Twenty Minute Wars: CBG Seven
by Michael G. Crawford
"Okay, Rebie", replied Captain Birel Hosenofu. "Let us wait another few minutes, and make sure the pig isn't waiting for us to make a mistake and announce ourselves. We will play the sand rat a little longer, 'aulad. Then we move on." The young hydrophone operator relaxed, the Captains use of 'aulad or "my son" was a comforting intimacy from the great man. The honor came from the fact that everyone knew his son had been killed by the Americans in the raid that had also killed the Great Colonel's adopted daughter.
Birel turned toward the chart on the table, and adjusted the position of the dividers for the sixth time. He would make one more stop, then head back out to sea.
The rendezvous would be performed flawlessly, under the African's and American's very eyes. It suited him well this mission. Like his father the trader, he loved to make the 'mjanin-ajiz, the impotent fool, blink. To steal the other's money while he smiled in appreciation. It was even better when he enjoyed the other's woman without his knowing; it was the best of insults and the best of victories.
His training with the British years ago had primed him for this mission, and the patience learned as a child had served him with the British pigs as it was now with the Americans.
Birel could remember the hard years in the past, the mistreatment by the arrogant British. Certainly he should have been treated with honor. Only few of his countrymen had been chosen to participate in the special British submarine training school. The only men who could be taught the technology of the ocean were those who could see beyond the desert and the never-ending fight to survive in its heat.
And the Englishman's penchant for one's family should have also made him someone to respect as well.
Birel's father had been a superb trader and only occasionally a thief. But the price for his acceptance to the sub school had been the ostracization by the British instructors and students alike. As if he Birel Hosenofu, a good and faithful Moslem, were unclean. In a way he could understand the religious fervor that suddenly struck the Christians. It was a play that had been acted out a thousand times before in thousands of years of history. But pretense of a better class effected even by the lowly deck swab had irritated him the most. He couldn't understand the "parentage" fallacy, didn't see how his father should make him less of a man, less of submarine officer. Even if he cared about "who" his father was, he should be proud. His father was a well respected man in Libya. And when they travelled among the Turkish, he even rated the title of effendi, reserved for the most wealthy and respected. And this wasn't just a shysters gratuity offered to a tourist, the title was offered by officials and merchants alike even when his father was not there to hear it.
In any case, he had lived with the British for many years after the German occupation of North Africa. He had learned of their two class system, and had resented it from the very beginning.
He also had occasion to deal with the coarse and ill-mannered Americans. It was amazing to Birel how a people who pretended to hate tyranny could enjoy being so imperious. Even if they claimed to be classless, he had often wondered how a classless society could have a middle class? Who then were at the extremes? Were there not a lower class and a ruling class. Who were these so called farmers who were Presidents or Senators? Didn't one find them to really be the decadent rich farm owners with hundreds of peasants working for low wages and equally insulting living conditions?
With a start, he realized he had been dreaming again. Looking at Jado, he saw that his Exec was politely waiting for his Captain to complete his studious concentration. "The fool probably believes I have been working on my master plan, my history making course of action that will make him a Captain of his own Soviet-built submarine" he thought to himself.
Birel had wondered how he would be able to work with this crew. But he had found it all too easy. Jado was a good example. The man...no the boy...had so much pride, that his common sense had been masked. His barely adequate intelligence was always working on insuring he had just the right answer, just the right boast to insure that everyone knew HE was the Executive Officer.
Despite the officer's failings, Birel felt a keen sense of success. He and two of his original crew from the post war era had trained these men into passable submariners. In a few years the Great Colonel would have a capable fighting Navy, both above and below the water. Thanks in no small part to Birel.
But returning to the present, he decided they had waited long enough. He would like to make their rendezvous a little early, just to insure their were no desert foxes waiting to intrap them. But the meeting could wait, even though he was anxious to consummate the deal with the North Africans, anxious to conclude their arrangement. The AK-47s stored in cases all over his submarine were the trade goods he had to offer.
It made his blood boil to have to deal with these people but when the U.S. had threatened to remove the French from their already tenuous ties to NATO, the Great Colonel's best supply of arms had been cut off. Even if Birel's anger reached critical proportions, it mattered little to nabi-Colonel Khadafy, the great prophet. Libya needed the missiles to sink the American and British ships. They would bargain with the North African devils. But then they and the rest of the world would pay for their decadent ways. And he Birel Hosenfu would help the nabi take his revenge.
