Fortunes of War

by Stephen Coonts

“Ah, yes, good Colonel Handa, a bureaucrat to the backbone. That sounds like him.”

  “I survived only because I wore the helmet.”

  “Everyone will wear such a device on this mission,” Nishimura replied. “We have altered them to attach to our regular helmets so that we can also wear our oxygen masks.”

  “Then you don’t need me,” Jiro rejoined. “I wish to pass the honor of striking this blow for the nation to one of my colleagues.”

  The colonel struggled against his temper. “You have the experience. Only you. I want to hear no more of this. Honor and duty require this service of you. The future of your country is at stake.”

  “Saito was excused. This is also his country. Extend to me the same courtesy that was extended to him.”

  “Have you taken an oath, like Saito?”

  Kimura lowered his head. “No, sir,” he admitted. “All that you are,” the colonel said thoughtfully, “you owe to Japan, to the Japanese people, who gave you life, nurtured you and educated you and made you the man you are. Your obligation cannot be erased or made smaller.”

  “I owe other obligations too,” Kimura murmured. “I do not wish to discuss this further,” the colonel said. “We will speak of it no more.”

  “Gentleman, this is the situation.” Pavel Saratov looked around the packed control room at his officers, and, of course, at General Esenin. “Above us, P-3’s are searching. They cannot find us because we are under an inversion layer, a layer we will probably leave in a few miles. Still, we are deep, traveling slowly, and they would have to go right over us to get a reading on their magnetic gear.”

  Saratov certainly had their attention. “Ahead of us about thirty miles is an enemy warship, pinging regularly. That warship is probably a large destroyer or frigate, carrying one or two helicopters equipped with dipping sonar. We will hear the helicopters as we get closer. Somewhere near that warship is probably one, perhaps even two or more submarines. They are lying deep and quiet, listening for us. I suspect one is on the far side of the destroyer, but it could be anywhere. “I have considered all our options. If we go in under a freighter, the echo ranging will detect us. No doubt that is why they are doing it. “We face the classic battery-boat dilemma. If we go in quickly, we will prematurely drain our batteries and need to snorkel in Sagami Bay, which would be suicidal. If we go in slowly, trying to save battery energy, we will expend lots of time and we’ll be at the mercy of the tides. Three knots will just hold us in place; then when the tide pushes us, we will get a mere six knots. Alas, that will have to do. “Our only choice is to be bold. When the tide turns in two hours, we will close the destroyer and shoot two torpedoes set to home on noise. They will probably put decoys in the water. We may get a hit; then again, we may not. Regardless, the confusion factor will be high. That, I hope, will give us an opportunity to slip into Sagami Bay.”

  “You really have no plan,” Esenin said, frowning in disapproval. “You may say that, sir,” Saratov admitted. “We can only take advantage of opportunities that come our way. The enemy must positively identify every target before they shoot. We have no such handicap. Everyone we hear is the enemy. On the other hand, we can only do what the battery lets us do.” No one said anything. “We go so slowly, yet time is critical,” Saratov said. “We must get into the bay before other antisubmarine forces arrive and join the search. Once inside, we must find our fault and settle onto the bottom. “Are there any questions?”

  They stared at him with drawn, dirty, haggard faces dripping sweat, although the temperature was not warm. Whatever they had been expecting, this wasn’t it. “General Esenin.”

  “What if you fail to torpedo the destroyer?”

  “Then, sir, we will both get to experience our very first depth charging. I hear that it is a religious experience.”

  “You have balls, Saratov. I’ll say that for you.”

  The michmen and naval officers exchanged glances, trying to keep their faces deadpan. Saratov thought he knew what they were thinking, but with Esenin standing there … “Do you intend to go up and use the periscope, Captain?”

  “We must shoot from this depth.”

  He bent over the chart table with the XO and navigator beside him. “Our torpedoes have a range of ten miles. We must get within that range to shoot, but not so close that we are detected. With the destroyer’s screw noises and bearing change, we should be able to get an idea of his course and speed, and therefore his relative position and range. Navigator, you and Sonar start a plot. What I think he is doing is circling in a racetrack pattern. I suspect our best maneuver will be to approach that pattern from the seaward side and shoot when the torpedoes have the shortest distance to run. “XO, let’s flood four of the tubes and open the outer doors. The doors make a bit of noise coming open.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  Saratov donned the sonar earphones and got back on his stool. He checked the clock.

