USS Stonewall Jackson BoxSet

by Stephen Makk

  “Right.”

  He closed the hatch and spun the wheel. Water poured into the chamber, it was soon over his head. He did as he was told and breathed normally. Then it was open the upper hatch. He could see a milky white towards the surface, so he swam upwards towards it. Nathan broke surface, removed the mouthpiece and then swam on his back for the western shore, about 200 yards away. It was odd to see the sun and breathe the warm air. Nathan reached the shore, a shelving pebble beach and he took his fins and rebreather off. He was just about to start on up to the tree line when a voice called out.

  “Stop where you are. Right there, buddy. US Marines.”

  Two soldiers walked out of the treeline with M4 riles pointed at him.

  “Hi, Lieutenant Commander Blake. USS New York City.” Nathan smiled. “Take me to your leader.”

  “Look, wise ass, you’ll come with us.” He was searched and taken to a Lieutenant.

  “You’re on a submarine, right? Where is it?”

  “Down there.” He thumbed back to the sea behind.

  The Lieutenant looked skeptical. He got on a communication set.

  “Right sir.” The Lieutenant placed the handset down. “You’ll be picked up by a vehicle and taken to see someone.”

  A civilian car drew up with two Marines in it. After being passed from pillar to post and repeating his story he was taken to a building up the hill. It looked like a school or College.

  A Colonel approached him and shook his hand.

  “Colonel Tonroe. 24th Marine MEU.”

  Blake saluted. “Lieutenant Commander Blake, USS New York City, sir.”

  “Good morning. I’ve had someone check with 6th Fleet in Naples and they vouch for you. Just as well, you were about to be detained as a Russian spy or Spetsnaz. Here, let’s go into my billet and have a coffee.” They walked off towards a set of tents set up in the college grounds.

  “Have you served in Afghanistan or Iraq sir?” Nathan asked.

  “Iraq, yes.”

  “Then you’ll know about IEDs?”

  The Colonel nodded. “Yeah, lost a few men to them. Bastards placed them by the roadside and bang, that’s it.”

  “We’re going to need ropes, sir. A skilled armour technician and some 155mm Howitzer shells.”

  “Ok, why?”

  “We’re going to make IEDs.”

  Tonroe looked at Nathan with a questioning stare. “What use are they here?”

  “Sir, the US Marines are taking up a new line of work. They’re going to fuck submarines; Russian ones. Underwater IEDs. Welcome to the ASW business.”

  AT THE BEACH, NATHAN put the rebreather back on, helped by two US Marines. He climbed into a small wooden Turkish boat along with one of the Marines.

  “Ok,” he said to the soldier on shore. “As soon as we get 20 yards out or so, set it off.” The local started the outboard, and the small boat pulled away. Ashore, the Marine pulled the cap and set off the orange day smoke flare. The cloud blew away in the breeze. The small boat was now almost at the channel’s mid-point. Around the center of the Bosporus channel, under the bridge, a periscope suddenly rose up above the surface.

  “Ok,” said Nathan, “that’s me. Thanks.” He placed in the mouthpiece and rolled over the side, venting gas from the rebreather and slipping below the surface. Down below it was cool and darker. He fell deeper, following the periscope down. He cleared his ears a few times and came to the sail. Nathan dived down into the crew platform, found the hatch and climbed into the wide cylinder. On one side were the rungs of the access ladder. He closed the hatch behind him and spun the wheel shut. Nathan knocked on the lower hatch with a spanner someone had tied on. The water started to lower. It had soon gone, so he spun the hatch wheel and started to climb down into the companionway.

  “Ok sir?” asked Herzer.

  “Yeah. Just about.”

  “Was it sunny upstairs sir?” Nathan nodded. “Nice, I’m looking forward to it.”

  Nathan looked at Herzer. “You know what I first noticed?”

  Herzer smiled. “The smell sir. The plants, the distant life, cooking maybe.”

  “You got it.” Nathan walked off into the control room.

  “All set?” asked Franks.

  “I hope so sir.”

  “How did they take it?”

  “Laughed at me at first. But they’re into it now. They’re hard at work setting things up. I think it might even work,” Nathan frowned, “if they cause enough damage.”

