by James Rosone
“Lieutenant, I know, I know! This could be important, ma’am. I know what I heard. Just give me…”
He trailed off and stared intently at his screen, tilting his head as if confused, and suddenly he turned to Lieutenant Mills.
“Missile in the water!” Manny shouted.
Mills didn’t have time to think. She launched flares, cut the dipper, and accelerated to full military power. Rather than gain altitude and evade, she nosed down and headed for the deck.
“Hang on!” Mills grunted as the helo pitched forward.
“Benfold, Seahawk, we are under attack! Trying to evade!” shouted the copilot into the radio.
Manny looked out the starboard door and saw the missile. It had arced high into the air and shot through the space they had occupied seconds before. As Mills dove for the ocean, she gained speed, but Manny knew it wouldn’t be enough.
He watched in horror as the missile corrected its course and headed straight for the helo. For some reason, Manny couldn’t look away. The last sound he heard was Lieutenant Mills saying, “I’m sorry.”
The missile impacted forward of the rear fuselage. The sixty-nine pounds of armor-piercing high-explosives detonated, vaporizing Petty Officer Third Class Martinez instantly. The overpressure from the detonation ripped the helicopter in half and ignited the remaining JP5 in the internal fuel tanks. What little remained of the helo fell to the ocean in a fiery heap.
*******
USS Maine
“Battle stations!”
The crew of the Maine sprang to life as they prepared the boat for combat. The tension had been building as the crew hunted for the Chinese submarine. The pressure and anxiety had gotten worse when they’d begun to wonder who was hunting who.
“Sonar, Conn, distance and bearing to that explosion?”
“Conn, Sonar, distance eight thousand, three hundred yards, bearing two-eight-seven degrees.”
“Maneuvering, Conn. Set course two-eight-seven degrees, make your speed ten knots, set your depth to three-fifty feet.”
“Conn, Maneuvering. Set course two-eight-seven degrees, speed ten knots, make depth three-five-zero feet, aye.”
“XO, COB, get the crew ready. We will find that Chinese submarine.”
“Sonar, Conn. I need you to find that submarine, son. I need you to find it now!”
“Conn, Sonar. Aye, Skipper, we’re working on it.”
*******
USS Benfold
The combat information center of the Benfold was a hive of energy. Commander Bell set the ship to battle stations, as did Commander Wade. Okinawa was redirecting a couple of P3 Orions to come over and assist them.
So far, they hadn’t had any luck in finding that damned elusive Chinese submarine. It had shot down their helo, and they were livid. Between the Benfold and the Stethem, they’d launched two hundred additional sonobuoys. The only result they had to show for it so far was the final words of what Petty Officer Martinez had said he thought he’d heard—something that sounded like a torpedo accelerating to its terminal run and then disappearing.
Commander Bell sat in her chair on the bridge. She looked into her empty coffee mug, realizing she’d had too much caffeine. Her head pounded from a stress-induced headache that was quickly turning into a migraine. She’d lost three members of her crew and there was no sign of that damn Chinese sub. She felt the anger fueling her migraine and took a long, slow, deep breath.
Everyone on board was on edge. There was no trace of that submarine whatsoever. The N2 could provide no information about the SLAM, or Submarine Launched Anti-Aircraft Missile. They had been caught completely by surprise by its sudden appearance. The aircrews were spooked. They were now taking extra precautions. Yet the fact remained that the sub that had launched it remained undetected.
*******
Type 95A
“Enable the decoys. Simulate torpedo salvos at the destroyers. When they make their evasion turns, fire tubes one and two. Passive homing until they are within one thousand yards, then go active homing and sever the wires,” Captain Lee ordered calmly, as if this were just another simulation and not the real thing.
The various stations, officers, and enlisted acknowledged the orders and put the attack plan into motion. Soon, they’d learn if their captain and that damned AI supercomputer were as smart as they all hoped.
