by James Rosone
A steward handed her a steaming cup of coffee and she lowered herself into the captain’s chair. She knew in her heart that she wanted to command a boat of her own one day; she was ashamed to admit to herself that she was glad it wasn’t today.
*******
Commander Helgeson had his feet on the desk in his stateroom. He was listening to Ann and Nancy Wilson’s rendition of “Stairway to Heaven” from their performance at the Kennedy Center honoring Led Zeppelin—in his mind, this version was superior to the original, though he’d never admit it aloud.
He read his mission orders again. He was taking the Texas into harm’s way, and the outcome was far from certain. He was, however, certain that a few hours from now, the USS Texas would be sending hundreds of Chinese sailors to the bottom of the ocean. He also knew if he made even one mistake, the men and women aboard the Texas would join them.
He stood and splashed some water on his face and drank the last dregs of his coffee. Looking at his watch, he had forty-five seconds until his alarm went off, which meant he had exactly two minutes and fifteen seconds to get to the Conn.
Opening the door to his stateroom, he looked at a picture above his desk of “the one he’d let get away.” Maybe after this patrol, he’d call her. Then again, maybe not. He smiled at an old memory, then turned off his lights and headed to war.
As he passed by sailors in the passageway, he smiled reassuringly at them and patted a few of the more junior crewmembers on the shoulder. The more of them he saw, the more determined he became. No matter what happened, he would not let them down.
“XO, I have the Conn,” he announced as he walked on the Conn.
“Captain has the Conn.”
Lieutenant Commander Evans stood as Commander Helgeson sat in his chair. Then he looked at the ship’s status report she’d handed him.
The time passed faster than anyone would have imagined as Helgeson and the bridge crew played scenario after scenario, trying to anticipate every possibility and make contingencies for them. Petty Officer Allen’s discovery was presented to Helgeson, who agreed it was odd, but like the XO, Helgeson knew it didn’t matter. Whatever it was, it was headed their way and they’d know soon enough what kind of ship it was.
“Sonar, Conn. Distance to Sierra 1?”
“Conn, Sonar. Sierra 1 is four thousand yards and closing.”
“Sonar, Conn. Distance to Sierra 2?”
“Conn, Sonar. Sierra 2 is three thousand, eight hundred yards and closing.”
“Sonar, Conn. Designate Sierra 1 and Sierra 2 Master 1, Type 001 Liaoning and Master 2, Type 072A Wutai Shan.”
“Conn, Sonar. Designate Sierra 1 and 2 Master 1 and 2, aye.”
Helgeson turned to his weapons officer, who gave the report. “Sir, tubes one through four flooded and outer doors open. VLS tubes opened. All weapons ready in all respects.”
Then Commander Helgeson looked at the Orca Control for their report. “Sir, Dallas and Lubbock are each five hundred yards off our port and starboard, outer doors open and all weapons ready in all respects. Killeen reports only sporadic contact with the Type 93.”
“Conn, Sonar. Contact, designate Sierra 3 is approaching Killeen’s mines!”
This was it. The Texas was about to start a shooting war with China.
The US Navy, in anticipation of a conflict with the PLAN, had resurrected the CAPTOR underwater mines and upgraded them to use the Mk 54 ultra-lightweight Mod 7 torpedoes. These advanced weapons had been laid by the Orcas along the projected trajectory of advancing ships. They had been placed in pods of four and could be programmed to attack single or multiple targets. They wouldn’t do the damage the heavier Mk 48s could, but they could still hurt a ship or take out an enemy sub.
“OC2, Conn. Launch the mines!”
“Conn, OC2. Launch the mines, aye!”
The OC2 weapons control technician pressed the weapons release button on his console, which sent the signal to the Orca, which in turn launched the mines from their position seventeen hundred feet beneath the Chinese ships. Once the torpedoes were ejected from the pod, they went into active homing mode.
The Orca’s “Big Brain” turned its own active sonar on and directed the salvo of torpedoes at the contact designated Master 3, a Type 52D destroyer. It took the Mk 54s less than five seconds to achieve terminal homing.