  “Don’t worry,” grinned Franks, “a 155mm shell? That’ll give them a headache all right. All that damage to sonar panels, periscopes and props. Probably even crack the hull if it’s close enough.”

  “Sir, can I call a war committee in the wardroom?”

  “You’re on the committee, you have the right, yes. XO? Wardroom. Pigeon, you have the Conn.”

  “I have the Conn sir.” She was amazed and proud, it was her first time.

  The three of them sat around the wardroom desk.

  Nathan opened up a paper sea chart of the Bosporus channel and laid it out.

  He didn’t want to do it, but couldn’t see any other way. He knew it was now in for a cent, in for a dollar.

  “Gabriel,” he said to XO Cortes. “I’ll address myself to you, as you’re new to the details of VOROTA. As we know, the only way out of the Black Sea is via the Bosporus channel. I’ve been studying the subsurface of the area. Here around two miles north of the channel is a ridge line, depth 180 feet, well above the Black Sea shelf. Behind the north ridge is the channel proper, depth is around 300 feet. The Bosporus depths start broad in the north but it becomes more canyon like as we come south. This canyon twists and turns as it runs to the south. At the southern exit, we have a sill where it rises to 150 feet deep. After that, we’re into the Sea of Marmara and finally the Aegean Sea. The current flow at the shallower levels, is north to south, into the Sea of Marmara. At the deeper levels, it’s south to north into the Black Sea. This is where we make our stand.” He tapped the chart at the Bosporus.

  “Nathan. The whole fucking Black Sea Fleet is out there,” protested Gabriel. “We need to join the 6th Fleet, back in the Marmara and the Aegean.”

  Nathan shook his head. “No XO, we’ll hold them at ‘the hot gates’.

  Gabriel frowned, “What’s that?”

  Nathan grinned. “It was the narrowest point at Thermopylae. Where a small Spartan force held off a Persian Army. We’ll fight an underwater battle of Thermopylae and hold back the Russian hordes until the 6th Fleet arrives.”

  Gabriel laughed. “I’d ask if you’re serious, but I know you are. You’re either brilliant or some kind of nut.”

  “I think he’s both,” said Franks.

  “So Nathan,” said Gabriel, “we’re going to play the part of the 300 Spartans? You know what happened to them.”

  “Yes, but we’ll try to avoid that outcome. It’s worse really, we’re not 300 we’re just 135 on board. But I won’t tell the Russians if you don’t. He smiled.

  “If you face overwhelming odds, you have to fight dirty,” said Nathan. “Let your plans be dark, impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt. That was Sun Tzu.” Nathan stood.

  “Karl,” he said to Franks, “can we make a communication to 6th Fleet after the meeting?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s 12.05 hours now. So, the message begins.” He wrote it down. “Operation VOROTA begins at H hour. 13.00 local. USS New York City advancing to start line. They shall not pass.”

  Nathan pointed to the Black Sea entrance of the Bosporus.

  “Captain, our start line is north...”

  RUSSIAN TACTICS WERE first and foremost; clear the Bosporus of any subsurface threats. This was vital before warships could transit the strait.

  Russian airborne. The VDV would capture key commanding locations along the Bosporus from where the Turkish army could offer any resistance. This was also necessary before ships could pass throu
gh. Once through into the Mediterranean, the fleet could be supplied from the Russian naval base at Tartus and the airbase at Latakia, both in Syria. The whole operation wouldn’t be a permanent deployment; unless of course, the opportunity presented itself. Russian forces would be withdrawn from the Bosporus soon after the Fleet had passed and objectives were met.

  The intention was first to establish a commanding presence around Ukraine and the Black Sea, secondly to gain a firm foothold in the Mediterranean.

  Russia would then command the Black Sea and become a major presence in the Eastern Mediterranean.

  Shipping access to The Black Sea via the Bosporus was guaranteed by the Montreux convention of 1936. The Russian leadership knew that the allies would huff and puff at the UN, but possession was nine tenths of the law.

  First, clear the Bosporus then all else would fall into place. Russian Admirals and VDV commanders had said it would take less than a day.

  UNDER THE STRAIT WAS a presence that would challenge that viewpoint.

  The Russian military leadership hadn’t taken all into account.

