by Larry Bond
Jain nodded vigorously. “Absolutely, sir! The Klub missiles will use the Chinese’s own navigation satellites to guide them to their targets.”
“Excellent,” smiled Samant with satisfaction. When India first purchased the Russian Klub missile system, the deal included the 3M-14E land-attack cruise missiles. As received, the 3M-14E missiles’ onboard navigation system could only use the American GPS and Russian Glonass satellite navigation systems. However, before the missiles were loaded on Indian submarines, DRDO technicians replaced the Russian receiver with a home-built unit that could use all four satellite navigation systems, including the military signal from the Chinese Beidou, or “Compass” system.
Indian cyber spies had stolen the receiving chip design from a Chinese vendor’s network, and when it was exploited, discovered that the Beidou system had an accuracy degradation feature similar to the U.S. Global Positioning System’s “Selective Availability.” The Ministry of Defense ordered the chip to be reverse-engineered and installed in all Indian military navigation systems and applicable weapons—particularly missiles. The wisdom of this decision was justified early in the war.
Soon after the Littoral Alliance announced its existence, the CMC ordered the jamming of GPS and Glonass signals over selective areas of the Chinese mainland. The degradation to the satellite’s guidance signals reduced the effectiveness of some of the alliance’s early missile strikes, but once India passed on the schematics and some examples of the new receiver to her allies, Vietnamese and South Korean cruise missiles were soon fitted with the modification. The Chinese were just about to find this out.
“Helmsman, make your depth twenty meters. Prepare for a safety sweep,” announced Samant. “Open bow caps on all torpedo tubes. Stand by to fire, firing sequence tubes one through six, five-second intervals.”
USS North Dakota
“CDO, new contact, designate Sierra-five two, bearing zero three eight,” cried the sonar supervisor. “Contact is faint, just a few mechanical transients.”
Thigpen turned and looked over his shoulder. “Do you have a range?”
The sonar supervisor shook his head. “No, sir. I only got a few hits on the TB-33, definitely mechanical in nature. Nothing on any of the hull arrays.”
Jerry had shot out of the chair as soon as he heard the news and stood next to Thigpen. “Sounds like our boy, XO.”
“It’s a good bet, Skipper.”
“Hell, I’d take any bet right now. This guy is pretty cagey. If we’ve picked up mechanical transients, it’s only because he’s about to shoot someone.”
“But that’s just it, Skipper,” complained Thigpen. “There is nothing else out there even close to that bearing to shoot at!”
“Not even a Chinese sub?”
“No, sir, not that we can see. And we’ve had no problem picking up lots of transients and strong tonals from Chinese boats long before we get broadband contact.”
“So, if it isn’t a surface ship, or another submarine, then…” Jerry just stopped, letting his statement dangle. He had a coaxing expression on his face, pushing his XO to finish the thought. Thigpen caught on immediately.
“Wait a minute, are you suggesting…”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
“Oh, shit,” Thigpen uttered quietly.
“Yup, that’s about right,” concluded Jerry.
Lymburn looked back and forth at the two men, totally confused by their cryptic conversation. “What!?” she exclaimed. “What’s the matter … sirs?”
Thigpen held up his left hand, signaling for her to wait. “Patience, Grasshopper,” he said as he pivoted back toward the command workstation. “Pilot, right full rudder, steady on course zero five zero. All ahead standard.”
As the pilot responded to the orders, Thigpen grabbed an interior communications handset and punched in the number for the engineering officer of the watch. “Maneuvering, Conn. Shift reactor coolant pumps to fast speed. Stand by for flank bell.”
North Dakota heeled slightly as she accelerated through the turn. Swinging toward the contact, and gradually picking up speed, she began to close the distance.
Thigpen shook his head as he looked at the electronic plot on the port VLSD. He was not happy with the geometry. Glancing over to Jerry, he said, “Assuming it’s our friend, and assuming he’s still headed in a northerly direction, I’m biasing us to come in behind her. But I really dislike putting whatever it is in the towed arrays’ forward beam. Our bearing data will suck.”
“Do we have a choice?” Jerry asked stoically.
Thigpen sighed. “No, sir.”
