Blackmail

by Rick Campbell

  “As far as the Russian submarines go, it’s also difficult to say. We know how many lightweight and heavyweight torpedoes exploded, but we don’t know which submarines were sunk—ours or theirs—or how many of the lightweight torpedoes were expended on the same target. There haven’t been any subsurface missile attacks against our carriers in the last few hours, so it looks like we’ve sunk all eleven guided missile submarines, either before or after they launched.

  “Russian attack submarines continue to probe our ASW defenses, so it looks like there’s a fair number of those left. We have insufficient numbers of MH-60 Romeo helicopters to cover the Bravo sectors, but they’re being augmented by P-8As monitoring via sonobuoy fields they’ve dropped. However, they’re running low on sonobuoys.”

  When Admiral Rettman finished, McVeigh followed up. “As I mentioned, we’ll pull the task force back and refit with additional ASW assets and supplies, then engage the remaining Russian attack submarines. Depending on how plan B goes.”

  “Are we ready?” the president asked.

  “Yes, Mr. President. All we’re waiting for is your authorization.”

  The president replied, “Proceed with the next phase.”

  88

  USS MICHIGAN

  Lieutenant Chris Shroyer turned slowly on the periscope as USS Michigan loitered in the Sea of Marmara, watching tankers and other merchant ships pass by in the distance. He was nearing the end of his watch, and after almost six hours going round and round, he had his left arm draped over the periscope handle like a seasoned World War II captain. He knew it was unprofessional, but the submarine’s Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander Dave Beasley, on watch in the Control Room with him, said nothing. He had more important things to worry about.

  Beasley was stationed as the Command Duty Officer. While lurking in the Sea of Marmara, either the Executive Officer or Wilson would be in the Control Room, alternating in six-hour shifts. Earlier this morning, Michigan emerged into the Sea of Marmara after following a Suezmax tanker up the Dardanelles, and Captain Wilson and his crew waited patiently for orders. Via the radio receiver at the top of the periscope, Michigan was in continuous communication.

  “Conn, Radio. In receipt of a new OPORD.”

  Lieutenant Shroyer acknowledged, then pulled the microphone from its holder and pressed the button for the Captain’s stateroom.

  “Captain, Officer of the Deck. In receipt of new operational orders.”

  Wilson acknowledged and entered the Control Room as a watchstander emerged from the Radio Room, message board in hand.

  The submarine’s Captain read the new OPORD, then handed it to his Executive Officer. Lieutenant Shroyer, still going round and round with his face pressed against the periscope, waited for one of the two senior officers to enlighten him. Wilson did the honor, informing Shroyer they’d been ordered into the Black Sea. The last two fast attack submarines in the Atlantic Fleet weren’t far behind, but Michigan would lead the way.

  The journey up the Bosphorus was seventeen nautical miles long, which would take less than two hours, plus another tanker to follow. As with the trip up the Dardanelles, Michigan would transit submerged, close behind the largest tanker they could find, and this time, they’d do it without the periscope raised, since it’d be visible in the daylight.

  It didn’t take long for a suitable tanker to enter the Marmara Sea, headed north. Wilson took a look, then after verifying they held the contact on Sonar, lowered the periscope.

  Wilson announced, “I have the Conn, Lieutenant Shroyer retains the Deck. Helm, ahead two-thirds, right twenty degrees rudder.” As Michigan increased speed and swung around behind the tanker, Wilson ordered, “Steady as she goes.”

  * * *

  As Michigan headed up the Bosphorus, the tension in the Control Room rose as the remaining miles counted down. Wilson and his crew were unsure what awaited them, relying on the latest intel report for the basic order of battle. If the report was correct, there were no Russian submarines remaining in the Black Sea. Five Kilo class attack submarines, along with a Slava class cruiser and Kashin class destroyer, had transited the Turkish Straits into the Mediterranean, where they joined the Northern Fleet as it headed toward the Suez Canal and into the Pacific. What remained in the Black Sea were four anti-submarine warfare frigates, patrolling near the northern end of the Bosphorus.

