by Larry Bond
Come to think of it, Walker didn’t remember Simonis reacting so strongly to the initial strikes by alliance cruise missiles, and those were attacks against targets on Chinese soil. For the commodore to suddenly jump straight to the conclusion that the war would inevitably go nuclear seemed a bit of a stretch. China didn’t need to go down that path, and indeed seemed to be avoiding it, as India hadn’t been targeted at all.
“Sir, how can you say that?” Walker protested. “This attack was expected, or should have been, given the Littoral Alliance’s strikes on Chinese oil refineries. And yet, China didn’t fire a single missile at India. That tells me China is trying hard to keep this conflict conventional.”
Simonis shook his head vigorously, his face grim. “Rich, you’re completely missing the big picture. When the Communist Party figures out they’re losing, they’ll go nuclear—they will have no other choice!”
Walker was stunned by Simonis’s conclusion that China was losing the war. The PRC had certainly been stung, but militarily they still had an advantage over the Littoral Alliance. However, before he could respond, the commodore’s yeoman knocked on the door.
“Sorry to interrupt, Commodore, but Dr. Patterson is on the secure line.”
“It’s about time,” Simonis mumbled as he grabbed the handset. “Dr. Patterson, good afternoon.”
“Good morning, Commodore, although the ‘good’ part is seriously being debated here in Washington,” she replied.
“I completely understand. The situation is deteriorating rapidly. However, I’m hoping you have some good news for me.”
“You’re correct. The president wants you to recall your submarines. They are to return to Guam as fast as the tactical situation allows. We’ve done what we can and it’s time to evacuate the area.”
Simonis’s shoulders relaxed noticeably, as if a heavy weight had just been removed. “I will do so with pleasure, ma’am. The order will go out in ten minutes. Please express my gratitude to the president.”
“I will when I get the chance. Good luck, Commodore.”
“And to you, Dr. Patterson.” As the handset hit the cradle, Simonis looked at Walker and said, “Rich, I want a flash precedence message ordering all our boats to return to base. You have seven minutes.”
9 September 2016
0215 Local Time
USS North Dakota
West of Hainan Island, South China Sea
Jerry sat in the back of the radio room, replaying the last encounter with the Indian Akula in his mind. He ran through the scenario over and over again, trying to see where he’d made a mistake. The critical decision was to close the faint contact at high speed. On the one hand, if he hadn’t charged, the Akula wouldn’t have detected North Dakota. On the other, if he hadn’t, the Indian would have fired off his second salvo and possibly cleared datum before Jerry could reacquire him. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, he said to himself.
“Skipper, sorry to disturb you,” interrupted the information technician, “but we have flash traffic coming in.”
Jerry looked at his watch with confusion; it hadn’t even been four minutes since they sent in their report. “That can’t be in response to our last message—way too quick of a turnaround.”
“It’s not, sir. This message is a recall order. I’m printing it out now.”
The printer behind Jerry’s head whined to life and kicked out a single sheet of paper. Grabbing it, he called out to Thigpen, “XO! Flash traffic!”
Thigpen stuck his head into radio seconds later. He too looked perplexed. “My, that was fast! Has our commodore moved a cot into the radio room?”
“No, XO. This isn’t about our incident report. It’s a recall order,” said Jerry as he handed the message to Thigpen.
“Seriously?”
“Absolutely. Simonis refers to ‘continued escalation,’ no further explanation provided, as the reason for the president to order a withdrawal. We’re to return to base ASAP.”
The XO frowned, his voice heavy with cynicism. “It would have been nice to have gotten this an hour earlier!”
“Yeah, well, what’s done is done, Bernie. Send the ‘return home’ signal to Fargo, and select a rendezvous point away from our last meeting with the Akula.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper,” responded Thigpen. He handed the message to Jerry and darted back to control.
With his XO’s voice in the background, Jerry scribbled a response on the message printout and handed it to the IT. “Send this. Message received. Rendezvousing with UUV, will advise when we begin transit back to base.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” the petty officer replied.
