Monroe Doctrine

by James Rosone

  The sonarman picked up the handset to connect him to the Conn. “Conn, Sonar. First contact is a Type 054A ASW frigate. It’s the Handan. She’s traveling in sprints, probably running ahead of the rest of the fleet, then drifting while her towed sonar array listens for enemy subs.”

  Continuing, the sonarman added, “Conn, second contact appears to be a Changhe Z-18F ASW helicopter based on the signature of the dipping sonar. This helicopter didn’t originate from the Type 054, which means there is another destroyer, carrier, or troop transport ship in the area.”

  *******

  Back on the Conn, Commander Helgeson was taking the information in as he looked at the map display of where the enemy ship was in relation to the helicopter.

  There have to be more helicopters and frigates out there, he thought.

  Placing a finger down on a position on the map, Helgeson ordered, “Move the Dallas to this location. Have the Killeen rise to periscope depth and launch a Blackwing scout drone. We need to get a better picture of the area. Also, have the Lubbock move to this location here, further away from the rest of us. If that helicopter picks them up, I want them chasing the Lubbock away from us.”

  Just as the AUV operator started issuing the new orders, the Sonar room made another announcement. “Conn, Sonar. Contact Killeen, bearing three-zero-two degrees, surface contact nineteen thousand yards off her bow. Type 001 carrier. It’s the Liaoning, sir. She’s making a lot of noise traveling at flank speed.”

  Before Commander Helgeson could begin to formulate a response to the discovery of an enemy carrier, the sonar room called out another target. This time the pitch in the man’s voice gave away his increasing stress level.

  “Conn, Sonar. Second contact! Three-one-zero degrees, surface contact, eighteen thousand, eight hundred yards. Contact is Type 075 landing helicopter dock.”

  The sailors and officers working the Conn all shared a nervous glance. This was a big find. Not only had they stumbled into the path of a carrier, they’d also spotted the Chinese Navy’s first-ever helicopter assault ship. This was their version of the American Wasps or the American-class ships the Marines used.

  Under normal circumstances, a submarine traveling alone would need to come to periscope depth to make a visual ID of the contact; then they could designate it a Master contact for targeting purposes. The integration of the Orcas, however, had changed all of that. Since there was no crew on the Orcas, they were not only a weapons platform, they also contained more sonar, radar, and ESM capabilities. It wasn’t that they were disposable in a battle, but if one was lost, it wasn’t like they had lost a $3.4 billion sub with a crew of 135 sailors. The Orca’s onboard systems stored the acoustic libraries of every allied and enemy ship recorded, which allowed the Orca’s targeting computer to classify which enemy ships posed the greatest threat to itself or the mission and prioritize those ships to be engaged first. In seconds, they could identify and engage multiple targets with their inventory of torpedoes and underwater-launched cruise missiles.

  Information was coming in fast, especially once the Killeen rose to periscope level and launched the Blackwing. In the first sixty seconds after the drone was airborne, they had a full picture of the enemy fleet approaching them. It was impressive. It was also more than they could possibly engage on their own and survive.

  Helgeson started processing the information as it came in. Rubbing his chin, he drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment before he spoke softly to himself. “Work the problem in front of you, don’t get bogged down by what isn’t important.”

  “Sonar, Conn. Designate Killeen contacts Sierra 1 and 2,” he ordered.

  “OC2, bring Killeen to periscope depth again and get us a three-sixty scan. Once complete, have her lay a spread of mines across their advance, then have her drop below the thermocline and loiter.”

  “Aye-aye, sir,” said the Orca controlman as he rapidly began sending commands to the Killeen.

  Twenty minutes later, Commander Helgeson walked to the plotting table and began drawing lines from the approximate location of the Chinese vessels to the Texas and her Orcas. He motioned for the XO to come over. Evans tilted her head and raised an eyebrow inquisitively as he drew a red line on the virtual display screen.

  “XO, now that the enemy has crossed the line of control, it appears the war has officially started. It’s my intent to get this ship into the fight on our terms.” He picked up the mic and called for the ship’s Weapons, Navigation, Sonar, Engineering and OC2 officers to join him at the plot table. When everyone arrived moments later, he laid out his plan.

