Operation Golden Dawn

by George Wallace

  Two of the four boats were placed directly under Suluvana’s command. His official assigned command included responsibility for patrolling the Eastern approaches to Indonesia. The other two were homeported at Banda Aceh, Sumatra, where they could control the Malacca Straits and the Western approaches. His KILO submarines were key to the Admiral’s much more secret plans. They were the weapons that would swing the balance to him.

  “We have information that leads us to believe that this American submarine is on a mission to hamper our activities. Evidently our Chinese spy is quite friendly with the American submariners." Suluvana rose and stepped over to the large chart of the Southwest Pacific and Southeast Asia covering one wall of his large office.

  He pointed to two ship cutouts pinned to the chart, one a few inches to the West of the other. "There is also the possibility that either the ESSEX amphibious group or the NIMITZ battle group may be directed against us. They are both en route for regularly scheduled Arabian Gulf deployments,” the admiral continued. “You two are assigned to intercept these ships. You will stop them from entering our sovereign waters using all means at your disposal."

  He slapped two areas with his pointer. "You will establish patrols here and here. If any of the American ships get past you, you will report immediately. You will remain undetected at all times. If you detect an American submarine, you will attack immediately. I don’t care about surface ships, even the American carriers. Submarines are the real threat. Do not let them past you. This mission has the highest possible classification. Do not discuss it even with your crews."

  The two commanding officers rose and left the briefing room to return to their ships. Their duty was clear and they were ready to carry out their orders.

  As the large wooden doors swung shut, Admiral Suluvana pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a well-remembered number. The call was answered on the second ring.

  “Mustaf, the submarines are on their way. They will deal with the Americans,” Suluvana said.

  Mustaf al Shatar answered, “That is good, but we need a back-up plan. I’ve put something in motion in Pearl Harbor, just in case your submarines fail. We will hit this Hunter where it hurts. We will take his family, then see what he does. My people will not fail.”

  27 May 2000, 0243LT (1243Z)

  Warran Jacobs reached for the black JA handset. He pushed the button, energizing a buzzer in Hunter's stateroom. “Captain, Officer of the Deck. Sonar reports a narrow-band frequency on the thin line towed array. Ambiguous bearings are three-four-one and zero-one-nine. Designated sierra two-one and sierra two-two. Frequency equates to a reactor coolant pump line from CHICAGO. I have stationed the section tracking party and have a line of bearings. Coming left to two-seven-zero to resolve bearing ambiguity.”

  Jacobs leaned over the navigation plot, reading the information that his watch team was busy updating. The quartermaster was feverishly plotted each new bearing line as it was called out of sonar. The fire control technician analyzed the same information on the attack computer. The control room hummed with activity.

  When sonar detected a contact on the towed array, the relative bearing of the noise signal could be from either side of the array. There was no way to immediately tell which side the contact was on. Therefore, there were always two different possible locations for the contact. The only way to resolve the ambiguity was to maneuver the ship and see where the contact showed back up. The problem was the array acted like a whip behind the sub. During, and for several minutes after a turn, the array was bent, so any signals were meaningless. Frequently, when the array was finally straight again, the signal would be gone. The search had to begin all over again.

  Seated at his desk, Hunter digested the report. This would be a good test for the crew, a rare chance to use their skills against another boat.

  “Very well, Officer of the Deck. Station the fire control tracking party. Be on the alert for any other contacts in the area. I will be right out,” he answered.

  As Hunter walked the few steps into the control room, he could hear the muffled bustle of the crew scurrying to their battle stations.

  “Steady on course two-seven-zero. Sonar, report when array is stable,” Bill Fagan, the fire control coordinator, muttered into his headset while directing the fire control tracking party.

  Hunter saw the fire control party had been manned in just under two minutes and was attacking the problem.

  Seaman Martinez brushed by, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, hurrying over to the ballast control panel, donning a sound powered phone headset to be the control room phone talker. The control room was calm and quiet despite the crowd of people trying to do their jobs.

  Not bad, they are getting 'with the program', Hunter thought as he stepped up on to the periscope stand.

  “Coordinator, sonar, array will be stable in five minutes,” the sonar supervisor answered Fagan.

  Fagan turned toward Hunter and quietly murmured, “Captain, sonar reports five minutes to array stable. The contacts are sierra two-one last bearing three-four-four and sierra two-two last bearing zero-one-six. Frequency equates to CHICAGO’s reactor coolant pump line. No other contacts. No contacts in previously baffled area.”

  Hunter responded “Very well, Coordinator. Any sign that CHICAGO has contact on us?”

  “No indication, the frequency was stable right up until we turned. We should know for sure as soon as the array is stable,” the XO answered.

  The sonar supervisor reported, “Coordinator, sonar, the array is stable, integrating.”

  The array had settled out straight behind the sub again. The system began gathering data on the new course. It automatically integrated all the signals it received over a period of time so that it could maximize sensitivity and separate real contacts from random background noise. The system was so sensitive it would detect signal levels much weaker than the surrounding sea noise and several orders of magnitude below what the best sonar man could hear.

