“Number One, source and distance to threat?” He looked down at the chart facing him on the plot table. They were very close to theStrait of Hormuz , but it appeared the Americans were waiting to trap him.
Ping!
It was obvious they could not continue on their present course. Somewhere between his present position and the Gulf of Oman an American submarine would soon be alerted to their position.
“Sonar source appears to be a surface sensor.”
Wong nodded. With their computers, aircraft, and satellites, they would be able to plot his course for him. Since they already knew where he was, he had to lose them fast.
“Helm, turn to heading one-seven-five, ahead two-thirds.” His new course would take them towards the island of Jazireh-Ye Sirri. Perhaps, they could lose them among the shoals, shallows, and dark.
“Prepare countermeasures.”
Ping!
* * * *
Tommy Hargroves pulled the headsets off his ears howling, “Oww!” He dialed the volume down to a more reasonable level and took a sip of his Coke.
“You okay?” asked Tyrone
Tommy nodded. “Bernie, you’d better tell theWashington , he’s making a run for it.”
Martin pulled up the navigational charts. “Which way do you think he’s going?”
Tommy held up a hand for a second and checked a readout on his computer monitor. “ISAR thinks he’s heading straight south.”
Bernie looked over at the chart. “What’s south?”
“Islands. He’s heading towards some rocks in the water. Maybe he thinks he can get lost in the funny acoustics.”
Tyrone checked the plot map. “We didn’t drop anything around those islands.”
“So we could lose him?” asked Bernie.
Tyrone bobbed his head. “It’s possible.”
Bernie keyed his microphone. “Washington,this isEyepiece 3 .”
“We copy youEyepiece 3.”
“It looks like we’ve got a runner. He’s headed towards some islands south of Bandar-e Moghüyen. We don’t have anything dropped in that location. My people tell me we could lose him.”
“Roger,Eyepiece 3 . Continue pursuit.”
The radio went dead once again.
Tommy swallowed the last of his Coke—so much for saving it. “He’s picking up speed, and making a lot more noise.”
* * * *
Henderson peered at the high-resolution color monitor. He glanced at a second set of monitors that showed matching sound signatures using a waveform. He dialed through a series of frequencies, listening carefully. He flipped a series of toggle switches that imposed different types of amplification filters.
He knew it was unlikely that he would find theHan immediately. They were seventy knots away. He continued to dial through the sound spectrum. His fingers tapped commands into the computer system before him. The personal computer had made it into the mainstream of the American military. It was revolutionizing the manner by which technical specialists performed their jobs. Henderson had been playing Nintendo games for over ten years before his posting to theSpringfield . His new duties were nothing more than an expanded form of Mario 64.
The waveforms on the two monitors tilting towards him suddenly matched. Henderson glanced up and a satisfied grin emerged on his features. He had just made it to the boss and it was time to win. He clicked one of the icons on his main screen and heard the same buzz-saw snapping sound Tommy Hargroves heard several minutes ago.
“Got him!” Henderson said more loudly than necessary. The headset pressed to his ears muffled his sense of volume.
Chief Watson looked across to the sonar man’s cave. He turned to Captain Andrews. “You see, he’s a little weird, but the best I’ve seen in a long time.”
Andrews nodded. On the plot table, the image of theHan Class boat emerged. The vector indicating speed and course popped up next to the image.
“Twenty knots?” asked Rob Bremer.
“He’s running,” announced Chief Watson.
“Robbie, plot an interception course. If we’re hearing him this far away, then he’s got to have hull damage,” Andrews speculated.
Robbie gave the appropriate orders.
Andrews rubbed his chin before saying, “Make sure we keep the wires attached to the ADCAPs. I want full control over these fish. If theHan is running, he doesn’t care if we can hear him. He’s panicked and that makes him dangerous.”
Chief Watson turned back to the Captain. “We’re getting satellite data from theWashington . They think he’s running towards some islands.”
“Robbie, retrieve the towed array. We know where he is and we may have to make some quick moves.”
