“That’s right. Moscow ordered the Novosibirsk’s captain to keep the boat out of Chinese waters.”
“How close to the base were you when you and your team locked out of the mini?”
“It was close-in, about half a kilometer from the island.” Yuri wondered where this line of questioning was going. He decided to ask. “What’s the concern, Commander?”
“We just received an update from COMSUBPAC. Four autonomous surface drones were observed exercising in the Shendao harbor area yesterday afternoon.”
“New ones, in addition to those at Yulin?”
“Yes.”
Yuri muttered a Russian expletive.
“I’m worried about the sea drones,” Bowman said. “If the PLAN gets just the slightest whiff that we’re in their backyard, the mini won’t stand a chance against those things.”
Open to the sea with just a thin sheet of aluminum to protect the occupants, a single depth charge detonated a hundred yards from the Shallow Water Combat Submersible would scramble brains and macerate guts.
“Are they patrolling near our route to the beach?” Jeff Chang asked.
“No. As of yesterday, all drone activity was confined to waters within the harbor’s breakwaters. But that could change.”
Chang scowled while taking in the news. “Any idea what caused them to supplement harbor coverage at Shendao?”
“COMSUBPAC did not elaborate.”
“I think I have an idea what might be going on.” All eyes turned Yuri’s way. “It’s the carriers. They might be planning to move them from the Yulin Naval Base to Shendao. The drones will be in place for supplemental security.”
“Move them how?” Chang asked. “Aren’t they dead in the water?”
“Towing. It’s a short trip, just a dozen kilometers or so. Piece of cake with good weather.” Yuri picked up the cake idiom from Laura. He glanced at Bowman. “Any reports regarding the propulsion systems on the Shandong and the Liaoning.”
“We’ve received no recent reports about the carriers.”
“My guess,” Yuri said, “and that’s all it is at this time…is that the PLAN has given up trying to restore ship power for both carriers at the Yulin base. The EMP damage to the utilities systems on the piers and shoreside facilities was catastrophic. However, the pier and upland system at Shendao were not damaged. In fact, the pier was specifically designed to service aircraft carriers.”
“Hmmm,” Bowman mumbled. “That does make sense.”
“If they move the carriers,” Chang said facing Bowman, “they might pass right over the Colorado.”
“We’ll be listening. If that happens, we’ll head back into deep water until they’re out of the way.”
“That makes sense.” The CIA officer turned toward Andrews, “What’s the latest intel about our target area?”
“Nothing new has been directed our way about S5. When we arrive at the launch site, we’ll get another update.”
“Okay, thanks.”
After the briefing broke up, Yuri returned to the compact quarters he shared with Chang. As Jeff showered, Yuri stretched out on his bunk. Lieutenant Commander Andrews suggested that they both try to rest before the mission started.
Yuri stared upward at the bottom of Jeff’s bunk. Yuri’s comfort level with Chang and the Ghost Riders increased each day he spent aboard the Colorado. He was also impressed with Commander Bowman and his crew.
So far, so good.
Yuri hoped for a smooth mission―a quick in and out without detection.
Maybe we can really pull this thing off. That was Yuri’s last conscious thought before drifting off.
After ninety minutes, the familiar nightmare abruptly returned Yuri to reality.
This mission is all wrong!
* * * *
While the USS Colorado crept toward Hainan Island, the Russian attack submarine Novosibirsk approached the Luzon Strait at twenty knots. The waterway extended from Taiwan’s southern coast to the north shore of Luzon Island. Novosibirsk’s planned route across the passage was about eighty nautical miles south of the path Colorado had navigated the day before.
Captain Petrovich caucused with his key officers in the wardroom. A bulkhead mounted HD wide-screen monitor at the aft end of the room displayed the digital image of a navigation chart of another sea passage—the Novosibirsk’s final destination.
