by Jeff Edwards
Near the center of the display was the circular green symbol that signified USS Towers. The ship was surrounded by the white of the ice pack, broken only by the irregular ribbon of blue that represented the channel of open water they had sailed into. The ship was close to the northern end of the polynya, where the waterway constricted even further, and then narrowed to a close.
A voice crackled in the left ear of the chief’s headset. “USWE—Tracker, testing Net One One.”
The chief was currently the ship’s USWE, short for Undersea Warfare Evaluator. Her job was to coordinate the actions of the ship’s USW team, and direct the efforts to detect, classify, and destroy hostile submarines.
Tracker was the temporary watch station ID she had assigned to STG3 Mooney, the Sonar Technician she had appointed to stand behind Ann Roark’s chair, and relay contact information from the civilian’s laptop.
Because the sensor in question was an underwater robot, Mooney had tried to talk his chief into designating the new watch station as AquaDroid, or RoboGuy, or SubSlayer 2000. The Chief had settled on Tracker. It was simple, efficient, and she wouldn’t feel like an idiot every time she had to call him over the net.
She keyed her mike. “Tracker—USWE. Read you Lima Charlie. How me?” (Lima Charlie was net-speak for Loud and Clear.)
“USWE—Tracker. Read you same.”
“USWE, aye. Break. UB—USWE, what’s the status of your torpedoes?”
The Underwater Battery Fire Control Operator keyed into the net. “USWE—UB. Port and starboard torpedo tubes are prepped for firing. I’m ready to shoot as soon as I get a valid firing solution.”
“USWE, aye. Break. Sonar—USWE, are you standing by to trigger the beacon?”
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came back at once. “USWE—Sonar. Affirmative, Chief. We’re queued up for a single active transmission, Frequency F2, with upward FM ramp. Standing by to transmit on your mark.”
“USWE, aye. Give me a ping, Vasily. One ping only, please.”
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came back again. “USWE—Sonar. Say again your last.”
Chief McPherson smiled to herself. “Never mind, Sonar. It’s a line from a movie. One of the good ones, about chasing a Russian missile sub.”
The Sonar Supervisor chuckled. “If you say so, Chief. Must be some of that old-school stuff.”
The chief keyed her mike. “It is old-school, Sonar. I’ll tell you about it when you’re old enough.”
Then, before the Sonar Supervisor could respond, Chief McPherson keyed up again. “All Stations—USWE, stand by to go hot. Break. Tracker—USWE, start feeding me ranges and bearings.”
STG3 Mooney’s voice came through the left ear of her headset. “USWE—Tracker. All bearings and ranges to follow are from the robot. Stand by… Mark. Bearing three-zero-three, range two thousand four hundred yards.”
The chief keyed her mike. “USWE, aye.”
She laid her hand on the CDRT’s track ball, and scrolled the cursor until it was poised over the green triangular symbol that represented the Mouse robot. She punched a button to give the symbol an electronic tag, and then used the CDRT’s keypad to quickly type in the range and bearing information she had just received from Mooney.
When she finished the entry, the red V-shaped symbol for hostile submarine appeared on the screen at the coordinates she had punched in. There was a red dot at the center of the symbol, but no speed vector. With only one range and bearing fix, the computer couldn’t yet begin to calculate the contact’s course and speed.
The positional information was all referenced from the Mouse robot, which was currently tracking the submarine using a combination of passive sonar and laser-based LIDAR imaging. The chief selected the new hostile submarine symbol, and used the CDRT’s offset tracking function to recalculate all target ranges and bearings from the position of USS Towers.
A new data block appeared, containing the requested information. The submarine was outside of the ship’s torpedo engagement envelope, by almost eight hundred yards.
Under ordinary circumstances, she would have recommended a port turn to close the range. But the narrow confines of the polynya didn’t give the ship enough leeway for the turn. If they made the turn, they’d collide with the ice pack. Their only choice was to wait for the submarine to come closer.