“Conn, Sonar. Three impacts on Master 3. The ship is slowing.”
“Sonar, Conn. Acknowledged. Distance to contacts Master 1 and 2?”
“Conn, Sonar. Master 1 is thirteen hundred yards, Master 2 is eleven hundred yards. Minimal change to direction.”
“Sonar, Conn. Acknowledged.”
Helgeson clicked start on his stopwatch and checked the plot. Before he could speak, the sound of active sonars hit the hull of the Texas. A loud echoing pinging noise reverberated throughout the ship.
“Damn it,” Helgeson cursed softly to himself.
“Conn, Sonar. Enemy fleet is actively homing!”
“Sonar, Conn. Acknowledged. Maneuvering ahead full! Weps, final bearings and fire!”
“Firing, aye!”
“Weps, get those damn VLS doors closed! Torpedo room, reload and prepare to snap-shoot tubes one and three on my command!”
“Conn, Torpedo. Aye, Skipper.”
The Texas shuddered as her four Mk 48s and twelve Tomahawk cruise missiles launched simultaneously. The OC2 technician reported that the Dallas and Lubbock had fired their torpedoes at precisely the same time. All three submarines launched countermeasures and noisemakers to confuse the sonars of the Chinese ships.
Suddenly the ship was hit with a sonar ping unlike anything they’d previously heard.
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedoes in the water! Actively homing! Distance thirteen hundred yards, bearing one-two-zero degrees!”
Helgeson’s immediate thought was to wonder how in the hell torpedoes had gotten behind them. Before he could ask the question, the sonar room gave him the answer.
“Conn, Sonar. Splashes in the water, more torpedoes dead astern, distance eleven hundred yards and closing!”
“Launch countermeasures, right full rudder, thirty degrees down on the planes, ahead flank!”
The helm responded and the boat tilted downwards as her speed increased. The sounds of sonar pings bouncing off the hull grew in intensity. Helgeson looked at his stopwatch as it counted down from five seconds.
Despite the sound of the active sonar pings, they all heard massive explosions as the eight Mk 48s and twelve Tomahawks found their targets.
Helgeson knew if they fired their weapons at near point-blank, they couldn’t miss, and the Chinese wouldn’t have the time to react.
“Conn, Sonar. Master 1 is breaking apart! Master 2 is dead in the water and sinking!”
“Sonar, Conn. Distance to Master 1?”
“Conn, Sonar. Distance to Master thirteen hundred yards on current bearing.”
“Conn, Sonar! Sierra 4 is bearing toward us. That destroyer is dropping depth charges!”
“Sonar, Conn. Designate Sierra 4, Master 4. Weps, snap-shoot tubes one and three along Master 4’s bearing! Helm, fifteen-degree up angle and take us directly at Master 2, ahead flank!”
The XO and the COB snapped their heads toward Helgeson in shock, not immediately understanding what he was doing.
“Sir! Master 2 is breaking apart. We may get hit by the debris.”
“XO, we have torpedoes about to climb up our backside in sixty seconds from two different directions, we don’t—”
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM!!!
Helgeson was cut off as four depth charges detonated around the Texas. Everyone in the Conn that wasn’t seated was thrown to the deck; bolts on the bulkhead exploded and ricocheted in the compartment.
The junior officer of the deck’s head was split open as he smashed into the secondary plot table. The compartment went dark for a moment until the emergency lights came on. The COB helped the XO back to her feet.
“OC2, get t
he Lubbock behind us. Make her loud! Let’s see if we can get some of those torpedoes to lock onto her!” Helgeson shouted to be heard over the high-pressure water and alarm bells going off on the Conn.
The OC2 controlman shouted over the noise as he worked his controls to vector the Lubbock between the Texas and the certain death that had acquired them.
“Conn, Sonar. First torpedo evaded by Master 4, second torpedo hit her amidship. Debris from Master 1 is right on top of us!”
Above the noise of the impact of the Mk 48 hitting Master 4 and the torpedoes homing in, Helgeson could hear the sounds of the Chinese carrier breaking apart above them. He had a split second to make a decision that could very well kill them all.
