by Larry Bond
As he ordered the speed change, Petrov walked over to the ship’s announcing system. Flipping a switch, he picked up the microphone. “This is the Captain. Fleet headquarters has provided us with the location of a Western nuclear submarine. We are going to find this intruder and show him what the Motherland’s newest attack submarine can do. All hands stand by to assume combat alert status.”
Petrov switched off the microphone and hung it up. He paused again, and forced himself to draw a slow breath, then another. Excitement filled him; his former worries about the boat’s material state were no longer of primary concern. There were minor mechanical problems, and they were to be expected, but they could be overcome. Coming back to port with something more than just a list of needed repairs—that would make this a real shakedown!
The entire central post watch section waited expectantly in absolute silence. He’d flown in, spitting orders and energizing the boat. Petrov stood for a moment, considering his options, then walked back over to the chart table.
“At 0230 hours, a little over five hours ago, a nuclear submarine, probably an American attack boat, was here.” He stabbed at the mark on the chart. “We are going to find him and make his life hell.
“Starpom, have Mitrov construct a sonar search pattern based on our best arrival time in the area and the American’s reported movements to the northeast at slow speed—assume eight knots. And see if we can do better than ten knots without them hearing our approach. Every minute we shave off narrows our search.
“As soon as you’ve calculated our arrival time, put it in a signal buoy along with our current position. Tell fleet headquarters we are en route. We’ll send another message once we’ve obtained his hull number.” Petrov smiled grimly, and he was pleased to see every man in the central post smiling as well.
~ * ~
USS Seawolf
Jerry and his men finished compiling the survey data from the eighth run in good order. Seawolf was now headed for the next rendezvous site. It was time to pick up LaVerne. Jerry felt a deep sense of satisfaction that the work was going so well, but frustrated that so much still needed to be done. The extensive data collection would have to be analyzed when they returned, and then another unit would have to come back and actually place the sensors. It would have been much more satisfying to finish the job, but Seawolf couldn’t do the detailed analysis, and she wasn’t equipped to work on the seabed.
It was 0810, and he hadn’t seen his stateroom since yesterday evening. The survey work would continue around the clock, both because there was so much to do, and to minimize their time in these waters. Jerry was tired, but forced himself to properly organize their notes and survey results before stepping away from the chart table. It was only fair to the watchstanders, and he’d be glad, later, when they were handing it in for analysis. The CO had scheduled a short midpatrol break to give the crew time to rest, clean up, and conduct the necessary maintenance that had been put on hold while doing the surveys. Jerry looked forward to catching up on his department’s administrative issues, which were slowly piling up while he and his QMs put the data package together. Once LaVerne was back on board, they could all slow down a little.
Jerry yawned; one of those deep yawns that cracks a jaw joint. He had a couple of hours before they recovered LaVerne, and he planned to spend all of it horizontal.
~ * ~
Severodvinsk
As they closed on the unknown sub’s reported position, Petrov kept his crew busy preparing for their first encounter. They were all eager to think about something other than the sub’s mechanical problems, and there was much to be done. His men were barely used to working together, and he set up drill after drill for the sonar and fire-control teams.
Captain Third Rank Vladimir Mitrov, in charge of the sonar personnel as well as communications and radar, was tasked with computing detection ranges against different classes of Western submarines. Petrov reminded him that the advantage lay with Severodvinsk. She was not only an advanced design, she’d never been heard by the West. They were an unknown, and it would take time for them to decide who they were and how to react—time Petrov would use to his advantage.
Just to be on the safe side, Petrov also drilled the torpedo room crews. He did not expect to fire on the intruder. These were international waters, and he had no intention of starting a war.
But what were the Americans’ intentions? Petrov ran scenarios through his own mind, testing and preparing his own reactions. The first part was easy, at least in theory: Find the boat. Then, collect enough hydroacoustic information to identify its type and nation of origin. Beyond that, it really depended on what the intruder was doing.
Western boats often probed Russian waters, gathering information, even practicing mock attacks against live targets. They usually kept out of the way, given the covert nature of their mission, but they had occasionally interfered with exercises in the past, either deliberately or accidentally. Simply discovering the intruder’s presence could end his mission, since his presence was no longer secret.
It was really a test, for both sides. The West baited the Russian bear, teasing him right in front of his own den. Was the bear fast enough and strong enough to catch him or drive him off? If Russia couldn’t keep the waters in front of her home bases clear of intruders, why have a navy at all?
And this was not just a game. A few years ago, Gepard had also been Russia’s newest and best when she left Sayda Guba to find an American submarine discovered in the Kara Sea. Nobody Petrov had ever talked to had the complete story, or the same one; the only consistent fact was Gepard had been lost with all hands. She had been ordered to intercept the American sub in international waters. What happened was known only by the two submarines involved, and Gepard had taken all her knowledge to the bottom.
