Ward tapped Friedman on the shoulder.
“Steve, shift to twenty-four power.”
The view on the screen changed dramatically. It looked as if they were alongside the merchant ship, close enough to catch the worst of it if the cook tossed over scraps from breakfast. The screen was filled with the picture of the after port quarter of a rather decrepit merchant ship struggling away from them. They could see everything from the tops of the kingposts to just below the main deck. The view below that was hidden by the curvature of the earth.
Ward stared at the screen for a bit. He didn’t see anything unusual about this ship.
“Steve, I want to see her all the way down to the waterline. Let’s take a high look. Make your depth five-six feet.”
Spadefish came shallower until only two feet of water concealed her black sail. The periscope now stuck almost fourteen feet out of the sea. The churning wake of the ship came into view now. They could just read the letters painted across her stern: “Helena K.”
“Skipper, I don’t see anything,” Friedman muttered. “Just a fully-loaded merchant heading north.”
A light came on for Ward.
Bethea had told him that the boarding party had not found anything. The Helena K was nothing more than a freighter in ballast. Empty, bound for Vancouver to take on a load of grain. One thing was obvious to him now. He wasn’t looking at a freighter in ballast. This one was fully loaded, riding low in the water. Something wasn’t right here. There had not been enough time since the inspection for the old freighter to slip into a port to load and get all the way back out here.
The freighter steamed away at twelve knots as Spadefish followed at three. The Helena K disappeared over the horizon. Ward needed to talk to Bethea once again, despite the nature of how their previous communication had ended.
“Officer of the Deck, raise the BRA-34 and have radio patch the secure voice to the conn.”
Within minutes Ward had the head of the JDIA on the other end of the circuit. Bethea was livid and he let Ward know it at the first sound of his voice.
“Captain, you are one stupid son of a bitch! You should be down there helping me find de Santiago’s coke, but you’re out on your own private crusade. I just hope you haven’t screwed up and wasted all the sweat and blood we’ve spent with this wild goose chase!”
Ward took a deep breath. He understood the man’s anger. He just didn’t have time to deal with it right now.
“Hold on, John. I think we’ve found your missing coke.”
There was a pause on the other end and Ward could hear the sharp intake of breath.
“And just where did you do that?”
“We have been watching the Helena K. She is low in the water and steaming north. Didn’t you say her holds were empty and she was heading to Vancouver to take on cargo?”
“Yeah, she was empty and riding high. There isn’t any way she took on cargo. We’ve had continuous satellite coverage over her since we left her.” Ward could hear Bethea shuffling papers, looking for something. “She hasn’t been in port or rendezvoused with anyone. She’s just been steaming right along. You have any ideas?”
Ward shook his head as if Bethea could see him.
“Don’t know, but I mean to find out. I’ll get back to you.”
Bethea was only slightly mollified.
“You’d damn well better. Your ass is still in a sling for that ‘loss of communications’ caper.”
Ward signed off and turned to Friedman.
“Steve, go to three hundred feet. Get out in front of that bastard. We’ll go back up and get a good close look as he comes by.”
Ward sat on a stool beside the navigation table as Spadefish raced out ahead of the freighter. At twenty-six knots, it didn’t take them long to catch up and go past. He watched as Steve Friedman brought the submarine back up to periscope depth.
The Helena K came into view. She was steaming toward where Spadefish waited. The freighter knifed through the water, her white bow wave curling back along her high, rust-streaked sides. Ward guessed she would pass a thousand yards away from where they watched. That would be close enough for him to clearly see her. She was riding low in the water. He could read the draft markings painted down the port side of her bow. The seawater lapped up above the full-load draft marks.
The Helena K steamed past. Ward watched closely. He couldn’t see anything else unusual. The only sign of life was up on the bridge. Two seamen were visible inside the wheelhouse. Looked like any freighter steaming innocently up the Pacific coast, full of coffee or bananas.