She tagged the new data block, typed in a manual designation, and pressed the button to transmit it to the Fire Control Computers. Then she keyed her mike. “UB—USWE, I’m sending you range and bearing updates for new contact, track number zero-zero-one, designated Gremlin Zero One. Start your track, and stand by on port side torpedoes.”
“UB, aye!”
The chief keyed her mike again. “TAO—USWE. We’re receiving track data from the Mouse robot, but contact is currently outside of our torpedo engagement envelope. Request batteries released for contact Gremlin Zero One as soon as target comes within torpedo range.”
The off-going Tactical Action Officer had just turned over the watch. The new TAO was the Operations Officer, Lieutenant Augustine, again. Her voice came back immediately. “USWE—TAO. Copy all. Stand by for batteries released.”
“USWE, aye.”
Chief knew that Lieutenant Augustine would discuss the request with the captain before rendering a decision. For reasons of safety, permission to launch weapons was usually withheld until the last minute, to give the Commanding Officer and the TAO as much time as possible to ensure that the target was valid, and that no friendly or neutral ships or aircraft would be endangered.
It was unusual to grant permission to fire ahead of time, so Chief McPherson rarely requested it. But this engagement—if it happened at all—would be extremely short. Except for a turn directly toward Towers, which only an utter idiot would do, nearly any sort of evasive maneuver would put the submarine outside of torpedo range very quickly. The opportunity for a shot would be brief, and it probably wouldn’t happen twice.
The chief continued to receive updated ranges and bearings from STG3 Mooney. She punched them into the CDRT as they arrived, and watched the hostile submarine symbol move slowly across the screen toward the red rectangle that represented the missile launch position.
After two updates, the Underwater Battery Fire Control Operator’s voice came over the net. “USWE—UB. I have a trial solution on contact Gremlin Zero One. Course zero-three-two, speed four knots. Contact is seven hundred yards outside of torpedo engagement range.
“USWE, aye.”
The computer now had enough track history to give the hostile submarine symbol a speed vector. A stubby red line appeared at the center of the V and extended a short distance to its upper right. The speed vector was a visual representation of the target’s predicted course and speed. The line was short, because the target was moving slowly. It pointed up and right, because the target was moving in a northeasterly direction.
Chief McPherson punched another command into the keypad, and a green ring appeared on the display. It was several thousand yards in diameter, and centered on the symbol for the Towers. The ring was a projection of the ship’s torpedo engagement envelope.
The chief noted that the rectangular symbol for the submarine’s prepared launch position was just inside the border of the green ring. If the submarine truly intended to launch, it would have to cross into the ship’s torpedo engagement envelope to do so, but just barely. They might get a shot at the sub, but it would be at the extreme effective range of their torpedoes, and it would probably end up in a tail chase. The sub might well be able to outdistance their torpedoes. This tactical situation was not really looking good.
These not very pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the Sonar Supervisor.
“USWE—Sonar. I’m getting passive narrowband on the same bearing as Gremlin Zero One.”
The report struck Chief McPherson as strange. It wasn’t in standard sonar reporting format, and it had come over the net. Initial sonar reports were supposed to be made over the 29MC a
nnouncing circuit. It wasn’t like her sonar teams to be that sloppy.
She keyed her mike. “Sonar—USWE. If you’ve got sonar contact on the submarine, call it away over the 29MC.”
There was a short pause before the Sonar Supervisor responded. “USWE—Sonar. Understood, Chief. If these were target-related tonals, I would have called them away. But we’re tracking biologics.”
That took the chief by surprise. Biologics? “Sonar—USWE, what kind of biologics?”
“USWE—Sonar. It sounds like frying bacon, Chief. Maybe a really big swarm of shrimp, or krill.”
This was really getting strange. Why was the sonar team suddenly so worried about krill? She keyed her mike. “Sonar—USWE. There are a lot of krill under the ice pack. This is a favorite feeding ground for krill.”
Again the reply was slow in coming. “USWE—Sonar. Understood. But this signal is loud. Much higher signal strength than we usually get from biologics. And it’s tracking right on the bearing for Gremlin Zero One. Unless there a few million krill accidentally swimming in perfect formation with our target, that strikes me as a little odd.”