With this new boat the Mizda, the 'Amara Allah', the Fleet of God as Khadafy called the Libyian Navy, was now in the forefront of high technology. Soon the world would feel fear the hand of God Allah, fear his hand UNDER the sea.
****************************************************
"Commander Amaray, we just picked up something strange" sang out Denny, the Hydro man onboard the Nicholson.
"Whatcha' got?" said Ben, bypassing his executive officer.
"I don't rightly know, Skipper. It's kinda like a sonar echo, but its not...well, not natural sounding. Its kind of predictable. It comes in pulses, about three to four seconds apart."
"That sounds like the MHD."
"Yeah, like that, only...well...it can't be, I know THAT sound real well. This isn't like that. Hell, I don't know."
"Easy, Denny. Need a break?"
"No, Sir. I'm okay. It's just so damn frustrating. I've been hearing it off and on for about five minutes now, and I can't seem to get a real bearing on it. It's like it was reflecting off the shoreline or the bottom."
"The bottom you say" interrupted the Deck Officer.
"Maybe, Sir, I..."
"Hold on a second" said the D.O. and then ducked out of the Command Center, running down the companionway to officer's country.
Ben looked up at his Exec. "Any ideas, Ochin?"
"Nope. Maybe Lt. Sampson's got something, though."
Ben looked his Exec in the eye, and the two exchanged glances as several of the men turned away to hide their smirks. The two Senior officers had been making a superb effort to keep themselves above the remarks, nods, and winks of the men. They were trying to set an example to the men, but having a hell-of-a-time not saying the wrong thing. Even the most innocent expressions sometimes came out wrong.
As much as they wished it not to be so, they found themselves labelled as chauvinists. Oh well, they were trying as hard as they could, the could only continue their effort. If only they could relax and be themselves. But then they both had realized that it was their own upbringing which made it so difficult. It was not something they could throw off without concerted effort. They would try though, the goal was worthwhile. Reliable and potential leaders like their Deck Officer were hard to find anywhere. They both were determined not to deprive the Navy of an officer like Sampson just because of something stupid like her gender.
In a moment, the Lt. brushed by the Exec Officer carrying a floppy disk in her hand and a triumphant grin on her face.
"Found it, Sir", she said, and then whispered a quick instruction to the hydro man. He inserted the floppy into the training setup next to his console.
She then turned back to the Skipper and explained, still using a quiet voice, very aware of the incongruity of a Lt. Junior Grade lecturing to the Skipper.
"This is a floppy from the course I attended at Newport, Sir. It's got a whole new catalog of new sounds, and I thought I remembered one of my classmates describing it. I'm not supposed to have the floppy, I kind of stole a copy from my friend. I didn't bring it out earlier, cuz'..." she hesitated now, aware perhaps of the breach of security she was implying she had made. "...I wanted to make sure it was useful before I bothered Denny with it."
The Captain ignored the impropriety of the action, though, much more concerned about what the new information might mean to the crew of the Nicholson. "Have you heard this sound Denny's describing?"
"Well yes...at least I think so. But I'm not sure enough. Denny will be able to tell better."
"Denny, let's listen in while you're running through the training tape, and play back the sound that's bugging you on the speaker so the Lt. can hear it."
"Aye, Sir."
As the speaker came alive, the dark haired Lt. listened with eyes at the ceiling, trying to pick out the sounds.
"Definitely not a pulsor" whispered Ochin.
"Right" replied Ray in an equally quiet voice.
The young women continued to concentrate, now donning headphones and fiddling with the training console. In a few seconds the Hydro man said, "That's it, Sir!"
"Okay, so give Lt."
She moved over to the senior officers, and motioned the hydro man in closer. Speaking in a quiet voice again, she said,
"Don't know the procedure, Sir..." but from a nod from her Skipper she continued. "...this is a training tape for the new SFS gear, uuhhh Subterranean Following Sonar. Heard of it?"
"Yeah!!!" said the Skipper, then clarified,
"I've heard OF it, but haven't actually heard it, with my own ears. Let's check it out. Mister Smith!"
"Aye Sir."
"Let's look up SQS-98. I want the ship or ships outfitted with it."
"Aye, Sir. Be just a second". The Ensign turned his back to the Senior Officers and his hands flew over his computer keyboard as he began a database search for the equipment requested. In less than thirty seconds, he had the answer.
"Got it, Sir. Just two LA boats currently embarked with the SQS-98, the Houston and the Philadelphia.