“Helm, right full rudder, twenty-degree up angle, slow to one-third!”
“Right full rudder, twenty degree up, slow to one-third, aye!”
The Texas groaned and lurched to the right in a rapid course change. Debris that had been jarred loose from the depth charges clattered to the deck. Suddenly, the boat was violently impacted by debris from the Liaoning that was still slipping beneath the waves. Parts of the carrier impacted with the Texas aft of the sail and forced the boat downward under its weight. The massive chunk of ship that hit them forced the bow of the boat to angle upward at nearly forty degrees.
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedoes—”
Two massive explosions rocked the Texas as the torpedoes detonated into the debris field from the Liaoning. The explosions were followed by two more explosions as two more torpedoes exploded from the shockwave of the detonations.
The deck of the Texas felt like a terrible earthquake was beneath them. She groaned beneath the weight of the debris from the Liaoning. Damage reports were coming in from all departments. Flooding reported in Engineering, port VLS tubes crushed and damage to torpedo tubes one and three, along with significant damage to the spherical array.
“Engineering, Conn. Get that damn flooding under control. I’m about to take us deep. I need everything you can give me on the reactor!”
“Conn, Engineering. Aye!”
“Conn, Sonar. Master 4’s remaining torpedoes have gone passive, sir. They lost us in the noise!”
“Helm, follow the debris down, match speed and get us the hell out of here!”
Sounds of depth charges exploding above them faded as the sounds of chunks of the Liaoning breaking apart all around them grew louder. More of the sealed compartments of the carrier were starting to implode as the ship sank deeper in the water.
The torpedoes that had almost sent them to the bottom circled above, looking for them like dogs angrily circling a yard. Helgeson surveyed the Conn. Technicians were wiping condensation from their display screens, running diagnostic tests to ensure their equipment was functioning.
He motioned for the COB and the XO to join him at the plot. He placed his hand on the table, only to see that he’d placed it in a puddle of blood from where the junior OOD had hit his head. He wiped it on his coveralls and adjusted the digital display to what he was looking for.
Joining them at the plot were the OC2 Chief Petty Officer and PO Allen.
“XO, status of the boat?” Helgeson’s tone sounded harsher than he wanted it to, but given the circumstances, he knew she’d let it pass.
“Sir, Engineering has stopped the flooding and repaired the damage, but we absolutely cannot take another beating like that,” Evans replied.
“Good, I intend to go deep and creep us the hell out of here. We’re going above crush depth and remain rigged for ultraquiet.” Looking at the COB, Helgeson continued, “Keep the speed at five knots since we’ve lost about sixty percent capability of the spherical array—we need to stay quiet. Keep the Lubbock above and ahead of us and the towed array secure for now. We’ll use Dallas in its place.”
The COB nodded and left to set Helgeson’s plan in motion.
“Allen, please tell me you were able to record Master 4?”
“Yes, sir. I sent the track to the comms officer. It will be pushed during our next transmission to Pearl. Once the shooting started, Naval Intelligence should have overhead recordings of the engagement. Whatever Master 4 is, it’s new.”
Helgeson took a moment to let that sink in. The Texas had launched a perfect ambush, but Master 4 was one tough ship and she’d nearly done them in. He tucked that away in the back of his mind, but he wanted another go at this mystery ship.
“XO, with the spherical degradation until we reach Isla Socorro, keep this boat quiet. I don’t like having to rely on the hull arrays and the Orcas.”
“Aye, Skipper, I’ll put the kids to bed and turn down the lights.”
Helgeson smiled at his XO. She’d gotten her sense of humor back, and after what they’d just been through, that was a good thing. The Officer of the Deck handed Helgeson a report of the action. He scanned it quickly and raised an eyebrow when he reached the end. The OOD nodded and smiled.
“Congrats, Skipper.”
The XO took the report Helgeson had handed her and ran her hand through her hair. “Sir, you sank over a hundred thousand tons of Chinese vessels. You’re officially the first submarine ace since World War II.”