  “Mr. President, the intel analyst is in the limo outside.”

  David Herbert Hood made his excuses, shook hands with the important people at the head table, and headed for the hotel lobby. He shook some more hands there, then got into the limo for the ride to the White House. The analyst turned out to be a young woman, and she was obviously flustered. She was wearing jeans and tennis shoes. “Mr. President.”

  “This is Deborah Buell, Mr. President.”

  “Glad to meet you. Sorry to call you away from a Saturday at home.”

  The analyst assured him there was no problem. “A while back, you wrote a summary that said that Japan may have nuclear weapons. Do you remember that?”

  “Oh, yes, sir. That was several months ago.”

  “Why did you think that was a possibility?”

  “My section does economic analyses of foreign economies. It seemed to me that a significant percentage of Japan’s government spending could not be accounted for in the normal ways. Basically, I thought they were spending a lot of money off-budget. So I began looking at other sectors of the economy where the money could be going. The high-tech engineering firms have been doing very well in Japan for years, and it’s hard to see why — the civilian products that they should be producing don’t seem to be there. Anyway, to make a long story short, it seemed to me that Japan might have several major black weapons programs. They have the technical wherewithal to make bombs, if they wanted them. So I wrote in the summary that they may have these weapons.” A black program was one so secret the government did not acknowledge its existence. “What did your superiors think of your reasoning?”

  “They thought there was not enough evidence. Still, they reluctantly agreed to let me put it in the summary, labeled as a possibility.”

  “Surely you’ve thought more about this since then?”

  “Yes, sir. And I’ve done more research. I still can’t prove it.”

  “But you stand by your assertion. It’s a possibility.”

  “In my opinion, it is.”

  “Ms. Buell, I appreciate you taking your time to chat about this. After the limo drops me, it can take you back to your car.”

  She laughed nervously. “I’m glad someone reads those summaries, Mr. President. The people at the office think they go to the great file cabinet in the sky.”

  “No doubt they do, Ms. Buell. But I read them first.”

  “Mr. President, I don’t want to talk out of school, but there was an unsubstantiated rumor going around in the intelligence community earlier this summer that the Japanese had operational nukes. It was never more than a rumor and no one could ever verify who started it. Shortly after that, Japan invaded Siberia. It seems possible, to me anyway, that the Japanese started the rumor to discourage any thoughts the Russians might have about using nuclear weapons to defend themselves.”

  The president gave the woman a long, hard look as he got out of the car. “Thank you,” he told her. As they walked the corridors of the White House, the president asked Innes, “What are the Japanese doing about that
sub?”

  “They have at least four airplanes and six surface ships hunting for it between its last known position and the entrance to Tokyo Bay. One of the naval types over there told our people that the Japanese are afraid of a Yokosuka refinery repeat. They don’t want another disaster like that on their hands.”

  “What if it isn’t going to Tokyo Bay?”

  “That’s what has them worried. They have everything they own in the water east of the Japanese islands looking for this sub. The submarine could be a red herring. The Russians could be about to do something spectacular off Vladivostok.”

  “What does Abe say about this development?”

  “He remarked to Ambassador Hanratty that if Russia still has nuclear weapons, they have lied to everyone for years.”

  “That’s news?”

  “He wants the United Nations to step in. Pass some sort of resolution promising the use of armed force against anyone who uses nuclear weapons. “Uh-huh.”

  “And he wants the UN involved in Siberia. Basically, he repeated his demand that the UN give Japan a mandate to act as guardian of the native people, develop the place, and sell Siberian resources for world-market prices.”

  “He’ll never get that,” the president said as he plopped into his chair behind his desk in the Oval Office. “He probably knows that. He’s just making his position clear.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “I think both Russia and Japan are up against the wall. The war is out of control. Something is going to happen in the very near future.”

