Ssn (1996) Read online

  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 leew
ay? 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.

  USS INDEPENDENCE UNDER HEAVY CHINESE AIR ATTACK. AIRCRAFT WILL BE UNABLE TO ASSIST CHEYENNE IN DESTRUCTION OF OIL PLATFORM/SUBMARINE DEPOT. PERMISSION GRANTED TO DESTROY SWALLOW REEF SUBMARINE DEPOT.

  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 ins
tantly 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.

  7.

  Target: Convoy

  Mack was angry. Cheyenne had made it through her recent encounters unscathed, and was now safely moored alongside McKee, but the fact that Mack and his crew were alive was a tribute to their own superb training, not any reflection on the intelligence they had received. And that was what had Mack so angry. He didn’t object to his orders. His job was to take his submarine and his crew into danger—into battle itself, if necessary—but he insisted on giving his men every chance to survive the conflict. That meant proper weaponry, reliable equipment, and accurate information. Cheyenne had supplied the first two components, but naval intelligence had dropped the ball on the third.