* * * *
TheHan continued its beeline run. Wong resigned himself to the inevitable. The Americans had found him damaged and alone. He was far from home, and the prospect of seeing home again seemed like a distant dream. Perhaps the delivering of the toxins was a dishonorable act, and now they were being asked to pay for it. The twin demons of duty and honor were demanding penance for his deeds.
Wong shrugged. He looked at the plot table measuring the distance before he dropped to dead slow and attempted to slide out of the Gulf. Maybe they would get lucky, but the evidence of hull damage and the racket it produced had alerted the Americans.
He lifted the stopwatch that hung around his neck. His thumb flipped it on and he stared into the control room now illuminated with red lamps. A frenetic forty-five seconds had been spent to rig the damaged boat for ultra silent running. He eased into the captain’s chair and said, “Number One, on my mark turn zero-nine-zero and reduce speed to two knots.”
He glanced down at the chart and back to the stopwatch. The bottom was coming up fast on his boat. If the charts were wrong, or he misjudged the timing, the Americans would overhear the404’s keel being ripped apart on the rocky bottom.
Five more seconds.
“Number One, fire tube one.”
TheHan shuddered as a vintage Russian torpedo left the ship.
Two seconds.
“Mark.”
His Number One tapped the helmsman on the shoulder and dialed the speed down himself. TheHan glided sideways on a perpendicular course from the torpedo. Hopefully with all the noise being generated by the hull damage, the Americans would miss the torpedo noise.
The stopwatch ticked passed the mark two more times, and Wong quietly said, “Detonate.” The ship’s blade revolutions were already spinning down as he pointed the404 in a shallow dive towards theStrait .
Two thousand yards away the warhead ignited barely two fathoms above the bottom. Wong had indeed cut his margins very close. The water in the immediate vicinity of the warhead superheated into steam and the rocky bottom was pulverized by the pressure wave. The sudden creation of water vapor sent a surge of bubbles racing to the surface.
* * * *
TheViking pulled away from the tanker and rotated back over the islands where they expected theHan to emerge. The first sign of something wrong came as Hargroves pulled his headset down and stared with decided puzzlement at the ISAR computer system.
“Something’s not right,” he declared.
Tyrone turned away from his communication board. “What’re you talking about?”
Hargroves scratched his head and checked the sound signature. It had vanished from his monitors. “It sounds like he piled into the bottom, but that doesn’t make sense.”
He looked at the trace screens, and rewound a backup digital recording tape. “Here, listen to this.”
The buzz-saw sound thundered through the speakers and abruptly changed to heavy static and faded out to nothing.
“He’s gone.”
Bernie leaned back. “You saying we lost him?”
“No, I’m saying he’s gone.”
Bernie dialed up theWashington.
* * * *
Henderson was listening from a different perspective. His hands were tapping on the chrome sides of the sonar monit
or. He had his prize. It was the high-speed propeller noise that stopped his hands from tapping. His training had been on Russian torpedo noises. The US Navy had an extensive library of such noises, and Henderson had learned them all.
“Torpedo! Torpedo in the water!”
Chief Watson’s jaw dropped open. Robbie cocked his chicken neck and glanced at the chart table. They were still some forty thousand yards distant from theHan . No other boats—friend or foe—appeared on the chart table.
Andrews swung around to the weapon’s officer. “Do we have a solution?”
“Extreme range, sir. We might or might not get him.”
Robbie asked the other question: “What’s he shooting at?”
Henderson had dropped back to his hunched over gamer crouch. His eyes rattled across the threat boards, because he heard the next sound as well. “Detonation!”
Robbie leaned over the chart. He did a quick calculation based on worst case, and calculated the largest possible target area for the torpedo. Andrews glanced over his shoulder and said. “Dead slow.”
Watson walked over to the sonar cave and laid a fatherly hand on Henderson’s shoulder. “You still got him?”
