The Soviet captain had a targeting solution.
“Our sonar?”
“Sir, we have a targeting solution. The contact is five hundred feet ahead of us, in a right-hand turn, crossing away from our bow. Depth estimated at eight hundred feet.”
Admiral Green grunted. “If he is at eight hundred feet, then any torpedoes he fires are going to have to ascend to reach their target, and that ascent won’t be straight up. You know what that means, Danny.”
MacDonald nodded. The Dale was too close for the submarine to hit them. They were inside the torpedo range for a Soviet torpedo to activate, lock on, and hit them, but not too close for the Dale torpedoes.
“Combat, this is the captain. Launch one port-side torpedo and one starboard-side torpedo. Execute the attack plan!”
“Aye, sir,” came the quick retort.
“SIR! Sonar reports torpedoes in the water!” Orlov said, his voice loud, shattering the silence within the control room.
“Firing solutions Contact One and Contact Two!” Bocharkov said, his voice calm and forceful.
“Firing solutions gained on Contact Two. Contact One is aft, estimated range four hundred meters.”
Contact One, the leader of these two American warships, was too close for his aft torpedoes, but maybe the captain of the warship would not know how deep they were. Active sonar had a reputation for giving erroneous information on submarine depth. It was a chance he would have to take.
“Launch decoys!”
A few seconds passed before Orlov reported, “Decoys away.”
“Fire tubes one and two fore, tubes three and four aft.”
He watched as Ignatova reached up. It seemed time had slowed down. He could fire tubes one and two aft. Put torpedoes in the water, but it would be a waste, though it might cause Contact One to take some sort of evasive action. Any evasive action might even open up an opportunity for one of the torpedoes to hit.
“Sonar reports the American torpedoes are circling; they are in a search mode.”
It would not be long before that search mode took the torpedoes lower and lower, until they penetrated the layer above them.
“Left full rudder! Make your speed twenty knots!” Bocharkov shouted.
“COGHLAN reports two ASROC launched, sir,” Burnham reported.
MacDonald looked to his right. The smoke trails of the rocket-fired torpedoes separated from the canisters on the foredeck of the Coghlan. One was heading forward of the Dale. It should splash forward of the submarine.
“Officer of the Deck, left full rudder, all ahead full.”
The Dale tilted to starboard as the destroyer cut a sharp left-hand turn.
The other contrail showed the second ASROC heading near the exact location of the submarine. So far, everything was going according to MacDonald’s plan, but why hadn’t the submarine fired? He would have launched by now.
“Bridge, Combat! We have torpedoes in the water.” The 12MC switched off for a second and then Burnham came back on line. “Their torpedoes, not ours!” he clarified.
MacDonald leaned down to the 12MC. “Lieutenant Burnham, where is the contact now?”
“Sir, last contact had the—”
The Navy Red speaker squawked, the squeal drowning out Burnham. “Dale, this is Coghlan. We have torpedoes inbound. Taking evasive action.”
MacDonald watched the other destroyer lean to starboard as Kennedy put the Coghlan into a hard left turn. MacDonald knew the Coghlan would be accelerating to maximum speed. The left turn was bringing the bow of the destroyer directly toward the inbound torpedoes. Puffs of smoke rose from amidships of the Coghlan as the destroyer deployed decoys port and starboard of itself. The bow of the Coghlan would reduce the noise of the propellers and allow the decoys to act more effectively. He hoped Kennedy was right.
“Combat, this is the captain. Fire remaining over-the-sides.”
At that moment the Dale passed over the underwater obstacle the K-122 had hit earlier.
“Torpedoes launched.”
Out the starboard side window, MacDonald saw the two over-the-sides splash into the water and disappear beneath the slight waves. His stomach tightened. This was the fear the instructors said came with an attack, but ignore it, they preached. Stay to the plan. You fight like you train. Do it by rote if you have to, but keep doing it. The tightness seemed to lessen for a moment.