It didn’t add up. The Helena K was fully loaded. There was no doubt about that. She had been empty just two days ago.
Ward turned to Friedman.
“How do you hide something like that on the open ocean? And under the vigilant gaze of the most sophisticated satellite surveillance ever conceived?”
He slapped his forehead hard. Again he checked the scope. Sometimes the answer was right there in front of your very own nose!
“Officer of the Deck, man battle stations. We are going to do an under-hull of that ship.”
25
“Battle stations manned and ready,” Doug Lyman reported.
The Chief Radioman marked off the last entry on his checklist. He sat in front of the ballast control panel and watched as his crew bustled about, making their equipment ready for battle.
Ray Laskowski, the Chief of the Boat, was sitting in the Diving Officer’s chair. He nodded and turned to the XO.
“All stations report ‘manned and ready.’”
Joe Glass held the earpiece to his head, straining to hear the voice on the other end through the noise in the cramped room. He turned to Ward.
“Captain, all stations manned. Sonar reports one contact, the Helena K, currently held broadband on the sphere. Bearing zero-zero-five, signal-to-noise ratio plus five.”
She was a big target, close by, and hard for Spadefish’s equipment to ignore.
Ward looked around the control room. Members of his team were keyed; ready for anything the situation might throw at them. He waited a moment to allow time for their nerves to settle down a bit. He stepped to the front of the periscope stand and spoke.
“Attention in the attack center. We have a contact, the Helena K, on course three-five-three, bearing zero-zero-five, speed twelve, range three-five-hundred yards. I intend to close to one thousand yards astern of her, come to periscope depth again to verify our solution, then to conduct an under-hull surveillance using number two periscope.”
Ward looked around the room. The team was listening, taking in every word. Not one of them revealed any sense of fear. They all knew that they were about to sneak underneath a freighter to within inches of her. The risk of a collision with the freighter was real and the results could be disastrous. A second’s indecision, a slight wrong move, and the hardened steel bow of the Helena K could slice into Spadefish. Every man aboard the sub suspected what the outcome of such a collision would be, who would get the worst of that kind of bump. They had practiced this delicate maneuver in the trainers and with cooperating ships. This would be their first time doing it for real beneath an unsuspecting target.
Ward took a deep breath and continued.
“Gentlemen, it’s just like we’ve practiced. Maintain a one-knot speed advantage until we can see her screw. Then slow incrementally until we are underneath her and matching her forward speed. Speed changes will be in one turn increments and course changes by tenths of degrees. If she zigs, break off and try again. If we have any problems, same thing. We break off immediately.”
Cookie Dotson handed Ward a cup of coffee without saying a word. Ward nodded his thanks, took the mug, and went on.
“If I call for an emergency break-off, Chief Lyman, I want you to immediately flood to the depth control tanks until we have a downward acceleration. COB, maintain a zero bubble and ring up ‘ahead two-thirds.’ Come to a depth of one-five-zero feet. Helm, I want you to
use a five-degree rudder to change course ninety degrees and get us out from underneath. Everybody understand? Any questions?”
Ward sipped from his coffee as he waited for everyone to absorb the instructions. There were no questions. He turned to Joe Glass.
“XO, secure the weapons handling party. We won’t be needing them. Secure the damage control parties, too. Shouldn’t be needing them either.”
Glass talked into his headset for a second then stepped over to stand next to Ward.
“Skipper, I have a good solution on the contact. You know we could go straight in from here if you wanted to.”
Ward shook his head.
“No, XO. We’ll do it the way we practiced and the way I briefed it. That way no one will be confused.” Turning to Beasley, he said, “Officer of the Deck, lower the scope. Make your depth nine-zero feet. Make turns for fifteen knots.”
Spadefish increased speed and slowly gained on the freighter. With a three-knot speed advantage, Ward calculated that it would take twenty minutes to close to within a thousand yards of the Helena K. They could do it faster for sure. Much faster. But this was a good time to allow everyone to settle in and get over the initial rush of nerves. The Helena K wasn’t going to get away from them.