*****************************************************
"Okay, Ralphie. Let's move on 'em again. Ahead, 10 turns. I wanna' put pressure on him."
"Aye, Sir, 10 turns" reported the Exec aboard the LA class boat well below and behind the Nicholson.
The U.S.S. Houston was creeping along now, still avoiding the bottom. She was loitering under and two miles to the West of the Nicholson.
Their last SFS burst had given them a clean map for at least another 1000 yards, and the hydrophone had reported that the other submarine had begun to move again.
Ray predicted that this was the last stop. Their target would be quietly crawling along now but still maintaining silent routine. Not that the unknown sub's Skipper would be concerned with being heard. Most likely the other sub driver was just playing it safe.
In the same token, Ray was certain that the other sub did not know the Houston was now part of the action. The other skipper would feel free to begin his real mission at any time now. With any kind of luck, the surface ships would arrive just in time to fence the joker in, and the U.S. ships would have made a "capture", a nice propaganda coup.
"Go to Red." he whispered.
"Aye, Sir" was the Exec's reply as he turned and spoke into the intercom in a hushed voice.
"Boson, quiet routine GQ, boat is at Condition 1. I repeat, battle ready the boat. General Quarters-Nuclear. Load a "high speeder" in tube 2. Also I want two decoys on the rails. Then ready a nuclear torpedo for arming down there as well. It will go into tube 1. Report readiness back to me."
"Aye, Sir" came the soft reply from the Chief of the boat.
"Just in case, Ralphie. I want Subrocs ready for tubes 3 and 4. Get the nuclear arming party warmed up for those too. Arm on my order only, confirm."
"Aye, Sir. UUM-44A-2 for tubes 3 and 4, no arm now, order is in CIC."
"Carry on, Commander" said Ray with a grim look on his face.
Then the Captain spoke out clearly so all in the Command Center could hear. "Commander, I am ordering arming of the nuclear weapon in torpedo tube one. I am ordering double confirmation required for firing."
"Aye, Sir. Arm nuclear torpedo, tube 1, double confirmation to fire" repeated his Exec in the formal tones they all used when dealing with things nuclear.
A scurry of quiet activity as the ship went to red lighting, and the enunciators moved into war time footing.
The ship was now undoubtedly at war, and it was his job now to insure every possibility for retaliatory strike was available, dependent, of course, on the kind of action they encountered. The Subroc missile was a nuclear tipped anti-submarine warfare weapon, fired at one sub by another. It was shot out the standard 21 inch diameter torpedo tube, and once well away from the launching submarine, the rocket motor would ignite and then the missile would shoot out of the water. Then once in the air, it would fly to a specific spot on the surface using its intertial guidance system. Once on target, the missile would make a cushioned fall to the water, sink to the predetermined depth, then explodes its 1 KT warhead.
The standard nuclear torpedo, on the other hand, would receive targeting information from the computers just before it left the tube, and would not be fully armed unless it was told to do so before it left its guiding wire. It still could scare their opponent into making a mistake down here, even if it was never fully armed. And Ray knew that even a simple mistake under water could spell the end of their foe.
But the loading of the nukes made everyone aboard the Houston nervous...the word spread quickly. Even though they had loaded them often in training, and in fact four times before in "live" action, the awesome power and commitment to war they implied subdued even the most "hawkish" of the hawks aboard the Houston.
If the confrontation they were about to begin were to escalate to nuclear attack on the destroyer Nicholson, Ray had to have his trump card ready. He had to have it instantly ready, because he launched on nuclear confirmation, in case he too was the target of a nuclear weapon.
"Verts 3 and 4 ready for arming, nuke for tube number 1 is armed" whispered the Commander.
"Okay. Sonar prepare the big pulse. Weapons, I want lock on confirmation verbally as it happens and I want the fire key for tube number 2 in release mode, confirm."
"Aye, Sir, verbal confirmation on lock-on, and tube 2 will fire when I let up on the key."
"Carry on. Commander, I want you at the nuke panel with your key. I am opening the weapons box." "Aye, Sir, you are opening weapons locker. I wait your order."
Ray unlocked the weapons box with his key, and opened the door, once again feeling the tension surrounding the formality of the nuclear armed boat.
He now took out the two 38's in their shoulder holsters. These guns were for the weapons officer, now Commander Armstrong and himself. If one of them tried to fire the nuclear weapon without proper procedure, the other would use the hand weapon.
