Seas of Crisis (14 page)

Chapter 14

J
effrey went into
Challenger
’s control room to oversee the ticklish activity about to begin. The personnel transfer to
Carter
was the least of it.

Instead of using his console at the rear of the compartment, he stood in the aisle next to Meltzer at the navigation plot. All the data he needed were easily visible either there or on the various widescreen displays on the bulkheads. And now was not the time to sit with his back to people.

Challenger
and
Carter
were still under the Arctic ice cap, at the edge of the east Siberian continental shelf, where the water’s depth dropped steeply from very shallow to six thousand feet. The terrain that interested Jeffrey most was a short distance ahead on his intended track, due south. Tiny Genrietty and Zannetty together represented the extreme tip of the Novosibirskie
Ostrova—the New Siberian Islands. Both were frozen into the ice cap year round. They were the northernmost dry land in this part of Russia, occupied by military surveillance and communication posts. Jeffrey thought of them as like the outer part of a set of
matryoshka
dolls, those nested wooden egg-shaped figures, a popular image of Russian culture.

Penetrating Russian defenses will be a lot like cracking open a locked set of these dolls-within-dolls.

On Jeffrey’s order, the strike group went to silent battle stations. “Proceed with minisub release for
Carter
docking.”

Bell issued the orders, COB worked his console touch screens,
Challenger
’s hangar doors opened, and the mini began to move. It was being piloted by a chief from
Carter
’s crew, and co-piloted by another chief, a Navy SEAL by background, from Kurzin’s commando group. Both men, already fully qualified in the American ASDS minisub design, had come over to
Challenger
at the end of the previous rendezvous. Since then they’d been thoroughly checked out in operating the German mini, by Meltzer and COB. This intense extra preparation was needed, Jeffrey knew, because the German mini, vital to the mission in more ways than one, would never return to
Challenger
again.

The mini began to cover the modest distance across to
Carter.
The two full-size nuclear subs used Jeffrey’s preferred rendezvous formation.
Challenger
’s heading was north, and
Carter
’s was south, with neither ship making forward motion; each bow sphere sonar covered the other ship’s baffles, since no towed arrays were deployed. They kept just enough horizontal and vertical separation to avoid any collision hazard, and not block each other’s wide-aperture arrays on the sides where they faced. Jeffrey liked to think of this as circling the wagons.

In a split second, all calm evaporated.

“New passive sonar contact on the starboard wide-aperture array!” Chief O’Hanlon called out. “Broadband contact, submerged, intermittent, contact bearing is . . . zero-five-zero! Acoustic sea state too high for meaningful ranging!” Noise from the ice cap was interfering with one of the wide-aperture array’s most important functions: instantly finding the range to another submarine. “Contact not close,” O’Hanlon added after a pause to study sound-path data. “I designate the contact Master One.”

Bell acknowledged, surprised and concerned. “Fire Control, commence a target motion analysis on Master One.”

Sessions spoke with Torelli. A tracking party got busy. With enough passage of time—and if the contact wasn’t lost—Master One’s range, course, and speed could be estimated by computer analysis based solely on the way in which the bearing to the contact slowly changed.

“Sir,” Sessions reported, “
Carter
signals, ‘New sonar contact.’ ” Sessions read off the rest of the acoustic-link message, which made it clear that they’d detected the same vessel, Master One. “
Carter
asks whether to proceed with minisub docking while contact is held.”

Bell turned to Jeffrey. “Commodore?”

Jeffrey was forced to make a very difficult choice. “Anything yet on Master One’s range or speed?”

“Negative, sir,” O’Hanlon stated. “And no tonals.”

“Nothing here yet either, sir,” Torelli replied.

“He’s moving and we’re not,” Jeffrey said. “That gives us a sonar advantage.”

“Only if we put the docking on hold,” Bell warned. “Master One might pick up mechanical transients otherwise, sir.”

“If we shift the strike group’s position, and have the minisub follow along, we’ll waste its fuel and we can’t get a refill. We aren’t ready to climb up on the continental shelf, to hide from this guy that way. Deploying off-board probes to scout ahead on the shallow bottom will make mechanical transients too.”