Ward sat back and watched as his team went about their work. It was hard to not feel like a proud father watching his sons turn a double play, or a football coach, seeing his game plan perfectly executed by his players out there on the field.
The signal-to-noise ratio on the sonar increased as they drove closer to their unsuspecting prey. Ward sipped the last of his coffee. He watched the trace on the sonar repeater grow more dense. He stepped down off the periscope stand and leaned over the COB’s shoulder. These three, the COB as Diving Officer, with Seaman Cortez at the helm and Seaman MacNaughton on the stern planes, were key players in this undersea ballet they were about to perform. They would have to act as one. No missed orders, no slight hesitation could be allowed. None of them wanted to think of the possible consequences should they misstep.
“You guy’s ready?” Ward asked quietly. “Stay on your toes. Just like we practiced. Slow and easy.”
Cortez smiled reassuringly.
“Piece o’ cake, Skipper.”
“Yep, piece o’ cake,” MacNaughton chimed in, then seemed to have another thought. “Hey, Skipper, speaking of food, if we pull this off, can we have a pizza night tonight?”
“Pretty pushy considering all you’re doing is your job, don’cha think?” Laskowski cuffed the young sailor playfully.
Ward laughed.
“Tell you what, MacNaughton. We pull this off, I’ll have Cookie make your favorite. Deal?”
Beasley tapped Ward on the shoulder before MacNaughton could acknowledge.
“Skipper, it’s time. We’re there.”
Ward nodded.
“Okay, slow to three knots and come up to six-two feet. Let’s take a look at this old sow’s belly.”
Spadefish slowed and eased up to periscope depth. As the ‘scope broke the surface, Ward saw what he expected to see. He was looking at the high stern of the freighter from directly behind her. She was still riding very low in the water. Her screw was completely submerged but furiously beating the water, struggling to maintain the speed she was making.
Spadefish’s periscope was in the middle of the freighter’s churning white wake. Time to get the show on the road.
Ward held his eye to the ‘scope eyepiece. He quietly said, “Make your depth nine-five feet. Make turns for thirteen knots.”
Water rushed over the periscope as Spadefish eased deeper. The bright blue of the sky was exchanged for the deeper blue of the tropical Pacific waters.
“Depth nine-five,” Laskowski called out. “Making turns for one-three knots.”
The ‘scope shook in Ward’s hands as the water coursed around it. The ‘scope normally would only be used at very low speeds. It couldn’t be employed if the sub was traveling above fifteen knots. At that speed there would be a real risk of the force of the rushing water bending it over. At thirteen knots the thing bucked forcefully, the eyepiece smacking into Ward’s forehead, but he kept his eye in place. There was too much for him to watch out for.
He spun the scope around to look aft. He rotated the right handle clockwise to look downward. He needed a feel for the limits of visibility in these waters. If it was too murky, there was no point in sliding beneath the ship. They couldn’t see anything anyway. A view down the back of Spadefish would give him some idea of how far he could see.
Beasley was watching the video monitor that showed what Ward was seeing.
“Skipper, I can see the after escape trunk and can make out the forward edge of the rudder.”
Ward nodded.
“I see it, too. Make the visibility about two hundred feet. Way more than enough for what we’re going to be doing.”
The mission was on.
Joe Glass was standing between Chris Durgan at his computer console and Dave Kuhn, who was working at the navigation table.
“Skipper, we shifted to a close-in solution plot. Hold range at nine-two-five yards. Closing at one hundred yards a minute. You should start seeing the bubble trail soon.”
The “bubble trail” is a stream of underwater bubbles, air entrained and pulled deep by the freighter’s spiraling screw. The bubbles drifted behind the ship and slowly made their way back up to the surface. Seeing the bubble trail through the periscope was a sure sign they were driving closer and would be able to make out the screw itself.
