USS Stonewall Jackson BoxSet

by Stephen Makk

  “Ok, Nathan.”

  PRIORITY RED

  B 86853571Z JUN 45 ZY87

  NEW YORK CITY

  EURFLT// ID E947QV54//

  TO CINCUSNAVEUR NAVAL FORCES EUROPE. NAPLES ITALY//E1//

  NAVAL OPS/31

  MSGID/EUROPS 7302/ LIEUTENANT COMMANDER BLAKE ACTUAL//

  MSG BEGINS://

  ATT: CINCUSNAVEUR ACTUAL.

  SUBJECT: OPERATION VOROTA.

  ATTACHED ARE THE REQUESTED FORCE DEPLOYMENTS AND BATTLE PLAN OF OPERATION VOROTA. REQUEST COPY TO TURKISH CHIEF OF GENERAL STAFF.

  OPERATION VOROTA DATUM POSITION IS. Y7793.H3852-R6291.E8554-G8290.

  MSG END//

  NSA NAPLES. ITALY. The next day.

  The Petty Officer knocked on the door. The brass panel read ‘Commander US 6th Fleet’.

  He entered. “Sir. This is in from the USS New York City.”

  “Thanks.”

  Vice Admiral Rebecca G Marino read the communication and the action document attached. It had the Chief of Naval Operations authorisation.

  “Jeez...”

  She called the Petty Officer. “Perez, get Captains Hailey and Bruch in here, ASAP. Also that USMC officer. The Colonel. If he’s still around here.”

  The two Captains entered the room, and she passed them copies of the document. The two men were her tactical sounding boards, they bounced ideas off each other. It took them a while to read, and there were a few exclamations of surprise.

  “We actually did this, Admiral?”

  “Yes. It’s all accurate. Some of it is conjecture, but it’s reasonable.”

  “I know this is all real,” said Captain Bruch, “the Ukraine crisis is getting hot, but this hot?”

  “I was talking to the Pentagon,” she said, “they have this too. They’re sold on it, big style. The Chief of Naval Operations wants us to work with this.” She read the document again in discussion with the two Captains.

  “Ok,” she said, “in the US Navy, what the CNO wants, the CNO gets. This Lieutenant Commander Blake. He’s the man in the loop with the acting rank of Captain. Get what he asks for.”

  “What’s our Operation name for this, sir?”

  “Use what he’s called it, VOROTA. I don’t know what it means, but it’ll do.”

  Later that day an officer in Greens reported to the Officer Comanding NSA Naples.

  A female PO sat at the reception. “Sir, I’ll see if she’s available.”

  Petty Officer Perez entered the Admiral’s office, she soon returned.

  “She’s ready Sir.” He walked into Vice Admiral Marino’s office.

  “Hello, Colonel.” She shook hands with him.

  “Hello, sir. Colonel Tonroe. USMC 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit. At your disposal.” The Colonel looked the part, he was a rough and tough jarhead officer. She knew that what you saw, was what you got. It went with the Corps ethos.

  “Sit Colonel. You want a coffee?”

  “Yes sir.”

  She had two brought in by PO Perez.

  “Did you receive a change of orders from the Commandant of The Marines?”

  “Yes sir, I’m to place the 24th MEU under your orders.”

  “As a ground pounder, you’re the authority on ground operations here. So Colonel, let’s work this one out together.” She opened up a map and placed it on her desk. “This is Istanbul and the Bosporus, it’s our area of operations. I have the rundown on other forces who are likely to be in theatre. Both allies and opposition.”

  “Sir, what are we up against?”

  “The Russian VDV, airborne units.” She sat back. “Are you aware of them?”

  “Yeah, they’re something like the Rangers.” Admiral Marino frowned. “Oh don’t worry sir. That makes ‘em like pussys.” He shrugged. “Sorry, Sir.”

  “That’s ok. They’ll be looking to seize territory adjacent to and dominating the Bosporus. They may attempt to take the city’s airport. We’re there to stop ‘em.”

  Colonel Tonroe looked over the map.

  “Let’s see sir. If I was planning to control this area for a limited period of time, coz that’s all they’ll get, where would I be?”

  THE USS NEW YORK CITY.