“Gentlemen,” Petrovich said, “this is the area where I intend to begin our seeding operations.” He clicked on a handheld laser pointer, highlighting the waters near the island city-state of Singapore and the the eastern end of the Strait of Malacca. Sandwiched between the Malay Peninsula and the Indonesian island of Sumatra, the Strait of Malacca was the world’s most frequently traveled shipping channel. Nearly a hundred thousand commercial vessels navigated the passageway each year.
“It’s very shallow in that area, Captain,” the navigation officer noted. “How close in do you plan to bring the boat?”
“We’ll stay within our normal operating parameters plus all seeding ops will occur at night.”
The Strait of Malacca and the connecting Singapore Strait were both shallow. With a hull diameter of almost fifty feet, the Novosibirsk needed to take care not to run aground while submerged. And to avoid visual detection of the hull by aircraft and watercraft, night operations were mandatory.
“Magnetic fuses still the plan?” asked weapons.
“Correct. All of the targets are merchantmen with steel hulls. No concerns over degaussing with them.” Degaussing was a procedure to reduce the magnetic field of a ship, typically used for submarines and surface warships.
Petrovich keyed the pointer again. “I want to place the first units in the main channel in this area. After seeding that channel we’ll proceed . . .”
The installation procedure for each grouping of the mines was finalized and the briefing ended.
The goal of Operation Vortex was to create mass confusion and terror within the world’s shipping community. The indiscriminate mining of one of the globe’s most vital marine transportation corridors was designed to paralyze China’s already delicate economy. Until the mine threat was eliminated, oil laden tankers from the Middle East and gigantic container ships loaded with Chinese goods bound for European markets would avoid the route that linked the Indian and Pacific oceans.
Conceived by the Kremlin, Vortex was designed to deter China from seeking revenge for the nuclear detonation in Qingdao and the e-bomb attack on the Yulin Naval Base. Simply put, Moscow’s message to Beijing was: Don’t think of attacking Russia. We can repeat the mining operation anytime we choose.
Vortex was a bold plan, one that appeared bulletproof to the Kremlin and Russia’s military elite. To achieve success, however, it required Russia’s most modern and stealth attack submarine to cross the South China Sea unnoticed.
A PLAN bottom mounted hydrophone in the Luzon Strait detected the faint acoustic signature of the Novosibirsk’s propeller as it cruised into the South China Sea. It took just a minute to relay the alert via encrypted subsea and satellite comms to S5 headquarters on Hainan Island.
Chapter 48
Day 34—Monday
The submersible skulked through the gloom. Yuri was jammed inside the passenger compartment with Jeff Chang and SEALs Halgren and Murphy. In the forward end of the Mark 11, Senior Chief Aaron “Runner” Baker piloted the midget sub while Chief Don “Driller” Dillon operated sonar and comms.
The U.S. Navy Shallow Water Combat Submersible, designated as the Mark 11 SDV, was twenty-two feet long and about five feet in diameter. The battery compartment took up the center of the craft, separating the cockpit from the four person passenger compartment. The lithium-ion batteries supplied the juice that powered the electric motor in the stern. The motor turned the propeller.
Operating as a wet vehicle, the interior of the Seal Deli
very Vehicle was flooded with seawater. All occupants wore diving equipment and breathed compressed air from onboard storage tanks.
The Mark 11 departed from the Colorado half an hour earlier. It was 1:32 A.M. local time. Running at six knots and thirty feet below the surface, it would take the submersible another half hour to reach shore.
Yuri was uneasy with the ride sandwiched inside the aluminum shell with no viewports. The dim interior illumination from a bulkhead light didn’t help either. A tinge of claustrophobia eroded his well-being.
The four Ghost Riders wore full face masks with communication gear, allowing them to talk with each other. Yuri and Jeff, however, were each equipped with an earphone inside the hood of their dry suits. Watertight leads from the earphones plugged into the onboard intercom system. They could listen but not speak to the SEALs. Switching from full face masks to rebreather gear prior to exiting the SDV required considerable expertise, which Chang lacked. Yuri had the skillsets but didn’t mind joining Jeff.