  Four hours after the conference in the control room Admiral Kolchak was in position. Barely making steerage way, about a knot, just enough to keep the planes effective, she was headed northwest toward the strait that led to Sagami Bay. Five ships had gone overhead, freighters from the sound, going to and from the bay. War or no war, the wheels of commerce continued to turn. From his stool outside the sonar shack, Pavel Saratov could see the chart. Actually, he was looking almost over the navigator’s shoulder, so he could also see the measurements, the lines, the tiny triangles. The sub was actually approaching the destroyer’s racetrack from a forty-five-degree angle. The screw noise would be the loudest when the destroyer was going away from the sub. The torpedo would home on that noise. One hit with these giant ship-killers should be enough. The trick was to get the hit. Saratov had been sitting on this stool, listening to the sounds, trying to hear another submarine, for the last five hours. Amazingly, he wasn’t a bit tired. He was too keyed up. He had to have a plan for every contingency. Askold had briefed the torpedomen and engineers, ensured everyone knew what was expected and was ready to do it without hesitation. Sometime during this hustle and bustle, Michman Martos eased his head into the control room, looked around, made eye contact with the captain, then left. Two hours ago, Saratov had conferred with Esenin. “How accurate is the GPS?” Esenin asked. “For the best accuracy, we should surface and let the equipment get a position update from the satellites. It is within a few meters now, however.”

  “That will have to do,” Esenin said with a frown. “Yes.”

  “When we get to the fault, I will have my men ready.”

  “Are they experienced divers?”

  “They know what they have to do, believe me. I am going out first.”

  “Whatever.”

  “You have a Spetsnaz diver aboard.”

  “We do. Michman Martos.”

  “I have had a talk with him. I do not think he is politically reliable.”

  “It’s been a few years since I heard that phrase.”

  “You know what I mean. I need men I can trust.”

  “To the best of my knowledge, he didn’t volunteer. I do not want any clouds on the man’s professional ability, General. He is highly trained, experienced, and up for a medal for his service during the Yokosuka refinery attack. He deserves the honor.”

  “No doubt he does,” Esenin said, then went on to another subject. Now that conversation seemed as if it had taken place in another lifetime. Now there was only the boat, swimming gently forward amid the screw noises and the sounds of the sea. And the pinging: ping…, ping … ping … Saratov sat with his eyes closed, listening intently to the orchestra. There were other submarines nearby. Saratov could feel them. “We shoot in five minutes, Captain,” said the XO. Esenin was rolling dice with the lives of every man on the boat. He wanted to set off four nuclear devices, to murder tens of millions of people. Even if the four blasts were insufficient to create a tsunami, the fireballs would broach the surface, fry coastal villages, create horrible tides that would inundate vast areas. Detonating these devices near the mouth of Tokyo Bay — perhaps Esenin would get a tidal race going back up the bay after the initial surge out of the bay, toward the blast area. “Three minutes, Captain.”

  He could hear the destroyer, powerful screws, turning … This was the closest point of approach, four miles. If it didn’t detect Admiral Kolchak now, the submarine would get its shot. Esenin didn’t seem to understand that if you nuke them, you have made it easier for someone to nuke you. Probably he thought that aspect of the matter was Kalugin’s problem. The people in Moscow. In the Kremlin. Those people. The destroyer was still turning. The pitch of the screw noises changed as the aspect angle changed. “Two minutes.”

  “Are we ready?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Sonar, have you heard anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “One minute.”

  The destroyer was steady on its new course, angling away from Admiral Kolchak. It was doing about ten knots, making a mile every six minutes. The submarine was making one nautical mile per hour, so it was essentially dead in the water, screws barely turning over, every nonessential electrical unit off. Even the boat’s ventilation fans were off. “Fire tube one.”

  Saratov heard the blast of compressed air that ejected the torpedo from the tube and then heard its screws bite into the sea. He had taken the precaution of turning down the volume on his earphones, which was a good thing. The torpedo was not quiet. As the screw noises faded, he slowly twisted the volume knob back to maximum sensitivity. The running time for this fish was six and a half minutes. Presumably the sonar operator aboard the destroyer would pick up the sound of the inbound torpedo and report it to the captain, who would probably order the launch of acoustic decoys. If the ship’s company was competent, the decoys would be in the water in plenty of time. In fact, they might even be launched early. Saratov took off the sonar headset, eyed the clock as the second hand ticked off a full minute since the first fish went into the water. “Fire tube two.”

