by Larry Bond
The other man smiled, but Levi’s ASW officer didn’t look so pleased.
“Problems, Bill?”
“If there’s a sub out there, Captain, we’re in a world of hurt. At this speed, our sonars aren’t going to be worth a damn.”
Levi nodded gravely. “I’m aware of that. But that’s a risk we’ll have to take. Our helos will have to shield us while we take out those NK boats.” He stopped, hoping he wouldn’t have to eat those words at the court-martial that would follow any defeat.
SIERRA FIVE
“They’re still closing, Skipper. Now less than seven miles away.”
The P-3’s pilot smiled. “Maybe they think we’re gonna let ’em get close enough to use those machine guns on us. Keep your eyes on them, though. The boys on the O’Brien and Duncan can use any info we pick up.”
Sierra Five continued its lazy orbit, watching as the two North Korean missile boats charged in. Navy intelligence reports said the NK Osas didn’t carry any significant antiaircraft weapons.
DPRK REVOLUTION
Sohn kept his eyes moving, swiveling back and forth from the American plane to the SA-7 SAM team crouching low beside the aft 30 mm gun turret. They were almost in range — just a few hundred meters more. Closer. Closer. He brought his hand up, ready to signal the attack. Almost…
SIERRA FIVE
“Range is now five miles, Skipper.”
The P-3’s pilot heard the questioning note in his radar operator’s voice and let it feed the small uncertainty growing in his own mind. The North Korean missile boats were now clearly visible to the naked eye. “Yeah. That’s close enough. Let’s put some airspace between us and get that sonobuoy line laid.”
His hands were already busy banking the aircraft in a shallow turn away from the NK craft.
DPRK REVOLUTION
“It’s turning away!”
Sohn saw the massive four-engined aircraft changing shape as it changed course, pulling out of the slow figure-eight orbit it had been following. He leapt for the rear bridge railing. “On your feet! Fire! Fire!”
“But Comrade Captain…” The boat’s weapons officer tried to stop him, babbling something about the angles and ranges. It was too late.
The sailor clutching the SA-7 Grail SAM launcher rose from beside the aft gun turret and lifted it to his shoulder, letting the missile’s seeker head find the heat emanating from the P-3’s engines. It locked on and he fired, braced against the pitching deck as the missle ignited and flashed into the sky.
SIERRA FIVE
“Shit!” The P-3’s pilot saw the smoke trail curving after him and jammed the throttles all the way forward. A fuckin’ missile, he thought, they’ve got SAMs on those goddamned things. Who would’ve thought it? You should have, cried a voice inside his skull. He watched the airspeed indicator climb, agonizingly slowly, as the SAM gained on them, streaking in at close to a thousand knots.
Sierra Five got lucky.
The SA-7 closed rapidly on the P-3, veering toward the heat thrown off by its two port wing engines. Then, just two hundred yards or so behind its target, the North Korean missile — its propellant exhausted and momentum gone — tipped over and fell away into the sea. The P-3’s turn and burst of speed had carried it out of range.
The pilot breathed out, a little more shakily than he would have liked. That had been too close. He looked into the mirror. Now far behind him, the two surviving North Korean boats were curving away, heading southeast.
“Tell the O’Brien that she’s gonna have company in a few minutes. Those NKs look like they plan to go head-to-head.” Then he clicked the intercom to speak to the whole crew. “Okay, guys, that was fun. But now let’s get back to doing what they pay us for — killing subs.”
A faint cheer echoed his words. Submarines didn’t shoot back.
USS O’BRIEN
Levi wheeled toward his tactical action officer. “Light ’em up. Signal Duncan weapons free!”
The response was immediate. “Two small surface contacts! Bearing three five one. Range eighteen point four miles!”
At the same time, Levi could hear one of this ratings yelling, “ESM report! Strong Square Tie radar emissions, bearing three five one!”
“Fire four Harpoons! Two at each contact.”
Four missiles roared away from one of the ship’s two Mark 141 launchers.