  Wilson guided Michigan up the narrow channel while leaving the submarine’s Deck in Lieutenant Shroyer’s capable hands. The junior officer monitored the two inertial navigators, watching the two white dots on the electronic navigation chart creep up the Bosphorus, and when Michigan was one nautical mile from the channel’s exit into the Black Sea, he informed the Captain as instructed.

  Michigan’s Commanding Officer announced, “Raising Number One scope,” then twisted the orange periscope locking ring above his head, raising the attack periscope.

  Wilson did a quick 360-degree sweep, returning to a forward view, sweeping back and forth as Michigan entered the Black Sea. As Shroyer wondered if there were Russian combatants in the area, Wilson’s next order clarified the situation.

  “Man Battle Stations Torpedo.”

  89

  SIBERIA, RUSSIA

  Delta Force operator Joe Martin, wearing a ram-air parachute system strapped to his body, sat quietly in the cargo hold of the MC-130H Combat Talon II, awaiting the end of his journey. After taking off from Dolon Air Base in Semey, Kazakhstan, and heading north, Martin and the other operators in his Delta Force unit were flying at thirty thousand feet, having entered Russian airspace moments earlier. Although the aircraft was outfitted with terrain-following radar that enabled operations as low as 250 feet, it wouldn’t be needed today. The MC-130H Combat Talon, flying at the same altitude and flight path as commercial airliners traveling between Kazakhstan and Russia, would blend into the traffic.

  Under normal circumstances, deploying against heavily defended installations, Martin and his team would have been dropped under the cover of darkness. This wasn’t the case today, as it was approaching noon in the Siberian province. Martin wasn’t worried, however. The facility would be lightly defended, if at all. Plus, the small size of the metal objects they carried meant they wouldn’t be detected by radar during the jump, and the speed of their descent would give their opponents little time to respond even if they were.

  As Martin’s unit headed north, he knew that two dozen Delta Force and Navy SEAL units were aloft, heading toward their targets. Martin surveyed the other fifty-one men in the aircraft’s cargo hold. Each was outfitted with a helmet, goggles, and oxygen mask, which wasn’t surprising given their plan for a HALO—High Altitude Low Opening—insertion. Martin was breathing oxygen supplied by the Combat Talon to help clear the nitrogen from his bloodstream, and would shift to his own oxygen supply shortly before the jump.

  Although Martin would breathe oxygen during his descent, there was always the risk of hypoxia, which could result in unconsciousness. As a safeguard, his parachute would deploy automatically at a designated altitude—four thousand feet in this case—and his team would assemble in the air and land together in the designated drop zone. Martin was also dressed warmly, with a layer of polypropylene knit undergarments, to guard against frostbite, since temperatures during HALO jumps could dip to minus fifty degrees Fahrenheit.

  Additionally, today’s jump would be a heavy one. Martin’s rucksack weighed over one hundred pounds, filled with weapons, food, water, first-aid kit, and a special selection of armaments required for this mission. With a parachute system weighing forty pounds, his rucksack, plus ammunition and body armor, Martin would exit the aircraft today weighing almost four hundred pounds.

  A burst of static from Martin’s radio was followed by an order, and the fifty-two men in the cargo hold stood. Martin switched over to his own oxygen supply and disconnected from the aircraft’s, and when the jump light switched from red to yellow, he checked his equipment one last time. The ramp at the rear of the
MC-130H slowly lowered, and frigid air filled the cargo hold. Hand signals followed, and Martin led the way toward the back of the aircraft. When the jump light switched to green, he stepped off the ramp and plummeted toward earth.

  During the free fall, Martin’s team maneuvered to stay together, forming several tactical groups. Martin monitored his HALO altimeter during the descent, and his parachute opened as programmed at four thousand feet. As he approached the ground, Martin disconnected and dropped his rucksack, suspended by a lanyard, keeping the heavy bag away from his body in preparation for landing. As the landing zone rose up to greet him, Martin pulled on his parachute risers and angled toward his target.

