by Clancy, Tom
Ingraham’s job was to support Cheyenne. If any of the submarine’s missiles failed to hit their mark, Ingraham had permission to fire her Harpoon missiles at the Chinese task group. She was also permitted to fire on any enemy vessels or aircraft with which she came into contact, but the emphasis of her mission was to support Cheyenne.
On board Cheyenne, the communicator had an update for Mack. “Captain,” he said, “we just received word that Ingraham has arrived in position. She relayed a message for you, Captain. It reads, ‘all quiet on the northern front.’”
Mack smiled at that. “Funny,” he said. “How long until we reach our launch point?”
The OOD conversed quickly with the QMOW (quartermaster of the watch) and determined that Cheyenne was currently ninety-two miles southwest of where she needed to be. “If we increase speed to full, our ETA will be in four hours, Captain,” answered the OOD.
Mack acknowledged that. “Come right to course 045, speed full, depth four hundred feet,” he ordered.
Two hours later the sonar room began buzzing with action.
“Conn, sonar, we have two convergence zone contacts on the spherical array, classified as probable Alfa class SSNs, bearing 010 and 014.”
As the sonar supervisor continued the basis of his classification, a picture emerged that Mack didn’t like—and one that Ingraham’s captain was going to like even less.
The frigate was supposed to be on station forty-three miles northeast of Cheyenne. Mack didn’t know it yet, but the two sonar contacts, Masters 37 and 38, were traveling next to each other forty miles northwest of Ingraham, which put them at the third point of an almost equilateral triangle, approximately forty-two miles from Cheyenne.
Making turns for 12 knots, the Alfas were running at a depth of fifty meters, not knowing that Cheyenne was approaching the area. They were heading toward Ingraham, closing in for what they thought would be an easy kill.
“Come to periscope depth,” Mack ordered the OOD. “I want to alert Ingraham.”
Within minutes, Cheyenne was at sixty feet and the “flash” message was sent via satellite to the lone frigate. The message included Cheyenne’s estimated position and bearing to the two Chinese submarines and the fact that Cheyenne had tentatively classified them as Alfas.
“Conn, sonar, Masters 37 and 38 have increased speed. Blade rate indicates they’re running at thirty-eight—make that forty knots, sir. It looks like they’re making their move.”
Mack frowned. That wasn’t what he’d wanted to hear. He’d wanted to remain silent until he launched his missiles, but that was no longer an option. Not with two Chinese Alfas racing to destroy Ingraham. There were few circumstances where Mack would have stood by and watched an American ship come under fire, and this wasn’t one of them. He needed Ingraham. He needed it to guide Cheyenne‘s missiles over the horizon. Without Ingraham, Cheyenne’s mission was likely to fail.
“Increase speed to flank,” he ordered. “I want to intercept those Alfas. Come right to course 025.”
“Increase speed to flank and come right to course 025, aye, sir.”
Cheyenne‘s message, rapidly turned around at CTF 74 headquarters, galvanized Ingraham’s officers and crew. The SH-60 crew members ran toward their helicopters, strapping their gear to their flight vests as they ran.
“Launch both helos,” the Ingraham captain ordered.
In the operations center on the frigate the sonar room was silent, listening. They had detected the two Alfas, bearing 310 and 320 from them, as soon as the Chinese submarines increased their speed to flank.
“Captain, sonar, we just detected what must be Cheyenne, bearing 235. She’s running at flank speed also. It looks like she’s trying to put herself in between us and the Chinese submarines.”
“Way to go, Mack,” Ingraham’s captain said softly.
But the frigate wasn’t out of the woods yet. The Chinese Alfas could accelerate up to forty-three knots submerged. On a good day, with a clean hull, Cheyenne maxed out at nearly forty knots which meant that the Alfas were going to arrive first.
Not if I can help it, the Ingraham captain thought to himself. “Helm,” he ordered, “come left to 235, all ahead flank.” He planned to head toward Cheyenne at his frigate’s top speed. With luck and a strong tail wind, Ingraham just might have a chance.