The chief was about to ask a question when the Sonar Supervisor keyed up again. “USWE—Sonar. I’m getting a second passive narrowband signal, bearing two-niner-zero. Sounds like the exact same kind of krill, and it’s loud, just like the first signal.”
Chief McPherson looked at the CDRT display. Bearing two-nine-zero ran through the exact center of the rectangular symbol that marked the submarine’s prepared launch position. Two exceptionally loud swarms of krill? One centered on the submarine, and the other centered on the submarine’s intended launch position? The chief tugged at her lower lip. That couldn’t be coincidence.
A new voice came over the net. “TAO—EW, I’m tracking one L-band emitter, bearing two-niner-zero. Classification unknown.”
“EW—TAO, can you give me a little more to go on? What are the possibilities? What transmits in the L-band?”
“TAO—EW. The signal is right at 1.52 gigahertz, very weak. I think it’s directional, and we’re only picking up side lobe or back-scatter. Could be a satellite phone, ma’am. Pointed straight up at the sky, so that all we’re catching is the bleed-over.”
Chief McPherson felt the understanding click into place in her brain. It wasn’t coincidence. She knew what the krill sounds meant, and she knew where the satellite transmissions were coming from.
She was reaching to key her mike button when another voice came over the net.
“TAO—Air. We’ve got party crashers, ma’am. SPY is tracking six Bogies inbound from the northeast. Looks like three flights of two. No modes, no codes, and no IFF.” The Air Supervisor paused for a second and continued. “Flight One bears zero-two-eight. Flight Two bears zero-four-three. Flight Three bears zero-seven-one.”
The chief looked up in time to see six unknown aircraft symbols pop up on the Aegis display screen.
“Air—TAO. Copy your six Bogies, bearing zero-two-eight, zero-four-three, and zero-seven-one. What are their flight profiles?”
“TAO—Air. They’re coming in high and fast, ma’am. I think those helicopters we shot up might have called for the cavalry.”
“TAO, aye. Break. EW—TAO. Are you tracking any emitters on these Bogies?”
The Electronic Warfare technician responded quickly. “TAO—EW. That’s affirmative, ma’am. Bogies have just lit off their radars. I’m tracking six I-band emitters, in three pairs. Zaslon S-800 series phased array radars, on the bearings reported by Air. Looks like MiG-31s. EW concurs that Bogies are grouped in three flights of two. Request permission to seed early chaff.”
“EW—TAO. Permission granted. Launch chaff at will.”
Several rapid thumps announced the firing of five or six chaff pods.
Chief McPherson took advantage of a two-second lull to key her microphone. “TAO—USWE. Sonar is tracking unusual passive narrowband signals on the bearing of Gremlin Zero One, and on the bearing of the submarine launch position. One of those signals corresponds to the bearing of the L-band emitter detected by EW. Be advised target may be using acoustic transponders to relay communications to a satellite phone. The signal may be modulated to simulate biologics. The target submarine could be receiving tactical orders via satellite phone right now. Recommend you have EW try to jam that L-band transmission if possible.”
Lieutenant Augustine’s voice came in rapid response. “USWE—TAO. Copy all. Break. EW—TAO, jam all L-band transmissions.”
Before the Electronic Warfare tech could respond, the 29MC speaker roared to life. “All Stations—Sonar. Loud underwater explosions, bearing two-niner-zero. No secondaries.”
Chief McPherson looked down at the CDRT. She knew exactly what had just happened.
* * *
Ice Pack, Southeastern Sea of Okhotsk:
All six charges detonated simultaneously. Ninety kilograms of ex-Soviet military-grade RDX explosive erupted into an expanding shock wave of heat and overpressure. A thirty-meter circle of ice was instantly obliterated, blasting water vapor and shards of ice into the Siberian night. The fragments and mist rained back down to earth, leaving a large circular opening in the ice pack.
The last zashishennaja pozicija was ready for action.
* * *
USS Towers:
Lieutenant Augustine’s voice came over the net. “Weapons Control—TAO, you have batteries released on all Bogies, and any Vipers. There are no friendly contacts in this area. Engage and destroy at-will. Shift to Aegis ready-auto. Set CIWS to auto-engage.”