After handing a gun and one key to his Exec, he said "Insert keys, Commander" and the two men nervously inserted their launching keys in their respective nuclear firing stations.
"Arming party in missile galley" reported the Exec.
"Roger that, Commander. Proceed with fusing, I say again, arm nuclear tubes 3 and 4."
"Aye, Sir you have ordered and confirmed your order to fuse the two nuclear Subrocs in tubes 3 and 4" replied Commander Sperry, confirming out loud these critical orders.
"Carry on Mr. Sperry."
As they crept up on their target, the boat became terribly silent, all hands waiting for the action to begin...and to end.
*****************************************************
"Definite Los Angeles class signature now, Skipper. I believe it is the Houston I could be more certain, but something is wrong with the signature. I can't quite put my finger on it yet" reported the hydro man on the destroyer U.S.S. Nicholson. She was still crawling along silently on her thrusters, still hunting for her prey.
"Ahhhmmm". The the nervous Lt. Sampson cleared her throat, not quite certain if she should interrupt.
"Yes?" asked Ben.
"The vertical launch tube update, Sir?"
"Yes, go ahead damnit, I don't trust you when you start getting shy on me, Sampson. In fact, when my Junior officers start changing personalities on me I get frustrated. And when I get frustrated I get angry. Am I communicating here?"
"Aye, Sir. When the Houston was in Groton, she finally got the slots for her vertical tubes added for the Tomahawks, the caissons bulge at the top a little, causing a slight change in the boundary layer. That would explain the new signature on her. We simply haven't gotten a new Naval Vessels dump into the computer yet" she finished with a hopeful look on her face, hoping for some response to her wealth of knowledge.
"Thank you, Mister" was all the thanks she got as the Skipper turned to his Executive Officer. The expectant look vanished from the young Duty Officer and she turned back to her station a grim, but determined look replacing the earlier hopefulness.
"Okay Ochin, what's your feeling on this?" asked Ben, oblivious to the young officer's need for approval.
"Uhhh..." began Ochin, not missing the interplay between Commander and Lieutenant. He assumed that the Skipper expected his Junior officers to ready with vital information, but perhaps he was being a little tough on Sampson. He only thought it over for moment though, realizing that Childers was always tough on the Juniors, and backing off on Sampson would just fuel the ongoing tensions over the officer. Forcing the thought aside, he realized he had not answered the Skipper's direct question. He had better come up with a good answer or he would begin to receive the same treatment himself. Childers was in a rare mood.
"Well I see it like this, Sir. Houston is...uhh, Sampson who's conin' the Houston?...the Houston is tailing our underwater friend too. They're trying to box him in from down below. In my opinion, the Skipper of the Houston has a stronger hand than we do since I'm fairly sure the target doesn't know there is another sub in the game. Now, if there were a second sub coming in from the North, then I would bet on my theory. Certainly with the Scott closing in from the North, we are putting lots of pressure on the target Alfa's Skipper."
"Captain Ray Planett is skippering the Houston Sir" interrupted the Lt.
"Ahh" replied Ben, familiar with Planett's record. "Okay, so this is how it works. Planett pings the Alfa. The Alfa gets scared and turns back at us. We make all kinds of noise and run right down his throat, throwing ash cans around all the time we're painting him on sonar."
Continuing with the scenario, Ochin spoke up, "The Alfa, now dodging the depth charges and afraid for his life, turns hard to the North only to hear the Scott charging in hard. He turns toward the easy way out, cuts loose with a Surface Launched Cruise Missile or two at us, and we scramble. This opens up a hole and out he slips. If we out maneuver the SLCM, then we get away too."
"So all we have to do is hold the line, here, huh?"
"Yes, Sir. Right, Sir. I've always wanted to see a Soviet anti-ship missile up close. Do you think I should run and get my Polaroid?"
Grinning, Ben replied, "Yeah, take a couple of shots for my kids back home. Seriously Ochin, what happens if he comes thundering our way after cutting loose with his SLCM. AND we don't budge, AND we somehow disable the missiles, he..."
"...Finds himself running into a box, with us holding the lid" finished Ochin with admiration. "He can't go inland too far, not enough water. And to his starboard side is a big ole' LA boat pinging him, like big time."
"Right! So our only chance of winning this one is to stand pat, and dodge the SLCM."
"Yes Sir. But chaff is only so good. I don't like the idea of sitting here spitting chaff, hoping the bastard's missile gets fooled. It IS nearly a fifty-fifty bet!"