  “Coordinator, sonar, regain of sierra two-one. Best bearing three-five-zero. Resolved ambiguity to the Northwest . Attempting to go into ATF on sierra two-one. No other contacts.”

  Fagan murmured into the phone, “Sonar, Coordinator, aye,” and then announced to the fire control party, “Ambiguity has been resolved to sierra two-one bearing three-five-zero. Drop sierra two-two. Going into ATF on sierra two-one.”

  ATF, the automatic target follower, allowed an electronic tracker to follow the contact automatically as it moved through the bearings. It gave the party a continuous update of the bearing to the contact. To do this, it needed a strong, stable signal.

  They gathered and analyzed target data for several minutes to determine the general motion of CHICAGO relative to them. The process of determining the range, course and speed of a submarine using only passive sonar was a tedious, iterative one. Bearing to the CHICAGO and the received frequency were the only real information. Everything else was inferred. Gather bearing and frequency information for five or ten minutes on one course and then change course. Analyze many different possible solutions. Repeat the process until only one solution remained. Hopefully the correct one.

  Through all the maneuvering and data gathering, the sub had to be kept at a range where the hunted would not counter-detect the hunter. Preferably, this was at the very edge of the detection range for the hunter's sonar and far back in the target's baffles; that cone behind his screw where it is difficult for him to hear.

  This all depended on CHICAGO staying on a straight course. If he changed course, a zig, the process had to start all over again. It often took many hours of excruciating attention to all the nuances of the data before having a solution accurate enough to shoot a torpedo. One wrong move in this cat-and-mouse game and the hunter suddenly became the hunted.

  After another hour of tracking the CHICAGO, Hunter turned to Fagan and Jacobs and said, “Well, we know where she is and what she is doing. No indication that she has found us. Normally I'd like to
stay here and play. But we need to get on down the road. XO, secure the fire control tracking party. Officer of the Deck, re-station the section tracking party."

  Stepping over to the navigation chart, Hunter checked SAN FRANCISCO's intended track, plotted with green tape.

  "Track CHICAGO as long as you maintain contact. Be alert for any other contacts. Resume course one-eight-zero. When you get to one-five-five West, one-five North come right to new course two-two-zero. The next waypoint will be one-eight-zero West, zero-zero North."

  27 May 2000, 2245LT (2145Z)

  “We are on schedule for delivery of the first shipment,” Mustaf growled into the cell phone. “It has tested much more successfully than we anticipated. All of the test subjects were symptomatic within an hour after treatment. They all terminated by the third day, most after the first. Much better than the natural product."

  In his office deep underground, just off Peking’s Tiannamen Square, General Liu Pen, the Director of Special Intelligence Operations for the Peoples Republic, listened to the report of his most important asset. “Good, very good. How was the viability of the virus?"

  Mustaf answered, "Even better than we expected. It should last indefinitely in storage. Once dispersed, its soil borne half-life is estimated at twenty years."

  General Liu Pen was impressed. "Excellent. We must discuss the destination for the first shipment,” he answered. “It is my thinking that we should deliver first to the customer who will advertise our wares to our best advantage.”

  “Where do you have in mind?" Mustaf queried. “Our partners at the manufacturing site have their own ideas of how best to use the initial shipments. They are thinking of a few free samples in the local area.”

  “I am aware of their desires,” General Pen answered curtly. “I am not interested in their petty little problems. We have a much larger game to play. If they get lost in the shuffle, that is too bad.”

  The spymaster continued, “But, I am thinking that their simple plots and intrigues may be useful. We will make Suluvana and his traitors the sham front for this endeavor. While we will stay carefully in the background. Make that blustering fool of an admiral think that he is actually directing how this will be accomplished. As long as we can maneuver him in the way we want to go, he will remain useful. When we are through, the West will be in shambles. You will have your revenge and China will assume her rightful place in the World Order.”

  Mustaf replied thoughtfully, "Maybe there is a way to use our impertinent friend. What if his organization became identified with this plot? They would become the most hunted men on Earth."

  Liu Pen snorted. It was as close as he ever got to showing humor. "A marvelous idea, my friend. Great minds sometimes think alike. A note will shortly arrive for the head intelligence officer of each of the members of the UN Security Council. It will demand a very large ransom, just as we planned. The added twist will be that the note will be traceable to Suluvana's people. When the attacks begin, he will immediately be blamed."

  Mustaf added, "And, of course, since you will be receiving one of the notes, you can aid the investigation."

  27 May 2000, 1445LT (28 May, 0145Z)

  “The ship will be conducting angles,” the 1MC blared, presaging the anticipated submarine roller coaster ride.

  “Officer of the Deck, make your depth eight hundred feet with a twenty down,” Hunter ordered from his vantage point behind the diving officer.

  The deck tilted precariously downward as the depth gauge reeled off the change from 150 feet to 800 feet. SAN FRANCISCO slid silently deeper into the depths, without even the sounds of hull creaking or popping.

  “At eight hundred feet, sir,” reported the OOD.

  “Very well. Make your depth one-five-zero feet using a twenty up.”