“MULTIPLE torpedoes in the water. We have a splash ahead of us with fast blade rates!” Orlov reported.
“Come to course one-eight-zero, speed twenty-five knots!” Bocharkov commanded.
“Making my course one-eight-zero, aye.” Orlov turned to the helmsman. “Left full rudder! Make your speed twenty-five knots.”
Behind the K-122, two decoys filled the void as the Soviet Echo submarine sought to sprint away from between the two American destroyers.
“Depth three hundred fifty meters!”
“Where is the layer?” Bocharkov asked.
“Two hundred meters,” Tverdokhleb answered, drawing Bocharkov’s attention for a moment. Tverdokhleb leaned back in his chair, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. “Two hundred meters,” he repeated.
“Make your speed five knots, come to course two-six-zero!”
“Aye, sir. Making my speed five knots, right turn to two-six-zero.”
“Bring her up to two hundred meters once we are steady on course two-six-zero.”
Taking the submarine up would reduce the noise signature of the shafts and propellers by pointing them downward away from the torpedoes.
“Sonar reports torpedo inbound off our starboard bow, Captain. It is heading our way, sir,” Orlov reported.
“Very well,” Bocharkov said.
The K-122 began to level off as it steadied on the new course.
“Steady on one-eight-zero,” Orlov said.
Bocharkov looked at the gauge. The boat was still going too fast as it decelerated from twenty-five to five knots. He needed to reduce the cavitation the propellers were making in the water.
He had to show confidence. Behind him he had left two decoys and a huge knuckle in the water from the high-speed turn.
Behind the K-122 the two decoys sped aft from where they’d been launched. One ran directly into the sunken derelict K-122 had hit minutes earlier, lodging itself in what remained of a bridge area. The other sped under the Dale, continuing aft.
“SIR!” Lieutenant Burnham said. “We have the submarine behind us. Directly aft of us, sir!”
“How is that possible?” Admiral Green said.
“Left full rudder, speed fifteen knots!” MacDonald ordered. If the contact was behind them, then they would be its next target. He glanced out of the starboard-side hatch. The Coghlan was in a right-bearing drift down the beam of the Dale.
An explosion to the right side of the Coghlan caused everyone to stare out the starboard-bridge-wing side. Water spiraled upward, spreading apart its fingers like some Las Vegas display.
Seconds later the left decoy successfully pulled away the Soviet torpedo, and the explosion sent a similar water fountain display to accent the sound.
“Dale, Coghlan. Unless otherwise ordered intend to launch additional ASROCs!”
MacDonald grabbed the Navy Red handset. “Permission granted!”
That was good. He needed the other destroyer’s ASROCs in the water. The Dale was too close to do any good with its rocket-fired torpedoes.
“Our torpedoes have locked on something, sir.”
“Make sure they don’t lock on us,” MacDonald said quickly.
“No, sir, they are aft of us and heading toward the target.”
THE Soviet torpedoes launched from the aft tubes changed course to follow the Dale. They locked onto the destroyer when it went into its sharp left turn at high speed.
The Dale and Coghlan torpedoes locked onto the decoy lodged in the derelict. They immediately changed course, chasing the decoy.
The first explosion was followed almost
immediately by three near-instantaneous ones. MacDonald and Green dashed onto the starboard bridge wing. Water exploded skyward, arching out like some wet fireworks display from beneath the sea. The Dale shook and vibrated from being in the vicinity of the explosions.
“Damn,” Green said.
Both officers gripped the top of the railing, holding their balance as the concussions rode through the ship.
MacDonald stuck his head back inside the bridge. “Right full rudder, speed six knots, steady up on reverse course.”
The Navy Red speaker blared to life. “Dale, this is Coghlan. We have multiple explosions behind your position. Do you require any assistance? What is your status?”
“Coming to course zero-zero-zero.”
The sounds of cheering on the topside joined those inside of Combat. MacDonald grinned. The Dale had done its mission.
