USS Stonewall Jackson BoxSet

by Stephen Makk

  “Transmission complete sir,” said Krupa.

  Franks looked to his Weapons Officer. “When you are ready, Blake.”

  Weapons Officer Blake waited several minutes. There, on his display screen, vertical radar tracking spikes showed up, he read the evaluation details.

  “We’re being painted by an X-band airborne surveillance radar. An Il-38 ASW aircraft is tracking us. That’s it sir, they’ve seen our ass.”

  “Lieutenant Commander Blake. You have control.”

  “I have control sir. Trim for dive, vent fore and aft, down bubble 15,” said Nathan. “Make your depth 260 feet, speed 20 knots.”

  He turned to the Navigation Officer. He almost called her Erica.

  “Pigeon, get me a course to 15 miles east of operation VOROTA datum.”

  “Two five three degrees sir.”

  “Planesman, come to bearing two five three.”

  “Two five three, aye sir.”

  ISTANBUL. KOC UNIVERSITY ridge.

  LANDING ZONE. USMC 24th Marine Expeditionary Unit.

  Colonel Tonroe looked out towards the Yavuz Sultan Selim suspension bridge. Modern styling gave it a high-tech look. With its twin two-legged towers and multiple suspension cables, it dominated the area.

  Beyond was the expanse of the Black Sea; ironically it was a shimmering sun specked blue today.

  The landscape fell away down to the Bosporus strait, a mile away. The MEU had occupied ground to the west side of the strait, some nine miles north of the city centre. The outskirts of the city were just three miles southwest.

  This would be a prime landing area for the Russian VDV, airborne units. It controlled the northern Bosporus; from here, Colonel Tonroe and the 24th could dominate the area.

  It had been a rushed deployment; they’d flown into the city and moved into the area under the guise of an exercise. Much of their heavy equipment was being brought in by air if possible.

  USS Fort McHenry, a Landing Ship Dock, was heading their way, bringing more heavy vehicles and other stores.

  With their TOW and Javelin anti-tank missiles and M777 Howitzers, they’d pack a punch. Shoulder mounted Stingers would have to provide the air defense for now.

  However, their main punch was 1,200 US Marines armed to the teeth and loaded for bear. They’d give any VDV troopers a hard time of it.

  A helicopter landed off to the south on a sports field and an officer climbed out and headed for his position.

  He saluted Tonroe who returned the salute. The officer wore yellow oak leaves and the name patch ‘McKimm’.

  “Sir, we’re dug in now northwest of the bridge. The ridgeline from here to the northeast is ours.”

  “Well done, Major McKimm. How is your resupply?”

  “Not enough as usual, but getting better. I’m in contact with the shit shifters.”

  “You should get more soon, the LSD Fort McHenry isn’t far away.”

  It was about that time, he’d need to take a look first hand.

  “Ok, Major. I’m going to borrow that chopper and take a look around the area myself.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Colonel Tonroe jogged off to the helicopter with three men following. It took off and flew low to the east.

  Tonroe first called at the M777 Howitzer battery, he’d positioned it just inland from Sariyer. From there it could deliver rounds into all likely engagement points and be mobile in case the Russians had counter battery units. That was unlikely, but who could know? They could also be withdrawn towards the city if it became necessary to provide cover around Ataturk Airport to the southwest.

  Colonel Tonroe had listened to the usual bitching about supplies, but Marines wouldn’t be Marines unless they bitched about supplies.

  Tonroe had once taken a hammering, when as a Captain he’d said he had plenty of stores and ammunition. The half Colonel had taken him to one side.

  “Captain. Don’t you ever tell a senior Officer you have enough.” He moved in and stood his face a couple of inches from his Tonroe’s now. “An Officer in the Corp never has enough. The more shit you have, the more shit you can hammer the fucking rag heads with.” He lowered his voice. “Do you have enough shit, Captain?”

  “No sir! My supplies are woeful, send me more shit or I’ll send you more body bags sir.”

  “That’s better, Captain. I’ll see what I can do.”

  He stood before the Major in charge of the battery at Sariyer.

  “We need all we can get sir, but the 155mm round is king. The more we have? Well sir, if Ivan comes anywhere near this man’s Corp he’ll want 155mm on him. Ivan loves 155mm.”