DPRK REVOLUTION
“Five radar contacts, Comrade Captain. Two medium-sized, bearing one seven one, range twenty-nine point five kilometers. Two large and one medium-sized, bearing one six nine, range thirty-five kilometers.”
Sohn smiled. He’d been right. He’d found the American convoy. “Inform all units of the position, course, and speed of the enemy.”
“Missile alert! Four missiles fired at us from the lead group of enemy vessels!”
Sohn slapped a hand on the bridge railing, making his officers jump. “Very well! Those must be the enemy escorts. If we sink them, our submariner comrades will find it easy to deal with the merchant tubs left afloat.” He looked at the chubby weapons officer. The man’s face was wet — though whether from salt spray or fear-induced perspiration was beyond Sohn’s ability to guess. “Fire our own missiles at the lead enemy vessel. Avenger will fire at the other.”
The man turned to obey, and Sohn and all the rest ducked away as the Revolution’s four SS-N-2C Styx missiles thundered out of their enclosed launchers and sped toward the as-yet-unseen American ships, trailing tongues of fire and choking thick white clouds of missile exhaust.
USS O’BRIEN
The radar operator’s voice squeaked into a falsetto that would have been comical under other circumstances. “Missiles inbound! I count… seven, eight small, high-speed contacts!”
Levi stayed calm. He’d already calculated the odds. “Warn Duncan. We’ll engage when the inbounds are within range.”
The situation he and his ships confronted showed the need for close teamwork. As a Perry-class frigate, the Duncan didn’t carry the destroyer’s big five-inch guns or an ASROC launcher. On the other hand, its Standard SAM missiles far outranged the Sea Sparrows on the O’Brien. Essentially, Levi knew, his destroyer was the escort’s sword. And Duncan was his shield.
He stood watching the CIC’s display screens, listening to the chatter from the men around him as the opposing missiles sped toward their respective targets. For the moment he was as much a bystander as if he’d never taken a Navy commission. This battle was in the hands of the computers and the men who served them.
He watched as six Standards raced out from the Duncan toward the first group of four North Korean missiles. The rival groups merged in just thirty seconds, and three of the Styx missiles disappeared — blown out of the sky. The fourth kept coming. Two more Standards reached out and intercepted it while it was still more than ten miles from the O’Brien. Four others met the second wave of Styx missiles and drowned two of them. The two survivors made it to within seven miles before they were shot down by the destroyer’s own Sea Sparrows.
At the same time, O’Brien’s four Harpoons skimmed the waves on their way toward the NK Osas. Aware of the threat, the two North Korean boats turned and fled north, jinking wildly from side to side in a vain attempt to shake off the pair of American missiles pursuing each of them. Their close defense weapons missed, and Levi kept his eyes on the radar plot as the Harpoons struck, annihilating their targets in a series of blinding explosions. All the screen showed was a sudden absence of any blips. But sixty North Korean sailors were dead.
Levi heard the collective sigh of relief from his CIC crew and felt the tension draining away from all around him. Some of that was good, but too much relaxation on their part would be bad. He brought them back on guard with a rapid series of orders. “Signal the convoy to resume normal steaming positions, course, and speed. Mr. Keegan?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Slow to twelve knots and take us back to the front of the convoy.”
“Aye, aye, sir.
”
Satisfied that his men were back in hand and paying attention to their duties, Levi allowed himself his own slight smile of relief.
The action had taken just over two minutes.
ABOARD DPRK ADMIRAL YI, EAST OF TSUSHIMA
“Sonar reports multiple explosions bearing three four three, Comrade Captain.”
The North Korean captain’s pockmarked face looked up at the interruption. He’d been jotting down notes for his next political lecture. The captain had never been a particularly agile public orator, and he found it difficult to speak coherently, especially when using the standard Party jargon. As a result, he often found himself trying to cram additional preparation time in whenever he could — even while his submarine was busy hunting an enemy convoy.
“Explosions? Any other noise — propellers, sonars, that sort of thing?”
“No, Comrade Captain. Just the explosions.”
The captain grunted, unsurprised that his sonar operators hadn’t heard anything more. In these confined waters the Romeo-class submarine’s Feniks passive sonar was lucky to pick up any kind of sound within five kilometers.
