by Larry Bond
“We can’t be sure of the fields’ positions,” Bair cautioned. “They could be up to five or even ten miles off on any side.”
“So we’re not going to go anywhere near them.” Hardy announced. “We’re going to hug the coast off the northern tip of Novaya Zemlya and keep Memphis in shallow water. We should be able to pass the westernmost field at a distance of five miles.”
Lenny Berg looked worried and even the XO looked concerned. Hardy saw their faces. “The shallower we go, the less our noise will carry to the buoys. If we’re lucky we’ll find some biologies to hide in, but I’ll even settle for some wave slap.”
“They’ll be expecting us to try and go around, sir,” Bair cautioned. “They’ll have surface craft patrolling the gaps.”
“Of course, but I’d rather deal with a thirty-knot ship than a three-hundred-knot airplane.”
“How many ships will they have?” asked Lenny Berg. “And how many aircraft?”
“Three planes, all the way out here in the Kara Sea, is a lot,” Bair answered. “They only have one or two understrength squadrons in the entire Northern Fleet and their maintenance is iffy at best. I’m betting this is all they had available to sortie on such short notice. The ships are more of an unknown. We’ve already detected four; it could be two or even three times that number. We just don’t know.”
“Lucky for us,” Berg commented sarcastically.
“More will come, which is why we have to keep heading north,” Hardy said. “Remember, this is the season when the Russians do most of their training. Every available ship from those exercises is heading in this direction. That first group we got past was probably the closest, but there will be more guarding the gaps not covered by the buoy fields. More will arrive the longer we take, and I do not want Memphis to be anywhere near here when they arrive.
“My intention is to get us out of the Kara Sea as quickly as possible. Once we’re in the Barents and we’ve broken contact for a while, the Russians will be reluctant to attack a submarine contact. And we’ll have more maneuvering room.”
Hardy turned to Jerry. “And you’re going to be our pathfinder. I wouldn’t trust these charts even if they were printed in Cyrillic, not for this. We’ll send the Manta out in front, so we’ll know exactly what the bottom looks like and where we can safely navigate. We’ll man Manta launch stations in three hours.”
Jerry looked at his watch and saw that he’d have to head down to the torpedo room just before the next watch rotation. Based on the Captain’s intentions, he probably wouldn’t get any rest for the next twelve hours.
“I know you’re tired, Mr. Mitchell. We all are. But there is nothing I can do about it until we get out into the Barents and away from the Russian ASW forces,” Hardy said apologetically.
“I understand, sir,” replied Jerry, surprised by Hardy’s concern.
“Very well, then. Mr. Berg, change course to three zero zero and increase speed to seven knots.”
“Change course to three zero zero and increase speed to seven knots, aye, sir.”
At midnight Hardy turned Memphis more to the north, to parallel the northern tip of Novaya Zemlya. As the water shoaled, Jerry and his division manned their U-bay stations and launched the Manta, now nearly fully charged.
Jerry felt at home as he guided the Manta toward the sloping seabed. Harry O’Connell, the Navigator, was on the phone circuit this time. He told Jerry where to steer and constantly quizzed him about water depth and bottom topography. Everyone kept a close watch out for uncharted obstructions.
Jerry used the vehicle like a hunting dog, searching for the smoothest, deepest path across the seabed. He’d run ahead and back at five or six knots while Memphis glided behind him, sometimes with only ten feet of water between the keel and the bottom.
Three knots doesn’t sound very fast. It’s three and a half miles an hour. People can walk that fast. Cars in traffic jams move faster than that. But a car weighs a few thousand pounds. A submarine weighs several thousand tons. It doesn’t stop quickly or quietly. As he scanned the seabed in front of Memphis, he was constantly conscious of the submarine’s mass bearing down on him.
Jerry used the Manta’s high-frequency active sonar to look for sudden shelving of the bottom or obstructions. While he still wished for a TV camera of some sort, the sonar provided him with a usable picture of the bottom.
The pathfinder idea paid off almost immediately when the Manta found an outcropping of rock that projected well above the seabed. While Memphis’ keel would have cleared, her rudder projected a couple of feet farther down, and that might have struck with disastrous results.
At three knots, traveling in a somewhat straight line, Memphis would take over ten hours to cover the thirty miles, but Hardy wasn’t exactly sure of where the buoy field was. Jerry flew the UUV for over five hours, scouring the bottom. After the outcropping, he found a ridge that lay across Memphis’ path and also managed to find a deep spot, almost a ravine, that safely hid the submarine for nearly an hour’s travel northwest.
They heard the destroyer’s sonar long before they were clear of the western sonobuoy field. O’Connell told Jerry over the circuit, “Sonar’s picked up a Horse Jaw sonar pinging to the north. It’s most likely an Udaloy-class destroyer.”
That was bad. The Udaloys were the newest class of Russian ASW destroyer. They carried antisubmarine missiles that reached out almost thirty miles. They also carried two helicopters fitted with a dipping sonar and rocket-propelled torpedoes. The Horse Jaw was a big low-frequency set with tremendous power. Actually, the Udaloy class wasn’t the only Russian warship to carry it. If it wasn’t an Udaloy, the other possibility was a Kirov-class nuclear-powered battle cruiser. Jerry decided he’d hope it was an Udaloy.