  90

  USS MICHIGAN

  “Bearing, mark!”

  Captain Wilson pressed the red button on the periscope handle, sending the bearing to combat control, then flipped the handles up as he stepped back. “Angle on the bow, port twenty.”

  The Periscope Assistant reached up and rotated the locking ring, lowering the scope into its well. The entire periscope observation, from the time the scope broke the water’s surface until it slipped beneath, took ten seconds.

  Shortly after exiting the Bosphorus, Wilson had spotted four Russian frigates patrolling the entrance to the Black Sea. With each combatant armed with periscope detection radars, Wilson couldn’t afford to leave the periscope up longer than a few seconds.

  Wilson examined the nearest combat control console, which displayed a picture of the contact when he pressed the pickle—the red button. Using the two trackballs on his console, the fire control technician drew a box around the frigate, framing the waterline and top of the ship’s superstructure, along with its stern and bow. Wilson had identified the frigate as a Burevestnik M, referred to as Krivak II by NATO forces.

  “Matches,” the petty officer reported. Wilson’s angle on the bow matched the contact’s calculated course, which put the frigate headed toward them, offset twenty degrees to port.

  Wilson paused to assess the tactical situation. The nearest contact, Master one, was approaching at ten knots and would get dangerously close. Michigan couldn’t move out of the way, with the submarine’s speed limited to five knots to prevent a white wake behind the periscope while it was raised. However, Wilson didn’t need to move out of the way. Michigan was Weapons Free.

  Taking out the incoming frigate wouldn’t be a problem. Steady on course and speed, he could have hit it with a straight-running World War II torpedo. The problem was, a torpedo exploding beneath its hull would inform the other three frigates of Michigan’s presence, and instead of patrolling the Black Sea in semi-boredom, the crews would go to General Quarters. As long as the frigates didn’t realize Michigan was nearby, the advantage weighed heavily in Wilson’s favor, an advantage he didn’t want to give up.

  “Attention in Control,” he announced. “I intend to engage all four frigates simultaneously. I’ll do a round of observations on the other three contacts, then proceed to Firing Point Procedures. Carry on.”

  Taking his position behind the attack periscope again, he ordered, “Prepare for observations, Master two, three, and four.”

  Lieutenant Commander Beasley assigned each of the three operators on the combat control consoles to a different contact, and each man called out, “Ready.”

  “Raise Number One scope,” Wilson ordered.

  The Periscope Assistant twisted the periscope locking ring above them, porting hydraulic fluid beneath the scope barrel, and the periscope slid silently upward.

  Wilson snapped the handles down and pressed his face against the eyepiece as the periscope rose from its well. After lining up on Master two, he pressed the pickle and announced, “Master two. Bearing, mark,” then shifted to Master three.

  The next two observations were completed quickly, and Wilson flipped the handles up as the Periscope Assistant lowered the scope. The round of observations took thirty seconds. Not optimal with a frigate so close, but he needed the data.

  The watchstanders manning the combat control consoles used the picture of each contact to calculate its course and range. Wilson called out the target angles from memory and each man reported, “Matches.”

  Beasley hovered behind the three men on the combat control consoles, examining the three solutions. After verifying they were in agreement with the periscope observations, he tapped each man on the shoulder.

  “Promote to master solution.”

  The three men complied and Beasley announced, “I have a firing solution.”

  Wilson called out, “Firing Point Procedures, Master one through four, tubes One through Four, normal surface presets, all weapons.”

  Michigan’s crew went through their weapon release checklists and the required reports soon followed.

  “Solutions ready,” Beasley announced.

  “Weapons ready,” the Weapons Officer reported.

  “Ship ready.” The Navigator completed the required reports.

  Wilson examined the geographic display, updated with the four target solutions. Two of the frigates were ahead of Michigan—one near and one distant, with the other two frigates behind—also one close and one distant. Per protocol, Wilson would shoot the farthest target first, then time the release of his following weapons so all four torpedoes reached their targets simultaneously.