Helgeson looked around the compartment and saw the sailors in the Conn looking at him and beaming with pride. He couldn’t help but think of the thousands of Chinese sailors he’d been responsible for killing. He quickly put that out of his mind. This was war, and it was either them or the Texas. Shaking his head, he smiled at them.
“Don’t mess with Texas.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Murphy’s Law
HS9 Deepwater Platform
13.3 Nautical Miles North by Northwest of Havana, Cuba
The tension in the sub was thick as the operators made last-minute checks to their gear and weapons. After three days of being cooped up in this sub, it was finally time to get this show started. The war had begun, and it was now their task to secure these oil platforms before they could be turned into an environmental disaster.
“Commander Jankowski, we’re in position, your teams can exfil,” the sub commander said as he poked his head into the chamber with the waiting Special Operators.
Jankowski looked up at the captain. “Roger that. Thanks for the ride, sir. Good luck on your next mission after we leave.”
The captain gave him a slight smile as he turned away to head back to the Conn.
Commander Walt “Jank” Jankowski turned to look at the two platoons of thirty-two SEALs and the eight EOD techs that’d be accompanying them. “This is it,” he announced, just loud enough for them to hear. “We’re in position. Remember your training. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast. Let’s secure this rig before they even know what’s happening.”
Nods and a few oorahs were the only reply he got as the operators climbed into the decompression chamber. This chamber connected them to the sub’s twin hangars and their pre-positioned equipment within.
Jank was last to climb into the chamber, making sure the first platoon of operators was fully loaded before he joined them. As the commander of SEAL Team Two, he wanted to lead by example, and that meant being in the first wave of operators to hit the platform. They needed to neutralize the guards quickly and prevent them from blowing the pipes that connected it to the oil well hundreds of feet below on the ocean’s floor. If they failed, the soldiers on the rig could unleash an environmental disaster on the southern coast of Florida that could rival the BP oil spill.
Once everyone settled into the decompression chamber and donned their scuba gear, they flooded the chamber and the hangar. A few minutes later, the operators moved into the hangar and began the process of getting the outer door opened and their equipment ready to move.
When the door was fully opened, they pushed the SEAL delivery vehicle out. They’d attached most of their equipment to it because they didn’t need to ride on it. Once the team was outside the hangar, they began a slow and cautious ascent to the surface above them.
Looking ab
ove him, Jank saw they were officially underneath the target—Havana-Scarabeo-9 or HS9 as they were calling it. The latest imagery and SIGINT confirmed the Chinese had taken over the operations of the rig. Virtually all personnel aboard were either Chinese or Cuban military, so anyone they encountered would be hostile. Taking this rig was the first step in preparation for the invasion of Cuba and the removal of the Chinese forces from residence on the island.
There were three major oil platforms anchored in the Straits of Florida. They were also directly in the path of the invasion force. While Jank’s team hit this rig, the rest of Team Two would be hitting the others.
Poking his head above the water, Jank found the sea was somewhat calm. It was still dark out, cloudy with a slight mist of rain falling. This meant they wouldn’t have to deal with the moon or the stars giving their position away.
One of the squads of operators moved toward the anchor leg they’d eventually have to scale. They kept their weapons trained up as they did their best to scan for booby traps and possible tripwires that’d alert the enemy to their presence. The EOD techs began their checks. Two of the eight divers swam to each of the platform’s legs and examined them for explosives. They scanned the main pipe that led from the rig and pumps directly down to the oil well on the ocean floor as well. They wanted to make sure the Chinese or Cubans hadn’t attached explosives to the well via a command wire, ready to blow if the rig came under attack.
Jank’s plan to take this rig was textbook SEAL. It consisted of a rapid and simultaneous envelopment of the target via ascension from the sea on all four legs of the platform. It would give no warning to the defenders and no chance to blow any charges if they pulled it off. The order of the day was violence of action, to kill or subdue all personnel aboard and prevent the platform from being destroyed or severely damaged.
The only easy day was yesterday, Jank thought as the operators went to work on their individual tasks.