“U-bay, conn. The Captain wants you to come up to control.” After making sure the Manta could fly safely ahead for a few minutes, Jerry left Davidson to baby-sit while he dashed up to the control room. He found the Captain and the XO huddled over the chart table. They both looked tired and worried.
“At least we know there is a gap,” the XO commented. He tried to sound positive, but it didn’t work.
Hardy didn’t even try. “If that Udaloy spots us, we’re in deep kimchee. Even if we could evade him, his two helicopters would likely pin us down and he’d move in for the kill. Their dipping sonars actually perform better in these water conditions than the Horse Jaw.”
Bair continued. “The only advantage we’ve got is that he has to stay active if he’s going to find us. He’d never get a whiff of us with a passive search, not in water with all this ice.”
“But he’s ideally positioned to block the gap. We either try to slip past him or we’re forced into the buoy field.” The Captain’s conclusion clearly laid out the trap the Russians had set for them.
“So we’re going to take our chances in the buoy field?” Bair asked.
“No, XO, we’re going to cut the corner and run through Russian territorial waters,” Hardy announced matter-of-factly.
Bair and Jerry stood in shocked silence. Hardy’s plan was daring, but also very dangerous. If the Russians found them, there would be no place to hide in the confined, very shallow waters near the coast. Unable to run or fight, Memphis’ chances of survival were nil.
“Captain, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but are you friggin’ nuts?”
Hardy grinned at his Executive Officer’s unusual outburst. “I haven’t lost all my marbles yet, XO. Look at how they’ve distributed their forces. They’ve covered virtually every path out of the Kara Sea beautifully. Whoever is directing their efforts is a real pro. But, they don’t know how badly we’ve been hurt. They have to assume they’re facing a healthy 688 that can still run—and fight, if necessary. From their point of view, no sane U.S. sub captain would try to navigate the poorly charted coastal waters and risk the excellent chance of running aground. I have a hunch they don’t believe that we’d run the huge political risk of getting caught and sunk in
their waters. So, if they’ve covered them at all, I’m betting they’d assign a less capable asset, one that we’d have a better chance of getting past undetected.”
“So to escape, we’ve got to act insanely?” Bair asked skeptically. Then a smile popped up on his face and he waved his right index finger at Hardy. “But there’s a method to your madness. The Manta.”
“Exactly, XO. The Russians don’t know that we have that unique capability. And that’s why you’re up here, Mr. Mitchell.” Pointing to the chart, he traced the new route Memphis would take. “We’re going to turn more to the west and skirt the coastline, within seven miles of land. Any questions?”
Jerry shook his head no. Bair passed as well, although he looked very uneasy. Hardy’s chosen path took them through water that was even shallower than the shoal water they’d been using. The incomplete chart showed some areas along their path as being only one hundred feet deep. Jerry also looked at the length of the route. It was at least twenty-five miles, nine plus hours at their current speed.
“I wish that your Manta could spot sonobuoys for us,” Bair mused.
“You might as well wish it could take them out and clear a path for us as well,” Hardy countered, his impatience starting to grow.
“Actually, I like the sound of that.” But then Bair shook it off. He turned to Jerry. “Mr. O’Connell will give you courses to steer. You will give him constant water depth data and warnings of any obstacles. Can you dial down the power on your sonar?”
“Yessir,” Jerry answered quickly.
“Then use minimum power for our safe navigation. Go.”
Jerry hurried back down to the torpedo room. The instant he was on the circuit O’Connell gave him his first course change, to two eight zero true. Memphis turned slowly, to avoid any risk of creating a knuckle and Jerry used the time to scout ahead.
The seabed started to slope down, away from Memphis. For a change, she wouldn’t head for deep water. Safety lay in the shallows, where sound didn’t carry well and where sea life and wave slap would help hide any noise she was making.
For the first time, Jerry wished they could just fire a pair of torpedoes at the Udaloy. They couldn’t, of course, but even with four fully functional tubes, they’d never do it.
In wartime a single destroyer pinging like that was a sitting duck. But Memphis was the intruder here, and the United States and Russia were not at war. The men on the Udaloy were just doing their jobs, defending their nation from an outside threat. Harming even one Russian sailor would poison the mission.
Even at reduced power, Jerry could still see about half a mile ahead on the sonar display. He turned the confusing screen into an image in his mind and visualized a landscape of rocky hills and ridges pushing up toward the surface. Ironically, the high spots offered the best concealment for Memphis.
There were still risks. The hilltops were not smooth mounds, but jagged, uneven points. A ridge might be indicated by two or three shallow soundings in a line. But a closer, less threatening object could mask a sharp peak, which could suddenly shoot up or, almost as bad, disappear and leave Memphis exposed.
