by Larry Bond
The cloud cleared and the view suddenly expanded to show open water. They were already out of the cargo hold, about ten feet above the barge deck and rising.
“Head for the Manta,” Jerry said needlessly. Davis was already pivoting Huey as she cut back slightly on the lifting power. Sweeping with the camera, she searched for the Manta’s rounded arrowhead shape.
The phone talker’s voice intruded as he studied the video screen. “U-bay, conn. We’re building a track on the contacts. They are approaching from the south. Course is roughly north at twelve knots.”
“What’s the range?” Jerry asked.
“Ah, they don’t have a lot of range data yet,” the phone talker responded. “Sonar says there’s not enough bearing drift.”
Jerry sighed, but understood the problem. A passive track doesn’t provide range by itself. The bearings can be plotted over time as they change, and the target’s location estimated fairly accurately, but it needed a series of bearings that did change, the faster the better. Normally, if the contact was coming straight on, the sub would maneuver to create an adequate bearing rate, but Memphis was pinned, forced to loiter until her men were back aboard.
“I can see you,” Emily reported. The Manta had just come into view of the camera, illuminated by Huey’s lights but still as dark as the water surrounding it.
Jerry quickly sized up the relative position of the two vehicles. He had to remember where Huey’s camera was aimed relative to the ROV’s body, where each vehicle was pointing, what their relative depth was, and where the barge was. The ROV was encumbered, and he was blind.
Picking a point that headed him away from the barge but still closed the distance to Huey, he turned the Manta to port and concentrated on the video image. Davis kept the camera trained on him, which gave him a rough idea of the Manta’s relative position, but he still had to remember the control lag. He had to think a few seconds ahead to send a command, then wait a few seconds more to see if he’d done it correctly. He ended up in an acceptable position, but farther in front of the ROV than he had wanted.
Even before he stopped, Emily began moving the ROV toward him, trying to minimize the time and the drain on her batteries. She positioned Huey over the larger vehicle.
“The camera can look down, but not under me,” Davis worried.
“Reynolds knows that.” Jerry answered. “He’s got a plan.”
“Like what?” she asked desperately.
Jerry tried to imagine the divers, clumsily shifting a heavy load in the dark and cold. “He’ll pass a second line from the load to that lift point on the Manta where he wants to rig it. As soon as that’s threaded, he’ll send Harris out front. . .”
“I’ve got a diver,” she said. Jerry saw a figure swim into the camera’s field of view. It looked like Harris. Whoever it was, he waved at the camera, then pointed down. Emily reduced the power to the thruster, trying to maintain position over the Manta. The diver made another downward motion, this time more urgently, so she made a more drastic reduction and Harris gestured approval by clasping his hands together.
He guided her forward and then left, with smaller hand movements. Jerry tried to think of something he could do to speed up the process, but he couldn’t even tell Reynolds and Harris about the Grishas. As far as he knew, the Russian ships were still well off, but they couldn’t be sure.
They’d agreed in the wardroom on an “emergency recall” signal, which was Davis flashing Huey’s external lights four or more times. At that point, the two men would drop whatever they were doing, clip onto the Manta, and they’d head back at the ROV’s top speed of twelve knots. It would mean abandoning the warheads, though, and so far, Hardy hadn’t given that order.
The camera suddenly jerked, and Emily let out a startled yelp, although she immediately followed it with, “It’s loose!” The Manta and diver seemed to fall away from the camera, and she had to quickly reduce power to avoid having the ROV come to the surface.
Jerry concentrated on maintaining a steady course and speed while Emily brought the ROV back and positioned its eyes on the Manta and its load. This took a few nervous minutes, and Jerry promised himself that if anyone ever asked him about his ideas for a future UUV, the first, second, and third suggestions would all be for a camera.
“Make a pass over the Manta,” Hardy ordered. “I want to see how the load is rigged.”
“I don’t know if we’ve got the time for that,” Patterson’s voice cautioned.
“I’ll decide that, Doctor,” Hardy answered sharply. “Mr. Mitchell has to know to properly handle the Manta. If we lose the warheads on the way back, this will all be for nothing.”
Jerry agreed, but admired Hardy’s nerve. He hadn’t thought of the Captain as a risk-taker, but he’d taken Memphis to the very ragged edge of Russian waters and sent divers in to recover a nuclear warhead. He’d put his career and the safety of the two divers and the boat on the line. Now that he’d bet the farm, Jerry guessed he was doing everything he could to make the bet pay off.
Davis answered, “Yes, sir,” and brought her vehicle around in a tight circle. A speed of three knots seemed almost blindingly fast, and she had to slow down as she trained the camera on the top of the Manta.
Both crates were attached to the lift point by one end. The other ends were unsecured, but at least the cases were laid in a fore-and-aft manner. The COB and Harris should be able to hold the back ends in place so the crates wouldn’t wobble. Jerry could only guess what the weight and drag would do to the “flight characteristics” of the Manta. He remembered one of the training videos at Newport that showed a one-third-scale prototype carrying two dummy Mk 48 torpedoes. The ballast system on this larger prototype should be able to handle the extra weight.