Other than occasional SEAL chatter, all Yuri could hear was the chorus of expanding bubbles from the exhalations of his fellow passengers. When the minisub was half a nautical mile from the shore, the passengers would switch from onboard air to their rebreathers, reducing the telltale trail of bursting bubbles on the surface.
Yuri tried to relax but failed. Pre-mission jitters prevented any meaningful rest. Although tired, what really taxed Yuri was his sense of impending doom.
This mission is insane, Yuri reflected.
What lay ahead was a true mission impossible. Sneaking into one of the People’s Republic of China’s most secure military installations to steal state of the art antisubmarine warfare technology was beyond the pale for Yuri.
A million things can go wrong—will go wrong!
Other than satellite photography, the route ahead to the secret facility was unknown. Yuri worried that the hillside housing the underground headquarters for S5 was littered with intruder warning devices and surveilled by roaming armed security forces.
They rely too much on remote comms.
Communications was another worry for Yuri. Once the shore team deployed, the submarine would retreat beyond the twelve mile limit and commence hovering several hundred feet below the surface. A tethered buoy would be released from the sub. The low profile antenna buoy, constructed to mimic an indigenous fishing float, was designed to connect with the constellation of U.S. military satellites orbiting the Western Pacific. The satellites would in turn connect to the tactical multiband networking SATCOM radio Murphy carried.
Andrews should be with us—not sitting on the sub.
The officer in charge of the mission, Lieutenant Commander Andrews, remained aboard the Colorado. Andrews would use the radio relay system to monitor and manage the shore team from a console inside the Colorado’s control room. He would also coordinate with the U.S. Indo-Pacific Command in Hawaii and the Joint Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg, North Carolina on mission progress. It was an impressive arrangement, allowing the team to obtain near instant intel on mission critical issues. But just one glitch in the elaborate tag team scheme would render the shore team deaf, dumb and blind.
Yuri also worried about the PLA-Navy SIGINT unit at Lingshui Airbase. Located on Hainan Island’s southern coast forty statute miles east of Sanya, the facility was staffed with over a thousand signals intelligence analysts. Their principal task was to monitor downlinks from commercial communication satellites.
They might pick up our own comms.
Lingshui staffers were also responsible for monitoring communications from U.S. naval forces operating in the South China Sea, which Yuri construed to mean their mission. Andrews wasn’t concerned that mission comms would be detected by Lingshui, alluding to non-specified secret procedures that would be used. Yuri still had his doubts.
We’re light on weapons. If we get into a firefight with security forces, we’re screwed.
Yuri would have preferred that Runner and Driller accompany the shore team instead of returning the Mark 11 to its bat cave on the Colorado. But Andrews vetoed Yuri’s suggestion of parking the submersible on the bottom offshore of the landing site, which would have allowed the two additional SEALs to join the ground team.
Andrews noted that the shallow tropical waters at the debark point were crystal clear, which meant that a bottomed-out Mark 11 might be visible from above during daylight hours. But more to the point, Andrews reminded Yuri he was on a reconnaissance mission. Additional men ashore beyond the four man team increased the probability of detection. Washington mandated that contact with the enemy be avoided at all costs. There would be no overhead drones armed with Hellfire missiles to terrorize the enemy or QRF—quick reaction force—helicopters to extract the team should they run into trouble.
The only way out for the shore team was to follow protocols—avoid detection, secure the intelligence, retreat to the underwater extraction point, and return to the Colorado aboard the Mark 11.
Yuri couldn’t fault Andrews’s reasoning but his gut told him the SEAL officer should be with the shore team. One more man ashore would—
Yuri’s thoughts were interrupted as Chief Dillon’s voice broadcast from the earphone inside Yuri’s neoprene hood. “Heads up, gents. We’re five minutes out. Switch to rebreathers and prepare to disembark.”
God, please watch over us!
* * * *
“Jun…Jun, wake up! Someone’s at the door.”