So what were the intruders doing there? According to the fleet operational schedule, there was nothing of interest scheduled in that area. Was it something on the seabed? NATO subs often attempted to recover Russian materiel.
Could they be investigating the Amga buoys themselves? That was an unwelcome and disturbing possibility. As soon as it occurred to him, Petrov hoped it wasn’t true. According to the briefing he’d received, the warning buoys had been laid in complete secrecy, and were totally passive in operation. Knowledge of their existence would mean security had been severely compromised.
The central post alerted him to another urgent transmission, and Petrov brought Severodvinsk near the surface again, taking as little time as possible to receive the message before racing southwest again. Mitrov hurried into the command center with the message printout.
Petrov scanned it quickly, then briefed the starpom and his tracking team. “They think it’s an American, a first-rank boat at that. It has almost no discernible narrowband components, and what little they heard was detected at close range, very close to the buoy. They were moving slowly as well, possibly less than five knots.”
“That’s not an effective search speed. Could they be loitering in the area? Waiting for something?” Kalinin was thinking out loud.
Petrov was dismissive. “Possible, but pure speculation. We can’t guess at his activities from this. The bad news is, we’re looking for a very quiet boat, of advanced design, at very low speed. The good news is, at slow speed, he’s still close to the position we were given.
“Starpom, assume that he’s making no more than five knots and adjust our search pattern to look for an extremely quiet vessel. If he’s increased speed and we miss him, we’ll need a second, wider search plan.”
Kalinin nodded, acknowledging Petrov’s instructions but busy with a calculator. “Recommend slowing to eight knots in twenty minutes, and to five knots another half an hour later. That should allow us to enter the area with a minimum probability of detection by a first-rank boat at creep speed.”
“How much margin in your calculations?” Petrov asked.
“Twenty-five percent.”
Petrov looked down at the
chart, silently weighing Kalinin’s recommendation with his own assessment of the situation. A slight frown developed. After a brief moment, he turned toward his starpom, shaking his head.
“Take it out, Vasiliy. No margin. Time is our enemy. We’ll depend on surprise. I’m willing to make the assumption that he doesn’t know about the buoys, so he can’t know he’s been detected.”
Looking dubious, the starpom recalculated. “In that case, hold this speed for another half an hour, then slow to eight knots, and go to five knots forty minutes later. We will reach the edge of the search area in eighty-five minutes.”
“Agreed, and set silence mode when we slow to five knots. Pass the word that all compartments will be personally inspected by me to make sure it’s properly set.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As the watch section hurried about to carry out his orders, Petrov forced himself to walk away and let his men do their work. He had to pour some of his excitement back into the bottle. Splash it around too much and his crew would start making mistakes. But it was so hard to just stand there and wait. Surprisingly, it didn’t take very long.
~ * ~
“A little over thirty minutes after setting silence mode, Petrov was summoned yet again to the central post. As he entered the command center, he found the normally bustling central command post as quiet as a morgue. Shubin was hunched over one of the BIUS consoles, staring intently at the display.
“Report,” order Petrov curtly.
“Hydroacoustic contact, Captain. Bearing red zero seven three.”
A quick glance at the BIUS display told Petrov what he needed to know. “Helmsman, rudder left full. New course three four zero. Deck Officer, quietly, I repeat quietly, set readiness condition one, combat alert. And be quick about it, Mikhail Olegovich.”
“Yes, Captain.”
While Shubin brought Severodvinsk to battle stations, Petrov quickly ducked into the sonar post where Mitrov and a senior warrant officer were busily adjusting the passive sonar settings on the control consoles, desperately trying to find the contact they had heard just moments ago.
Speaking softly Petrov asked, “What do you have for me, comrades?”
“A short sequence of transients, Captain, bearing red zero seven three. Definitely mechanical in nature,” replied Mitrov.
“Show me,” demanded Petrov.
The warrant officer handed his captain a set of headphones and called up the historical display and replayed the signal. Sure enough, there was a faint series of mechanical-sounding clunks to the north. His men had done well to pick up the weak signal with all the ice noise around them.
“Captain . . .” whispered Mitrov as he pointed toward his display. There on the screen, amid the interfering speckles from the ice, appeared a faint coherent trace, and then another.
As the three men watched the trace lines slowly get longer, Kalinin stuck his head into the small room. “Captain, combat alert has...” A sharp wave of Petrov’s hand cut his starpom off.
In total silence, Petrov watched as the first trace got a little stronger, showing a slight left-bearing drift. The second contact was much weaker and had no discernible bearing rate at all. Mitrov hit a few buttons and an automatic tracker locked on to each of the contacts and started sending data to the fire-control system. With a wicked grin on his face, Petrov turned toward Kalinin and said, “We have him, Vasiliy. We have him!”
