Shattered Trident - Страница 90

There were far too many people for the base chapel. The submarine crews, minus their duty sections, from North Dakota, Texas, North Carolina, and Oklahoma City, and the families from Texas, Oklahoma City, and of course Santa Fe attended. Adding in the Squadron Fifteen staff, it came to over fifteen hundred people. North Dakota and North Carolina were homeported out of Pearl Harbor, so their families were not present, and Jerry missed having Emily beside him.

So they’d taken over a nearby parking lot, setting up chairs, awnings, a podium, flags, and sound system. Volunteers from the Squadron Fifteen boats had made short work of the preparations, so that by the time the last torpedo had been locked in its tube, everything was ready for the service. The mess crews on the four submarines worked all night to prepare the refreshments. They wanted to do this right.

It was going to be a warm day. It got into the eighties in Guam, even in September, so it was a short service, but that was fine. The crews had places to be.

The navy hadn’t lost a ship for a long time, but they hadn’t forgotten how a memorial service should be done. Honoring a fallen shipmate, admittedly an entire crew in this case, was a tradition the navy clung to fiercely. The base chaplain had begun the service, followed by readings from each of the Squadron Fifteen skippers. Captain Simonis gave a short speech about service and sacrifice, and that the greatest sacrifice was made by the ones left behind—the families.

Joanna Patterson, at the direction of the president, read a short message praising Santa Fe and its crew, who had accepted the risks inherent in their work, and, in faithfully carrying out their duties, “had upheld the finest traditions of the U.S. Navy.” She’d held it together while reading the president’s message, but the deputy national security advisor wept silently through the rest of the service.

The base band played the navy hymn, and then serenaded the attendees as they enjoyed the refreshments. Jerry had sought out Joanna, who gave him a quick hug, wished him luck, and told him to be careful. Simonis found him as he was talking with Patterson. Upon seeing the commodore waiting, she quickly excused herself. Joanna knew the two had business to discuss. Simonis approached Jerry and offered his hand.

“Good luck, Jerry. I’m sorry about sending you back to the same patrol zone, but North Dakota has the best chance against that Akula. I’m assuming Samant’s still annoyed, so it makes the most sense to send someone with experience up against him.”

“Oh, he’s still pissed, Commodore. That’s a safe bet. I’ll do my best to stay out of his way.”

“Just do what’s needed and come home. I don’t want to lose another one of my boats.”

Less than an hour after he returned to North Dakota, they were under way. Half an hour later they were submerged, with a flank bell on, speeding for the South China Sea.

* * *

Jerry had begun running drills as soon as they were clear of the harbor. The memorial service had left his crew thoughtful, and he needed their heads fully in the game. Feeling sorry for Santa Fe, or worse, sorry for themselves, was a good way to get dead. Better they were sweating the next drill, or mad at him for working their tails off.

He ran snapshot torpedo exercises that morphed into damage control drills. He inserted Chakra’s recorded acoustic signature into the sonar’s computer, exercising his team until even his most junior sonarman knew exactly which tonals would show up first.

He also had the torpedomen run rapid reloading drills. With only one tube available, if he had to shoot, he wanted to make sure it wasn’t the only chance he’d get.

In spite of the long distance, North Dakota was still close to its assigned station two hours ahead of time. They’d decided to wait inside a box five miles square, centered on their designated launch position. That meant they were never more than half an hour from the launch position at ten knots.

In the infantry, a unit would simply dig in for protection and concealment, but all the crew of North Dakota could do was stay quiet, mill about smartly, and wait.

Thigpen and his fire control team had plotted every bit of information on Chakra’s patrol patterns, but there was no observable pattern, and besides, their launch position was dictated by geography and hydroacoustics. For this torpedo shot, tactics had to take a backseat.

He’d run the boat at Condition II, port and starboard watches, since leaving Apra Harbor. An hour before launch time, Jerry ordered general quarters. At thirty minutes before H-hour, he went to periscope depth for a final look around. After three slow sweeps with a photonics mast, Jerry was satisfied there wasn’t a soul near him. They headed back down to launch depth.

