by Larry Bond
“Well, that’s that,” exclaimed a depressed Simonis. “In a couple of hours we’ll discuss this change in orders with our four COs and then send them off to play referee.”
Walker chuckled lightly. “I don’t think that’s a very good analogy, sir. At least referees are protected by the rules of the game. Last time I checked, rules are a little hard to come by in war.”
“True. But that is exactly what the president has told us to become, referees in a fight where there are no rules,” countered Simonis sternly. “And for the near future, those four crews are going to feel very lonely.”
“But Commodore, Dr. Patterson mentioned that additional boats had been ordered to reinforce us,” said Walker, reading from his notes. “She said North Carolina was already en route.”
Simonis smiled cynically. “Yes, she did. But do the math, Rich. There are thirty attack submarines in the Pacific Fleet. Assuming eighty percent availability, that means twenty-four can go to sea. Of those, about eight boats are currently at sea, based on one deployed submarine for every three available boats. Thus, this squadron already has about half of the deployed submarines in the entire fleet!
“North Carolina left Pearl yesterday. Even at flank speed she’ll need about six days to get to the South China Sea. It would take a deployed submarine in the CENTCOM AOR another day or two to get there. The boats in port will take even longer. And you did notice that no one said a word about a carrier strike group? No, for most of the coming week, we are on our own. This mission is ours to execute, whether we like it or not.”
3 September 2016
0600 Local Time
USS North Dakota
South China Sea
Jerry, Bernie Thigpen, and the IT senior chief were the only ones allowed in the radio room during the video conference with Squadron Fifteen. Simonis wanted to keep the audience to an absolute minimum, thus only the top leadership and one tech from each boat were permitted to participate. Jerry certainly could understand why. The new orders they had received an hour earlier initially had the caveat, “Commanding Officer’s Eyes Only.” It was only after Jerry had read them that he was allowed to clue Thigpen in.
“Hoollyy Shit!” the XO had said as he started reading the new orders in Jerry’s stateroom. “Are they frickin’ serious?”
“It would seem so,” Jerry answered nonchalantly.
Thigpen’s eyes peeked over the orders. “You know, this is your fault,” he stated frankly, an accusatory expression on his face.
“Yesss, it would seem so,” replied Jerry with a sheepish look.
The XO kept reading. As he worked his way down the message, his facial features underwent dramatic change. First, his left eyebrow cocked up, then his mouth fell open, finally his face transformed into a visage of utter disbelief. Thigpen’s eyes darted back and forth from the message to his CO. His face screamed, “This just can’t be right!” Shocked, he began reading the text aloud.
“‘You are authorized to use any means at your disposal, with the exception of launching weapons, to interfere, frustrate, or spoil attacks by Littoral Alliance or Chinese submarines. The previous requirement to maintain absolute stealth is rescinded. It is expected that overt actions will be required during the execution of these orders that will reveal your presence to the belligerent parties.’”
Thigpen slowly placed the message on the desk, his awestruck face staring into space. “This is just plain crazy!” exclaimed Thigpen. Then, focusing on Jerry, he added, “You’ve created a monster!”
Jerry raised his hands and shrugged, admitting his guilt. “It would seem so.”
“Can you please say something other than that?” wailed a frustrated Thigpen.
“Like what, Bernie!?” Jerry replied, discouraged. “I had no idea the president would take that one event, with circumstances hugely in our favor, and turn it into the linchpin of a campaign!”
“Yeah, one that’s going to get our ass shot off.”
“That’s a distinct possibility,” agreed Jerry quietly.
“I … I don’t get it,” mumbled a resigned Thigpen, sitting down. “How does a lowly commander, no disrespect intended, sir, have such a significant influence on the president of the United States?” He paused and leaned forward, confused and uncertain. “Why does what you think matter so much to him? It makes me wonder, Skipper, what kind of man am I working for?”
