Armageddon

Chapter 19

The Seahawks had been up for the last hour, well out in front of Sato’s surface action group, scouring the waters south of Ulleung-do. Each helicopter carried two Mark 46 torpedoes, and now they were dipping sonar into the water listening for the enemy hidden beneath the sea.

After the White Dragon, Hakuryu, had fired, and was nearly destroyed by enemy counter fire, the Russian sub seemed to vanish behind the intervening undersea massif that made up the island. A long hour passed while Sato considered his options. The enemy could have turned on any new heading after contact was lost, but he stared at the circle indicating their farthest on and knew he was still in the hunt.

They might run due west between those two sea mounts, he thought, fingering two small subsea features west of the main island. Yet they would afford the enemy sub no cover. The water there was too deep, and the Russian sub could not dive deep enough to reach the seamounts, which both had summits at least 870 meters below sea level. The waters south were clear and deep, almost 2200 meters, and that would be a good hunting ground for his helicopters. The Russian sub’s best move would be to reverse course and turn north again or even to move slightly east near the steep undersea flanks of the volcanic island. There they could use the scattering effect of the sheer ridges and cliffs to frustrate the searching pings of active sonar.

He had one sub out in front now, the Kuroshio. Just after Hakuryu engaged, the Kuroshio had altered course to 252 degrees southwest, hoping to get a little out in front of the Russian sub if it continued south. Sato’s three destroyers were now racing past the Dokdo Islets, also called the Liancourt Rocks. Somewhere off his starboard bow he also knew a sleek new American Virginia Class submarine was on the prowl, SGN Mississippi. So the table was set for the next meal, and he had several sharp knives at hand.

This Russian boat is very quiet, he thought. He was surprised that White Dragon had found it earlier, though that sub was shaken badly by that near miss from a 650mm torpedo. This Russian Captain fired at very long range, and with the only weapon that could do the job, nearly skewering his quarry. Fifty meters made the difference between life and death for the Captain and crew of Hakuryu, and that was all too typical of modern warfare, where margins of meters and minutes, sometimes seconds, pronounced the judgment of victor or vanquished.

Flash low frequency message traffic had gone out to all units in the hunt. Hakuryu was north in the East Gap of Ulleung. Mississippi about twelve kilometers southeast, and Kuroshio about 20 kilometers due south of the island. There had been no sign of the enemy on passive sonar from the helos, and he was now ready to order them to undertake a more active sonar search. Where are you? He whispered to himself as he studied the sea charts of the area. Which way did you turn?

He would soon find out.

At 18:20 hours the triangulated sonar scans of his helicopters and submarines thought they finally found something in the deep blue silence of the sea, the barest whisper, a murmur of a shadow passing. It might have been a blue finned whale, or even a large shark, so subtle was its signature on the passive sonar. As per orders from Sato, the first sign of any contact was to be immediately answered by active sonar from the helicopters.

The bright pings radiated out through the hushed undersea oceanscape, rippling against the hull of something dark and solid there. Kazan’s hull design and skin served to scatter much of the sound, but enough got back to reach the well trained ears of the sonar man aboard Mississippi. He had been listening closely to something in the water, an odd repeating scratch that seemed deeply muted, but it was there. Somewhere, he thought, there was a machine out of whack. Some bearing or lever or rod was moving out of balance, leaving a quiet dissonance in the muttering backwash of the sea. He could not tell what it was, exactly, but he had a good idea where it was. Then the pings came.

“Con. Sonar. Reporting undersea contact. Possible submarine bearing 265, range approximately 22,000 meters; speed unknown.”

The sonic energy from those active pings had radiated out through the deep sound channel in a distinct pattern, the sound waves overlapping until they encountered that shadow in the sea. It had caused the slightest ripple in the pattern, and the barest return of that energy that indicated there was something more there than the empty ocean.

Captain James Donahue turned to his sonar man, Ensign Eugene Campanella. “What’s up, Campy? Speed unknown? I can’t get a firing solution with that.”

“Sorry sir,” said Campanella. “Give me a moment.”

“That’s about all I have to spare. Those pings are radiating our way as well. If the Russians have good ears they just might hear something too.”

The Captain did not think that likely yet, but he put a little fire to the feet of his sonar man just the same. “Battle stations. Load tubes one thru four,” he said quietly.

