye, sir. Continue turn to put us on Sierra One-oh-three's six."

"Diving Officer, take us down to eight hundred feet. But slowly. I want him to pull out ahead of us. Make revolutions for five knots."

"Yes, sir. Make depth eight hundred feet. Make revolutions for five knots, aye aye, sir!"

Gently, the deck tilted forward, canted slightly to port as Virginia continued her wide turn. The faint chirp of sonar continued to ring and echo in the distance.

"Captain?" Carpenter said. "We're going to have contact with Sierra One-oh-three in another few seconds."

Garrett glanced at the forward monitor. Junior's lights were illuminating the deck and the aft part of the Kilo's sail, now. The UUV was shuddering slightly as it passed through the Kilo's wake; the image steadied as it left the cone of disturbed water astern the Chinese sub, and passed slowly along the afterdeck.

"Slow the UUV, Weps. Have it keep pace with the target, if you can."

"Aye, Skipper. I'll do my best."

"And keep pinging him. I want to keep driving the bastard."

The range between hunter and hunted continued to widen….

PING!…

The sonar pulse hammered through the control room bulkhead, a shrill ring assaulting the ears… and the mind.

"Captain?" The sonar operator sounded unsure of himself… a bad sign.

"What is it?"

"Sir… the enemy torpedo. It's slowed to match our speed."

"What?"

"I read it as very close… less than fifty meters, still astern… but it has reduced speed to twenty knots. Sir, it appears to be simply following us in our dive."

Impossible! Torpedoes didn't act that way!

PING!…

At least, known torpedo weapons such as the American Mark 48 ADCAP did not.

Jian wrestled for a moment with the thought that Yinbi was being pursued by a new weapon of some kind. If so, it could have one of two possible effects. Either it was intended to give warning that the target could be destroyed at any moment — presumably by the flip of a switch on the enemy submarine's weapons panel — or the device was actually a homing beacon of some sort, a remote vehicle that found and locked on to the target submarine, broadcasting sonar pulses that would very quickly draw real torpedoes. If the first, then part of the weapon's purpose was psychological warfare, a means of shaking the target's crew. If the second, the device might be designed to patrol a designated area and lock on to any submarine that entered its homing range, at which point it would begin broadcasting a "here I am" homing message for American submarines or ASW ships or aircraft.

PING!…

The question was how much fuel or battery power the device had — how long could it track the Yinbi before running out of juice?

And the answer was… unknown. American technological prowess certainly suggested that it would have a considerable loiter time depending on its speed and range — as much as an hour, perhaps?

PING!…

Several of the men in the control room were looking panicky now, eyes wide as they stared toward the overhead, as if trying to see Yinbi's noisy pursuer. The men remained at their posts, but the tension, the sheer fear, was increasing. How much longer before that fear passed out of their control?

"Diving Officer! What is our depth?"

"Passing two hundred twelve meters, sir."

"Level off at two hundred fifty meters."

"Leveling off at two hundred fifty meters, sir." Gently, the deck began rising.

"Slow to ten knots." How closely would the American weapon pursue them?

"Slowing to ten knots, yes, sir!"

PING!…

"Captain! Sonar! Target is slowing… and appears to be leveling off at 775 feet. Speed now fifteen knots… still slowing… sir, the target is making revolutions for about ten knots."

On the control room monitor, the televised image from Junior showed the aft edge of the Kilo's sail looming huge just ahead, a titanic, oddly tilted cliff partly illuminated by an oval of harsh white light from one of the UUV's lamps. Carpenter hauled the joystick controller over, and, after a delay that was very nearly too long, the remote vehicle yawed sharply to the left, narrowly missing the Kilo's sail. The monitor went black as the UUV twisted away from the target, its cameras again peering out into the empty black of the ocean depths.

"Damn!" Carpenter exclaimed. "He pulled up on me and hit the brakes!"

"That's okay, Weps. Bring Junior around again. Slow to match the target's speed, but stay with him."

"Yes, sir."

Moments passed. Again, the enemy Kilo appeared ahead, a dark and murky shadow moving through the night.

"Mr. Carpenter… let's pick up on the pinging. I want to rattle that guy's cage."

Garrett steepled his fingers as he leaned forward in the command chair, watching the display with intent fascination.

PING!… PING! … PING!… PING!…

The American weapon's sonar probing had increased sharply, the pings coming very close together now. When the sonar operator gave his next report, it was difficult to hear his words because of the racket.

"Sir! Enemy torpedo now circling around behind us. It appears to have slowed to match our course and speed!"

Jian sagged, eyes closed, fist clenched at his side. The situation was impossible. A submarine lived by remaining unheard, unseen, unnoticed. For any submarine commander, this constant and unrelenting acoustical scrutiny was a kind of hell. Enemy torpedoes, real torpedoes, might be on the way already, homing on the acoustical signature of the echoed sonar pulses.

Yinbi de Gongji would die… and for what? Operation Yangshandian, a madman's attempt at geopolitical adventurism.

"Diving Officer!"

"Yes, sir!" The man's face was ashen, drenched with sweat.

"Blow main ballast, if you please. Emergency surface."

"Yes, sir!"

And Yinbi began rising from the depths.