“Then we don’t have a problem, XO.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied. Then more defiantly added, “But I still don’t have to like it.”
Jerry rolled his eyes; Thigpen was just being stubborn. “Very well, XO, permission granted to not like it.”
“Thank you, sir,” replied Thigpen, satisfied.
Lymburn, sensing a break, moved closer. “Captain, XO, I still don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Ah, yes, sorry about that, Q,” Thigpen apologized. “Here’s the deal. We think Sierra-five two is the Indian Akula. If so, then the mechanical transients we’ve detected are likely torpedo tube preparations. As we hold no other contacts near the bearing, the Skipper is guessing that our friend out there is about to…”
“Launch transients!” sang out the sonar supervisor abruptly. “One weapon … two, solid rocket ignition. XO, Sierra-five two is launching missiles.”
“… launch missiles,” said Thigpen dryly, completing his sentence. He then leaned forward, and acknowledged the report. “Very well, Sonar Supervisor. Did we get a range?”
“No, sir. Sierra-five two is still in the wide aperture arrays’ baffles. Contact is drawing left, bears zero three five.”
“Sonar, were you able to get a weapon count?” interrupted Jerry.
“Not a good one, Skipper. At least two missiles, probably more. The noise from the rocket motors drowned everything else out.”
“Orders, Skipper?” asked Thigpen.
“He’s not done yet, he’s probably reloading for another salvo,” Jerry opined. “Time to let him know we’re here, XO. Put the spurs to her.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Thigpen responded enthusiastically. “Pilot, left standard rudder, steady course zero three five, all ahead flank. Sonar, stand by to go active on Sierra-five two.”
INS Chakra
“First missile salvo launch complete, Captain. Bow caps are closed on tubes one through six, and the loading of the second salvo is under way,” reported Jain.
“Very good, Number One, but tell the boys in the bomb shop to be quick about it. We just broadcasted our location to the world, and I have no desire to tarry here more than is absolutely necessary,” Samant demanded.
“Aye, Captain.”
Samant was pleased. They’d gotten off the first six land-attack cruise missiles without a hitch, and the loading of the second salvo was well under way. In another few minutes, he’d be finished launching the last of the twelve-missile strike. Some fifteen minutes later, the oil refinery at Beihai would receive a very nasty surprise. The Chinese undoubtedly expected any Littoral Alliance cruise missile that used GPS or Glonass to miss their target. How ironic that their own satellite navigation system would foil their plan. He reveled in the fact that this was the first strategic strike by an Indian submarine on Chinese soil; his place in the history books would now be secured. But Samant had little time to fully appreciate his achievement, as the intercom speaker suddenly blared.
“New contact, number eight seven, bearing two one eight. Contact is submerged and closing at high speed!”
Damn the American! cursed Samant silently. It had to be him; they would have surely heard a noisy Chinese SSN long before now. Samant’s patience was exhausted, the American had become more than a mere nuisance and he intended to deal with this interloper once and for all.
“Number On
e, begin tracking the new contact. Stand by for rapid-fire torpedo attack, tube eight.”
Jain looked incredulous, he seemed confused by the order. Samant didn’t appreciate his hesitation. “You heard me, Number One. Prepare to attack contact eight seven.”
“Captain,” replied Jain forcefully. “With respect, sir, I must remind you that we are not authorized to fire on any American vessel.”
Samant was irritated on the one hand by his first officer’s response, but impressed on the other. Jain was proving to be a fast learner. He’d already figured out the likely identity of the new contact.
“Very well, Number One,” Samant conceded with a slight smile. “Would you condone a warning shot?”
“A warning shot, sir? With a torpedo?” Jain sounded incredulous.
“Yes, Mr. Jain,” answered Samant, using the first officer’s name to reassert his authority. “We’ll fire a single torpedo, but the seeker will be disabled and we’ll offset the weapon ten degrees to starboard. That should suffice to make it impossible for the torpedo to hit the American submarine.”
“It’s still bending the rules a bit, sir,” said Jain carefully. “But given the circumstances, I believe a review by a higher authority will find it acceptable.”
“Splendid!” cried Samant. “Track contact eight seven, stand by for deliberate torpedo fire. Disable the seeker on the torpedo in tube eight.”