“Load tubes one through four,” came the echo from his XO Lieutenant Commander Chambers. “The boat will come to battle stations, aye, aye.”

“Rig for silent running.”

Silence was the order of the day now, and the Captain turned to his communications station and raised a finger, waving it in a tiny circle to indicate the desired action. Orders had been given to use ultra low frequency sound to indicate he had achieved a possible contact and to signal all other units close at hand with the approximate location. It was not something he would have done if not for those orders. Mississippi liked to play the game solo, as any submarine would.

Four minutes later a whisper came back.

“Captain…” Donahue went to the signal station, reading the incoming message on screen. It showed the approximate coordinates of the suspected contact as refined by the Seahawks, and asked for a concerted attack at 18:30 hours, five minutes away. Every asset in the region was going to put torpedoes in the water to see what they could flush out. If anything got close, the enemy might have to use countermeasures, which would surely give their exact position away and allow a follow on attack to have a high probability of a kill.

The Captain looked at his sonar man. “Give it to me, Campy. You’ve got some help from those Seahawks now.”

Campanella bit his lip. “I make it eighteen knots, sir. Twenty at best.”

“Run with it and get me a firing solution now.”

Computers would take that input, the suspected location and bearing, and calculate the best initial heading for the torpedoes. He was going to put two in the water, to join one from each Seahawk and two from each Japanese submarine out there somewhere. They had just heard the music, and now they were going to make the Russians dance. Eight torpedoes in the water, reasonably well aimed, were going to be a real nightmare for Gromyko in about eighteen minutes. That was the time it would take for the Mark 48 ADCAP torpedoes from Mississippi to cross the 22 kilometer gulf to the suspected target. Other weapons closer to the target would get there first, but the Mark 48s were the best in the business on the US side of the fence, and they would deliver the coup de grace.

One Japanese boat was closer, firing from a range of about 11,000 meters, and the helos were in that same radius as well. They would fire, listen, and then move to the source of the contact before firing again. If these assets were anywhere close to the mark with their shots, the Russians would have to go defensive with countermeasures, and then the other torpedoes could vector in for the kill. It was a good and well coordinated plan…

“Con, Sonar. I have torpedoes in the water! Two…three… no sir, many more. It looks like eight separate contacts!”

“Eight? My God.” Gromyko was quickly at his sonar man’s side.

“I have two close contacts, most likely fired by the helicopters that have been searching for us. One bearing 260, range 12,500 meters approximate; another bearing 178 at about 9,500 meters. Those would be Mark 46 torpedoes, sir, and that first one is firing at maximum range.”

“The enemy is very eager today,” said Gromyko, seemingly unconcerned. “What is the speed of those torpedoes?”

“I make it 40 knots, sir-that’s 74KPH.”

“I see they are in no hurry. This is a fishing expedition.”

“Then I have two more, medium range at 11,000 meters approximate and bearing 315 degrees. They sound like Type 89s from the profile data match, sir.”

“Then we have another Japanese submarine to our south on that heading. Note it as Tokyo-One and place it on the tactical board, Mister Belanov.”

“Aye, sir. Designating Tokyo-One.”

“Four more contacts at longer range, Captain: two bearing 240, range 19,000 meters; two more bearing 272, range 18,000 meters.”

Gromyko nodded his head. “Type 89s, Chernov?”

“No sir, not all of them. I think the two fish bearing 272 are Type 48s, sir. The others sound like Type 89s.”

“Then we have an American boat on the 272 heading, and another Japanese boat on the 242 heading. Very interesting. Someone has convened a meeting here today. Designate the second Japanese boat Tokyo-Two, and the contact at 272 as Orlan.”

“So designated, sir,” came Belanov’s deep voice. The Starpom was busy setting up the battle on the tactical Plexiglas screen.

“Very well,” said Gromyko. “Weapon’s officer.”

“Sir!”

“Ready on tubes five and six. Set weapons to manual control.”

That caused the barest moment of hesitation but the Weapon’s Officer, Lieutenant Sergei Leonov, soon echoed the order, his eyes heavily on the Captain now as everyone on the bridge waited.

“Eject ordnance in tubes five and six. Do not, engage motors. Understood?”

“Aye sir. Firing now… Weapons free in the water. System on full manual control. Motors not engaged.”