  The USS New York City stood alone but unbowed.

  One submarine, one strait. One hell of a battle.

  Chapter 14

  THE BATTLE OF THERMOPYLAE. The Year of Our Lord 2014.

  THE NORTH RIDGE. ONE hundred and eighty feet deep.

  USS NEW YORK CITY ADVANCED to the south side of the ridge.

  “Weaps, warload status,” said Franks.

  “All tubes, Mk 48 CBASS sir.” Nathan grinned.

  “Hold at 230 feet, we’ll hide behind the ridgeline,” said Franks. “Nosey, what’s going on out there?”

  “Sir, three Kilo class. They’re distant, range eight miles, but running in fast. I think they’re overconfident.”

  “Right, let them get close, let me know when they get to each mile marker.”

  Nosey counted them down. Nathan closed his eyes, please don’t let me screw up.

  “Four miles.”

  A couple of minutes went by.

  “Three miles to run sir. Two minutes 55 seconds, elapsed time. That’s speed 19 knots.”

  “Good work Nosey.”

  This was just the start, knew Franks.

  “Two miles sir.”

  “Weaps, flood tubes one to three, open outer doors.” Nathan’s fingers flew over his touchscreen.

  “Firing solution laid in. Tangos one, two and three. Tubes one to three flooded, doors open. Fish ready in all respects. The fish are hungry sir.”

  The seconds counted down.

  “Range one mile sir,” said Nosey.

  “Trim forward and rear. Come up to 150 feet.”

  “Mark, depth 150 feet. Sir.”

  “Launch tubes one to three. Go.” Nathan launched the three fish, spacing the timing.

  “Fish launched, fish one to port, fish three to starboard. Fish two, right up the middle. Closing, closing. Fish pinging, fish two is pinging, three pinging. I’m cutting the wire...” he waited, “cutting now.” He watched his display.

  “Tango two has released countermeasures,” said Nosey.

  “Fish running in, pinging, fish terminal, fish are hungry.”

  “Hot datum Tango one,” said Nosey. “Hot datum Tangos two and three. All Kilos down sir. Hull ripping sounds, gas escape. Huge gas escape.”

  “RIP three Kilos,” said Nathan, “Closing doors, draining. Reloading tubes one to three.”

  Franks knew it was a good start, but the enemy would be ready now. They knew a daemon of the deep was waiting for them.

  TEN MINUTES WENT BY. Pigeon didn’t have much to do, saw Franks. She looked tense, this was her first undersea action after all.

  “Weaps. Show Pigeon the key engagement positions in the Bosporus. Pigeon, get the headings from one to another worked out. Also, chart bearings for any dogleg course runs down the channel. I want all I need ready, when I need it.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll be on it.” Nathan showed her the chart positions, and she got to work.

  “Sir,” said Nosey, “I have one Kilo, one Akula out there, range five miles. Two miles separation, Kilo to port and slightly behind.”

  Franks had stayed at a depth of 150 feet. They knew where she was now.

  “Weaps. You call the warload allocation.”

  Nathan worked on his console and spoke to the Weapons CPO in the torpedo room.

  “Sir, tubes one and four selected. Mk 48. Firing solutions laid in. Kilo designated Tango one, tube one. Akula designated Tango two, tube four. Flooding tubes one and four. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish are hungry sir.”

  “Range three miles,” said Nosey.

  Franks waited two minutes.

  “Select Tango two, launch tube four.”

  “Tube four launched, good launch. Fish running.”

  The Kilo wouldn’t be far behind, Franks knew.

  “Select Tango one, launch tube one.”

  “Tube one launched, good launch,” said Nathan. “Fish running.”

  “Sir, fish four running in, range one mile. Fish pinging, pinging.”

  “Tango two has launched countermeasures,” said Nosey. The Akula was trying to escape; nobody liked being hunted by a Mk 48. Franks had expected it.

  “Fish pinging running in on Tango two,” said Nosey.

  “Tango two has blown ballast, full revs. He’s going up,” said Nosey, “Fish four is going for the countermeasures. Running in, pinging. Shit. Fish missed, sir.”

  “Get a new solution on the Akula, Nathan.”