Captain Zhou Jun rolled onto his back and looked up. Meng Park was at his side leaning over his chest; her breasts brushed his skin.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone is banging on your door.”
Zhou heard the racket. He checked the clock on the bedside table: 2:02 A.M. He swore as he swung his legs onto the bamboo flooring. “Stay in here,” he ordered as he grabbed a bathrobe.
Furious, Zhou yanked open the front door to his apartment.
A junior officer from S5 stood in the hallway.
Zhou was about to reprimand the ensign when the twenty-three year old blurted out, “Sir, we’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour but your phone just goes to voicemail. I was sent here to summon you…the duty officer needs you back at once.”
“What’s going on?”
The ensign peered down the hallway. It was deserted and none of the other residents had opened their doors. “We have a positive track on a foreign submarine. It was detected in the Luzon Strait.”
Zhou gestured for the ensign to enter. After Zhou shut the door he said, “Is it American?”
“No, sir, Russian. Nuclear attack boat, Yasen class.”
“You’re certain?”
“Lieutenant Wu is, sir.”
“Where’s it headed?”
“It was on a southwest heading when I left.”
Captain Zhou massaged his temple as he processed the news. “All right, you may return to base. Tell Wu I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
“Yes sir. But Lieutenant Wu instructed me to tell you that Fleet was automatically notified of the sub intrusion. We’ve been ordered to activate Serpent.”
“What? Who gave that command?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
After the ensign left, Captain Zhou returned to the bedroom.
Meng Park stepped out of the bathroom, a towel covering the essentials. “What’s going on?” she asked.
Zhou briefed her on the news and she reacted. “Serpent is not ready yet for combat.”
“I know but we don’t have any choice.”
Park sat on the edge of the bed as Zhou retrieved his cell phone from the dresser top. He had switched it off several hours earlier, not wanting any interruptions during sex with Park. He powered up the phone and turned toward Park. “I’ll drop you off at your hotel on my way to the base.”
“M
aybe I should come with you now to S5.”
“No. It’ll be better if we arrive separately. When I drop you off at your hotel, wait ten minutes or so and then take a cab. I’ll let staff know that you’ve been asked to come in.”
“Okay.”
Captain Zhou and Dr. Meng exited the apartment building parking lot in the BMW. As Zhou drove through the deserted streets of Sanya, he also held his cell phone to an ear. He called the S5 duty officer, requesting an update.
At first, Park half listened to the one-sided conversation but her thoughts soon wandered. Trepidation seeped into her well-being, corroding her confidence.
They’re going to test the system with another real target!
But Serpent is still not ready.
What if it doesn’t work?
What if it does?
* * * *
The four phantoms emerged from the murk in unison. It was ten minutes past two o’clock in the morning. Standing in chest deep water, Yuri Kirov and his companions scanned their surroundings. Each man had pulled down his facemask, letting it hang around the neck. The setting moon hung low on the horizon, providing a modicum of illumination. Forty feet ahead, knee-high waves rolled onto the sandy beach with a muted rush. The night air was motionless and sticky hot at ninety degrees Fahrenheit—ten degrees warmer than the ocean water.
Master Chief Halgren used a gloved hand to signal the others to stay put. He then thrust his bulk landward through the water.
Before surfacing, the entire team had clipped their dive fins to D-rings on the chest harnesses they wore under the rebreathers and BCs. Reinforced rubber booties, part of the jet-black lightweight dry suits that covered the men, protected feet from fragments of coral and rock that littered the otherwise sandy bottom. Bulky rucksacks stuffed with gear and supplies were strapped to each man’s back.
Halgren waded forward twenty feet when he stopped abruptly. He turned to his companions, signaling danger.
Ryan “Malibu Murph” Murphy planted the butt of his Colt M4A1 in the socket of his right shoulder, aiming the sound suppressed assault rifle downrange—cover for Halgren. That’s when Yuri heard it. Music—rock and roll, Chinese style. What the hell?
The Vigilant Spy Page 24