“Very well. I’ll come forward.”
With a stifled groan he stood up from his narrow writing desk and waddled forward to the Control Room. His chief officers were all there waiting for him. He fixed his eyes on the senior lieutenant. “Anything more to report?”
“No, Comrade Captain. There have been no further explosions or other sonar contacts.”
“I see. Well, let’s take a look at what’s going on. Raise the periscope.”
The captain waited for the scope to come all the way up out of its housing before stooping to stare through the eyepieces. Something in Admiral Yi’s plain fare had given him a severe case of indigestion — indigestion that made sharp movement painful. “Nothing there.”
He started to spin the scope through a full circle. After all, he might as well check the whole horizon while he was at it.…
ABOARD HOTEL THREE
“So I said, ‘Sorry, babe, I’m fresh out of quarters.’ Man, you should have seen the look in that bimbo’s eyes. Talk about pissed off…” Hotel Three’s pilot broke off as he saw something strange off the helicopter’s port side. “Holy God! That’s a mothafuckin’ periscope!”
The SH-2F Sea Sprite dipped and spun round to face the long, thin cylindrical object sticking six inches above the sea. Sunlight sparkled off the lens. There couldn’t be any doubt that it was a periscope.
“Want an active buoy?” the helo’s copilot asked, still stunned by the suddenness of it all. Not one of their passive buoys had picked the submarine up. Not one.
“Hell, no! Drop a torp! Left search pattern,” the pilot snapped as he brought the Sea Sprite into hover right over the spot where the rest of the enemy submarine had to be.
“Weapon away!” The helicopter lurched upward, freed from the weight of the Mark 46 as it plunged into the sea. It acquired the enemy submarine within seconds and dove straight for it.
The captain and crew of the DPRK submarine Admiral Yi died without ever knowing they were under attack or even how close they’d come to finding the American convoy.
ABOARD DPRK GREAT LEADER NEAR THE NORTHWEST TIP OF TSUSHIMA
Chun sat rigid, holding Revolution’s last contact report crumpled in his hand. His plans had failed. His forces had attacked piecemeal and they’d been defeated piecemeal. Worse yet, the Americans were ahead of him — a fact that would make it difficult, if not completely impossible, to successfully intercept them.
“Do you have any change to make in our orders, sir?” His first officer sounded solicitous. Chun’s lips thinned. The man was right to worry about him. A failure now would erase any memory of Chun’s earlier successes and would probably result in his being stripped of command, rank, and all their accompanying privileges.
He shook his head. “No. Carry on with your duties, comrade.” He tried to smile and partially succeeded. “We’ll catch them yet.”
The first officer smiled back and nodded. “Of course, Comrade Captain.” He started to turn away and then stopped. “Would you care for some tea, Captain?”
This time Chun’s smile was more genuine. Tea would be just the thing to help settle his nerves and occupy his mind during the long quiet run ahead. “Indeed, comrade. And have the cook prepare enough for all of us. After all, you know I hate to drink alone.”
Polite laughter greeted his small jest.
SIERRA FIVE
“Hear anything?”
The sonarman sat straighter in his chair and stretched weary muscles. His back was killing him. “Nope, Skipper. Not a peep on any of the buoys. Maybe we got ’em all.”
“Maybe.” The P-3’s pilot didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, this is why Uncle Sam sends us such big monthly checks. So stay sharp, guys. Only four more hours till we have to land and refuel.”
The expected groans met his announcement. They’d already been airborne for eight hours.
DPRK GREAT LEADER
The chief cook grumbled to himself as he bustled about in the Great Leader’s tiny galley. Officers! First do this. Then do that. And none of them appreciated the difficult conditions under which he worked. They wanted tea prepared — tea for all of them to guzzle. Well, he’d be willing to bet that not a single one of them realized his tiny electric burners could only boil two kettles of water at a time. Yes, he’d wager a month’s ration books on that.