  NATHAN KNEW HE WAS in way over his head. What do I think I’m doing? I’ve just recommended a radical action to the goddamn Pentagon. To the CNO himself. What the hell am I doing, just who the fuck do I think I am?

  Three hours later he had his reply.

  Franks read it first. “Here Nathan.” Franks grinned.

  “I should say acting Captain Blake.”

  Nathan opened his mouth.

  “Shut that thing. You’re promoted, for now. CNO’s orders. We’re on, and we have new ROE. We’re weapons free.”

  Nathan read the message again. He rubbed his temples. He’d really got a tiger by the tail now. He hoped he was right and wished he wasn’t, too. There was nothing else for it now, he was up to his neck in it. He knew that if he was wrong he was in deep shit. However, if he was right, he was also in deep shit.

  Acting Captain. What the hell?

  “I may as well assume that I’m right.”

  Nathan smiled; you can pick them, can’t you?

  PRIORITY RED

  B 86833571Z JUN 45 ZY87

  CINCUSNAVEUR NAVAL FORCES EUROPE. NAPLES ITALY//E1//

  TO NEW YORK CITY

  EURFLT// ID E947QV54//

  NAVAL OPS/31

  MSGID/EUROPS 6722/CINCUSNAVEUR ACTUAL//

  MSG BEGINS://

  ATT: LIEUTENANT COMMANDER BLAKE.

  SUBJECT: OPERATION VOROTA.

  ROUTE COMMUNICATIONS THROUGH ME.

  6TH FLEET ASSETS ARE ASSEMBLING.

  USMC MEU IN THEATER.

  MSG END//

  This was looking like becoming a much bigger turmoil than he’d thought.

  Nathan walked into the control room.

  “Ah, Blake. Nosey may have something for you,” said Franks.

  “Go on Nosey.”

  “Sir, I’ve detected multiple tracks leaving Sevastopol and the Sea of Azov, heading south. Surface and subsurface contacts.”

  “Any numbers yet, Nosey?”

  “Too early to say sir. But a lot.”

  “Keep listening.”

  Franks looked around his control room. It was busy and compact, filled with banks of control screens with staff operating them and speaking into headsets. He walked over to the sonar console. “Any update on the Black Sea Fleet, Nosey?”

  “I’m still getting southbound traffic, maybe some more than we had. Widespread deployment, but all southbound sir.”

  He’d seen a report on deployments south by the Russian fleet and it was extensive. It was time to take a closer look.

  “Pigeon, get me a course to a point, 100 miles south of Sevastopol.”

  “The center point of the Black Sea, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why didn’t you ask sir?”

  “You’re cheeky, Erica Lefevre.”

  She smiled. “Three zero five degrees sir.”

  “Planesman, three zero five, maintain your depth at two sixty feet, speed fifteen knots.”

  “Three zero five, two sixty at fifteen sir.”

  USS New York City made her way to the centre point of the Black Sea.

  “Nosey, keep an ear out for Ivan. He’s on his way.”

  RUSSIAN ASW AIR PATROL, central Black Sea.

  “THAT’S IT, GRID 8A complete. Come to one eighty degrees for first run in grid 8B.”

  The pilot banked the four engine turboprop Ilyushin Il-38 to the left and brought the wings level. A low pulsing rumble filled the fuselage as the four Ivchencko AI-20M turboprop engines pulled the aircraft around. They were on ASW patrol, south of the Crimean Peninsula.

  The Il-38 was the equivalent of the Lockheed Orion.

  “Ready sonobuoy drop.”

  The message was transmitted to the operator crew back aft.

  “Ready aye sir.”<
br />
  “Designate stick 8B. Drop a 15 stick. Two minute intervals. Ready...wait...drop.”

  A sonobuoy was ejected from the dispenser; it would float with its ariel extended and transmit any sounds it detected back to the aircraft.

  “Do you think we’ll find him in this grid?” asked the operator.

  “No. It’s a bit obvious,” said the pilot commander.

  “The central Black Sea, why would he be out here?”

  He knew the area had to be covered; just in case. They’d had intel that an American SSN was in the area. The aircraft flew a grid pattern, back and forward. It was pretty boring work. Fly a grid back and forward, move to the next grid and repeat. It had to be done, that was how you got a break. Just good, solid work.