“Torpedo seeker is disabled, Captain. And tubes one through six are loaded, rear doors are secured,” reported the primary fire control operator.
“Bring tubes one through six to action state, and open the bow caps.” Samant picked up the intercom microphone and selected the sonar room. “Sonar, go active on the port flank array, three pulses.”
USS North Dakota
The alarm from the WLY-1 acoustic intercept receiver beat the sonar supervisor by only a couple of seconds. “Skat-3 transmissions, three pulses, correlates with Sierra-five two, classify the contact as an Akula class SSN.”
“Answer in kind, XO,” Jerry commanded.
“Aye, sir. Sonar, go active on Sierra-five two, three pulses.”
Three invisible, but intense sound waves shot out from North Dakota’s active conformal array. Upon reaching the Indian submarine, the sound waves bounced off the air-filled pressure hull. Even though the Akula was covered in anechoic coating, the sub was too close for the coating to have a significant effect. North Dakota’s passive conformal array got three good returns.
INS Chakra
“Captain! Confirm American BQQ-10 sonar, bearing two one zero. Matches bearing to contact eight seven, range eight thousand seven hundred meters and closing rapidly!” The sonar officer sounded ruffled over the intercom.
“Solution status, Number One,” barked Samant.
“Contact is pointed right at us. Course, zero three zero, speed, thirty-two knots. Solution is ready!”
“Set torpedo course, two two zero.”
“Course set!” Jain replied.
Samant nodded. “Stand by … FIRE!”
Inside tube number eight, a Russian UGST torpedo was violently expelled by a sudden wave of fast-moving water. At first, it coasted downward in a shallow arc as the onboard computer started up the engine. Once up to speed, the torpedo turned hard to port and began climbing back to its ordered depth. Soon it was roaring toward the American submarine at fifty knots.
USS North Dakota
Jerry and Thigpen looked at the command display. The active sonar had no trouble detecting the Akula. It was just a little under 9,500 yards away, moving slowly to the northwest.
“Ping him again, XO. Let’s make him feel uncomfortable about staying here.”
“Aye, Skipper. Sonar, go active on Sierra-five two, three more pulses,” ordered Thigpen. Once again, three pulses went out, and three good returns were detected. But the Indian wasn’t reacting; his course and speed were unchanged.
“Nothin’, Skipper,” Thigpen grunted. “He’s ignoring us.”
“He’s a cool one, that’s for sure. I think he knows he’ll be able to launch his second salvo before we can get too close.”
“He certainly is a cheeky fellow,” remarked Thigpen.
Jerry ignored his XO’s comment, choosing instead to focus his thoughts on his alternate number. The man knew how to handle his boat; of that there was no doubt. But what was he like? Where did he get his education, his training? What motivated him? All these questions, and more, swirled around in Jerry’s head. And all of them were, at the moment, unanswerable.
“Skipper, you want me to hit him again?” Thigpen’s question jerked Jerry from his musings. He’d have to deal with his questions later.
“Yes, XO, but this time, hammer him. Go continuous, keep pinging him,” Jerry said resolutely.
“Aye, sir. Sonar, go continuous active on Sierra-five two.”
Jerry’s head snapped up immediately; he didn’t hear the expected repeat-back of the XO’s order. Looking toward the sonar station, he saw the supervisor and a senior sonarman staring intently at the same screen. Thigpen saw it too.
“Talk to me, Sonar Supervisor,” the XO demanded.
“XO, there’s another contact in the general direction of Sierra-five two. It’s hard to make out with all the flow noise on the towed arrays, but there is definitely something out there.”
“Petty Officer Andersen, do I need to start being worried?” Jerry was able to sound calm, but his heartbeat had just shot way up.
“I’m not sure, sir. It kind of looks like…” The sonar supervisor stopped in mid-sentence as another set of faint lines showed up on his display. After some quick manipulations of the controls, the lines were enlarged and matched against the acoustic database—a flashing red “Torpedo Warning” indicator popped on the screen. Andersen’s face went white.
“Torpedo in the water! Same bearing as Sierra-five two!” he shouted.