Even running at flank speed, Cheyenne‘s sonar was able to detect Ingraham’s maneuver. The bearing indicated to Mack that she was on station where she was supposed to be. It didn’t take Mack long to figure out what her captain had in mind. On the 1MC, Mack himself ordered, “Man battle stations.”
According to the BSY-1 computers, the range to the Alfas was closing fast. The Chinese submarines were heading southeast at forty-two knots, and Cheyenne was heading northeast at 38 knots. Mack would have liked to stay silent, but flank speed was Cheyenne‘s only hope of heading off the Alfas. Besides, at forty-two knots, the Chinese submarines had no chance of hearing Cheyenne’s approach.
When the range to the closest Alfa, Master 37, reached 30,000 yards, Mack ordered tubes one and two made ready in all respects. He also ordered the outer doors opened. The range to the second Alfa, Master 38, was just under 33,000 yards.
“Sir,” the fire-control coordinator reported, “we’re in range of the first Alfa, Master 37. We’ll be in range of Master 38 in three minutes.”
Mack nodded, but he did not give the command to shoot. “I want to wait until they are within 28,000 yards,” he said. “Tell me when Master 37 comes within that range. Firing point procedures, tube one, Master 37.”
Travelling at this speed, Cheyenne was relying on her BSY-1 computers to give her any information she required on the positions of the sonar contacts. Because of her speed, sonar was not able to hear much beyond the water rushing by the hull.
As Cheyenne‘s BSY-1 computed range neared 28,000 yards, and the Ingraham’s CIC (combat information center) reported the range to the Chinese submarines as 25,000 yards, the SH-60 Seahawks from Ingraham came into play, laying down lines of sonobuoys one after the other in an effort to determine the exact location of the Alfas. Once they had that information in their onboard computers, they could drop their own torpedoes on the Alfas.
The fire-control coordinator informed Mack the moment the range had decreased to 28,000 yards. Without hesitating, Mack ordered, “Back full. Match sonar bearings and shoot, tube one, Master 37.”
With Cheyenne’s headway quickly killed by the backing bell, Mack ordered, “Ahead one third.”
“Conn, sonar, unit one running hot, straight, and normal.”
If the Alfa continued on its present course and speed, the torpedo would reach it in seven and a half minutes.
The crew of the lead Alfa was excited. They had been chasing their quarry for some time now and were finally closing in for their first kill—against an American warship, no less. For all their excitement, though, they had no idea that there was an American Mk 48 headed their way.
A hundred feet above the surface, one of Ingraham‘s SH-60 LAMPS III helicopters detected Cheyenne’s first torpedo within moments of its launch. The helos each had a single Mk 50 on board, which were smaller than Cheyenne’s torpedoes. The Mk 50’s hundred pound warhead was less than a sixth the weight of the explosive packed into Mack’s Mk 48.
A quick communication flashed between the two helos, and moments later both pilots launched their Mk 50s—but not at the lead Alfa. Cheyenne wasn’t likely to need their help with that one. Instead, they targeted the second Chinese submarine, Mack’s Master 38.
Below the surface, Cheyenne was now comfortably within range of both submarines and was steering the Mk 48 into the lead Alfa, Master 37.
“Conn, sonar,” the sonar supervisor reported, “Ingraham’ s SH-60s just dropped two torpedoes, sounds like Mk 50s, on the bearing to the second Alfa, Master 38.” There was a pause and then the fire-control coordinator added, “It looks like they’re going to hit, too, sir. BSY-1 shows they dropped them
right on top of it.”
Neither of the Chinese submarines had any idea that they had been targeted by any American torpedoes. The lead Chinese Alfa never would.
The 650-pound warhead of Cheyenne’s Mk 48 detonated directly aft of the Alfa’s single screw and blew off the stern of the submarine. Running at four hundred feet, the crew on board the lead Alfa never had a chance. Those that didn’t drown immediately as water rushed into the engine room were crushed by the pressure of the deep sea.
The second Alfa, still running at top speed, was unable to hear either Cheyenne or the two Mk 50s heading toward it, but its crew heard the explosion from the Mk 48 on the bearing of their sister ship. The second Alfa’s captain slowed immediately to assess the situation—which was the worst thing he could have done. By stopping directly in the path of the American Mk 50s, he had sealed his own fate.