  “Here sir, we’re on grid 11A, stick two. This stick’s looking good.”

  The operator waited, watching his returns. A return looked possible, looking possible, looking better and better. That was it.

  “Contact contact. We’ve got a contact.”

  He didn’t like to rely totally on automation. It sounded like a contact; he turned up the high frequency gain and listened again. Then he tried again with the low frequency gain up. The pilot commander turned to the operator and gave him the thumbs up.

  “Well done. Good work.”

  The operator smiled. He activated the computer's display, it gave depth direction, speed and screw count. Also, it gave an approximate lat and long.

  “Designate contact as Alpha T.” He selected the ID option and indicated the global library. He waited; after several seconds it returned the message ID undetermined. He then selected NATO library and, after several seconds, it returned Virginia class 70%.

  “We’ll go down for a MAD run on Alpha T.”

  The pilot commander dropped the engine speed and the Il-38 dived, he pulled and headed for the contact’s presumed location. A MAD was a magnetic anomaly detector; it detected changes in the earth’s magnetic field that a large metal contact like a submarine would make. The contact confirmed, positive ID.

  The Commander got onto the secure transmission channel. “Black Sea Fleet from Fisher three. Black Sea Fleet from Fisher three.” He waited for the signal to bounce to the satellite and back.

  “Fisher three from Black Sea Fleet, go ahead.”

  “Flash, flash, flash. Contact with Yankee SSN; grid 21C. Depth 110, speed 15 knots, heading three zero degrees. We have a Virginia class resolution on contact. Manual confirmation positive. Requesting Alpha T prosecute. Weapon release.”

  “Fisher three from Black Sea Fleet. Wait one.”

  Several minutes went by. The pilot Commander waited. “Come on, come on. We still have contact?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Fisher three, Black Sea Fleet. You have prosecute authorisation. Go for weapon release.”

  The operator selected an APR-3E antisubmarine acoustic homing torpedo. The pilot dropped the aircraft to its optimum low level attack altitude.

  “Contact datum two kilometres,” said the Weapons Officer. “One point three. Point eight, OPR engaged and green.”

  “Operator?”

  “Contact mark is go.”

  “Running in,” said the pilot.

  “Bingo on Alpha T. Drop, drop, drop.”

  The operator released the torpedo, and the weapon dropped under a parachute until 100 feet altitude, then released and fell into the sea. Its acoustic sensor listened as the torpedo entered a helical dive, its active sonar pinging and searching the depths for the prey.

  Chapter 9

  NOSEY BRIEFLY CLOSED his eyes, his pulse quickened, and he ran his tongue across his dry mouth.

  “Sonar. Fish in the water. Airdrop, searching. Range one point nine miles. The library has it typed as an APR-3E, acoustic homing, range two point two miles, bearing nine five degrees, speed 43 knots.”

  “Come to two seven zero. All ahead full. Flood one, two. Emergency deep.”

  NYC came to port and dived.

  “Four hundred and thirty feet, 540 feet, 660 feet. Fish has acquired us motor active, diving.”

  “Ready countermeasures starboard side.”

  Fish range one point five miles. One mile. Point six miles. Eight hundred feet. Closing.” Franks counted down, the adrenalin flushing his stomach.

  “Our depth 860 feet.” The hull groaned under the pressure at 60 feet below test depth. “Fish, range 570 feet. Fish now 300 feet.”

  “Keep her diving.”

  “Fish range, 150 feet and closing.”

  Franks knew it was the time. “Blow all ballast. Deploy countermeasures starboard side. Hard to port.” The boat rose as the positive buoyancy kicked in. The pump jet propulsor pushed her upwards. The boat leaned hard to the left, and the crew hung on. The countermeasures hissed and blew air. They emitted sounds and vibrations like a spinning prop, attracting the torpedo. There was a hard thudding thump to the right as the fish blew up. The boat violently rocked and pushed left. The crew were rocked to and fro in the turbulence.

  “Damage control report,” said the COB.

  “Rear port ballast transfer pipe, under control,” came the engineer's reply. The boat came to a steady roll.

  “Head north, they won’t expect that. Make your depth 500 feet,” said Franks. The boat headed to the north at ten knots.

  “Nosey. Get a feel for what’s out there, then report. Take your time.”

  “Sir.”