Jerry initially remained silent. His brain raced while he ran his fingers through his hair. The questions, though uncomfortable, were nonetheless valid. And his XO deserved answers. Hesitantly, he began, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”
“Of course, sir. Who on this boat hasn’t?” responded Thigpen. “But I’ve also seen the nickel-sized scar on your shoulder.”
“It’s not that large!” Jerry protested.
“Fine, dime-size then, but that was still a damn big bullet that hit you!”
Jerry sighed and rubbed his face; disobeying a direct order from the CNO not to discuss the Iran mission with anyone who wasn’t properly cleared wasn’t something Jerry wanted to do. And his XO most certainly wasn’t cleared. But if he was going to violate that order to restore his XO’s confidence, then it was a worthy cause.
“All right, then, but nothing I say leaves this stateroom, understood?” he warned sternly. “Or I’ll make you walk home!”
“Cross my heart,” said Thigpen eagerly, adding the gesture for good measure.
“Okay. Yes, I was stranded in Iran with four SEALs when the ASDS self-immolated. And yes, we got into several firefights. Two were absolutely, unbelievably intense, something I’d never want to repeat. The only reason I’m here is because those SEALs are incredible warriors. I hope we have some SEALs embark with us sometime down the road. Then you’ll see what I mean.
“Anyway, towards the end of our ‘visit’ we were hunkered down in a grove of trees, surrounded by IRGC units. And I mean completely surrounded, both landward and seaward. I, uh, had a disagreement with the SEAL platoon leader about our next course of action, and I basically pulled rank and ordered an escape by sea. We stole a fast boat and hightailed it across the Persian Gulf.”
“No shit,” whispered Thigpen with rapt attention.
“Oh, it gets better. While we were making our getaway, the Iranians sent three boats after us. There was no way we could outrun them, and Michigan couldn’t help us because she was busy playing tag with an Iranian Kilo. One of the SEALs, the leading petty officer, took out one of the boats with the luckiest shot I’m ever likely to see in my lifetime, but another one worked us over pretty badly with machine-gun fire. In short order, the platoon leader, the LPO, and myself were all hit. It felt like someone had swung a bat hard against my shoulder, and then my left arm just stopped working.”
Thigpen’s face scrunched up into a grimace as Jerry described the sensation. “I bet that hurt like a son-of-a-bitch,” he commented.
Jerry paused as he mentally replayed the events after being struck. “Actually, XO, I don’t remember it hurting all that much. Oh sure, I was in shock. A 30-caliber bullet had just blown through my shoulder blade, for God’s sake. But I don’t recall feeling a lot of pain. That came later when I went through physical therapy. Now that was painful.”
The laughter in Thigpen’s voice was a welcome sound to Jerry’s ears. His XO was finding his feet again, his attitude getting back into battery.
“So there we were, down two shooters and I’m trying to steer the boat with one hand. The two remaining Iranian boats are closing in to finish us off, when out of nowhere there was this loud whoosh. The next thing I know, one of the boats just evaporates. Woof! Gone! There, off to our right, is a MH-60R, coming in low and fast. A split second later he shoots another Hellfire and that was it. I think I passed out right after that, because I don’t remember a blessed thing until I woke up in USS Decatur’s sickbay.”
Thigpen shook his head, marveling at his CO’s tale. “Now that is one hell of a sea story!”
“Yeah, one that I’m not supposed to tell anyone.” Jerry chuckled lightly. “But to answer your real question, I need to tell you what happened at the award ceremony. During the reception, the president made it clear that he believed I made several critical decisions that enabled him to keep our country out of a war with Iran. I tried to politely dissuade him from that notion. It was very much a team effort, and I thought he seriously overplayed my part in the whole operation. So here we are with a similar situation: a war has started, one that involves longtime allies and threatens to drag the U.S. in, and he thinks, ‘That Mitchell guy is out there. He’s pulled rabbits out of the hat before…’”
Thigpen’s face lit up with revelation. “And your unusual tactics only reinforced his belief!”
“That’s how I see it,” Jerry answered flatly.