  “New solution on Tango two. Tube two. Flooding tube two. Outer doors open. Fish ready in all respects. Fish two is hungry, sir.”

  “Launch tube two.”

  “Fish away, sir. Running in, pinging.”

  “Fish in the water,” said Nosey, “Type 53, the Kilo has launched.”

  “Ready countermeasures port side,” said Franks.

  “Range to incoming fish?”

  “Range point nine miles. Yes, yes. Hot datum Tango one. Kilo is down sir.” The Kilo diesel electric hunter killer submarine had launched her own fish, her last act.

  “The fish, where is it Nosey?”

  “Point six miles, sir. Point three. Point two.”

  “Launch countermeasures port side, Planesman, come hard to starboard.” A thudding boom sounded through the hull. The boat was pushed to the right. The sea boiled, USS NYC rolled.

  “The Type 53 went for our countermeasures,” said Nosey.

  “COB, damage control.”

  “Fish two running in, pinging. Cutting wire,” said Nathan.

  “Fish closing,” said Nosey, “closing, closing terminal. He’s launched countermeasures, turning to starboard. Hot datum Tango two. The Akula’s eaten the fish.”

  Franks finally drew breath.

  “Reloading tubes,” said Nathan.

  “I have all the Bosporus headings charted and marked sir,” said Lieutenant Lefevre. Franks grinned.

  “Thanks, Pigeon.” She’d worked on, oblivious, all through the engagement. Torpedoes and countermeasures flew thick and fast, but Pigeon had worked on her charts. As far as she was concerned, the Captain did his job she did hers, that was how it worked. Franks patted her on the shoulder.

  “Thanks, we need you where you are.” He stopped and turned. “I didn’t tell you, did I?”

  “What sir?”

  “Pigeon, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  She grinned.

  Franks knew it was time to pull back inside the channel. The enemy would have his measure here, they’d try to pin his ass against the wall with flanking attacks.

  The Russian Naval Airforce would have Ilyushin Il-38 ASW aircraft up there buzzing around like flies. Searching and dropping APR-3E homing torpedoes on him.

  “Planesman, come about bearing two one five, speed eight knots.”

  YAVUZ SULTAN SELIM suspension bridge. Two hundred feet deep.

  THE BOAT SAILED INTO th
e Bosporus. When he judged the moment correct, he ascended.

  “Trim for up bubble 15, make for periscope depth.” The deck rose upwards towards the bow and then came level.

  “Periscope depth sir.” He raised the scope and did a 360. Another 400 feet to go until they were 500 yards south of the huge suspension bridge, at the northern Black Sea end of the Bosporus.

  “That’s it. Trim for down bubble ten, make your depth 250 feet. Planesman come about, put our bow on to north, northeast. We’ll face the enemy as he comes on.”

  Franks rubbed his eyes, it had been a hard start to the battle, and he knew there was more to come yet.

  “COB?”

  “Sir.”

  “Get a rating to bring us some coffee up here. Some biscuits too, sugary stuff, Oreos or whatever.”

  The COB left the room, and soon a seaman from the galley appeared with coffee and biscuits.

  “Thanks,” Franks looked at his name patch, “Fuller. Keep us supplied, OK?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Franks turned to the sonar operator. “Nosey, any activity yet?”

  “No sir, I’m on it.”

  “Weaps. Warshot status?”

  “All tubes loaded with Mk 48 sir. We’re ready.” He knew they were on a knife edge in truth, but you can only play the cards you’re dealt with. USS New York City would need an ace up her sleeve.

  HIGH ABOVE IN THE SKIES above the Black Sea, three Ilyushin Il-38s headed south from the Crimean Peninsula. The four engine turboprop ASW aircraft headed towards Istanbul and the Bosporus.

  North of them circled Ilyushin Il-76 heavy transport aircraft carrying elite VDV airborne troops and their BDM-4 armoured infantry fighting vehicles. These were equipped with 100mm cannon and 30mm cannons. Many carried the Arkan, anti-tank guided missile launchers. The VDV would be dropped by parachute to capture key locations along the Bosporus. Drop zones would be onto sites where they could provide cover for the passing warships. These and more Il-76s would subsequently land at Ataturk airport to disgorge more troops and vehicles.