  “That’s the way Major. I’ll see what I can do.”

  Colonel Tonroe’s helicopter landed close to the position of a forward infantry position. The ridge looked out over the bridge.

  The Lieutenant in command ran up and saluted.

  “Sir 3 and 4 platoons. 3RD battalion, 6th Marine.”

  “What are you packing LT?”

  “Sir, thirty whoop ass Marines with M16’s sir.”

  Tonroe smiled. “And what’s that?” he asked, pointing at a TOW wire guided anti-tank missile launcher.

  “BGM 71C anti-tank. If they come with a tin we’ll broil it for ‘em.”

  Tonroe looked out over the bridge and its approaches. “You have a good position here LT. You have a fallback?”

  “Yes sir, back on that edge line over there.”

  “Anything you need?”

  “Sir, more TOW tubes, all you can spare. Full Magazines of 5.56mm. You fill ‘em, we’ll empty ‘em. And chow sir, the men are getting hungry. Some locals are coming out here and feeding us. It helps sir.”

  A shout came from the ridgeline. “Bring us some Turkish pussy sir.”

  Tonroe grinned and shouted back. “This isn’t Camp Pendleton. But we do have some Russian pussies on their way. You’ll have to chew on that.”

  “Sorry Colonel.”

  “That’s ok LT. I’ll leave this place with you. Keep hold of it.”

  “Sir.”

  The Colonel knew if the VDV came for a look here, they’d take a hammering.

  TONROE CLIMBED INTO the helicopter.

  “Istanbul. Take me to Hasdal, south of the E80 highway.”

  “Sir.”

  The helicopter spooled up, climbed and pulled away to the south. It flew over the vast sprawling city and landed in a barracks square. The Colonel dismounted and headed to the building about fifty yards away.

  Two Turkish soldiers saluted him. He walked inside.

  Two female Non-Coms, both armed to the teeth with pistols and HK33E assault rifles, stopped him. Both checked out his pass and looked at the contents of his pockets. They looked tough and both wore cam cream. He couldn’t help but notice that they were about the same age as his son, and dressed differently they’d get plenty of male attention in a North Carolina bar. They scrutinised the pictures of his wife and son and read the messages on the back.

  “Ok sir, this way.” They led him into a side room, and stood looking at a chart was a General officer with a Brigadier.

  He saluted. “Sir, Colonel Tonroe. 24th Marine MEU.”

  “Hello Colonel, welcome to Istanbul. General Hayri Kivrikoglu, 3 Corp. How are you in the north?”

  “Sir, we have Yavuz Sultan Selim bridge covered. We’ll hold it for you.”

  General Kivirikoglu nodded. “We can back you up with a Rapid Deployment battalion from Sisli. If you need more then call on the 32rd and 47th Motorised Infantry. They’ll deploy from Hasdal. I’m keeping the 47th back if possible, to hold the E80 highway. If the VDV come in via Ataturk Airport they’ll use the E80 to get to the Bosporus. See Major Kiliu for communications details.”

  “Thank you Sir. We’ll hold the north if Ivan tries it on.”

  The Turkish General smiled at him. “He will try it on, he wants to play with his ships in the big sea.”

  General Kivrikoglu watched the American Marine as he left. This may b
e the biggest city in Turkey, but he knew this attack was unexpected and had come quick. He’d need all he could to protect the Bosporus. The US Marines were in a likely landing zone, they’d have a fight on their hands, and it wouldn’t be easy.

  Chapter 10

  USS NEW YORK CITY. Two hundred and sixty feet deep. East of VOROTA datum.

  NATHAN STOOD AT THE Conn; it was hard to believe he had the Conn. Franks and the XO were stood by watching. He’d better not screw up.

  “Sir, faint contact, too far to fix an ID yet, they’re to our west,” said Nosey.

  “Planesman, bearing two six zero.”

  “Two six zero aye sir.”

  He headed to their south, that’d be their likely course.

  “Weaps, stream the lure fish.”

  His Assistant Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Commander Lily Cohen, stood in for him.

  “Lure fish streamed sir.”

  The lure streamed by reel far out into the submarine’s wake and trailed behind it; by doing this he was attempting to detect the faint contacts. The lure communicated by cable and its signals were processed by a sophisticated computer designed by L-3 Chesapeake Sciences Corp with input by Lockheed Martin. The TB29/A1 lure was also built by these wizards of underwater deception. On the USS NYC, it streamed from the core of the boat’s stern. It listened, detected and deceived any weapons tracking the boat. Lures were at the forefront of submarine technology.