“Captain has the conn,” thundered Jerry. “Pilot, right standard rudder, steady on course…” He paused as he looked quickly at the geoplot on the big screen. “… one four zero, maintain flank speed. Torpedo defense, launch an ADC Mark 5 and mobile decoy, standby ATT.”
North Dakota heeled sharply to starboard as the rudder kicked over. Even with fly-by-wire controls, the submarine rolled heavily into the turn, vibrating noticeably as she swung around. Jerry knew speed was his main advantage, and he’d intentionally used less rudder to keep his speed up. The only indication that the countermeasure and mobile decoy had been launched was the blinking of icons on the large display screen. For a few tense minutes, everyone held on in silence, with only the sonar supervisor’s reports breaking the tense quiet.
Finally, he called out, “Captain, torpedo has passed CPA and is opening. Whew!”
A collective sigh of relief was heard throughout control.
“Sonar, did the weapon ever enable?” Jerry asked tersely.
“I don’t know for sure, Skipper. I don’t think it went active, but we had the ADC pretty much in our field of view during the whole turn. We could have missed it.”
“Very well.” Jerry was unconvinced; he knew his sonar operators were good. And it would be unlike them to miss something so loud as an active torpedo seeker even with the countermeasure in the way. Turning toward the rest of the control room watchstanders, he announced loudly, “Attention in Control. I intend to stay on this course for a little longer, then we’ll slow and take a look around. I don’t believe the Akula will pursue us, but we can’t afford to make that assumption, so stay sharp, everyone. Carry on.”
Thigpen pulled up beside Jerry. “I can’t believe that son-of-a-bitch fired at us! We’re lucky he misjudged the distance, the weapon probably enabled after it passed us.”
Jerry laughed cynically. “He didn’t misjudge anything, Bernie. He’s too good to make that kind of mistake. He deliberately fired the torpedo with the seeker off. A warning shot, with a very clear message—keep off the grass.”
“What do we do n
ow, Skipper?”
“We report in, XO,” stated Jerry flatly. “The rules of this weird game appear to have changed yet again, and we need to let our bosses know. You have the conn. I’ll be in the radio room if you need me.”
9 September 2016
0145 Local Time
Squadron Fifteen Headquarters
Guam
Simonis took a healthy slurp of coffee while he read the initial intelligence reports on the missile attacks. It didn’t look good. He’d been called at his residence as soon as NORAD put out the warning. Fifteen minutes later he was in his office. His staff came in dribs and drabs a few minutes behind him. After a quick review of the situation, the CSO sent half the staff back home, but not before announcing that they were now on a port and starboard watch rotation. A sharp knock at the door pulled Simonis’s attention from the reports. His operations officer was in the doorway with a carafe in his hand.
“Need a recharge, Commodore?”
“Sure, Rich, come on in.”
Walker strode over and poured fresh hot coffee into Simonis’s half-empty mug.
“Did you see these reports?” Simonis inquired, pointing to the intel assessments.
“Yes, sir. It would appear this war is taking a turn for the worse.”
“Ha!” Simonis blurted. “Mr. Walker, you are a master of the understatement!” The commodore picked up the last report and read from its key judgments.
“At 1710 Zulu time PLA Second Artillery units executed multiple ballistic missile strikes against targets in Japan, Taiwan, South Korea, and the Philippines. While ballistic missile defenses were moderately effective, numerous missiles still reached their targets. Moderate to heavy casualties are expected.”
Simonis threw the paper back down onto his desk. “That’s not just a turn for the worse, Mr. Walker. It’s the first step on a very slippery slope that will lead to a nuclear exchange!”
The operations officer was surprised by Simonis’s fierce outburst. The attack on the Littoral Alliance nations was shocking, to be sure, but they were still limited, given China’s conventional ballistic missile capability. If China really wanted to plaster the targets they were after, the strikes would have been much larger. Furthermore, the attacks were largely on legitimate alliance military and oil infrastructure facilities—missile strikes on civilian population centers were a rare occurrence. In the operations officer’s mind, this attack was long overdue, a logical reaction to Littoral Alliance cruise missile attacks on Chinese oil refineries and tank farms.