“Continue left to course one-one-five,” MacDonald corrected. He needed to be back on the reciprocal course they were on when they launched their torpedoes. Now he needed proof they had destroyed or seriously damaged the Soviet submarine.
“WE have explosions,” Orlov said as the first concussion hit the K-122, rolling it right and left, sending the bow and stern undulating up and down as the nearby explosions pushed everything up, down, and away from the submarine’s center.
A cheer went up within the control room.
“Quiet!” Bocharkov snapped. “There is still another American warship up there.”
Heads hung down, but not without broad grins on them.
Bocharkov was proud. He took a deep breath. The K-122 had done its mission and escaped. His and Ignatova’s eyes locked. The XO smiled and rendered a two-finger salute.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bocharkov said, then issued several orders, keeping the K-122 inside the layer as it slowly left Subic Bay and entered the deeper waters of the Pacific Ocean.
SEVENTEEN
Thursday, June 8, 1967
MACDONALD walked down the gangplank, opened the door, and slid into the backseat alongside Admiral Green.
“How you doing, Danny?”
“I’m okay, Admiral.”
“Over thirty dead and over one hundred wounded, according to the latest situation report.”
“I can’t believe this has happened.”
“Must have been accidental. The USS Liberty is limping away from station. The SITREP says it was attacked by both Israeli fighter bombers and Israeli torpedo patrol boats.”
“Where were our forces?”
Green shrugged. “I was told we launched phantoms toward them, but McNamara himself ordered them back. Rumors have it that President Johnson even got involved and ordered the aircraft back.”
MacDonald shook his head. “Even if it was an unfortunate and accidental attack, I cannot see our navy turning its back on one of its own ships.”
MacDonald caught a hint of moisture in the old warrior’s eyes as the admiral turned away to stare out of the left rear window of the sedan. “Sometimes politicians view us as castaways for political expediency, even as they wave their fists in the air shouting their love for us boys in uniform.”
“I heard the skipper was wounded in the attack, but stayed on the bridge and directed the response.”
Green nodded. “Lots of confusion and conjectures going on right now on what has happened. Admiral Moorer, chief of the Joint Staff, has ordered all quiet on the subject until all the facts are known.”
“I just don’t understand how they could not see the American flag flying from the mast or—”
Green turned back to MacDonald. The glistening in the eyes was gone. “Let’s change the subject, Danny. Lots of things on the Liberty attack don’t add up yet, but I have full confidence in the ability of the United States Navy to lay all the facts out for all to see.”
“Aye, sir.”
“You know that I’m catching all kinds of shit on our torpedoes sinking an already sunken ship. Seems Subic Bay Operations knew about that vessel. Seems everyone who is stationed here has dived on her at one time or another. The only folks who expressed ignorance about it were our chart makers. Subic Bay Operations showed me their locally developed harbor charts. They even have it notated on those. Just seems they never got around to sending the data into Washington so the United States Coast and Geodetic Survey could incorporate it into our navigation charts.”
The automobile picked up speed as it left the pier, heading along the coast road, toward the main area of the naval base.
MacDonald smiled. “If nothing else, all the Soviets did was sink the same sunken derelict as we did.”
“On the positive side, we have explained to the Filipino Navy that we were conducting some shallow water ASW exercise. They believe it, but we have to explain why we were using live explosives.” Green sighed. “I am meeting with Commodore Heracleo J. Alano, head of the Philippine Navy at Cavite Naval Base to explain about yesterday morning.” Green held up a folder. “Our public affairs officer and Legal have given me my talking points.”
“Glad I’m not going with you.”
Green smiled. “Nope, this is why they pay me the big bucks. To keep our country safe, secure, and explain why we do the things we have to do for national security.”
“What is going on with the spooks?”
“What do you mean?” the admiral asked with a sly smile. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Danny, and besides . . . you don’t want to know. Sometimes not knowing is safer than knowing.”