  Looking his officers and senior enlisted sailors in the eyes, he began, “When we left port, we knew the likelihood of war was high. The other day, the XO and I received a coded message, telling us that when the Chinese warships cross the Clipperton-Galapagos Line, it meant any last-minute diplomacy had failed. The ships are now to be classified as hostile and should be prosecuted with extreme prejudice.”

  He sighed briefly. “This fleet is obviously on a path to the Panama Canal. There’s no way our government can allow the Chinese to transit this many warships into the Caribbean. We also have no idea if those troops will be used to seize control of the Canal Zone or if they’ll be used to reinforce their positions in Cuba or Venezuela. Engaging them here, now…has to happen.”

  The officers standing around the digital plot table nodded slowly as they realized the gravity of the situation. The importance of the mission was dawning on them, but so was the reality that they might not survive it.

  Helgeson then pointed to a position on the plot. Everyone’s eyes followed, and a look of surprise appeared when they saw the image appear on the digital table.

  It displayed satellite imagery from above the Chinese fleet that was rapidly approaching their trap. The image had been downloaded and relayed by laser from the Dallas Orca that was fifteen hundred yards to their northwest at periscope depth.

  This information confirmed what the USS Maine had reported two days earlier. The Maine had been on patrol below the Tropic of Cancer and picked up a screen of three Chinese submarines that were rigged for quiet and lurking about ten nautical miles ahead of a fleet of Chinese warships traveling at flank speed.

  The Maine’s skipper, Captain Dale Redding, had gone nearly to his crush depth and turned his boat into a black hole in the water as the Chinese subs passed over. She’d stayed at ultraquiet until she’d identified every ship in the Chinese fleet and determined with certainty that they were headed toward the Clipperton-Galapagos Line.

  As the officers took the data in, Helgeson said confidently, “I intend to engage the Chinese here.”

  He pointed to a position on the plot that was, at its deepest point, nearly seven thousand meters deep. It was roughly in the center of the line between Clipperton Island and the Galapagos Islands.

  Noticing the puzzled look on the face of his Navigation officer, Lieutenant Francisco Allen, Helgeson explained, “The CNO sortied the Pacific fleet above the equator and shifted a lot of firepower in the direction of Guam. This forced the Chinese to vector their fleet south to avoid our carriers if they still wanted to head to the Panama Canal. It was believed this would buy us some additional time for diplomacy to work. It obviously didn’t, so here we are. The Texas just gets the dubious distinction of being first in the chute to hit them.”

  Helgeson paused for effect, letting those words sink in. He wanted them to know all options had been explored before it had been determined that force would be required. He needed them to accept that war was now the only option. This way, they wouldn’t have any hesitation.

  “Folks, the Chinese gave us no choice. We will defend our nation and we will do our duty. To that end, we will put as many of these ships on the bottom as we can.”

  Expanding the digital view, Helgeson went back in time to show the course changes of the Chinese ships. Since they’d left their home port for open water, the fleet had moved steadily south by southeast
at full ahead. They had originally been heading to Guam; then they’d changed course when a regiment of Marines had flown to the island and beefed its defenses up.

  Speeding the projection up, the plot showed where the Texas and the Chinese fleet would converge at his red line. His plan was simple yet aggressive; the Dallas, Lubbock and the Texas would form a line in the ocean at varied depths, with tubes flooded and outer doors open.

  Helgeson then explained how he wanted the rest of the battle to play out. The Texas would be lying in wait, ready to attack as soon as the Liaoning, the first carrier in the People’s Liberation Army Navy, was two thousand yards off their bow. Then they would hit them from near point-blank range, leaving them no chance to counter their attack.

  Then Commander Helgeson explained what he wanted one of the Orcas to do. “The Killeen,” he said, pointing to where it was located, directly in the path of the enemy fleet, “is to lie dormant beneath the thermocline. Keep its passive sonar set to bring her back to life when its magnetic sensors register the carrier. Once it goes active, it needs to launch its noisemakers, which will mimic the acoustic signature of the Virginia-class attack boats. When the Chinese realize they have two Virginias inside their protective bubble, their ASW assets will go crazy. The fleet will go to flank speed and all that noise will mask what will happen next.