Jerry’s Manta found many uncharted hazards and unsafe spots, where the water depths looked like nothing on their charts. Occasionally, Jerry circled the Manta back to check on exactly how close Memphis was to the seabed. Sometimes Hardy would hug the side of a ridge, dangerously close.
There was no way to know for sure if they were making good their escape. They’d be hard-pressed to detect a drifting warship, because the same noise that hid them would hide it as well. All they could do was hope that they were being quiet enough to pass by any sentry. Aside from Harry O’Connell’s courses and questions about depth, the only other piece of information was the bearing to the pinging Udaloy. It had started out almost due north of them, barring their path like an angry dog. As Memphis circled around the destroyer, the bearing drifted slowly right, like the hour hand on a clock.
Jerry tracked its progress in the back of his mind, and not all that far back. It stood to reason that the Russians wouldn’t station the Udaloy in the sonobuoy field, but along its western edge. Thus, if the bearing changed from due north to due east, it would be reasonable to assume that they’d reached the edge of the field.
Every piece of equipment not needed for the safety of the boat was shut down, from pumps to fans to microwave ovens. Ho’s engineers moved silently through the engine room, making sure that every piece of gear ran as smoothly and at as low a setting as possible. Everyone on board thought hard before he spoke, and even harder before he moved.
* * * *
When the bearing to the Udaloy slid from north to northeast, Jerry called it the halfway point. He didn’t know where they were on the chart, but he was sure Hardy’s detour was as close to a straight line as the terrain allowed. Of course, they were also as close to Novaya Zemlya as they were going to get; O’Connell said the island was six miles due west. If the Russians had a ship waiting for them, this was their best chance to catch Memphis. From here on out, the distance between the island and the Udaloy would start to increase. Fortunately, Hardy’s hunch had been right. The path was clear.
It had taken three hours for them to put the destroyer to the northeast. The last forty-five degrees seemed to take forever and Jerry was thankful for every course change and every potential outcropping of rock. He stopped paying attention to the clock and just listened to O’Connell’s updates.
Then the bottom suddenly dropped out, literally, as Jerry watched the water depth jump from one hundred and fifty-four feet to over seven hundred in a matter of seconds. The Udaloy lay to the east-northeast, at zero seven zero, when what looked like a deep trench turned out to be a series of steep hills.
“The Captain says to stay at your present depth! He doesn’t want to have to dodge those peaks,” O’Connell relayed. “We’re not in active sonar range of the Udaloy, so there is no need to risk a collision. Come to course three zero zero.”
“Changing course to three zero zero, U-bay aye,” Jerry acknowledged. His job got simpler, since Memphis’ new course took them between the hills. Jerry and O’Connell continued to compare notes on their individual interpretations of the Manta’s sonar display over the circuit. From the sound of it, O’Connell was furiously trying to update the charts as they slowly made their way out. Jerry wondered if he liked playing cartographer.
Finally, after nearly thirteen hours of hair-raising flying, O’Connell passed a welcome report. “U-bay, conn, bearing to the destroyer is now one zero five.”
Jerry had become so focused on navigating that for a moment the bearing didn’t register. The Udaloy was past the closest point of approach and was now behind them. They had slipped by the Russian trap.
“Mr. Mitchell, what’s your battery status?” Hardy’s question had a positive sound to it.
“Twenty percent, sir.”
“Then bring it back and let’s get out of here. You’ve done your job.”
As soon as the Manta was secured, Hardy changed course to two eight five and increased speed from three to six knots. They were still moving at a crawl, but they were finally leaving the Kara Sea.
* * * *
When they crossed the 68th parallel, the XO announced their position on the IMC and secured the boat from ultra-quiet. The Udaloy was over thirty miles to the southeast and no longer represented a threat. Although Jerry knew they were still deep in Russian waters, he couldn’t help but smile, and everyone around him wore one just like it. And when he finally flopped into his bunk early that afternoon, he was still smiling.
* * * *
Knife Fight
June 14, 2005
Northern Barents Sea
When the alarm went off, Jerry was dragged slowly from a deep sleep. At first, he couldn’t understand what was happening. He remembered he was on a sub and that alarms meant something, but he had to review the possibilities in his head one at a time: surfacing and submerging, collision, general qua
rters . . .
They were sounding battle stations.
Jerry flew up out of his bunk and somehow managed to climb into his coveralls while still moving down the passageway at top speed. Shaking off sleep, he almost fell down a ladder.
Boyd was on the phones in the torpedo room and filled in the torpedo gang as they arrived. “Sonar’s picked up a passive contact, just off the starboard bow. We’re going to ultra-quiet and try to get around it.”
“It’s a submarine,” Bearden added to Jerry. “I heard the contact report before I gave the phones to Boyd. They’ve got a Russian sub, a nuke, close aboard just off our bow. They know it’s a sub because of the faint machinery noise and no broadband. Can’t be anything else.”
A nuclear attack boat, creeping, and in their path. What orders did he have? More important, had he heard them? Memphis’ sonar suite was better than even a late-build Russian nuke, but they were noisy now, or at least they weren’t very quiet anymore.