18 September 2016

1140 Local Time

INS Chakra

South China Sea

“New contact, number seven three, bearing zero four nine. Hull-popping noises, contact is likely submerged,” blared the intercom speaker.

Samant quickly grabbed the mike. “Sonar, is the contact the American submarine?”

“Captain, contact is very weak. We can’t tell what it is yet.”

Samant threw the mike onto the desk and bolted to the sonar room. Opening the door, he thrust his body between the two operators. “Show me what you have.”

Lieutenant Rajat pointed to the slight trace on the waterfall display. The tonal was weak, unstable. The lieutenant was right, it was too hard to tell whether the new contact was a submarine or a ship, but the hull-popping noises meant a submarine was changing depth. And if it was a submarine, it was probably an American. All of the Chinese boats he’d detected thus far had been much farther to the north. Until proven otherwise, he had to assume it was an American attack submarine.

Jain’s voice came from behind him. “What is it, Captain?”

“We don’t know for sure, Number One, but I think our nemesis is back,” answered Samant.

“What!? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him in over a week! Why would he be back now?” Jain asked, surprised.

“I have no idea, Number One, but please be so kind as to bring the boat to action stations.”

USS North Dakota

“Captain, new sonar contact, designated Sierra-one three. The contact is in the forward end fire beam of the TB-33, bearing is two two zero, but it’s really sketchy, sir,” reported Chief Halleck.

Jerry chuckled cynically and rolled his eyes. “Figures.”

“Do you think it’s your buddy Samant?” questioned Thigpen.

“Who else? You couldn’t get any more inconvenient if you tried. It looks like Murphy is working overtime!” Jerry grumbled. “Attention in Control, I’m about to come left to get Sierra-one three out of the forward end fire beams of our towed arrays. Things could get ugly quick, so keep alert. Carry on.

“Pilot, left fifteen degrees rudder. Steady on course east,” ordered Jerry.

“Left fifteen degrees rudder, steady course zero nine zero, Pilot aye.”

INS Chakra

“Captain, contact seven three is classified as an American SSN. Contact is altering course, turning away from us,” Lieutenant Rajat reported over the speaker.

“I knew it!” Captain Samant’s exclamation made Jain and several others in the central post jump. “I had a feeling he’d be skulking around here somewhere, he knew we’d have to head south eventually to find more targets! Has he detected us yet?”

“At this range and in these water conditions, it’s likely, sir. He’s moving away from us at low speed,” said Jain.

“Of course he is,” Samant remarked acidly. “He’ll try to stay at the edge of his sonar’s detection range, following us, and then, when we find a potential target, he’ll do his best to interfere. I wouldn’t put it past him to put a radio antenna up and warn a ship we were attacking!”

Jain, his first officer, suggested, “Sir, if he’s moving east, let’s just move westward and break contact.”

“Absolutely not!” Samant shot back. “He’ll use his acoustic advantage to trail us, and we won’t be able to tell whether he’s there or not until it’s too late. I don’t want to play underwater tag with this man for the rest of the war. Let’s scrape him off our shoe so we can get back to business. I’ll make him regret his career choice,” Samant promised grimly.

“Helm, left twenty five, steer zero four five, increase speed to twenty-five knots. Sonar, go active and track the American.”

USS North Dakota

“Confirm target zig by Sierra-one three. He’s changing course and increasing speed, Skipper. WLY-1 has Skat-3 active transmissions.”

“Then there’s no point in going east now,” Jerry remarked. “Pilot, hard left rudder, steady course north. All ahead two-thirds, make turns for ten knots. I want a little more energy if I have to maneuver suddenly.” Even as he said it, he realized that even after all this time, he still thought in aviator terms.

“Sonar, go active as well, and track Chakra. I want the best information we can get on his position and speed.”

Jerry marveled at the situation. Submarines rarely used active sonar, because it revealed their position. But in this situation, stealth was the last thing on either captain’s mind.

He could see Chakra’s position on the VLSD. A projected course line ran from her toward and past North Dakota. Jerry’s turn to the north had shifted the line behind him; his intention was to open the range between the two subs. Now, as they watched, Chakra’s course line swung to the left again and steadied in front of the American boat’s bow.