~ * ~
USS Seawolf
ETC Hudson had expected to find his department head fast asleep. He didn’t monitor Lieutenant Mitchell’s every move, but by his reckoning, the young officer was running about half empty, and that will catch up with a body after a while. Nobody wanted a cranky lieutenant.
But Mr. Mitchell was up and half buried in paperwork. The door was open, but Hudson still rapped politely on the doorframe. Jerry looked up and smiled. “Chief, excellent, come in. Here are the draft E-6 evaluations you gave me last week. I’ve made some changes . . .”
Hudson glanced at the forms, marked with a red pen, then reported. “They’re preparing to recover LaVerne, sir.”
Jerry sighed and pushed himself back from the desk. “So soon?”
“They’ve already deployed the recovery arm.”
“Thanks, Chief, I’ll be along . . .”
Suddenly the BONG, BONG, BONG of the general alarm filled the passageway, and both men dashed for the control room. The captain had promised that once UUV operations started, there would be no drills. Something was very wrong.
~ * ~
Jerry held in his questions as he hurried over to the plotting table by the fire-control consoles. He listened as Will Hayes quickly turned the deck over to Stan Lavoie, the General Quarters OOD. “New sonar contact, Sierra three zero, is on our port quarter, bearing one six five. The computer says it’s a submerged contact, close by at slow speed, with a zero bearing rate. Tracking party’s still getting set up, so they can’t confirm.”
Then Captain Rudel showed up and Hayes had to repeat himself. He’d barely finished when Rudel asked, “And the UUV?”
Hayes shook his head. “Still approaching the basket. About five hundred yards to port. . .”
Hayes’s report was cut short when the WLR-9 acoustic intercept receiver started wailing.
“Conn, sonar, Mouse Squeak transmissions in the direction of Sierra three zero. Bearing one six five.”
Rudel quickly looked at the WLR-9 display and saw that the transmission frequency and pulse type matched the collision-avoidance/mine-hunting sonar on Russian submarines. “Mr. Mitchell, get the arm back inside, and send the UUV away.”
Jerry acknowledged the order and checked the chart. There was a likely spot over deep water a few miles from here, and it was already programmed .. .
“Conn, sonar! Sierra three zero is increasing speed!” There was concern in the sonar supervisor’s voice. A few seconds later, the intercom announced, “Sierra three zero is cavitating! Near zero bearing rate!” The last word was almost shouted over the intercom. Jerry recognized ST1 Stapp’s voice. He wasn’t easily rattled.
“Captain, recovery arm is stowed and the outer door is shut on tube two,” reported Shimko as he took his battle-stations position by the fire-control consoles.
“Very well, XO. I want a TMA solution on Sierra three zero immediately. Engineer, get us moving.”
Both men responded with, “Aye, aye, sir.”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s speed is thirty-plus knots. Blade rate does not match any known Russian submarine.”
Rudel and Shimko looked at each other, both confused by the sonar supervisor’s report. Rudel reached up to the intercom. “Sonar, conn. Please confirm your last.”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero’s acoustic signature does not match any, repeat any, known Russian submarine.”
“Who the hell are we dealing with?” asked Shimko.
“We’ll worry about that later, XO. For now, let’s concern ourselves with getting out of here.”
“Yessir!” Shimko replied enthusiastically. Then ten seconds later, “Captain, WAA range is... is seven hundred yards and closing!”
“Conn, sonar. Sierra three zero is closing rapidly. Bearing rate is slightly to the left.”
“He’s passing down our port side!” exclaimed Shimko.
“Helm, hard right rudder!” shouted Rudel.
“Captain has the conn,” announced Lavoie. While this statement would appear trivial to an outside observer, particularly given the circumstance, its importance was crucial. From this point on, until Rudel decided otherwise, he was giving the conning orders and everyone in control needed to know this.
A moment later Jerry heard the noise himself, right though the hull. It started as a soft rush, like a ventilation fan in high speed, but a few seconds later it was a solid rumble, and then a loud swishing that could be felt as well as heard.
A few more seconds and the sound was past them. Just as it started to fade Jerry felt a vibration in
the deck and then the whole boat was rocked first to starboard and then to port. Jerry had been leaning against the chart table and had reflexively grabbed at it. The watch stared at each other, wide-eyed.
~ * ~
Severodvinsk
“Sonar officer reports closest point of approach was four hundred meters,” said Kalinin.
“That will make them think twice!” laughed Petrov. “Make turns for ten knots. Shubin, do you still see their remote vehicle?”
“Yes, sir. Bearing red zero six five, range seventy-four meters, speed about three knots. It’s still heading toward the American sub.” Shubin was tracking the American UUV with Severodvinsk’s MG-519M mine-hunting sonar. It was no good as a general search set, but its high-resolution range and bearing data made it perfect for finding small objects nearby. “Recommend slow turn to port, or it will pass into our blind spot aft.”