"Yeah, well, we can improve on that a little, Ochin. Suppose we assume his missile is a high- diver. It comes popping up on radar as it snaps over the horizon. We launch a 3000 foot high Distraction Mode chaff cloud at it all the time it is falling in terminal mode. Maybe, as the cruise missles were launched, they were programmed with our general course and position. Then they would be assuming we have been continuing very near to that same course. If the cloud of chaff doesn't disperse too much before the missile pops up, we can sucker it away."
Then thinking a moment about what they had said, he continued, "Okay, so we do a good job and try to predict when the silly shit is going to launch the missile, and cover the sky with a bunch of chaff layers. Each layer falls slowly, and we replenish it. No matter what, his chances of spotting us is reduced by every layer we have in the sky. Now if we had a second clump of chaff, say, off to the starboard, maybe we can fool the missile into thinking that the big cloud is the fake. And then it might believe the small cloud is really us, hiding off to the side."
"Yes Sir" agreed Ochin, a frown of concentration on his face, "...but what if the missile 'thinks' the cloud above us really is the ship. Won't it dive on through?"
"It could, it could. But even so the cloud will be forward of us some, and the so missile would have to lock on to us with its terminal radar. We'll pump the sky full of electronic garbage. If the CM goes to high power on its search radar, our Sea Sparrows will have a beautiful, hard-to-miss target." It'll never get a chance to lock on."
"Okay, I buy that. What about if it is a sea skimmer? How about we put the choppers up. Then with two waves of SAMs we can catch 'em either way."
"Okay, I get it. We hope the choppers detect the launch and then target the cruise missile for our Sea Sparrows despite the incoming being over the horizon. Okay I like it, Ochin. Good job. Carry on!"
"How about our guest, Sir. Shall we run 'em over the mainland now?"
"Affirm. Put our passengers ashore at Llandudno. Our guests can get surface transport into CapeTown from there. Then have the chopper rush back, I may need to start dipping sonar if our target gets away." The Skipper was refering to the LAMPS - Light Airborne Multi-Purpose System. The helicopter's main mission was as a highly mobile submarine warfare unit. It could hop over to a spot on the surface, dip in a sonar transmitter and receiver module tethered by cable, then as necessary hop again to another spot. Once spotting a target, it could also launch an air launched Harpoon or a Mk46 lightweight torpedo.
"Also, signal on NTDS to the Scott, letting her know what we're up to." The Skipper was ordering the use of the Navy Tactical Data System, a computerized data link system was used for tracking targets and for quick radio exchange of tracking data between friendly ships. In this case is was necessary for both accurate targetting information as well as for the inherent encryption capability of the system.
"Aye, Aye Sir. ASW, launch the LAMPS missions, both choppers off in 2 minutes" Ochin ordered.
"Aye Sir" replied the ASW officer manning the Anti-Submarine Warfare console.
"Okay, Condition 1. I want us ready for battle in 1 minute!" directed Ochin, his voice full of his resolve and authority.
The klaxon burst out, and the engine room began to power up the four LM2500 gas turbines. Soon the 80,000 shaft horsepower would be at Ben's disposal.
*****************************************************
Out on the deck Adam was looking out over the stern of the Nicholson as men readied the chaff canisters in their launchers. This, Terry had explained, pointing into the air to trace the path of the boost stage, could be used as "Deception Mode" chaff. The idea was to make a clump of metal fragments appear directly in line between an attacking missile and the ship. Hopefully the missile would explode or dive prematurely.
"The other method..." continued Terry, "is seduction mode. The idea for this one is to make big clouds of chaff out in front of your ship, where they appear to be one or two ships lined up. The incoming missile mistakes the clouds for its target, and its proximity fuse explodes or it simply gets drawn off course and it locks-on to a phantom target. These usually explode on their own or fall harmless into the sea."
"What are you two doing out here?" shouted Lt. Commander Amaray. "If we get incoming you'll be holed for sure. You oughta' know better, Sir" he said looking hard at Terry Sustance.
"Inside with you two. Sweet Jesus" he finished.
They were hustled into the companionway and the door battened down. Once inside, Terry spoke up, "You know he was right, it was stupid of us to be outside. I should have known better. Especially near the bridge like that. The missiles coming in will be looking for the bridge or try to go for the central spaces to take out the engines or boilers. We'd be punched full of holes up there."
"Well, I don't like sittin' around helpless..."