“Conn, sonar, two explosions, sir,” the sonar supervisor said to Mack. “The Mk 50s just hit their mark.” A moment later he added, “But she’s not breaking up, sir.”
That didn’t surprise Mack. The Alfa class SSNs had always been thought of as one of the hardest types of submarine to kill. Unlike most other submarines, the Alfa had a hull constructed not of steel, but entirely of titanium. This allowed it to dive extremely deep, probably 3,000 feet, and it also made her a very hard target to destroy. Alfas were almost as hard to sink as the double-hulled Typhoon.
The Alfa had gotten lucky, but she hadn’t come away undamaged. The two American light weight torpedoes had hit the Alfa on its starboard side, damaging the starboard ballast tanks. To make matters worse, their reactor had automatically shut down when the control rods came unlatched as a result of the torpedo concussions. Without its reactor, the Alfa could not run away.
The officers and crew of the Alfa had just begun to get a grip on their problems when Cheyenne fired her second torpedo at Master 38, and things suddenly became much worse.
“Conn, sonar, unit 2 running hot, straight, and normal,” the sonar supervisor said.
There was nothing for the Chinese submarine to do except wait and die. If it tried to surface, it would list heavily to starboard. With their sonar barely working, the Alfa’s sonarmen listened as Mack’s torpedo came closer and closer to their submarine. One minute before impact, the Chinese captain did try launching a noisemaker, but the Mk 48 ignored it and continued to close on the helpless submarine.
The torpedo detonated on the same side as had the smaller Mk 50s, but it had more of an impact. The titanium hull had already been weakened by the earlier explosions. This one cracked it clean through, flooding the Alfa and killing all forty-seven men on board. From the moment Cheyenne’s torpedo had acquired, they never had a chance.
That didn’t bother Mack at all. This was war, and he knew the Chinese hadn’t planned on giving Ingraham any chance, either.
The Alfas were gone, and now Cheyenne and her crew had to focus on their mission once more. The Chinese task group was still headed her way, but there was little time left for Cheyenne and Ingraham’s helos to prepare for the quick but deadly upcoming attack. Mack allowed his crew a short respite from battle stations.
Nineteen hours later, Cheyenne came to periscope depth with battle stations remanned. She received word that one of Ingraham‘s helicopters had detected the Chinese task group 150 miles to the north of Cheyenne’s position. Ingraham had relocated about fifty miles to the south of Cheyenne, but her Seahawks were flying as rotating radar pickets to detect the enemy fleet. As soon as the Chinese task group was discovered, the second Seahawk, freshly fueled and armed, was sent to relieve the first one and allow it to return to the frigate for refueling.
The Seahawk’s powerful surface-search radar allowed the helicopter to stay out of Chinese SAM (surface-to-air missile) range while she painted the task group with radar waves. This data would be used to guide Cheyenne’s Harpoons into their targets.
Cheyenne proceeded back down to her normal patrol depth and increased her speed to twenty-five knots. Two hours later she was well within Harpoon missile range of the Chinese task group, with Harpoons in all four torpedo tubes and “battle stations missile” manned.
Mack’s orders were unchanged, and so was his plan. He intended to fire his six Harpoons in salvos and then launch his TASMs at the remaining targets. His biggest concern was the speed with which Cheyenne would have to operate—both for her own sake and because, if they took too long, the Seahawks risked entering SAM range and being engaged by Chinese missiles.
Cheyenne had trained for this kind of mission, and Mack had always felt that this type—striking at unsuspecting surface ships—was very much the same as that of a waiting sniper: get in position, wait for an opportunity, fire, and slip away.
Cheyenne came to one hundred feet and within minutes had launched all her Harpoons. Without missing a beat, Mack ordered VLS tubes five through ten fired. The Tomahawks were launched one by one as the hatches on each tube opened in sequence and the missiles were ejected skyward.
When the last TASM was away, Mack ordered Cheyenne back down to four hundred feet and headed toward the submarine tender McKee. They had fired off many of their weapons and needed to rearm in order to remain effective.