Since the modified YJ-7 had taken out the American helicopter screening for the destroyers, the Changzheng had maintained twenty knots and had thus far remained undetected by their prey.
Lee watched his crew with pride. Every person was methodically running through their specific tasks just like they had trained and drilled for so many months prior. Looking at them and the technology they were employing made him swell up with pride. He was truly commanding one of the most powerful warships ever built.
Still, in the back of his mind, he harbored some doubts. The boasting Submarine Bureau proclaimed the Changzheng to be the most advanced submarine ever built. They’d spared no expense putting this boat to sea ahead of schedule and with the most advanced weapons China had ever produced. When Lee unleashed this sub on the Americans, there was no turning back.
The Changzheng or “Long March” would continue across the ocean to the very doorstep of the Americas. At least that was what he told the crew publicly. Still, privately, he couldn’t help but wonder if, like the Japanese had in 1941, they were awakening a sleeping giant.
*******
USS Stethem
“Bridge, CIC! Cavitation, two Type 93 submarines. Designated Sierra 1 and Sierra 2, bearing two-two-zero degrees and two-six-five degrees!” the tactical operations officer shouted excitedly.
“CIC, Bridge. Very well. Alert the Benfold, prepare to prosecute the target!”
“Bridge, CIC. Torpedoes in the water! Same bearing.”
“Ahead flank, right full rudder, fire decoys!” Commander Wade steadied himself on an overhead handrail as he felt the ship accelerate and angle into the turn.
Damn, how did they get in range of their torpedoes so fast? he thought.
*******
USS Benfold
The klaxon for general quarters blared throughout the ship, and Commander Bell dropped her coffee cup to the floor as she entered the CIC.
The TAO shouted, “Fire the ASROCs at the bearing of those Type 93s! Ahead flank, right full rudder!”
Benfold lurched forward as the ship increased speed and made a tight turn. The deck of the ship shuddered twice as the antisubmarine rockets fired off at the enemy threats.
As Commander Bell tried to steady herself and make her way over to her chair, she scanned the room to find her TAO had taken charge of the situation just as she had trained him. The man was standing at the sonar station, a puzzled expression on his face as he tried to understand what he was looking at.
“TAO, SITREP!” Bell demanded anxiously as she started walking toward the sonar station. The ship had stabilized now that they were no longer in a tight turn at flank speed.
“Ma’am, we hear the Type 93s, and the fish they put in the water, but we can’t track them from the original bearing. It’s like the torpedoes left the tubes and just… stayed there.”
“What? That doesn’t make sense. Get me a definitive fix on those boats, and their fish, and do it now!”
*******
Type 95A
A broad smile crept across Captain Lee’s face. Jade Dragon had predicted the actions of the American destroyers and their captains almost flawlessly.
As soon as they increased their speed to flank, he launched his wake-homing torpedoes. The wires were still attached, and they were moments away from going active on the two destroyers. They had taken the bait, and he was about to unleash the first-ever YU-9 torpedo on the West.
In its current mode, it would home in on the wake of a ship. When its magnetic sensors were in close enough proximity to its target, the wires would be severed, and it would go to active homing. The second phase of the t
orpedo would then kick in. It would accelerate to its maximum speed of nearly sixty knots. Once this happened, there would be no escaping. When the warhead impacted against the ship, the chemical mixture in its warhead was designed to burn right through the aluminum and steel of a vessel at more than two thousand degrees centigrade.
The weapons officer standing near Lee confirmed it; each torpedo had acquired its intended target. Lee ordered the wires cut and listened as they went into active homing, each less than 1,100 yards from their targets. The weapons officer gave him one last status report and confirmed the weapons were actively homing and accelerating. The XO instructed the torpedo room to load all tubes and keep all outer doors opened when complete. Once the destroyers were dealt with, the Maine was next.
*******
USS Stethem
“Bridge, CIC, torpedoes in the water! Bearing one-nine-five degrees, distance one thousand, one hundred yards and closing at fifty-five… correction, fifty-nine knots!”