  By cycling through the torpedo solutions on the Weapon Control Console, the submarine’s Weapons Officer, Lieutenant Mike Lawson, could have calculated the precise interval between shots. But that would take time, during which the nearest frigate would get dangerously close or a ship could maneuver, invalidating its target solution. Wilson would have to guestimate instead.

  Wilson announced, “Tube four, first fired. Match Sonar bearings and shoot.”

  The latest bearing to Master four was sent to Weapon Control, and Wilson heard the characteristic whir of the torpedo ejection pump as it pressurized and ported a slug of water behind the torpedo, ejecting it from its tube.

  Sonar monitored the outgoing weapon, verifying it transitioned from solid to liquid fuel and turned onto an intercept course with Master four. The sonar technicians had their hands full monitoring their outgoing torpedo, because three more followed, with Wilson adjusting the interval between each shot as required.

  After the Weapons Officer fired the last torpedo, Wilson moved behind the Weapon Control Console, monitoring the four outgoing weapons, speeding out on intercept courses with the four frigates. He’d done a decent job with the firing interval; it looked like the four torpedoes would go active at about the same time. The variable, however, was how good the target solutions were. A course, speed, or range error, even by a little on the distant frigates, could mean the difference between a hit and a miss.

  As the four torpedoes approached their sonar enable points, Wilson returned to the Conn, stopping behind the attack periscope again.

  “Prepare for observation.”

  The Periscope Assistant reached up, waiting for the Captain’s order.

  “Raise Number One scope.”

  The attack periscope broke the surface of the water as the Weapons Officer announced, “Tube One, enabled.”

  Reports for the other three torpedoes followed, reporting they had turned the sonars in their noses on, and Wilson watched for a reaction from the frigates.

  Three of the four frigates seemed oblivious to the rapidly closing danger, but one maneuvered sharply away about thirty seconds after the torpedoes went active.

  “Detect, tube One!” Lieutenant Lawson announced, followed shortly by, “Acquired, tube One!”

  The torpedo from tube Three also detected and acquired, with both torpedoes increasing speed and adjusting course to intercept their targets. The Weapons Officer followed up, “Homing, tubes One and Three.”

  The torpedo from tube One closed the remaining distance, and as it passed under the frigate’s keel, seven hundred pounds of explosive detonated. The shock wave from the expanding bubble ripped through the frigate’s
keel, and the upward water jet produced when the bubble collapsed tore through additional compartments, severing the ship in half.

  The other two frigates reacted instantly, altering course and increasing speed, but not before a second torpedo detonated, producing a similar result. The halves of two Krivak II frigates bobbed in the water, drifting slowly apart as they filled with water.

  Wilson focused on the two surviving ships, trying to calculate steers for the torpedoes chasing them. However, both frigates changed course at random intervals and in unpredictable directions. Wilson gave it a shot.

  “Insert steers, tube Two, left one-eighty. Tube Four, right one-twenty.”

  Lieutenant Lawson acknowledged and passed the order to the fire control technician manning the console, who entered the steers. The torpedoes accepted the new commands and veered onto the new gyro courses, while Wilson ordered his submarine reloaded.

  “Reload Tubes One and Three, and make ready in all respects.”

  Down in the Torpedo Room, the Torpedo Reload Party cut the flex hoses, letting the guidance wires snake out of both tubes, then shut the muzzle doors, drained the tubes, and opened the breech doors for reloading. Meanwhile, the two torpedoes chasing the evading frigates ran to fuel exhaustion and shut down. The two frigates immediately turned toward Michigan. The submarine’s four torpedoes, traveling close to the surface at high speed, had left a green trail in the water, easily followed back toward its source.

  Wilson called to his Weapons Officer, “How long until tubes One and Three are ready?”

  Lawson queried the Torpedo Room on his sound-powered phone headset, then reported, “Five minutes.”

  Peering through the periscope at the frigates racing toward Michigan, Wilson realized he didn’t have five minutes. He stepped back and ordered the periscope lowered.

  “Helm, ahead full, hard left rudder. Dive, make your depth six hundred feet.”