“They have the warehouse side of the base roped off, guarded by marines, and my supply officer is unable to get our supplies. We’re getting under way this evening for Operation Beacon Torch. It would be nice to top off our food and such.”
“Won’t be getting anything from the warehouses before we set sail, Danny. I have sent out some logistics requests for supply ships to meet us en route to Vietnam. We’ll do an underway replenishment at sea.”
MacDonald nodded. “Are we sure we are going to Vietnam, Admiral? Rumor is we are going to be diverted to the Middle East.”
Green chuckled and shook his head. “I don’t think the U.S. Navy is very excited over anything having to do with helping the Israelis, and right now, it looks as if the war is about over. Seems the surprise air attacks on Monday destroyed the fighting power of the Egyptian and Syrian air forces. Reaching the Suez Canal in forty-eight hours sent a little fear through the Arab armies.”
“How about the Jordanians?”
Green nodded. “They are the only military I was concerned with. Probably the only one of concern to the Israelis. The Jordanians are well trained, well disciplined, and have the morale and confidence to be formidable foes. Fortunately for the Israelis, they are also the smallest of the forces they are fighting. From this morning’s Naval Intelligence briefing, looks as if the Jordanians are limiting their fighting to Jerusalem and the West Bank. That was probably intentional on the part of Jordan.”
“I read where the Israelis have overrun the Golan Heights and driven the Syrians off of it.”
“That’s what Naval Intelligence says. Plus, the Israelis are having tea on the banks of the Suez. They could cross it, if they wanted. The Egyptian Army is in full retreat.”
MacDonald shook his head. “I thought Nasser would put up a fight commensurate with his bluster.”
“I think Nasser thought his army would put up a fight commensurate with his bluster. Soviet tactics designed for the plains of Germany don’t work well in the open desert with no air support.”
The car slowed as it neared Subic Operations Center. The driver turned into the curved driveway of the main headquarters.
“Danny, this is where I drop you off. I’m off on my trip up the road to meet with Commodore Alano. We met in Washington a couple of years ago, so I suspect it will be a cordial meeting, but I have to give him enough information so he can report events up his chain of command.”
“Seems the Philippines are changing.”
“I’d be surprised if we are here ten years from now. I think the national identity of the Philippines is changing. Nearly seventy years as a colony of Spain or us, occupied by Japan, and used by the United States as a critical element of our Asian national security, one of these days the Philippines will want—no! they will demand—their right to stand on their own two feet and be responsible for their own security.”
“We’re helping them. We’re their friends.”
Green laughed. “Danny, you are still a naïve young man who believes there are things in this world like low-cost lawyers and the tooth fairy.” Green sighed. “We’re also using them. Eventually, all nations prefer to have foreign armies and navies on their own soil and not theirs. We need to do what we are doing now to make sure that when we part it is amiable—as friends and comrades.”
“I would think Marcos would want us to stay.”
“I’m sure he would. We are part of his power base, but even if he survives and remains in power, he will be forced to ask us to depart.”
The car stopped in front of the door and MacDonald opened it. “I think we did well on Monday.”
Admiral Green smiled as he nodded. He stuck his hand out. “Danny, you and your sailors along with the Coghlan did an outstanding job. Tell your men how proud I am of them. Once we get under way and I have a little more free time, I will send a message to Washington detailing the professionalism displayed by both ships. The problem will be that what happened on Monday will disappear from history. The USS Liberty incident earlier today is the eraser that will ensure this near catastrophic event where the Soviet Navy and the United States Navy tried to sink each other will be forgotten. Between you and me, it is something that should be forgotten—like Operation Highjump in the Antarctica.”
MacDonald looked questioning. “Operation Highjump?”
“In the navy as in the other military services, there are secrets, incidents between us and the Soviets that will never see the light of day. Sometimes it is better to shut up and forget something rather than be in the public position of losing face.”
Echo Class Page 36