"Yeah but you're safe. Hey man, they're getting paid for this shit. You're not. Enjoy being a tourist for once."
Adam grinned at his friends attempts to cheer him up, but the vision of Chu being crushed by the sinister black shape quickly wiped it from his face. He realized that it was a kind of delayed shock to the sight of his friends death. But even though he could logically understand the irrationality of his feelings, the ill-logical part of his mind kept driving him to revenge. His logical self was having a difficult time overriding his emotions in this instance, and that in-of-itself was dismaying.
He had seldom had to deal with the problem before. He had pushed himself through school, ignoring most of the play that his fellow students engrossed themselves in. When he had finally graduated, he had gone straight to work on the one of the first and largest underwater excavations in history.
The black Jacque Cousteau, he had been nicknamed on that expedition, and it had stuck. How funny it all had seemed, how deliciously risque his friends had been in braggin' him up to their peers. He had been sucked into the fraternity of the ultra-bright, and only now did he realize his folly. He was suddenly fully aware of the realities of living in the current day and age. Out there somewhere, some maniac was trying to spear this ship, and another maniac was up in the Command Center or whatever they called it, trying to kill the other.
For whatever reasons they battled, Adam could not agree in principle. His heart said "Revenge" and yet his head said "Whoa, is this the action of a rationale being?" He knew that he was pausing on a precipice, a moment in his life where he could go either way, become a rabid hawk, seeking to destroy, or become a man with a clear sense of duty to stop any further bloodshed, stopping in the process his own act of revenge. He felt a sense of self preservation and wondered if he was indeed acting in self defense or just using that as an excuse to submit to the animal self.
Within him, the two forces battled, and as usual, his academician liability, his knack for seeing both sides of the question in equal proportion, kept him from jumping to any one side of the argument.
"What I need is a good nights sleep" he said out loud.
"My friend the escapist. If I thought drinking would help, I'd take you to sickbay and ask the Ship's Doctor to prescribe a stiff whiskey. But escape isn't the ticket my friend" said Terry.
As Adam frowned his friend continued, "...it will only push off the pain until later. Meet it head on. I know it hurts, I feel it too. But trying to forget or trying to hide from is just no good. Seaman learn it in battle, and by God Adam, you have just been in battle. We civilians forget what kind of war is going on around us, and just assume things are just as peaceful as the world under the sea. What we don't realize is how tenuous that peace is."
"Your mouth really carries on, doesn't it. What I don't need is a lecture from a crazy Frenchman, one who just happens to be Mr. Rabid Warhawk. No thanks. Let me stew on it. I'll be all right tomorrow. I have always known what a time bomb we live on, I just chose to ignore it. Now that it has touched me, ignorance is no longer excusable. I am going to do something about it, that's all. It'll take some time to figure out in what from it will be, but I am going to do something. And another thing. I want to stick this out, I don't want to get off this ship!"
Just as he finished the sentence the Exec strolled up, and started to refute the tall black man's demand. Instead he stopped himself, noticing the anger of the older man.
Adam's eyes shown with an eerie intensity and Terry was frightened for him for just a moment. It passed though, and the two friends headed for their temporary quarters on the Nicholson, with the Lt. Commander following.
"I'm afraid you won't have the option of staying, gentleman" said Ochin finally interrupting their silence. "The Skipper has ordered you ashore on one of the choppers. He's already in trouble for having you aboard this long. Civilians endangered and all that."
Adam just glared at him, sensing already the uselessness of trying to argue with the Naval bureaucracy.
****************************************
Two minutes later as the last chopper with the two archaeologists was preparing to lift off, Ben requested from CIC, "Ochin set me up a backfield depth charge pattern. Start at the bottom and work your way up and toward us. We'll also try to force him closer to the surface. Left full rudder, course 330, all ahead two-thirds."
"Aye Sir, right full rudder, course 330, all ahead two thirds" replied Ochin.
"Skipper, Chopper 1 away, V.I.P.S. on board. Number two coming out now. Verts 1- 4 loaded with ASROC, IPDMS and CIWS are online, and ship's defense systems are on automatic" reported ASW.
"Okay, let's check the Mk 116 fire control before we shoot. I don't eeve-unn wanna' come close to targeting SUBROC on the Houston. We're at war gentlemen" the Skipper said in his best voice of command.
*****************************************************
"Nicholson powering up, Sir!" noted the hydroman aboard the Houston.