  LONG MINUTES WENT BY.

  “Nosey, give me a sitrep?” asked Franks.

  “Sir, faint trace to the northwest. I can’t be sure. Recommend coming to vector 300.”

  “Planesman come to bearing three zero degrees.”

  “Three zero, aye sir.”

  Franks watched Nosey, he looked down with his grey Bose headphones clampoed to his head, concentrating, listening. It was hard to wait, thought Franks, here they were cruising quietly towards who knew what? Whales humping? Up above could be a Helix ASW helicopter carrying a torpedo with their name on it.

  Some people thought undersea warfare was glamorous. A clash of ship and submarine, with only one victor. Franks knew it was all just boring long waits, followed by brief terrifying action.

  Nosey looked up. “Sir. Two Udaloy and two Sovremennyy class Destroyers widespread. Range 17 miles, heading south. Possible subsurface contact too, but we have weak returns.”

  “A squadron formation,” said Franks.

  “Warshot status, Lieutenant Commander Blake?”

  “Tubes one to three Mk 48 CBASS, tube four Harpoon. Sir.”

  “Load tubes one to three with Harpoon.”

  “Aye sir.”

  After several minutes Nathan called out. “All tubes Harpoon, sir.”

  “Weaps. Get a firing solution on all Tangos. Up bubble 15. Come to periscope depth.”

  Blake ran the firing solution acquisition. Many factors had to be taken into account; range, speed, heading, water temperature, salinity and target type. His fingers flicked over the touchscreen.

  “Weaps, give me recommended optimum attack scenario?”

  Blake thought it through. Four Destroyers, widespread, all probably fitted with Close In Weapon Systems.

  A CIWS was a radar controlled multi barrel gun capable of spitting out a high rate of fire. It would attempt to bring down any incoming missiles at close range.

  “Sir, I recommend a bracketing approach, left and right flank attack. That way, a miss might go for another target on the opposite flank.”

  “I agree Weaps, program the attack strategy in.”

  Blake used his console.

  In one way Franks couldn’t believe it had come to this. Here he was, involved in a running fight with Russia, a near-peer. It had almost crept up on him.

  He knew it was here now and happening, he just had to fight the boat. It had been drummed into him during his command training.

  “Franks, remember. Command is just a tool, use it to fight the boat.”

  “Al
l laid in sir, Birds A and B west approach. C and D east approach.”

  “Now at periscope depth sir,” said the planesman.

  “Harpoon strikes at bearings zero degrees, Tango one to four. Flood tubes, open outer doors.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Thirty seconds went by.

  “Tubes flooded, outer door open. Weapons ready in all respects, sir,” said Nathan.

  This is it, thought Franks. “Launch.”

  “Tube one. Launch.”

  The canister ejected from the tube and rose to the surface, the cap blew off, and the missile’s solid propellant launched the missile clear. Then the Teledyne J402 turbojet with 600 pounds of thrust powered the missile towards its target.

  “At the surface, motor fired. The bird is in the air.”

  “Tube two ready in all respects, sir.”

  Nathan waited fifteen seconds.

  “Launch.”

  “Tube two. Launch. At the surface, motor fired. Another bird is in the air. We have two good birds.”

  All four missiles launched and streaked into their targets. Electronic countermeasures sang a song of digital confusion. In the terminal phase, to confuse the CIWS, the birds climbed high and dived into their targets.

  One of the Sovremennyy class Destroyers managed to get her Close In Weapon System throwing a wall of lead at the missile causing damage, but it was too late. One by one all four Harpoons struck their targets with a 488 pound warhead. A blast was followed by fire and black smoke billowing skyward. Two of the Destroyers sank within 15 minutes. The other two were disabled and out of the fight.

  NATHAN TURNED FROM his console.

  “Sir, it’s time to show our ass to them.”

  Franks nodded. “Come to the south.”

  The boat turned away from the fight.

  “Planesman, trim for bow up. Up bubble 15. Surface the boat.”

  The planesman frowned. The boat came to the surface and the sail towered into the air.

  “Mr Krupa, transmit the following message via long reach.” Long reach was an old radio system from decades ago, it still had its uses.

  “Aye sir.”

  The USS NYC transmitted a radio distress code followed by a series of codes unused since the cold war.