Davis maneuvered Huey again to take up station behind Jerry’s vehicle, so they could watch the divers. Harris and Reynolds reconnected themselves again and grabbed the back ends of the warhead cases; Jerry heard two taps on the Manta’s hull.
Informing Davis about the turn, he headed for Memphis, steadily increasing speed to ten knots. He also decreased his depth, rising to forty feet. That would reduce the divers’ nitrogen saturation a little, although Jerry couldn’t do anything about the cold or their fatigue. He couldn’t imagine that they could rest at all, either, clipped onto the Manta’s deck, struggling to keep the cases from moving around.
“The battery’s low. I don’t know if Huey can make it back at ten knots.”
“Do not reduce speed,” Hardy ordered. “We need that camera to watch the divers, and we’re short on time. I’m bringing Memphis in to you.
“Mr. Mitchell, I’m making my depth seventy feet. I want you to alter course to one six five. I can cut at least half a mile off the distance.”
Amazed that the Captain was taking Memphis inside Russian territorial waters, Jerry answered, “Alter course to one six five, aye, sir,” and ordered the Manta to the new heading. How shallow was Hardy going to take her? If Memphis touched the bottom, she’d do more than dent a fender. The rudder projected down below the keel, and if that was damaged, they’d be unable to maneuver. The pit log, a small sensor that read Memphis’ speed, was also located on the underside of the boat. If that even brushed the bottom, they’d have only the roughest idea of their speed.
And Memphis’ nuclear power plant depended on seawater for cooling. The main seawater inlets were near the keel, and they weren’t small. If Hardy got too close, Memphis would vacuum up junk and silt from the bottom and clog the condensers. That would cripple the plant, and the only way they’d get home was on Aeroflot.
Both Jerry and Davis had been carefully watching the video screen. His nightmare was one of the divers suddenly coming loose and being lost behind them before they could slow down. Alone, exhausted, with no way to find his way back, he’d depend on the ROV to find him, but Huey’s battery was officially critical. Emily had the manual open, studying the graphs and furiously calculating discharge rates.
; “U-bay, conn. Sonar holds you passively at three four zero. No range.”
“How about the Grishas?” Jerry asked.
“Sonar has only a poor fix,” the talker reported. “Their best guess is nine miles and closing.”
Which meant they could be even closer. He wished they could do something to hurry the process.
“I’m stopping Memphis here,” Hardy told Mitchell. My depth is six five feet. Come right a little, to one six eight.”
“Come right to one six eight, aye,” Jerry answered and told the Manta to change course.
“What’s your battery charge?” Hardy asked.
“Sixty percent,” Jerry reported.
“The instant the divers and the warheads are off, send the Manta southeast. I want your recommendations on how to distract those patrol craft.”
“Yessir,” replied Jerry, but before he thought about anti-Grisha tactics, he started working the math. How much range did the battery give him? How much margin did he have to leave? It wasn’t simple, especially with one eye on the video screen and the other on the navigation display.
Knowing Memphis’ keel depth, he brought the Manta shallower as it approached the sub. That way he could risk approaching closely, knowing he was too high to hit he hull. He’d take his chances with the sail by angling a smidge aft.
“Conn, U-bay. Is there any more on the Grishas’ ETA?”
“Negative,” said the talker. “Mr. Bair thinks they’re roughly paralleling the coastline because the bearing drift changes back and forth.”
Well, if they’re hugging the coast, they’ll run aground on us, Jerry thought.
“We should be getting close.” Emily’s statement was half hope.
Jerry knew they were, but had no way of knowing exactly how close. He waited until the Manta’s and Memphis’ locations had merged on the nav display before sending the command to stop. The one piece of good news was that this close to home, the command lag to the Manta was nonexistent.
With the Manta stationary, Emily turned away and switched on Huey’s sonar. “Bingo.” Memphis was right in front of the ROV and quickly came into view. She skillfully maneuvered Huey and its camera to include the Manta.
Jerry instantly corrected the Manta’s course so it was heading directly for Memphis’ after deck. Again, with no way to communicate with the divers, he had to guess what they would do next. How would they want to transfer the warheads from the Manta and the sub?
And where the hell were they going to put them? Jerry suddenly realized that he had no idea of where they were going to stow the damn things. They were too heavy to manhandle through the forward escape trunk, and too big to bring in through the torpedo tubes. The tubes were twenty-one inches in diameter, and the warheads were at least two feet across.
The second question was much more important, and he needed to know the answer to it before he could figure out how to transfer the warheads off the Manta. Memphis did have storage lockers built into the external hull, but they were all way too small. He thought about the bridge recess, but the external cover was dogged from the inside. Besides, even if they could open the cover and fit both warheads in, there wouldn’t be enough room to get up onto the bridge and pass them down into the sub.