Battle stations were once again secured while the torpedo tubes were reloaded but, as was always the case when attacking distant targets, Cheyenne’s crew would have to wait to learn how well they had performed. They knew only that twenty-five minutes after the attack, sonar had reported twelve very large primary and secondary explosions. This was a good sign, especially considering that there were only eight vessels in the Chinese task group, but official confirmation of the kills would have to wait.
McKee, like all submarine tenders, was an auxiliary vessel with little weaponry and no sonar. Which meant that, ironically, though she had spent nearly all her life servicing submarines, she was virtually defenseless against them and had no way of knowing if one was sneaking up on her.
The McKee’s captain was not known for his sense of irony. He would not have been amused to know that, even as his ship was operating quietly off Brunei in wait for Cheyenne, a lone Ming class submarine was stalking her. He had weighed anchor after Cheyenne left the last time in order to conduct sea training for his crew.
Thirteen hours after launching her missiles, Cheyenne came to periscope depth to catch up on the latest intelligence and to inform McKee that they were en route and would arrive in about twenty-five hours. Cheyenne was at periscope depth for as short a time as possible. She was soon on her way to the southern portion of the South China Sea once more, unaware of the enemy submarine that was heading toward McKee.
The Chinese submarine captain had closed to within twenty-six miles of McKee. He would maintain his speed of five knots until the American tender came within range of his SAET-60 homing torpedoes with their 400-kilogram warheads. The maximum range for these torpedoes was 16,400 yards, or a little over eight nautical miles, so the Ming would have to move in close.
Three hours later, the Ming had closed the gap. McKee was at the extreme edge of the torpedo’s range, and the Chinese captain began preparing his submarine for firing.
Mack was in the control room talking with his watch standers when the report came from sonar.
“Conn, sonar, we just picked up a sonar contact bearing 173; it’s opening its torpedo tube doors. The bearing is to the west of McKee’s reported position.”
“Come to periscope depth,” Mack said. “Radio, Captain, contact McKee and ask her if any friendly submarines are expected near her location.” Mack had to ask the question, but he would have been surprised if the answer was yes. That would have meant that CTF 74 was losing control of submarine mutual interference.
Battle stations were quickly manned as sonar reported Master 47 to be a probable Ming class SSK. Then the response from McKee came back.
“Conn, radio, that’s a negative, sir, they’re only expecting us. We are the only submarine that should be in the area.”<
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“Radio, conn, tell McKee to get under way at best speed, course 090.” That would take McKee directly away from the enemy submarine.
Cheyenne sent the message and then Mack headed deep. Moments later, the sonar supervisor reported contact on McKee and that McKee had started to move on course 090 and was picking up speed.
“Ahead flank, steer 173,” Mack ordered.
That would serve two purposes, he knew. First, and most important, it would get them within range to fire on the Chinese submarine. Second, and almost as vital, it would serve notice to the Ming, warning them that if they didn’t back off from McKee they were going to be facing a big, angry American submarine.
The Ming heard Cheyenne cavitating, but it didn’t alter course. Instead, it increased speed in the direction of McKee and fired two torpedoes. Only then did the Chinese submarine change course, but by then it was too late.
Mack had already slowed and, with the BSY-1 computer solutions, had fired two Mk 48s at the Ming. Minutes later, the torpedoes acquired their target and homed in on the enemy submarine. The sonar supervisor reported two explosions, followed by the sounds of the Ming filling with water. The Ming was dead.
“What about the Chinese torpedoes?” Mack asked. “How’s McKee doing?”
He didn’t have to worry, though. McKee was running away from the SAET-60s as fast as she could. At twenty knots, she wasn’t able to outrun the torpedoes, but she was able to stay ahead of them until they ran out of gas.
When sonar lost contact on the second Chinese torpedo, Mack ordered Cheyenne to periscope depth. “Radio, conn, tell McKee we’re coming in.”
He was going to be glad to reach the tender. Cheyenne needed to rearm and resupply. But he had the feeling that the captain and crew of McKee would be glad to see them, too.