  “Once those distractions are launched, slowly raise the Killeen above the thermocline and target the trailing Shang-class sub with two Mk 48 Mod 7 torpedoes and two Mk 54 ultra-lightweight torpedoes. That sub needs to be taken out at all costs to the Killeen if necessary. If the Killeen survives the engagement, then reposition it to reattack the Chinese fleet from the aft position. Understood?”

  The officer and enlisted Orca operators nodded in acknowledgment.

  Helgeson saw everyone was hanging on his every word, waiting to hear the rest of the battle plan. He continued, “Once the Killeen initiates her attack, it will kick up a storm of activity among the enemy fleet. When that happens, the Texas and remaining Orcas will launch a total of eight Mk 48 Mod 7 torpedoes at the carrier Liaoning, the frigate Handan, and the troop landing ship Wutai Shan.

  “Once our torpedoes are in the water, the Texas will launch a salvo of twelve of our Block IV Tomahawks straight at the Liaoning and that new Type 55 destroyer, the Nanchang. After our weapons are away, we need to drop a noisemaker and then sprint like hell out of the attack box and put some distance between them and us. Once we’ve evaded them, then we’ll reassess the effectiveness of the attack and reposition to repeat it if possible.”

  No one said anything right away. They all just stared at the plot table, running through the scenarios in their minds.

  Finally, Helgeson asked, “Questions? If you have them, now is the time to ask.”

  The sonar officer spoke up first. “Sir, when we launch all those weapons, there will be a whole lot of noise. I’m concerned about the Chinese sub screen. At present speed and probable bearing, they’ll be in our vicinity about an hour before the surface ships enter our kill box. Once we fire, we’re sitting ducks—they’ll light us up.”

  Helgeson smiled and looked at the XO, who nodded. Evans answered, “That’s a good question. Once we launch our missiles, we use the Orcas to make a hell of a lot of noise while we sprint to the thermocline and head to our max depth at speed. Once beneath the layer, we go ultraquiet and evade.”

  Helgeson interjected, “If we come out unscathed, we make our way to Isla Socorro. It seems the almighty American dollar still has weight there because the Mexican government allowed us to set up a naval replenishment station on the island. There’s also a squadron of Super Hornets and ASW birds at the airfield. Once our attack happens, the Super Hornets will engage them and get us a solid battle damage assessment of our attack.”

  Next, Lieutenant Adam Watts, the boat’s weapons officer, spoke. “Skipper, if we fire the Tomahawks at the same time as the torpedoes, we’ll have to cut the wires to the Mk 48s and let them acquire on their own right off the bat. Attacking within two thousand yards with the Tomahawks barely gives them enough time to break through the water and transition to their rocket motor and acquire their target.”

  Lieutenant Commander Evans responded, “Weps, we leave the wires attached until the VLS doors close. That will take approximately ten seconds. By then, the Mk 48s will have acquired their targets and will have less than fifty-six seconds left on their track until they hit their targets. If all goes well and Murphy’s Law doesn’t kick us in the ass, we shoot, we dive, and we run.”

  Commander Helgeson looked each of them in the eyes. He liked what he saw. Their eyes displayed the fear he’d expected, but behind that fear, he saw steadfast determination. He was sure of his crew, and he was damn sure of the Texas. What he wasn’t sure of was everything else, but that was a problem for tomorrow.

  If there is a tomorrow.

  Commander Helgeson shook off that thought of doubt. “XO, bring the ship to battle stations quiet,” he ordered.

  “Aye, sir. Officer of the Deck, bring the ship to battle stations quiet.”

  “Battle stations quiet, aye.”

  The crew sprang into action. The boat was rigged for quiet running, and everything that could possibly make noise was secured. The weapons officer had checked and rechecked the weapons aboard—every weapon on the Texas was ready to close with the Chinese ships and put them on the bottom.

  Commander Helgeson leaned against the bulkhead next to the OC2 station. He glanced up at the timer above the weapons station. It was counting down until the Texas, Dallas and Lubbock would cross their red line. A second timer counted down until the Chinese ships arrived. They would reach the red line in exactly three hours; the fight would begin an hour after that.