As the young sailor typed out his captain’s response, Jerry wondered what had happened to change the president’s mind. Whatever it was, he knew it had to have been really bad.
9 September 2016
0345 Local Time
Squadron Fifteen Headquarters
Guam
Simonis paced tensely in the back of the Squadron Fifteen operations watch floor. There was still no reply from Santa Fe acknowledging the recall order. Grumbling about Halsey’s ineptness, the commodore kept walking back and forth, stopping only to refill his mug. Between fatigue and overcaffeination, his patience was virtually nonexistent, his temper on a hair trigger.
Walker kept a watchful eye on his commodore. He knew Simonis was barely holding on, and had instructed all the watchstanders to give him a heads-up first when Santa Fe finally responded.
Out of the corner of his eye, Walker saw one of the duty ITs signaling him—the message was in. Shielding his right hand from view with his body, he made a typing motion. The petty officer nodded, clicked his mouse, and held up one finger; the message was coming out on printer number one. Walking slowly over to the printer bank, the operations officer pulled the message and read it quickly. His heart sank.
Simonis saw Walker’s expression, and demanded loudly, “What is it, Rich?”
“Santa Fe’s reported in, Commodore,” he answered.
“Well, it would seem that Commander Halsey likes to take his sweet time responding—”
“She’s been attacked, sir,” Walker added quickly.
“What?” Simonis’s expression changed instantly from anger to concern.
“Yes, sir.” Walker elaborated as he walked up the stairs to Simonis. “She got bounced by a Y-8 patrol aircraft, and took two depth charges close aboard. The port main engine is down, there is a bad main propulsion shaft rub, and both towed arrays are gone. Halsey also reports some personnel casualties, but nothing life-threatening.”
Simonis snatched the message from Walker, but before he even began reading it, barked, “What’s her position?”
“Sir, she’s currently near the western edge of her patrol zone, approximately forty nautical miles due east of the northeast tip of Hainan Island,” answered one of the watchstanders.
“She’s deep in Indian country, Commodore,” Walker observed, looking up at the large flat-panel display.
“I can see that, Rich,” snapped Simonis. “What’s the closest boat to her?”
“Theoretically, Texas is the closest. But Pascovich was the first CO to respond and he’s undoubtedly gone deep by now. He won’t be back up for a comms check for another ten hours.”
“What about Mitchell?” asked Simonis.
“Nothing since his acknowledgement of the recall order, sir, so he’s still in the process of recovering his recon UUV. Given Mitchell’s rude encounter with the Indian Akula, he’s probably moving cautiously,” Walker answered.
“A wise course of action,” said Simonis, nodding approvingly. He paused and looked first at the message, and then at the electronic plotting board. There really was no other option.
“Very well, Rich, send a flash precedence message to North Dakota, copy Santa Fe. Provide a rendezvous point and have Mitchell link up with Halsey; keep Santa Fe’s speed to no more than ten knots. I want North Dakota to escort Santa Fe out of the South China Sea.
You have—”
“Yes, sir, I know. I have seven minutes,” shouted Walker as he leapt down the stairs. “Jeff! Get me a position that both boats can reasonably make given Santa Fe’s mobility restrictions. Use North Dakota’s last position and shift it to the west by fifteen miles. Move, people. We’ve got a hurt boat to get home!”
9 September 2016
1430 Local Time
USS North Dakota
Southeast of Hainan Island, South China Sea
They’d initially detected Santa Fe half an hour earlier at the ungodly range of thirty-five thousand yards. Even at ten knots, the shaft rub was very noisy and Jerry wondered how the Chinese could possibly miss it. Still, he prayed that their acute deafness would continue, preferably for the next several days. Guam was a long way away.
“Skipper, new contact, designated Sierra-six three, bearing north,” announced the sonar supervisor.
Jerry and Thigpen both looked over the supervisor’s shoulder as he pointed to a few tenuous lines on his display. “What do you have, Chief?” Jerry asked quietly.