Henderson held up a hand. He fiddled with some dials. Within half a minute his shoulders started to relax. “Yes,” he sighed, “Yes, I’ve still got him.” He punched a couple more buttons on the keyboard, and the new position of theHan appeared on the chart table.
Chief Watson squeezed the younger man’s shoulder. “Good work.”
Robbie examined the new vector. He drew two lines that were virtually parallel. He glanced at the large red LED numbers on the ship’s clock and did some quick math. “In about at hour, we’ll be within twenty-five thousand yards. We’ll continue to close in until we’re about three thousand yards apart. That’ll be a little more than three hours from now. ”
Andrews nodded. TheHan’s captain had gambled. He ran for the rocky shallows, fired a torpedo, and changed course. He wanted them to think he was stupid enough to drive his boat into the bottom.
“Captain, theWashington wants to know if we still have him.”
Andrews met his XO’s eyes and said, “Yes! Tell them yes, and ask them, Robbie, what they want us to do. This guy just fired a torpedo and he’s got at least five more ready to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Andrews walked across the control room to Henderson’s domain. “Can you keep him pegged?”
Henderson, forgetting it was the captain, simply said, “He’s mine—all mine.”
“Good.” Andrews had learned a long time ago not to argue with success, especially when that success might mean the difference between life and death. Henderson might be quirky, but he heard the torpedo. He heard the explosion and now he heard theHan . Something the flyboys had lost.
“Robbie, I guess we’re about thirty minutes from a decent solution?”
Robbie nodded.
“Spin up tubes three and four as well.”
* * * *
Admiral Trevor Barnes was sitting in the command chair of theWashington’s Battle Management Center. The threat boards listing all ships near theHan were painted on the blue screen that held the central view. From this room, Barnes had computer images with speed and course vectors of everything floating or flying in the Persian Gulf. He could direct any offensive or defensive action for his task force from this chair.
He took a sip from his coffee mug realizing hisVikings had lost the target, and perhaps this target was stupid enough to rip the bottom of his keel apart. Barnes did not believe in stupidity on the battlefield. There were good commanders and bad commanders, but most everyone out there had the welfare of their troops and the mission in mind. He kept a plaque on his wall that read: NEVER UNDERESTIMATE YOUR ENEMY. Barnes had stared at the plaque before coming down to the battle management center tonight.
The men playing cat and mouse out there were professionals with wives and families. Barnes had a duty to ensure they were given adequate opportunities to defend themselves, and the strange orders he had received from the Chief of Naval Operations continued to haunt his waking thoughts.
Something about thisHan boat scared the very powerful people to whom he reported. They wanted it to disappear, but not in the Gulf. He glanced back to the threat board, and the icon designated for theHan materialized on the screen. It was heading East out of the Gulf and straight towards theSpringfield .
“Where did that come from?”
“TheSpringfield still has him,” replied the watch officer.
Barnes leaned forward to get a better look at the situation. From his chair, he could dial up any part of the threat board to a monitor in front of him. He hit the appropriate keys and stared at the image. He turned to the watch officer. “What happened? TheVikings lost him and theSpringfield still has a lock?”
“According to this, they claim he fired a torpedo, detonated it, and drifted east,” explained the watch officer. “And they want to know what their orders are.”
The two boats were heading straight at each other. He knew Jeff Andrews. The man would never fire unless an attack was imminent. He was asking for orders regarding the security of his boat. Command is never an easy position. It always appears simple for those who view from their own perspectives, but now a life or death decision was required. Barnes knew what Washington wanted, and he saw the threat to one of his attack boats.
He chewed his inner cheek and sighed, “Tell theSpringfield to sink theHan. ”
* * * *
Andrews stared at the message signed by Barnes. Before him in black and white, he had his orders. Sink the Chinese boat. His emotions were a rancid mixture of relief and regret. Relief that he had authority to protect his boat, and regret that his actions would cause grief in some Chinese homes.
Robbie stood studiously at his side. Jeff pushed the transmission across the chart table. “Enter it into the log.”