As he struggled to solve the problem, he imagined Master Chief Reynolds trying to answer the same question. Would they both come up with the same answer? And was there one?
Emily kept maneuvering the ROV so that the camera would show both the Manta and the after deck of Memphis. As Huey hovered overhead, the light turned the Manta’s hangar into a jumble of angular shadows. Looking at those dark shapes gave Jerry the answer he needed.
The Manta hangar had been attached to Memphis over her original external hull. It was streamlined, so that water would flow smoothly over the Manta when it was stowed, and those fairings had created several large voids—voids that were large enough to hold two good-sized crates.
Hoping the Master Chief hadn’t come up with a different and better solution, Jerry corrected the Manta’s course slightly to port. He carefully checked the Manta’s ballast system, making sure the vehicle’s buoyancy was exactly neutral.
“Emily, please bring the ROV down and move it closer to the Manta hangar. I’m gong to put the Manta right over the hangar opening so the COB and Harris can put the warheads inside.” Although Davis was standing nearby, Jerry used the sound-powered phone so that the Captain and Patterson would know what his plan was. “I need to be able to see how high the Manta is above the deck.”
Davis nodded, concentrating on both the vehicles’ positions and the nearly flat battery gauge. Jerry had to remind her to use the phones.
“Understood,” she answered, angling Huey down more and away from Memphis.
Minimum steerageway for the Manta was somewhere around one or two knots, but Jerry had done precious little work with the vehicle at low speeds. He needed to stop in exactly the right spot.
Still a hundred yards off, with the two divers and the warheads strapped to the hull, he gradually decreased speed. Thoughts of the Grishas urged him to hurry, but instead he concentrated on the physics of the situation. At some point the control surfaces wouldn’t have any effect, and then . . .
There. The Manta’s course indicator started to fall off to port, and he increased speed by the smallest increment the controls would allow. He didn’t bother trying to correct his heading until the speed increased, and when it did, the vehicle responded, although slowly.
Luckily the correction was small, and the target was stationary. Aiming the Manta at the opening in the center of the hangar was simple, compared to accurately judging its height above Memphis. How close could he come to the deck without striking it?
Emily’s ROV and its camera was ahead of him and off Memphis’ starboard side, while he approached from port. He saw the Manta almost head-on, a little above and to the right of the camera. He would have liked a closer view, but she already had Huey’s camera at maximum zoom, and she had the ROV as close to the Manta as she dared.
Thankfully, at this distance, there was no control lag. He made a small downward correction and watched for the results on the video screen. He made another, inching downward as he approached the aft deck.
And suddenly it was time to stop. Remembering how quickly the Manta had slowed when he had tested the steering earlier, he held her at creep speed until she was almost on top of the sub, then cut it to zero. There was no tail hook, of course, but he couldn’t even back down.
Jerry checked the buoyancy again as the Manta coasted to a stop directly over the hangar opening. It rested, perfectly stationary, less than three feet over the deck. He let out a lungful of air and realized he’d stopped breathing some time ago. Then the sound of clapping startled him and he turned quickly to see the entire torpedo division and several of the ship’s officers behind him.
The applause stopped quickly as he hushed them, but they all congratulated him on his piloting skills.
“That was really smooth, Mr. Mitchell.”
“Makes a jet look easy, huh?”
Lieutenant Richards, the Weapons officer, had the final word. “It looks like you paid attention in Manta school, Mr. Mitchell.” He smiled and said, “Bravo Zulu.”
“Thank you, sir.” The praise was more than welcome and Jerry felt it wash over him, but his eyes were drawn back to the video screen. Emily had remained focused, thank goodness, but there was nothing for anyone to do now but watch as Reynolds and Harris manhandled the warheads off the back of the Manta.
The Manta’s passive sonar display spiked and jiggled as it picked up the sounds of the two warheads being untied, then pulled across the upper hull. The surface was smooth and curved downward, so the divers could let gravity do at least some of the work. Of course, the Manta had a sonar array running along each flank, but he’d just have to take his chances on it being damaged.
Through the camera they could see Reynolds and Harris take the first warhead crate and h
alf-slid it off the Manta’s hull. They managed to work it over to a recess in the hangar, but Jerry couldn’t see exactly where they put it. He trusted the COB’s ability to keep it clear of the latches and the other equipment inside, but he couldn’t really relax until the Manta had been stowed and launched again.
If that ever happened. He risked another call to control. They could see and hear everything that was going on, but he couldn’t see the plot or the fire-control display. “Conn, U-bay, what’s the status of the Grishas?”
After a pause, the talker said, “It’s still hard to say, but close.”
Hardy came on the line. “Mr. Mitchell, do you have a plan for the Grishas?”
“Sir, I’d like to use the Manta’s simulator mode. I can lead them off to the west, toward the coastline, so Memphis can head northeast. The problem is that I can’t do it for very long. I’ll need high speed to evade them, but I’m only good for about half an hour at twenty knots.”