"Got it, Freddy. Keep on it. Ralphie, let's go for it. All ahead two thirds, at 1000 feet, open outer doors. Sonar, ping him with the big one."
"Aye Sir. Standby for Sonar" replied the sonarman, and then they all could feel and hear the awesome sonar pulse going out, painting everything in or on the water for 4 miles.
"I have multiple surface contacts, Nicholson and one other ship, probably the Scott. One underwater contact, bearing 10 degrees off the port bow. Definite Alfa class sub. Both surface contacts have gone active, IFF shows us Nicholson, and confirms the Scott. Both have ranging data on the target" then after he paused for another second, "Holy shit! Another underwater contact Sir, way out there."
"What's OUR target doing, Freddy?"
"Well, he's choking right now. He was on course 040 when the ping hit him, and I'd be willing to bet I heard him turn toward the fast route away--oh sorry--090 to make an end run or even better. Nicholson is underway now, Sir. Her shafts turning hard."
"Okay, secure Sonar, come right to 110 degrees, up to 800. Outer Doors get opened, Ralphie?"
"Aye, Sir. Ready to launch all."
"Roger. Hang tough everybody. Let's not get itchy. Remember we want to scare this guy, not spear him if we don't have to. Any ideas on the far off contact?"
"Could be anybody around here" murmured Ralphie.
"Yeah, great fun. Sonar update me on the far contact's actions as soon as you can." Turning to his Exec again, he said, "Do you think the Alfa heard the far contact's sonar return?"
"Depends on how much pain their hydro man is in" replied the Exec with a grin.
"Gotta a thump, Sir, bearing dead ahead, 3000 yards. Our target is running 112 degrees, around 1200 feet and diving."
"Launch the forward decoy! And load another!"
"Decoy in the water and running its pattern, Sir."
"No other screws, Sir. It may have been a rocket launch."
"Shit! He's shot at the Nicholson. Hang on everybody, if he hits Nicholson, that subs dead."
"Confirm missile launch, Sir, just cleared the surface. Two of em."
"Okay, Commander Turn your key on Number 1 to Auto. I repeat set nuclear torpedo in tube 1 for Auto arm."
"Aye Sir" replied Commander Sperry, staring back hard at his Captain. The two of them did not want to be the first to go nuclear in the Navy.
"Nicholson is not evading, Sir. She's up to something...No screws! That's it, Sir. She's stopped dead. It may be a feint, Sir. She ran 'em up, then hauled it all in, all before the missiles could've struck yet. But is she ever a sitting duck now!"
"Damn!" swore Ralphie under his breath.
"Target sub is moving out now, she is making a run right at Nicholson, Sir. Nicholson still painting him. No active sonar from the hostile yet, but I'm sure he knows we are here somewhere. Only thing is, with the amplitude of our burst, he is probably sure we are right next to him."
"Let's hope so, Freddy." Ray continued to look at his Exec, waiting for that one piece of tactical data which required them to turn there keys simultaneously to the fire position enabling the weapons officer to fire the nuclear sub-harpoons.
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"Fire at will!" came the order from Ochin, his automatic prerogative in defending the Nicholson against any attacker.
"Aye, Sir, IPDMS 1 through 2 fired, 3 and 4 armed".
Ben Childers stared intently at the radar scope, peering over he shoulder of the seaman manning the large round orange phosphor screen. On it, the blossoms of the chaff clouds could be seen hanging forward of the ship, with the altitudes of the various layers called out in different color letters. Piercing the clouds of little dots, was the Sea Sparrow Improved Point Defense Missile, as it streaked up and forward toward the incoming SS- N-19 cruise missile. Then another fast arc of the second rammed its way through the cloud, and a slight turn could be seen on the Anti-Air Warfare rocket as it too tried to pierce the electronic jungle in front of the incoming anti-ship weapon.
Both streaks arced up and to the left on the screen, and as the operator zoomed out to the next level of area display, the arcs could be seen converging on the general area of a pair of ghostly blips also arcing quickly across the screen.
"Fire 3 and 4" urged Ochin, now in a quiet voice, the tension causing him to grit his teeth and wait for the inevitable. Now as they watched the scope, they could see the electronic warfare going on between the hostile sub's missiles and their own. Their own search gear's confusion could be seen in the rapidly pulsing in and out of the incoming targets. The Electronic Counter Measures (ECM) suite on the hostile missile was playing hell with the powerful and more sophisticated sensors on the Destroyer. The effect would be far worse on the less sophisticated electronics of the Nicholson's Sea Sparrow missiles.