  Helgeson remembered a line from the poem “Antigonish” about a man who wasn’t there. He planned for the Texas to be the man who wasn’t there.

  “XO, I’m going to the wardroom for some chow. Then I’m taking a ninety-minute nap. You have the Conn.”

  “Aye, sir, I have the Conn,” replied Evans.

  With that, he walked out of the Conn and down the passageway, out of sight.

  *******

  Lieutenant Commander Evans stood, a little amazed that Commander Helgeson would leave the Conn hours before the fight of their lives. Then again, she realized it was the theater of command. She knew he probably wouldn’t sleep, but the crew needed to know or at least believe the Skipper had ice running through his veins.

  She gripped the plot table to steady herself as she took in a slow, deep breath. The weight of what was coming hit her like a freight train, and she suddenly understood why Commander Helgeson had left the Conn, if only for a couple of hours. A tap on her shoulder brought her back from the precipice.

  “Excuse me, ma’am, um… I think you should, um…”

  It was one of the junior sonarmen. She had to use her peripheral vision to read his name tape.

  “What is it, Petty Officer Allen?” Evans replied.

  “Well, ma’am, it’s the imagery from earlier. There’s something on it that—well, it’s damn odd is all,” replied Petty Officer Allen.

  “Sailor, I don’t have the time for odd. If you have a point to make, now is better than later.” She instantly felt bad for snapping at him and was about to apologize when the COB walked up to the plot.

  “Allen, if you’ve got something, let’s have it.” The COB towered over them both, his easy smile diffusing the immediate tension.

  “Yes, right. So, if you look at the Liaoning”—Petty Officer Allen pointed to the carrier as he unrolled his printed copy—“it’s clear from her wake that she’s making full ahead, at least thirty-one knots, but what caught my eye is this ship in her wake.” He shuffled through a couple more images, then dropped them all on the floor.

  COB put a hand on the XO’s shoulder, probably trying to keep her calm. She didn’t look at him but allowed a slight smile to cross her lips as PO Allen put his images back on th
e plot.

  “Sorry, XO. Here—this ship. It looks like a new warship we haven’t encountered before. It looks almost like that Russian battle cruiser the Kirov, but it’s new and way more modern,” the sailor said.

  “That can’t be. If the Chinese developed a new warship, we would have heard about it,” Evans countered. “Plus the Maine would have captured their acoustics when the fleet passed over them.”

  “They did capture it. We didn’t know what it was. They classified it as an unknown. But now that we have some satellite imagery of the fleet, we can see the unknown acoustic sound is this large ship,” Allen exclaimed confidently.

  “OK, Allen, you’ve got my attention. So you think this is a new battle cruiser?” asked the XO with genuine interest.

  “It has to be, ma’am. I’ve run the acoustic signature through the computers. I even sent it to the Killeen to run it through ‘Big Brain.’ The closest acoustic approximation, and I triple-checked it, is a Kirov-class battle cruiser.”

  The COB let out an audible breath, and Evans nodded in acceptance of the information.

  The Russian Navy’s Kirov-class battle cruiser was a beast, one of the largest warships on the seas, second only to an American carrier.

  No, this clearly isn’t a Kirov. Could it…? Evans contemplated. Did the Chinese Navy just sneak a new warship onto the seas before this war started?

  Petty Officer Allen had made his point and provided them with enough logic that it was hard to dispute that this was most likely a completely new enemy warship. Evans regarded Allen for a moment—his initial nervousness had been replaced with absolute certainty. The Texas had enough problems to worry about, but she didn’t want to dismiss this outright.

  “OK, Allen, you’ve sold me. Designate contact Sierra 4. Keep monitoring it. We’ll know soon enough what this new ship is as it gets closer to us.”

  Petty Officer Allen gathered his things and headed back to the sonar room. As she looked around the Conn, she could feel the tension building in the room. The crew of the Texas was capable—every sailor aboard knew their job—yet none of them had ever engaged a peer or near-peer enemy in combat. She had a gnawing feeling that in exactly four and a half hours, life would change for everyone.