“Launch countermeasures! Left full rudder!” Commander Wade did the math. At 1,100 yards, a torpedo traveling that fast would be on them in thirty seconds.
“CIC, Bridge, report bearing for the first torpedo!”
“Bridge, CIC, the first torpedo is gone, sir. It disappeared!”
That made no sense to Wade. How could a torpedo disappear? Then it dawned on him—they’d been played. Ever since they’d maneuvered out here, they had been sailing into a trap of some new nuclear-powered Chinese submarine that was ultraquiet—that could shoot SLAMs and knock ASW birds out of the sky. All of it was a trap, and every action they’d taken had lured them further into it.
“Fire three ASROCs along that bearing. We aren’t going out without—”
Wade was cut off by a massive explosion aft and beneath the ship. The back end of the Stethem was lifted out of the water as a massive fireball raged through the aft compartments of the ship. The shafts were completely blown apart, and the back of the ship looked as if it had been flattened by a sledgehammer.
The bridge crew were all thrown to the deck plating. Commander Wade’s ears were ringing, and he barely heard the emergency klaxon. He couldn’t focus. As he pulled his hand away from his head, he saw it was covered in blood.
Rising to his feet, he looked out the window just in time to see the Benfold shudder from an explosion beneath her amidships. It was followed seconds later by a terrible secondary blast as she rose from the water and then seemed to crack in half. She began to sink, her back broken. The ocean boiled all around her as flames reached into the sky.
As Commander Wade felt himself drifting into unconsciousness, he heard someone shout, “Brace for impact!” He passed out before the second YU-9 impacted the Stethem, at the waterline beneath the bridge. Mercifully, he never felt the explosion that killed him and the rest of his crew.
*******
USS Maine
Northeast of Taiwan
Captain Redding and Commander Walker had listened to the Stethem and Benfold being struck by multiple torpedoes. They anguished at the sounds of them breaking apart as they sank, likely taking a lot of their crew with them.
The Maine had been running at ultraquiet for nearly twelve hours. The crew was tense but ready; all her torpedo tubes were armed with outer doors opened. Every sensor at their disposal was operating, searching for the Chinese sub that had just sent two Arleigh Burke–class destroyers to the bottom. They listened to the torpedo launch and thought they had a good bearing on the sub, but again she disappeared.
“Conn, Sonar. Sir, I think I have something.” The sonar operator said it more like a question than a statement, but anything was welcomed at this point.
“Sonar, Conn. What do you have?”
“Sir, it’s a slight metal transient. I’ve been listening to the tracks of the patrol box since the ASW helo was shot down, sir. I think I have it,” the tech said.
Redding looked at Walker—finally, some good news. They called the sonar tech to the plot and he filled them in on what he had discovered. When they’d heard the ASW helo shot down, they’d all suspected a Type 93 had done it, and sonar had listened for a seven-bladed asymmetric propeller. On two occasions when the destroyers had been fired on by what they thought were two Type 93s, they’d recorded the boats. When the sonar tech had run it through the computer, he’d discovered it was the same acoustic signature.
When the captain said, “So what?” the tech emphatically replied, “No, sir, it’s the exact same signature. Like the same submarine was in two places at the same time.”
Seeing that he was starting to convince the captain, he pressed on.
“Captain, I slowed it down. It’s a decoy, sir. It made the noise of a Type 93 and the noise of a torpedo launch. But that’s all it did. It stayed stationary and made loud noises while our real Chinese submarine fired on the destroyers after they went to flank. Those torpedoes were wake-homing. The faster the destroyers went, the easier it was for the Chinese fish to acquire and sink them.”
Redding took a moment to digest what he had heard. It suddenly made sense. But it also meant the Chinese were years more advanced than the Office of Naval Intelligence had predicted. For the first time in his naval career, it appeared the US was in the dark about their enemy’s capabilities.