He rummaged through storage cabinets, looking for the special tea leaves the sub’s officers insisted on using and cursing under his breath all the while. Behind him, one of the kettles started to whistle thinly. Too soon, damn it! The cook spun round to turn the burner down.
Disaster struck. As he turned, his elbow knocked a stack of metal pots off the shelf. Instead of simply falling quietly onto the Great Leader’s rubber-coated deck, they tumbled and clattered against each other all the way down. Startled by the sudden noise, the cook slipped and his hand landed palm-first on the boiling kettle. The man’s scream echoed throughout the submarine.
Chun reacted instantly. “Slow to five knots! Rig for silent running! And tell that fool to shut up!”
SIERRA FIVE
“Transient! I have a metallic transient and other noise on number forty!” The sonar operator’s shout brought the Orion around in a tight turn, orbiting around the plotted position of sonobuoy number forty.
“Anything?”
The sonarman shook his head unconsciously before realizing that his commander couldn’t see him. “Negative, Skipper. Whatever’s down there just went real quiet. And I mean quiet. Like, they’re doing a pretty good impression of being a plain, old, harmless water molecule.”
Forward in the cockpit, the P-3’s pilot considered that. Any sub that could stay that silent was a damned big threat to the convoy, and it would probably be impossible to localize with passive sensors alone. On the other hand, staying that quiet also meant it couldn’t be moving very fast. Which meant it was still close at hand. He clicked his mike, “Frank?”
“Yeah, Skipper?” the Orion’s tactical coordinator answered.
“Drop a DICASS. I think we can ping on this guy.”
“You got it.”
The active sonobuoy splashed down noiselessly into the water and unreeled its hydrophone.
“Activate.”
Sound waves pulsed out through the water in widening circles, seeking something solid to bounce off. They found it.
“Bingo! Sonar contact bearing one four five. Range fifteen hundred yards!”
DPRK GREAT LEADER
Piinng!
“They have us, Captain.”
Chun nodded. The noise was too loud for any other possible conclusion. “Take us to periscope depth, comrade. We’ll scratch this flea off our back.” He hoped his voice conveyed his confidence.
Although detected by some kind of American ASW aircraft, they still had a chance. Its Soviet builders had equipped Great Leader to de
al with such a contingency. The submarine’s periscope mast carried an SA-N-8 SAM system. Now Chun and his crew would learn whether or not the system was worth the added expense.
Piinng!
“Up periscope!”
SIERRA FIVE
“Contact bearing steady, range one thousand yards.”
The P-3’s pilot eased his throttle back, settling the plane into its attack run.
“Look! Dead ahead!”
He followed his copilot’s pointing finger. Their target had raised its periscope well above the water. It made a good aiming mark. But what was that box attached to the scope?
“Jesus!” His startled shout was echoed by the other man in the cockpit as a finger of orange-red flame suddenly erupted from the box.
The missile flew straight into the Orion’s outer starboard engine and exploded — throwing red-hot fragments into the turboprop’s fuel lines and fans. It seized up and fireballed. The P-3 dropped toward the water with its starboard wing trailing flame.
“Feather number four and activate extinguishers!” He held the Orion on course while the copilot and flight engineer worked frantically to put the fire out.
“Range five hundred yards.” The sonar crew was still on duty.
“Dump that torpedo!”
The pilot felt the Orion lift momentarily as the Mark 46 released. He pulled back on the control, trying to gain altitude.
“Skipper, the fire’s out of control. It’s gonna — ”
Sierra Five exploded in midair.
DPRK GREAT LEADER
Chun watched pieces of the American plane fall into the sea and grinned. “We got him! We killed the American bastard!”
“Captain! High-speed screws bearing three two five! Range close!”
Chun pulled his head away from periscope and whispered, “And he has killed us…”
Then he recovered and roared, “Left full rudder! Flank speed!”
He had to try to save his boat — not just for himself and for his crew, but for his country as well. Great Leader was North Korea’s most modern, most effective submarine. Without it, the North’s already uphill battle to interdict the South’s sea lines of communication would become completely unwinnable. American reinforcements and materiel would flow virtually unchallenged into the South’s teeming harbors.