  Perhaps the second torpedo would arrive unexpectedly. After the second fish was launched, he fought the urge to kick the boat to flank speed and go charging past this destroyer, which he hoped would soon be very busy. The risk was too great. Saratov did, however, order up five knots and changed course sixty degrees to the right to clear the area where the torpedoes were launched. A competent anti-submarine commander would have a helicopter in this area dipping a sonar as soon as possible.

  Saratov turned sixty degrees to starboard after launching his torpedoes because that course was the most direct one into Sagami Bay. What he didn’t know was that this course, chosen for good reason, pointed Admiral Kolchak directly at the Japanese submarine Akashi. The sonar operator aboard Akashi heard the torpedoes and reported them. “High-speed screws, two one zero degrees relative.”

  “How far?”

  “Several miles, sir,” the operator said. Unfortunately, there was no way he or his captain could instantly determine the target of the torpedoes. Given enough time, any right or left drift in the relative bearing would become apparent. If there was none, the torpedoes were on a collision course. Time was what was needed, and the captain didn’t have any to spare. If torpedoes were aimed at him, he should locate the enemy with active sonar, fire a torpedo in reply, launch decoys, and try to evade the incoming fish. If, on the other hand, the torpedoes were
aimed at the beacon destroyer, giving away his submarine’s position by the use of active sonar was not immediately necessary. Nor was it advisable. The captain was well aware of the long-range capabilities of Russian twenty-one-inch torpedoes, and this factor helped tilt the decision. The shooting had started — his ship was in harm’s way — he didn’t want to waste time waiting for bearing drift that he thought probably was not there. On the other hand, there were two freighters on the surface nearby. The government refused to close this area to civilian shipping. Before he launched a torpedo the captain had to be sure of his target. “Start pinging,” he told the sonar operator. “Flood tubes one and two and open the outer doors.” To the officer of the day, he said, “Come left sixty degrees and give me flank speed.”

  The ping of the active sonar raced through the water, and just behind it the noise of the submarine’s twin screws thrashing as they bit into the water to accelerate the submarine. Aboard Admiral Kolchak, Saratov and the sonarman both heard the ping and screw noises. “Quick,” Saratov said to the sonarman. “A bearing.”

  “Zero one zero relative, Captain. A submarine.”

  “Set tube three on acoustic homing.”

  “Tube three set acoustic.”

  “Ten degrees right bearing.”

  “Ten degrees right bearing set.”

  “Fire tube three.”

  “Tube three fired, Captain.”

  Both the sonar operators aboard Harukaze, the Japanese destroyer manning the picket station between Oshima Island and the Tateyama Peninsula, the eastern entrance of Sagami Bay, heard the unmistakable sound of small high-speed screws when the first of Admiral Kolchak’s torpedoes was still four minutes away from the destroyer. Their computers verified what their ears were telling them: torpedoes. They immediately reported the screw noises and the bearing to their superior, the tactical action officer in Combat, who reported it to the bridge on the squawk box. The captain ordered the acoustic decoys deployed. Within sixty seconds, three of the four ready decoys were in the water. One of the decoys, the decoy that should have been ejected the farthest to starboard, was not launched due to a short circuit in the launcher. While a small knot of sailors and petty officers worked frantically to remedy this glitch, the captain had a decision to make. Should he continue on this course, turn left, or turn right? He elected to turn right, to starboard, for a perfectly logical reason — there was a Japanese submarine to starboard, in the mouth of the bay, and drawing the enemy in that direction seemed like a good idea. The captain had already turned his ship and was steady on the new course when the OOD reported that one of the acoustic decoys had failed to deploy. The captain had only seconds to consider this news when Saratov’s first torpedo hit an acoustic decoy, destroying it without exploding, and went roaring past the ship about a hundred yards to port. Harukaze’s sonar operators were listening to the decoys and the screw noises. The loss of one decoy changed the pitch of the cacophony. In addition, the sound of the first torpedo dropped in volume and pitch as it receded. The computer displayed a graphic of the torpedo’s track. It had missed by only a hundred yards!