“Don’t know, sir. The narrowband is really unstable,” replied Chief Halleck. “There’s no discernable bearing drift as well. It could be a distant surface contact, but that’s just a SWAG.”
“That bearing isn’t in the direction of the normal traffic lanes, or any harbor that we know of,” Thigpen remarked. “Why do I have the sneaky suspicion this isn’t a coincidence?”
“Because luck hasn’t exactly been running in our favor lately, XO,” admitted Jerry with a hint of irritation. “Mr. Covey, begin tracking Sierra-six three.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
* * *
For the next six minutes, Jerry stared intently at the port VLSD, as if pure concentration could conjure up more information. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. There was no bearing drift at all, and sonar was still only picking up a couple of unstable tonals. But as each minute passed, Jerry became more and more agitated. There was something wrong here; his intuition was ringing with alarm bells. Finally in frustration he growled, “Chief, I’m starting to get really annoyed with this situation. I think we’re on an intercept course with Sierra-six three. Do you concur?”
“It’s a good possibility, Skipper. I’m not seeing, or hearing, any screw noise from the contact. If we’ve been constantly staring at his bow the whole time, that would explain the lack of any main-propulsion-related noise.”
Jerry walked over to Halleck and tapped the chief on the shoulder. He needed the man’s undivided attention. “Chief, I’m going to cut across the line of sight to try and generate some bearing rate. But I think we need to come shallow as well. If I remember correctly, we had a weak layer on the last SVP, but that was taken earlier this morning. If the layer has gotten stronger, and deeper, that would explain why we aren’t seeing more tonals.”
“Yes, sir, it would indeed.”
“Have your guys glue their noses to the stacks. I’ll bring us around,” Jerry said while patting the chief on the shoulder.
Turning back toward the ship control panel, Jerry called out, “Pilot, left full rudder, steady course three two zero. All ahead two-thirds, and make your depth one hundred and twenty-five feet.”
* * *
Moments after North Dakota reached her new depth, Chief Halleck sang out, “Broadband contact, Sierra-six three. Bearing zero zero six!”
“Very well, Chief,” Jerry replied with satisfaction. Then whispered, “Gotcha!”
“Tracking Sierra-six three, initial range, twenty-one thousand yards,” reported Covey.
Before Jerry could acknowledge Covey’s report, Halleck jumped in with unwelcome news. “Skipper, there are two contacts close together. Designate the second contact, Sierra-six four, bearing zero zero four!”
“Begin tracking Sierra-six four!” commanded Jerry. “Chief, I need a classification ASAP.”
“Working it, sir.”
Jerry watched the port VLSD as the fire control system’s output settled down to a consistent solution. Inwardly, he groaned. Whatever they were, the two contacts were headed straight toward Santa Fe. When Halleck made his report, Jerry already knew what he was going to say.
“Captain, both Sierra-six three and six four have two five-bladed screws.”
“Warships,” Jerry concluded grimly.
“Yes, sir. One is a possible Type 052 destroyer, the other looks like a Type 053 frigate,” answered the chief.
“Makes sense,” Jerry remarked. “Classic high-low mix.”
Thigpen also heard the report. His face showed his anxiety. “Skipper, I don’t think Santa Fe knows those two ships are even there!”
“I suspect you’re right, XO,” granted Jerry. “Without a towed array, Halsey doesn’t have an effective sensor. Between the strong layer and the increased noise from her shaft, Santa Fe’s spherical array probably hasn’t detected them yet.”
“Can we warn him?”
Jerry shook his head. “Santa Fe’s still too far away. And even if she did hear us, we’d have to transmit at such high power on the underwater comms gear that those two yahoos out there would hear it too.”
“Then … then what can we do?” pleaded Thigpen.
Jerry turned toward Thigpen. His expression was hard and determined. “We’ll do what we have to, XO. Copilot, sound general quarters!”