“Not yet, XO. We need to get inside of five hundred yards for that. Is Chief Mendoza reporting the near-field effect yet?”
Near-field effect was a sonar phenomenon caused by the very close range to the contact. The sonar would begin seeing the freighter as a number of different noise sources rather than as one composite source. The result was that they would begin to see many lower-noise-strength contacts on several different bearings. Before submariners figured out this occurrence, more than one skipper collided with the contact or broken off the approach in total confusion. Near-field effect started to be seen at about five hundred yards from the target.
“Sonar reports they are starting to see near-field now,” Glass responded. “The contact is shifting to upper D/Es, now at plus six.”
D/E, or depression/elevation angle, measured the angle between horizontal and the incoming sonar noise. The D/E was normally a negative number. A close contact above them would result in a positive D/E. This was also a good sign that they really were deeper than the Helena K’s keel. It was crucial that they remain so.
“Okay, I’m seeing the bubble trail,” Ward called out. The little white dots flew by the scope. “Can’t see any shapes yet.”
Joe Glass reported, “Close-in solution, still tracking. Range six-five-zero yards. Better estimate of speed eleven-point-seven knots. Drifting slightly left. Recommend coming left a tenth.”
Ward, his eye glued to the scope, said, “Helm, come left a tenth. XO, watch the drift. I don’t want to over-compensate and start yo-yoing across her track.”
Glass shook his head. Sometimes Ward could worry like a mother hen.
“Took that into account, Skipper. We’ll slowly come back onto track.”
“Possible contact zig. Bearings are tracking off,” Durgan shouted.
Glass jumped over to look at the computer screen. If the Helena K was going to change course, this was the worst possible time. All their efforts would be wasted. They would have to plot the approach all over again once she had straightened out. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about her dropping her anchor. That had happened to Glass once early in his career. He had been doing this very same maneuver “up north,” looking at a Soviet ship, when the bastards had decided to drop anchor. Only luck had prevented one mammoth clang as the heavy anchor fell through the water only inches away from them.
“XO, these bearings are all over the place!” Kuhn yelled. “Looks like
somebody shot at the plot. He hasn’t zigged. Sonar is tracking off.”
Glass glanced over at the paper plots. Kuhn was right. They were now seeing what near-field effect could do once they got close to a previously easily discernible target. No matter how well trained they were, sonar men could get confused when their target seemed to go to pieces on them.
“Sonar, Coordinator, your trackers are tracking off.”
“Sonar, aye.” Mendoza’s voice boomed over the speaker. “We’ll do the best we can, but we’re in too close now.”
Beasley looked intently at the video monitor. There was only a hint of excitement in his voice when he spoke.
“Skipper, stop there for a second. Thought I saw something.”
Ward had been panning the scope slowly back and forth across their intended path, looking for any signs of the Helena K besides her bubble trail. He slowly brought the ‘scope back to the position where Beasley thought he had seen an image.
“Yeah, I can see it now. Screw tips, I think. I can just make it out through the bubbles. We’re coming in closer now. Dive, drop down a foot.”
“Down a foot, aye,” Laskowski answered. “Depth nine-one feet.”
Ward rotated the right handle on the ‘scope up a click to keep the blade tips in view.
“Drop speed a turn.” He wanted to slow the approach under the freighter. Better to take a little time out here than to rush underneath the cargo ship and try to slow the sub down. He was beginning to see the shadowy hull of the freighter through the curtain of bubbles. They were drawing damned close! “Dive, drop down another six inches.”
“Down six inches, aye. Depth nine-one-point-five.”
Now, inches mattered.
Ward rotated the scope up another click. Then another one. He was looking straight up as the massive, spinning bronze screw blade passed a mere foot above the top of their periscope. He could only imagine the damage that thing could do if they so much as hiccupped.
Final Bearing Page 31