“It makes sense,” replied Thigpen, nodding. Suddenly, a cynical grin popped up on his face. “Did I ever mention that I think you may be too smart for your own good?”
Jerry sighed. “Yes, XO, I believe you’ve said that before.”
“So what do we do now?” asked Thigpen.
Jerry was encouraged by his XO’s emphasis on “we”—Bernie Thigpen was back on an even keel again. “We, XO, are going to start contingency planning. If there is one thing I learned from the SEALs, it is that one can hope for the best, but should still plan for the worst. We’ll start looking at possible scenarios, come up with a set of tactics to deal with each one, and then try to break it, find the holes in our thinking and plug them. That’s what we’re going to do.”
* * *
The radio room display showed the Squadron Fifteen headquarters conference room in the center, with the four submarine COs and XOs along the bottom. None of the participants looked very happy.
“Gentlemen,” Simonis began. “By now I’m sure you’ve read your new orders. I will not read them verbatim, but I will emphasize the key points. First, consider any submarine contact as potentially hostile. A sufficient buffer separates your patrol areas, so there should be no issues with mutual interference. If you pick up a submerged contact, it will almost certainly belong to one of the warring nations, and you are to treat it accordingly.
“Second, use any means at your disposal, with the exception of launching weapons, to interfere, frustrate, or spoil attacks by Littoral Alliance or Chinese submarines. Stealth is no longer a critical consideration. Do what you can to cause the attacking submarine, or submarines, to break off and evade.
“Third, while it is not anticipated that either side will deliberately target a U.S. submarine, it is possible that weapons could be fired in reaction to the unexpected appearance of one. Use your acoustic advantage to position yourselves so as to minimize the possibility of an effective shot. If weapons are launched at you, use evasive maneuvers and countermeasures to their fullest extent before giving any consideration to counterfiring.
“You are only authorized to fire after every possible option has been taken to evade a vessel that is deliberately attacking you. This is a weapons hold provision, gentlemen. Your first line of defense is your speed, countermeasures, and anti-torpedo hard kill systems, not Mark 48 torpedoes. Is that clear?”
Every commanding officer answered in the affirmative, but Dobson and Halsey looked the least pleased with this aspect of their orders. Jerry was sympathetic to their less than desirable position; they had the two older, less advanced boats.
“Finally, gentlemen,” Simonis concluded, “exercise extreme diligence and caution in executing these orders. You’ll need to plan each encounter carefully. Make the maximum use of the environment and your superior stealth; only reveal yourselves when you are in the best possible position to spoil an attack, and you have a clear avenue of escape. Questions?”
Of course there were questions, and every one was a “what if” situation. Simonis dealt with each in stride, but became noticeably impatient after the sixth one. As Dobson started off on this third hypothetical question, Simonis cut him off.
“Gentlemen, you are commanding officers, and I expect you to command. I can’t clarify every possible scenario. This is a new situation with too many unknowns. There will always be situations that fall outside your guidance. The navy spent a lot of time and money training you to develop good decision-making skills—use them!
“I won’t try and blow sunshine up your skirts. These orders are … difficult. Interfering with another boat’s attack is far more complicated than your standard approach and attack evolution. I appreciate that it’s not something that we’ve specifically trained for; however, you have all the skills necessary to fulfill this mission. I suggest you get with your wardrooms and chiefs and figure out how to get the job done.”
Admonished, Dobson and the others acknowledged the commodore’s instruction. Simonis then personally bid each skipper good luck. He initially started to say “good hunting,” but caught himself. As soon as he finished each farewell, Simonis had that CO dropped from the VTC. Jerry wasn’t surprised that he was the last one that the commodore got to.
“Captain,” Simonis opened sternly, “I trust you’ve realized that your actions have had significant, if unintended consequences.”
Although embarrassed by the commodore’s statement, Jerry was still grateful that Simonis hadn’t aired this in front of his peers. “Yes, sir. And I regret overstepping my orders earlier. It won’t happen again, Commodore.”