As the general alarm rang throughout the ship, Jerry added sternly, “If either of those ships even look cross-eyed at Santa Fe, I’ll put a Mark 48 into them.”
* * *
Control became abuzz with activity as the battle stations watchstanders filed in and took their positions. Jerry immediately began issuing orders to prepare North Dakota for battle. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he still had to be ready for the worst. Even though there was plenty of activity going on, time seemed to crawl by for Jerry, as the distance between him and the Chinese warships wound down ever so slowly. The problem was that he was at the wrong end of the triangle; the warships were closing faster on Santa Fe than he was on them. If he wanted to close the gap, he’d have to kick their speed up a notch or three, but that only raised more alarm bells. Thigpen was thinking along those same lines. He was worried and said as much.
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Skipper. Why haven’t the Chinese warships gone active yet? Their hull arrays can’t be that good in passive mode.”
“They’re not, XO. One of those ships has a towed array. That’s how they’ve been able to track Santa Fe. I’m certain of it.”
“They could have an MPA in support.”
“A patrol aircraft would have attacked by now, and there’s no reason to expose your ships to a possible torpedo attack if you can engage from a distance. Those ships are closing in together, positioning themselves to execute a coordinated attack. You can bet there’s at least one helo in the air,” summarized Jerry.
“So what’s the plan, sir?” queried Thigpen.
“First off, XO, we need more information. An eye on the target,” Jerry replied. Then looking over at Covey he demanded, “What’s our status, Weps?”
“Sir, torpedo tubes one and two are ready in all respects with the exception of opening the outer doors. A Sea Tern UAV has been loaded into the number one signal ejector and is ready for launch.”
“Very well, Mr. Covey,” acknowledged Jerry. Moving back to the center of the control room, he cleared his throat and spoke loudly. “Attention in control. My intention is to launch a Sea Tern UAV to get a better view of the tactical picture. We need to watch this situation carefully. We don’t want to cause an incident, but if any of the Chinese units fire on Santa Fe, we will engage immediately with Mark 48 ADCAP torpedoes. Stay sharp; this ride may get a bit bumpy. Carry on.
“Pilot, all stop. Make your depth sixty-five feet.”
“All stop, make my depth sixty-five feet, Pilot, aye. Skipper, Maneuvering answers all stop.”
“Very well, Pilot.” Jerry watched as the speed started to drop. North Da
kota had to slow down considerably before he dared to raise a photonics mast. Even at ten knots, the maximum safe speed for the mast, it would leave a huge wake—easily visible to an airborne helicopter.
To save time, Jerry used the residual speed to plane his boat up to periscope depth. It was only a few minutes until the pilot reported, “Captain, on ordered depth. Speed is six knots.”
“Very well, Pilot. Ahead one-third, make turns for five knots.” While the pilot repeated the order, Jerry faced Covey. “Weps, launch the Sea Tern. Then take the UAV station. XO, you can double up as weapons officer.”
“Aye, Captain,” answered both men simultaneously.
As soon as Covey hit the launch button, a slug of water forced the canister with the UAV out of the signal ejector. Floating to the surface, the canister’s end cap blew off as soon as the pressure sensor detected it was clear of the water. Milliseconds later, the micro-UAV was propelled out of the canister by a small charge. Once airborne, it climbed to five hundred feet and turned toward the Chinese warships. Based on the Switchblade micro-UAV, the Sea Tern was just over a foot long, with a small battery-powered motor that could get the tiny vehicle up to a maximum speed of seventy-five knots. But its best endurance was at half that speed. With its minuscule size and slow speed, the Sea Tern looked like a seabird to a modern radar. Thus, any reflected energy would be filtered out by the radar’s signal processor, essentially rendering the vehicle invisible while in plain sight. It wasn’t long before its electro-optical and infrared sensor data was relayed to North Dakota’s exposed mast.
“Skipper, the Sea Tern has acquired the Chinese ships,” Covey announced. “Sending the output to the starboard VLSD.”