“Hug the slope at the edge of the shelf, and wait for him to go by?” Bell asked.

“Sir,” Sessions interrupted Jeffrey’s train of thought, “
Carter
signals, ‘Minisub requesting clearance to dock. What are your instructions?’ ” The mini’s acoustic-link system was too weak for it to have overheard the very low power messages between
Challenger
and
Carter.
Its passive sonars were much too unsophisticated to have detected Master One on their own. The pair of chiefs in its control compartment were unaware that a third, unfriendly, nuclear submarine was so nearby.

“Master One signal strength increasing slightly,” O’Hanlon said. This suggested it was coming closer.

“Weps?” Bell asked. “Anything?”

“Bearing has shifted left, sir. Worst case is that Master One is approaching, will cross in front of our bow.”

“Can you say when?” Jeffrey asked.

“Could be twenty minutes, could be two hours.”

Sessions spoke up again. “
Carter
has repeated her signal.”

Jeffrey was in a real bind. None of the tactical alternatives were good.

“
Carter
signals, ‘Unknown submerged contact will cross my baffles within one hour.’ ”

The words were matter-of-fact, but the implied tone was insistent. A serious threat was approaching, and soon would enter the baffles zone in which
Carter
was totally blind.

Bell, Sessions, and Torelli kept glancing at Jeffrey, waiting for him to tell them, Harley, and the minisub what to do.

If you don’t have any good choices, pick the one which seems least bad. . . . And the sooner the better. That threat gets closer every second.

“Signal
Carter,
‘Designate contact Master One in further messages. Warn minisub of unidentified vessel’s presence, then proceed with caution but make docking smartly. Signal flagship soonest when docking complete.’ ”

“Yes, Commodore,” Sessions typed. Though the danger hadn’t diminished, the decision to do something made the men around Jeffrey feel better. Harley acknowledged Jeffrey’s message.

“Sonar,” Jeffrey said to Finch, “monitor the mini docking for transients’ duration and signal strength. I want to know in a heartbeat if Master One could have heard anything.”

Finch turned to Chief O’Hanlon, and they conferred.

A sonarman with headphones on, assigned to monitor the minisub, visibly cringed.

“Thump and scraping,” O’Hanlon reported. “Assess as docking attempt aborted. Detection likelihood by Master One unknown.”

Jeffrey cursed to himself. The two chiefs on the mini were handling the little craft clumsily.

“Signal
Carter,
‘Put docking on hold. Will match your depth to shield you acoustically from approaching contact.’ ”

Sessions sent the message; Harley acknowledged.

“Captain,” Jeffrey told Bell, “rise on autohover, make your depth seven-three-zero feet, smartly.”

Bell gave the helm order; Patel acknowledged and tapped at his keyboard and touch screen.

Jeffrey watched
Challenger
’s depth decrease from eight hundred fifty feet until her bulk stood between the upper part of
Carter
’s hull and Master One. “Signal
Carter,
‘Resume docking.’ ”

Once more Sessions typed, and Harley acknowledged.

The sonarman cringed again.

“Thud and clunks,” O’Hanlon said. “Assess as mating collar lineup, and lockdown clamps engaging.”

Carter
signaled that the docking had succeeded.

“Detection likelihood by Master One undetermined,” O’Hanlon said. Without knowing what class of sub-
marine Master One was—what quality of passive sonars it carried—plus still lacking any useable data on distance, O’Hanlon and Finch had no way to calculate an enemy detection threshold for the noises just made.

Jeffrey had another idea. “Could we and
Carter
somehow triangulate a range to the contact?”

“Negative, sir,” O’Hanlon said. “We’re too close together. Otherwise I’d’ve suggested it.”

“Very well, Sonar Supervisor.”

“Master One still approaching. No further data.”

“Very well.”

He’d fallen behind the curve of unfolding events, thrown off guard by Master One’s appearance when his strike group was at its most vulnerable—in the middle of a minisub rendezvous next to unfavorable terrain. He pushed to get back ahead of the curve.