“Good. Your reputation is exceptional, Captain, and even though I was quite upset over your unusual tactics, you handled yourself well.”
“Uh, thank you, sir,” Jerry replied, confused. This wasn’t what he expected at all.
A brief smile flashed across Simonis’s face. “We didn’t have a lot of time to get to know each other, to learn how each other thinks, so I have to assume some of the responsibility for what happened earlier. And if I was less than clear when you were here in my office, I hope that you now have a better appreciation for my expectations.”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Very good.” Simonis nodded. “And now, Captain, I have one last item for you.”
“And what would that be, Commodore?” asked Jerry.
“All our intel says the Indian Improved Akula is still in your neck of the woods. I want you to find him, and dog him. That boat is far and away the best one in this Littoral Alliance, and its superior capabilities in stealth, mobility, and firepower make it a greater threat than three of their conventional submarines. If you can contain his actions, that will go a long way to meeting the president’s goals.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll stick to her hull like a barnacle,” Jerry stated confidently.
Simonis smiled again. “Good luck, Captain. Squadron Fifteen out.”
3 September 2016
1400 Local Time
PLAN Frigate Sanming, hull 524
East China Sea
Commander Ma Hongwei was a frustrated man. For the last two days his frigate had been running from one reported periscope sighting to another. So far they’d found a floating log, a chair, even a dead seabird, but nothing that looked remotely like a submarine’s periscope. Part of him wanted to throttle those merchant mariners who constantly radioed in false alarms. The other part of him realized that they were all running scared, and with good reason. So far, unknown assailants had sunk eighteen tankers. Eight of them had been torpedoed in the East Sea Fleet’s area of responsibility, and the fleet commander was incensed that not one prosecution had taken place.
Ma raised his binoculars and looked at the merchant ship on the horizon. It was the tanker Lian Xing Hu en route to the port of Shanghai. The navigation radar operator on the bridge said she was making just a hair under fifteen knots, which would be flank speed for this vessel. Her master was obviously in a hurry to reach the safety of the harbor. Smart move.
“Captain, the helicopter has been stowed in the hangar. The flight crew has begun repairs and refueling,” reported the officer of the deck.
“
Very well, Lieutenant. Let’s head over toward that tanker before we go to the next supposed periscope sighting,” said Ma, pointing to Lian Xing Hu.
“Aye, sir.”
As Sanming’s bow started swinging to starboard, Ma took another look at the tanker. The two ships had been closing, and the merchant’s hull was now fully above the horizon. She wasn’t a VLCC, but she wasn’t small either. She was riding low in the water; full of crude oil that China’s economy lusted for. Ma frowned as he looked the ship over, there was a lot of rust on the tanker’s hull. She could use a little attention, he thought critically.
Suddenly, a sharp glint caught his attention, a bright flash from the sea surface. It was from something between him and the tanker. Searching the area carefully, he soon found a small wake trailing behind a tiny fuzzy object—a periscope! It had to be from a foreign submarine; no Chinese subs were authorized to be in this area. And judging by the flash of sunlight off the periscope head, this submarine had an inexperienced commander.
“Submarine off the starboard bow! Sound Combat Alert!”
The loud ringing of the alarm galvanized the crew into action. Men ran to their positions on the bridge while Ma kept his eyes firmly on the submarine’s periscope, one arm pointing toward the spot. The intruder was clearly moving into position to attack the tanker. He had to stop it!
“Activate the sonar, sector search centered on bearing one one five! Signalmen, tell that tanker to alter course to starboard! Inform fleet headquarters we are attacking! Provide our location!” barked Ma.
“Captain! Sonar contact bearing one one six degrees, range four point three kilometers,” shouted the OOD.
“Very well. Stay on this course. Helmsman, ring up ahead full. Prepare anti-submarine rocket launchers for firing.”
Ma watched as the wake faded and then disappeared. “She’s going deep!” he cried.