Kazan had just ejected two big 650mm torpedoes, with no firing solution plotted, and the weapons had been manually prevented from starting their motors. Leonov was watching the Captain closely, now, waiting on his next order and wondering what he was doing.

Gromyko had but one question on his mind, now: how good was the enemy firing solution? What did they really know? We have been creeping along but they obviously heard something, he thought, possibly that damn bad bearing again, or this infernal maintenance procedure being run in the reactor room. I just gave them another whisper with that weapons ejection. Now here we are with no more than twenty knots available and a whole lot of trouble heading our way. Time to dance.

“Helm, right full rudder. Come to 270 true,” he said calmly.

“Helm answering, right full rudder and coming around to 270 degrees west sir, aye.”

“Where is the thermocline boundary, Chernov?”

“About 160 meters, sir.”

“Helm, make your depth one-five-zero.”

Kazan had been at 200 meters, and was now climbing slightly as they turned, aiming to pierce the thermocline and alter the sonic conditions surrounding the boat. The maneuver was also putting more vertical distance between the submarine and the two heavy wire guided torpedoes it had just ejected, which were now slowly sinking deeper into the sea, waiting for orders.

Volsky and Fedorov were still on the bridge, tensely watching the situation, eyes on the Captain. Gromyko folded his arms, leaning Volsky’s way as he spoke in a quiet voice.

“I turned to starboard to put as much room between the boat and those last four torpedo contacts as possible. That is their endgame, those Mark 48’s off the American boat will have the best sonar for tracking us. Those are their kill weapons, but they will have a very long ride before we have anything to worry about. We’re moving west now at 20 knots. They are heading our way, probably at 40 knots. That means their effective speed is only 20 knots, or about 37KPH. It will take them at least thirty minutes to catch up with us, and if I had full power on the reactors they would never catch up with us at all.”

“But what about all those other torpedoes?” said Volsky, obviously worried. “They are much closer.”

“True, but I don’t think they had a good fix on our location. The close in contacts are trying to flush us out of the bush. No doubt they heard those torpedoes eject, and they should now be vectoring on our approximate firing point. In a moment I will keep them running true to that location for a while.”

The Matador had swirled his cape and stepped to his right, taunting his adversary, but the bull was charging, and its horns were very sharp.

“Listen to the closer contacts, Chernov,” Gromyko said quietly. “Any bearing change?”

“No sir. They seem to be running true on their initial bearings”

“Good. Now let us keep them busy, shall we?”

The Captain was looking at his watch. “Time on target remaining for the closest torpedo?”

“Sir, about six minutes thirty-five seconds.”

“Very well.” Gromyko waited, inclining his head to the Admiral. “In a minute we start the wild goose chase, Admiral. Any idea how much more time this procedure on the reactors will take?”

Volsky looked to Fedorov to answer that.

“There is no way to tell exactly,” said Fedorov. “Sometimes the effects have been almost immediate, but other times it has taken many hours before the displacement happened. Then again…we have never used this control rod in a submarine reactor. The equipment is cooled by self-circulating water, not by pumps. It sounds different, which has me worried somewhat. I hope Chief Dobrynin can control the shift.”

“That’s an understatement,” said Gromyko, still looking at his watch. “Weapon’s Control. Activate torpedo motors at lowest speed setting. Guide them on a heading of 80 degrees. No active search-understood?”

“Aye, sir. Activating motors, steering zero-eight-zero with passive sonar.”

Gromyko waited briefly before he turned to his sonar man again. “Any heading change on the close in contacts?”

“Yes, sir! The Alpha One torpedo has turned to starboard. It is tracking our torpedoes!”

“Excellent. Let our two big fish swim for a while. They will soon realize what they are tracking and start looking elsewhere, but I think we may have put them off our scent without having to resort to noisemakers.”

They waited as the seconds ticked off. The Mark 46 torpedo fired from Seahawk 2 was now no more than three minutes away. Then Chernov looked the Captain’s way, a warning in his eyes.

“The Alpha One contact is starting to circle, Captain. It has switched to active sonar.”

“Weapon’s Officer, ready on tube number nine please.”

“ Shkval system active on tubes nine and ten, sir.”

The Matador was getting ready to swat the enemy lance aside with another flourish of his cape as the bull made its first mad rush. But the bullfight had only just begun.