  In this case, the lure listened to and analysed the faint noises from possible contacts.

  “Nosey, let me know if you need an aspect change.” By making a track at ninety degrees to the target, it was sometimes possible to refine the search.

  Nathan let Nosey and the lure do their thing.

  “Sonar. Subsurface contacts, four Akula class boats heading south. Range eight to eleven miles sir. Bearing two seven zero, speed 22 knots.”

  Akula class, Nathan knew they didn’t come much worse. It was the enemy’s most dangerous boat.

  “Weaps, warshot status?”

  “All tubes Mk 48 sir.”

  “Get a firing solution on all boats.”

  She spent a couple of minutes on her console. “Tangos one to four allocated. All fish are locked and loaded.”

  “Range?”

  “Sir, range five to eight miles.”

  Nathan looked questioningly to Captain Franks. His rules of engagement permitted a launch, but he looked for reassurance.

  Franks nodded.

  “Launch tubes one to four,” ordered Nathan. There was a rushing sound up forward.

  “Fish away. They’re passive tracking,” said Lily, “the fish are hungry for Tango one to four.” The Mk 48 CBASS was steered by the cable trailing back into the tube.

  All four fish headed off to the west.

  “First two fish top down, second two go for a belly shot, Lily,” said Nathan. “Go for an alternate top, down spread attack.” He dictated the attack vectors.

  “Aye sir.”

  He’d asked her to run in the first fish top down, the second from the belly; fish three and four likewise.

  The American fish sped in fast.

  “Sir, we have two enemy fish in the water,” said Nosey, “Tango two got her fish away.”

  Shit, thought Nathan, that was damn bad news, bastard.

  The Mk 48s the USS NYC had launched were homing in.

  “Fish pinging. Fish pinging,” said Lily. “Running in, cutting wire.”

  The Russian boats took evasive manoeuvres. Countermeasures hissed and cavorted in a dance of bubbles. The first two Mk 48 fish slammed home. With hulls breached, gas escaped in huge clouds of bubbles. The two stricken boats sank into the deep. Fish three speared up into the Akula’s belly and blew her in two.

  “Sonar. Hot datum on Tangos one to three.”

  The fourth exploded at the Akula’s stern. She was disabled and unable to make way. The boat surfaced, now adrift. Nathan would leave her be; Tango four was no threat now.

  “TYPE 53 FISH HEADING in,” said Nosey, “range two point two miles.”

  Nathan knew they were in absolute peril.

  “Weaps, dance the lure.”

  The lure was switched to deception. It attempted to confuse the torpedo's passive sonar by emitting simulated submarine noise. Propeller and engine noise was emitted, which was more attractive than the actual boat to the torpedo's sensors. At least that was what Nathan hoped.

  “The lure’s dancing sir.”

  “It’s active now sir. The first fish has gone active, it’s pinging us. It’s heading towards us. Second fish is active too. Both to our port.”

  “Planesman, down bubble 20. Make your depth, 380 feet.”

  “Sonar. Range, incoming fish now point nine miles.”

  The two Russian type 53s dived down towards her.

  “Sing the lure,” commanded Nathan.

  The lure incorporated additional active sonar decoys. It received, amplified, and returned ‘pings’ from any incoming torpedo, presenting a larger noisier false target than the submarine. The lure was transmitting the pings to the incoming torpedoes.

  “The lure is singing sir,” said Lily.

  “Fish now point three miles, point two miles.”

  “Are they still port side?”

  “Yes.”

  “Eject countermeasures to port. Come to starboard. Blow forward one and two. Full ahead. Emergency ascent.”

  The boat turned and rose. Countermeasures hissed bubbles and emitted prop sounds, and they spun out in the deeps trying to draw the fish away.

  USS New York City rose fast under power and buoyancy. Faster, higher, she climbed in the water table. There were two thudding loud explosions to port, and the hull buckled and groaned. The crew were pushed to the right.

  The boat rocked in the turbulence then gradually steadied.

  “Damage control sir,” said COB, “no serious damage. Some lines leaking, aft oil pump on starboard plane being replaced. Re-routed flow to back up. One hour to full operations sir.”