“Signal
Carter,
‘Strike group maintain formation and continue to track Master One. Secure all unnecessary machinery for maximum silencing.’ ”

Once more Sessions typed, then announced
Carter
’s acknowledgment. Bell issued orders to COB, including to secure the ventilation fans. O’Hanlon said that Master One continued coming closer. Torelli said his people thought the contact was now about ten miles away, and might come within four miles before passing and going off into the distance. Given the uncertainty in these figures, this was much too close for comfort.

“Sir,” Sessions called, “
Carter
signals, ‘My pump jet is exposed to Master One’s probable track near closest point of approach. Will be unable to suppress echo if Master One goes active.’ ” The rotary slats at the back of a pump jet had no effective anechoic protection.

Jeffrey examined the navigation plot and the gravimeter. He faced the same problem as before. The nearby slope from the continental shelf down into deep water showed clearly on the gravimeter. The strike group was pinned against that slope. The shelf itself was only two hundred feet deep here, and for
Carter
to rise that high on autohover from her present formation depth of seven hundred fifty feet might cause her steel hull to pop—a dead giveaway to the ever-approaching Master One. And there were unknown dangers up on that shelf, including maybe antisubmarine mines or sensors, or both.

“Captain,” Jeffrey told Bell, “on auxiliary maneuvering units, translate own-ship sideways one hundred yards due east.”

Bell gave the new helm order; Patel acknowledged and worked his console to put it into effect.

“Signal
Carter,
” Jeffrey said, “ ‘Am increasing separation. Prepare to pivot your ship on auxiliary maneuvering units to heading due north.’ ”

Patel reported when he’d completed the eastward lateral shifting of
Challenger.
That gave
Carter
enough room to safely rotate her bow from south to north.

Jeffrey signaled Harley to pivot his ship. Now both ships’ baffles, and their pump jets, were protected by facing the slope of the shelf. This was the best that Jeffrey could do. If Master One was also hugging the edge of the shelf, bad things would happen quickly. Depending on that other sub’s depth, a collision wasn’t impossible, even if she didn’t open fire. The strike group was in international waters, but not by much. Genrietty Island wasn’t very far away.

“Your intentions, Commodore?” Bell asked.

“Sit here and wait.”

“I’m not sure I can agree with that, sir.”

“Why not?”

“The shelf floor seems to be safer than the steep open side of the slope. We know Master One is a submarine, and it’s approaching. We don’t know for sure there are any sensors planted on the shelf. That makes Master One the greater threat, the one to maneuver smartly to avoid.”

“Negative. The known threat is not the greater threat. The greater threat is the unknown floor of the shelf.”

Bell frowned. “At least rotate both ships so we’re facing Master One head on, show our smallest profiles, and point our torpedo tubes right at her.”

“Sorry, but no. I don’t want to lose the contact we hold on the wide-aperture array, then risk not regaining it soon enough on the bow sphere. Turning now would show our largest acoustic profiles at Master One’s closest point of approach instead, which is more dangerous.” A sub typically emitted greater acoustic energy from her sides than in the direction of dead ahead. And twirling both subs in place with their auxiliary maneuvering units, to keep their noses pointing at Master One, was too noisy and too complicated. “We can’t open fire first, our ROEs don’t allow it here. Besides, if we do have to shoot when shot at, I’d rather save the best setup for when Master One is nearest us. Our tubes will be aimed right at her then, with hers aimed away from us. . . . We stay put.”

Bell frowned again. “Understood.”

As always when the fans were stopped, the control room was getting stuffy. This latest tactics dispute between Bell and Jeffrey had heightened the already existing tension among the crew. People tried to settle in for another uncomfortable wait.

“Signal
Carter,
‘Acknowledge this message and then secure acoustic link except for extreme emergency. I will signal if evasive maneuvers required, or when I deem Master One is out of counterdetection range against strike group.’ ”

Jeffrey watched the tactical plot as Master One changed from a large, multicolored blob, showing a broad area of uncertainty, into a point: O’Hanlon and Torelli at last had better data.

Yikes.
The closest point of approach would be within two miles, not four, in ten minutes. Master One was on a course due west at fourteen knots, at a depth of six hundred sixty feet—two hundred meters to her captain, who’d be thinking metric.
Very close.
She was an Akula-II, identified by quirks in her signature as
K-335,
commissioned in 2001 and upgraded since then.