“OK, what else do you have?” Redding asked. He hoped that there was something he could use to find this submarine and kill it. Playing defense was no way to live, and he was getting tired of it.
“Yes, sir,” the tech replied. “So I started to think, what if this was something new? There are only so many ways a submarine can move underwater—most of which we have a signature for.”
“Yeah, if you have a point, mister, get to it,” Commander Walker prodded. He hadn’t slept in nearly thirty-six hours, and the fact that there was a Chinese sub trying to kill them had him on edge.
“Sorry, XO. Right, so I started searching our database for experimental propulsion ideas that worked in theory or ideas that had failed. I also looked at propulsors on surface ships that aren’t on submarines. I came across an article from 2017 about a Voith Rim Thruster made in Germany. I found a recording of it on a commercial vessel that uses it for river cruises in Europe. I ran it through the computer and overlaid it with the last seventy-two hours’ worth of transients, and the computer gave me this.”
He laid down an image of two signatures. They weren’t identical, but they were close enough that it made the CO and the XO grab the images. They stared at them for a long moment before either of them spoke.
“Can you find this sub?” the captain asked with an edge to his voice.
“Well, like the man said, sir. If you get me close enough, absolutely. I now know how to filter out the decoys. I can find that boat, sir,” the tech replied confidently.
“Get to it, son. We have a new Chinese sub to kill,” the captain said with a grin on his face.
The XO got the Conn shift changed with fresh crews at the stations. They’d needed a break like this. Now it was their turn to go on the offensive.
*******
Type 95A
There was a soft knock on Captain Lee’s door. Rising from his bed, he opened the door to his room. His XO stood there, smiling.
“We have them, sir. The Maine.”
As the two men went to the Conn, the XO gave him a situation report and the disposition of the ship. They were steady at ten knots, bearing fifty degrees.
The USS Maine was 12,000 yards off their starboard bow. She was running at ten knots, roughly the same bearing, which meant the Changzheng was almost in her baffles. At their current speed, they could close with her in less than thirty minutes.
“Increase speed to fifteen knots,” Lee announced as he surveyed the Conn.
“Increase speed to fifteen knots, aye,” responded the duty officer of the deck.
Captain Lee felt the increase in speed by a slight increase in the vibration beneath his rubber-soled shoes. At the plot, he calculated his attac
k against the American sub. He planned to fire four of his YU-9s at her.
Two would go active at half the distance between the two boats. The other two would remain passive until she ran evasive. At 6,000 yards, the first torpedoes would go active. At fifty-nine knots, they would hit the Maine in under three minutes, leaving virtually no chance of escape. When she ran evasive, the third and fourth torpedoes would go active and close the distance. The Maine would have nowhere to go.
*******
USS Maine
“Conn, Sonar. I’ve got something, sir. Designate Sierra 1. It’s faint, about twelve thousand yards at two-three-zero degrees. The towed array picked it up.”
“Sonar, Conn. Does it match the signature from before?” asked the Captain expectantly.
“Conn, Sonar. Sir, I can’t give you a definitive answer. I’m just not sure yet.”
“Sonar, Conn. Best guess, this may be our only chance at getting this sub.”
“Conn, Sonar. Yes, sir. It’s him, best guess, sir.”
“Sonar, Conn. Designate Sierra 1 Master 1.”
“Conn, Sonar, aye.”
The captain’s plan was simple. They would fire four torpedoes programmed to run aft at varied depths, ranging from current depth of three hundred and fifty feet down to seven hundred and fifty feet on bearing 230. Once the weapons had traveled six thousand yards, they would enable active search for the Chinese sub with a tight kill box of only five thousand yards. If they were lucky, they’d hit the sub. If they weren’t so lucky, they would be able to come about and reengage her in a fair fight.
“Sonar, Conn. Status of Master 1?”
“Conn, Sonar. Master 1 has increased speed from ten to fifteen knots, same bearing.”
“Sonar, Conn. Very well.”
“Retract the buoy.”
“Retract the buoy, aye.”