The instant the Weapons Control Officer acknowledged the orders, the Tactical Action Officer was on the net again. “USWE—TAO. You have batteries released. Kill contact Gremlin Zero One as soon as the target enters your engagement envelope.”
Chief McPherson keyed into the net. “USWE, aye.”
The air was split by the rumble of launching missiles. “TAO—Weapons Control. Six birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted one each on the inbound Bogies.”
Chief McPherson’s eyes were locked on the hostile submarine symbol. The target was now only three hundred yards outside of torpedo range. “Come on,” the chief said softly. “Just a little closer. Just a little closer.”
She keyed her mike. “Sonar—USWE, contact is three hundred yards outside of torpedo range, and closing. Stand by to trigger the beacon. Break. UB—USWE, what’s the status of your solution?”
“USWE—UB. I hold a firm fire control solution on contact Gremlin Zero One. Standing by to engage on your order.”
The Chief keyed her mike again. “All Stations—USWE. We’re only going to get one crack at this. Let’s make it a good one.”
Another report came over the net. “TAO—Air. Splash two Bogies! SPY is tracking four inbound missiles, in two flights of two. Bearing zero-four-niner, and zero-seven-five. I say again, four inbound Vipers, bearing zero-four-niner, and zero-seven-five.”
The report was immediately confirmed by the Electronic Warfare technicians, but Chief McPherson was no longer listening. The hostile submarine was now less than two hundred yards outside of weapons range.
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice rumbled out of the 29MC speakers. “All Stations—Sonar has hydraulic transients bearing two-eight-five.”
“Shit!” Chief McPherson said to herself. “He’s opening his missile hatches.”
She keyed her mike. “TAO—USWE. Gremlin Zero One is opening his missile tube hatches. Submarine is preparing to launch ballistic missiles.”
There were three muted explosions in the distance, followed by the roar of more outgoing missiles.
“TAO, aye. How long until you can kill the sub?”
The chief eyed the screen and keyed her headset. “TAO—USWE. Target is one hundred yards outside of my torpedo envelope. At the current rate of closure, I can engage in approximately one minute.”
Her report was punctuated by a prolonged blast from the forward CIWS mount. The ship rocked from the con
cussion of an explosion, not aboard, but very close.
On the CDRT, the V-shaped hostile submarine symbol crept across the green ring of the ship’s torpedo envelope.
The Underwater Battery Fire Control Operator keyed into the net. “USWE—UB. Contact is at the very edge of my torpedo engagement envelope. UB holds a firm firing solution. Request permission to engage.”
“UB—USWE. Copy all. Stand by. Break. Sonar—USWE, go active now!”
“Sonar, aye.”
There was a brief pause, and then, “All Stations, Sonar is active.”
From Combat Information Center, the transmission was barely audible, but Chief McPherson was listening for it carefully. She caught it: a single shrill warble, nearly lost beneath the noise in CIC.
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the net again. “All Stations, Sonar is passive. The beacon has been triggered, and is transmitting. Sonar is tracking acoustic transmissions from the beacon. I say again, the beacon is hot.”
The chief keyed up. “UB—USWE. Kill contact Gremlin Zero One with over-the-side torpedo.”
“UB, aye. Going to Standby. Going to Launch. Torpedo away—now, now, NOW!”
A blue friendly torpedo symbol appeared on the CDRT, followed an instant later by the Sonar Supervisor’s report.
“USWE—Sonar. We have weapon start-up.”
Chief McPherson was dimly aware of a report that three more Bogies were down, but she had eyes and ears only for the submarine. She stared at the screen, her eyes begging the blue torpedo symbol to lock onto the hostile submarine. “You can do it,” she whispered. “You can do it. Come on … You can do it.”
“USWE—Sonar, torpedo has acquired. Estimated impact in four minutes.”
The chief heard CIWS fire again, but this time it was the aft mount. The last Bogie was either bugging out, or trying to attack from a different angle.