But they watched, the arcs converged one by one, into an area slightly in front of the incoming missiles. With less than a thirty seconds to go, the deck lookout shouted over the intercom, "Explosion ahead on port quarter, about 2 miles."
But one blip still showed on the screen, it now arcing in for the kill.
"Engine Flare, Port Beam, 3000 yards!" screamed the lookout.
"Hang On" shouted Ochin into the intercom, and everyone on board the Nicholson ducked involuntarily as the imminent impact sent chills up their backs. Ben wondered if this was the feeling shared by the crew of the U.S.S. Stark felt during the short moments before the impact, moments after the Captain of that ill-fated ship had warned them of the incoming missile. At least the men on the Nicholson had been able to take their best shot at avoiding the incoming round. Thank god for the new rules of engagement.
Suddenly the Phalanx multi-barrelled gun began its throaty roar, as it pumped over 3000 rounds a minute into the path of the remaining missile.
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On the Houston, the hydro man reported, "Nicholson is powering up again. Flight time for hostiles has been expended."
Both the senior officers released a long breath, then Ray said, "Yank the SUBROCs out of tubes 3 and 4, stand down the arming team. Load another decoy, tubes 3 and 4 with Mk48s."
"Aye Sir."
"Nicholson is definitely moving again, Sir...and I have surface splashes, she is depth charging, Sir."
"Aye, Prepare for shock waves!" shouted Ben moments before the first "CARUMMPP" shook the boat. Even at this distance, the sound and change in air pressure unnerved them all.
"Stay near the key, Ralphie, he may shoot again with the real thing. Rotate key to Safety."
"Aye, Sir. Key to safe."
"Come to course 110, depth 800."
"He's turning into us, Sir."
Ray noticed the Exec looking at him strangely.
"I'm making sure he knows we means business. In another minute, he is going to have to turn completely away from the depth charging, and I want him to either come at us, or try to run back up his own tail. The Mk48s will scare the holy shit out of him, but he knows he can out run em from this distance. And I can program 'em to blow short if he turns. That way our pal can save his bacon, all he has to do is go inland. Sonar, blast him again."
"BWEEEEPPP" went the huge transducer in the bow, and again the sonar scope painted the entire area, now with fresh targeting data.
"He's turning to starboard again, reverse of his 110 course, now making big turns on course 290. That other sub contact has moved out of range."
"Okay, Freddy. Keep an eye out for that other boat. I want to time another sonar burst with a torp launch. Ralphie, program a course into a Mk48 to put it out in front of the bastard and then have it detonate out there. Make sure it's at least seventy- five yards short... I want him to be sure we set it off short. I want no mistakes on that, he has to know we are still warning."
"Scott turning to block, Sir, course 250, I make him at 30 knots."
"How about a burst buoy, to let the surface guys and CINCLANT know what we're up to?"
"Good idea, Ralphie. Do it."
"Load aft port with burst buoy, launch when ready" ordered the Exec. They waited to insure it was safely away and then began their pursuit of their target anew.
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Two minutes after noting the Houston's burst message to CINCLANT, the Nicholson intercepted the reply.
"What?" shouted Ben, an incredulous look on his face. Handing the flimsy to his Exec, his faced clear of the anger roaring inside. "Read it out loud, Ochin" he said, the entire bridge of the Nicholson eager to hear the news.
"Aye, Sir."
U.S.S NICHOLSON AND U.S.S SCOTT, FROM CINCLANT. BREAK OFF ENGAGEMENT SOONEST. COMMAND PREROGATIVE IS HEREBY REVOKED, REPEAT COMMAND PREROGATIVE REVOKED.
"What the Hell" murmured Ochin, and Ben just shook his head.
"Okay, let's wind it down. All ahead one-third, maintain GQ, defenses remain on automatic. Come to course 080, secure the depth charging. Relay the message to the Houston via underwater phone. Sign it "Pissed Off!"
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"Pissed Off, huh. I bet. Childers must be eating his Exec's hat." was the Houston's skipper's reaction.
"No shit. I can't believe it. Permission to secure from GQ, sir?"
"Yep. Take us down to condition 3. Yank the nuke from tube 1. You men did a fabulous job, once again. I am happy as hell to serve with you. Don't worry, we'll get our licks in another day. I'll be in my cabin." The little speeched tasted foul in his mouth, and he barely succeeded in making a controlled exit from the command center.