  “Well done Blake,” said Franks, “you got at them. All Tangos are out of the fight. Tango four’ll be reporting to Fleet command, but that might not be such a bad thing. Shit spreads. The Black Sea Fleet won’t like the news.”

  BLACK SEA. LEOPARD, Akula class SSN.

  HE LISTENED TO THE sounds of destruction, of boats being ripped cruelly apart and sunk. Boats like his.

  “There’s something out there, it’s a bastard and it wants us,” said Captain Orlov. His boat was part of the left flank of the fleet’s push out into the Black Sea. Leopard was on secondment to the Black Sea Fleet from the Northern Fleet.

  “Sonar. What’s the direction and range?”

  “Sir due west, approximately 18 kilometres.”

  “Keep tabs on any contact. Call Sokolov with the Whale.”

  The signal went out by the device attached to the hull mounted sonar. It was an unofficial device built by a small team at the Pacific Fleet in Petropavlovsk, Siberia. It sent short-range sonar signals that were indistinguishable from a biologic. The device was known as The Whale Phone.

  From this device, signals could be transmitted that sounded to the enemy just like a Whale.

  The signals were short. Orlov ordered the Akula accompanying him to surface. Captain Sokolov of the SSN Volk heard the signal. He surfaced, saw the Leopard signalling, and replied. The two boats used periscope-mounted lights to flash out signals.

  “Action to the west, approx. 18 Klicks. Suspect our friend from Sea of Azov or similar. Virginia class. Over.”

  “Agree. Flank attack?”

  “Agree. You take position south at 100 metres. I will stay north at 400 metres, nine knots. Turn in on contact. Over.”

  “Will carry out the task. Over and out.” Orlov retracted the masts.

  “Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Planesman, set for down bubble 15, make your depth 400 metres. Speed nine knots.”

  Orlov estima
ted the enemy boat was around 12 miles west of their position. The two Russian boats were eight miles off the north Turkish coast. He thought it unlikely the Virginia was any further south than they were. They’d advance quietly west, stalking their quarry.

  “Sir we received a communication from Fleet while on the surface.” The Communications Officer handed him a slip.

  ВОЕННОЕ ГОСУДАРСТВО 2

  RNAZ 864T33 BSF

  СЕВЕРНЫЙ ФЛОТ НАВИАЛЬНЫЕ СИЛЫ РОССИИ. NF7Y902

  ЧЕРНОМОРСКИЙ ФЛОТ

  В ЛЕОПАРД

  ФЛОТ НАВИАЛЬНЫЕ // ID N7FF5IK //

  MSGID / ФЛОТ НАВИАЛЬНЫЕ ФАКТИЧЕСКИЙ //

  HАЧАЛО СООБЩЕНИЯ: //

  ПРОИЗВОДИТСЯ В СРЕДИЗЕМНОМОРСКОМ ЯЗЫКЕ БОСПОРА. ВЫПОЛНИТЬ ЭКСПЛУАТАЦИЮ ЧЕРНЫЙ ШТОР.

  CООБЩЕНИЕ ЗАКАНЧИВАЕТСЯ//

  Translation:

  WAR STATE 2

  RNAZ 864T33 BSF

  NORTHERN FLEET NAVAL FORCES RUSSIA. NF7Y902

  VIA BLACK SEA FLEET

  TO LEOPARD

  NORTHEN FLEET// ID N7FF5IK//

  MSGID/NORTHEN FLEET ACTUAL//

  MSG BEGINS://

  PROCEED TO MEDITERRANEAN SEA VIA BOSPORUS. EXECUTE OPERATION BLACK STORM.

  MSG END//

  Captain Orlov knew he had to comply with Fleet’s orders. But the Bosporus was to their west, they had business to attend to on their way there.

  Operation Black Storm was Fleet business. Enemy boats were Leopard’s business.

  Orlov had to take a judgement; how far from the coast would the enemy be? He decided about four kilometres, he knew it was a guess but the best he could make based on the sonar returns he had.

  “Planesman, make for 200 degrees for five minutes, then come to two seven zero.” Leopard moved closer to shore then made her way west, parallel to the coast.

  After ten minutes he ordered a coast. “Sonar, take a long, hard listen.”