  Like a large, playful porpoise, the submarine flew upward, toward the light. They repeated the procedure at twenty-five degrees and then at thirty degrees. At a thirty degree down, the precipitous angle of the deck demanded a firm grip on any available handhold to keep from sliding painfully into the forward bulkhead. A loud crash emanated from the galley, just below the control room, where a locker full of crockery fell open, spilling onto the deck.

  “XO, looks like you need to work on the rig-for-sea some more. That crash would have been fatal if we were near someone,” Hunter growled. “Have all the spaces stowed again and we'll repeat the angles. We’ll keep doing them until we get the stowage right.”

  Hunter stalked off forward to his stateroom as Fagan began directing the re-stowage work. Keeping the boat shipshape and stowed for sea took on an entirely different importance for submarines than for surface ships. While surface ships were concerned with appearance and the hazards of adrift equipment in high seas, the submarine was also concerned about the noise generated by improperly stowed gear crashing down when the sub needed to conduct evasive maneuvers. A locker falling open and spilling its contents or even a coffee cup falling from a table to the deck could easily be the difference between being detected or silently slipping away.

  Jon Hunter often related the story of how he had been counter-detected by a Soviet Charlie class SSGN because a mess-cook had decided to use a hammer to bend over the clips on a TDU can. The tale of the ensuing active sonar dogfight made true believers out of the crew.

  28 May 2000, 0430LT (1530Z)

  “Captain, Navigator,” The 21MC speaker in the CO’s stateroom blared. “Just received the fourteen-forty-five Zulu message traffic. It has a message from CHICAGO to SUBPAC. She did not detect us and had no other contacts either,” LCDR Jacobs reported from radio.

  Hunter was instantly awake. He had just drifted back to sleep a few moments before, after observing the trip to periscope depth. Bringing the ship to periscope depth was the most hazardous evolution a submarine routinely performed. A quiet ship could easily be immediately above them and not detected until they were on their way up. It required immediate action to avoid collision. For this reason Hunter was always in the control room to observe any trip up to periscope depth, just as his mentors had been when he was still a pup.

  Hunter left control after ensuring that they were safely alone in this stretch of the South Pacific and fell on his bunk, exhausted. LCDR Jacobs was going to ventilate the sub with fresh air while copying the radio broadcast and verifying the accuracy of his navigation with a GPS fix.

  “Thank you, Nav. Looks like the sound-quieting program is working,” Hunter replied, before falling into the oblivion of slumber.

  Although SAN FRANCISCO conducted many tests and sound trials to make sure that they were as quiet as possible, the best test was still to have another highly proficient sub try to find them. That CHICAGO could not was a comforting affirmation of their efforts. If the CHICAGO couldn’t locate them, chances were very good that no one else could, either.

  8

  29 May 2000, 1830LT (30 May, 0330Z)

  Sam Stuart snatched another pork chop from the large platter. "I'm telling you, Nav, it’s a fool proof system."

  He slapped the chop on his plate and reached for the sweet potatoes. "You can always tell the main course when you first walk in the wardroom, way before the cook serves. Cooks always put the veggie on the table with the salads. Meat is still in the warming oven. Problem is, you don’t know what it is and you want to know whether to pig out on the salad or hold off for the meat. Now, problem solved. Just use my Meat Indicator System."

  Warran Jacobs looked up, chewing reflectively. He swallowed and said, "OK Eng, prove it."

  "Take tonight as a test case. Pork chops. The meat indicator for pork chops is lima beans, always lima beans. There was a bowl of lima beans on the table when we walked in. Applesauce for sliced pork, mashed potatoes for fried chicken. I've got it all worked out."

  Bill Fagan joined in. "You could always read the Plan of the Day. I put the menu in it."

  Both Stuart and Jacobs looked at Fagan and shook their heads. In chorus, they replied, "Nah! XO, nobody believes t
he POD!"

  The cooks shuttled in platter after platter heaped with steaming hot food. The good-natured banter died as the men shifted their attention to the meal. Gradually the feeding frenzy subsided. Finally, the cooks cleared the remnants of the meal and served up bowls of freshly made ice cream for dessert.

  “Well, Mr. Green, that was another fine meal," Hunter commented to the supply officer as he pushed back from the wardroom table. "Where did Petty Officer Swain get the recipe for that clam chowder? It has to be the best in the fleet. Can’t say that I’ve ever had any better, not even when we lived in Maine.”

  The evening meal was the one time the officers could gather together in a social setting. Unlike surface ships with their separate Captain’s Mess, a submarine skipper almost always ate with his officers. His personality determined the overall personality of the wardroom. Jon Hunter had served with both convivial CO’s and ones that bordered closely on anti-social. He was determined that his wardroom would be a close-knit, happy, professional group. He frequently likened this concept to “Nelson’s Band of Brothers” after Admiral Horatio Nelson’s famous group of commanding officers before the Battle of Trafalgar.

  “Excepting, of course, your wife’s. It’s the standard Navy recipe with some of Swain’s special secret spices added,” Ensign Green responded.

  Hunter chuckled, “Sucking up isn’t going to help your FITREP, Chop. Anyway, tell Petty Officer Swain that it was especially good. XO, grab the cribbage board. We’ve got time for a quick game before wardroom training.”