“Yes, sir.”
He turned to Chief Watson. “Make sure your wonder kid understands we aren’t playing a game anymore. I want to be sure he’s listening for any counter-strike from theHan .”
Watson nodded and retreated to the sonar cave.
“Weapons!”
“Sir.”
“Do we have a solution for fish one and two?” He already knew the answer, but when firing a warshot you have to be sure.
“Solution plotted and programmed into fish one and two. Current range to target is twenty-eight-thousand-four-hundred yards.”
“Set the ADCAPs to short range attack mode and cut wires after two thousand yards.” He turned back to the plot table.
“Open outer doors.”
Like a lizard’s eyes opening, the doors on tubes one and two opened to the outer sea. The glossy black cover of the acoustic hood pointed out of the tubes, ready to fire. A Mark 48 Advance Capability torpedo is one of the most efficient weapons in the world. It is smart enough to beat most countermeasures. It can swing around for multiple attacks until it runs out of fuel, and it carries a six-hundred-fifty pound warhead of PBXN-103 explosive. It cansee through a one-hundred-eighty degree angle. TheHan was following a heading straight towards theSpringfield. There was very little to miss. The seeker heads were smart enough to feed data back to the BSY-1 fire control system. If anything, the second pair of fish in tubes three and four would be more accurate.
“Fire one. Fire Two.”
The piston engine, pump jet swirled out of tubes one and two into the dark sea. Quickly, the ADCAPs accelerated to attack speed of over sixty knots, and they began to descend on the damagedHan . The torpedo men played out the wire guidance to ensure they had an even spread towards the port side of theHan . At slightly past two thousand yards the wires were cut, and the ADCAPs shot toward destiny.
Andrews looked at the fire control panel. “Ahead ten knots. Weapons, do you have a solution for fish three and four?”
“Yes, sir.”
“No wires this time. Do we have sufficient data
from the first two fish to target theHan ?”
“Yes, sir.”
Andrews looked across to Robbie and said quietly, “Fire three and four.”
The slight shudder from the second pair of ADCAPs rumbled up to deck. Andrews checked his position on the chart table. “Close outer doors. Helm ahead flank speed, steer course three-five-five, and bring us down to four-five-zero feet.”
TheSpringfield turned away from her prey, turning north and away from the doomed Chinese boat. It was only a matter of time. Less than twelve minutes before the first pair arrived.
“Load countermeasures.”
Andrews stared hard at Henderson’s back. Chief Watson was hovering close by, but far enough away to make sure Henderson had room to do his job. Four of the smartest torpedoes in the Navy’s arsenal streaked through the midnight water. They were beyond recall.
* * * *
“Torpedoes! I have one, no, two incoming!” shouted theHan’s sonar operator.
Wong looked at the chart table. “Course and speed?”
“I have them at sixty-five knots, course one-nine-five, range ten thousand meters.” The young sonar operator turned and stared in horror at his captain.
There was no time to fire a salvo at the American submarine, if indeed there was an American submarine. He had to run and possibly pray.
“Steer course one-seven-five, ahead flank speed.” He picked up the microphone and toggled the reactor room. “I need everything you have got and more. No limits.” He dropped the microphone and wondered what the404 was capable of producing.
“Launch countermeasures.” Perhaps these were not American ADCAP torpedoes, and perhaps he would see the sun rise tomorrow. Both seemed unlikely. He picked up his stopwatch and started the timer.
TheHan rolled towards the south again—kicking away from its course—towards open water. She barely made it past twenty-five knots at flank speed. The hole in her hull simply caused too much cavitation to permit her to reach the thirty knots she was supposed to have.
Six minutes passed before the active seeker heads on the first pair of ADCAPs came to life. They began to pound theHan with active sonar pings. TheHan limped further south like a wounded deer running from a wolf pack. It was only a matter of time before the wolves cornered and killed their prey.
PointOfHonor Page 15
