Aleksandr Plecas leaned over the navigation table in the Central Command Post, examining his submarine’s position on the electronic chart. Kildin Island was sliding by to the south, and thus far they had detected no submerged contacts; only several merchants to the north. But they had not yet deployed their towed array, their most capable hydroacoustic sensor. As Kazan began its transit toward the Atlantic Ocean, the primary concern was verifying they weren’t being trailed.
Kazan was a quiet submarine, almost undetectable by older Russian subs. If a NATO submarine had detected Kazan, it would have done so with its most capable sensor, the towed array. That meant — if Kazan was being trailed, the enemy submarine would be positioned off the port stern quarter, farther out to sea where the water was deep enough for its towed array.
Plecas examined the half-dozen bottom-contour lines circling Kildin Island, estimating how close to shore the NATO submarine could come. Assuming its array droop characteristics were similar to Russian arrays and that a trailing submarine was matching Kazan’s speed, at ten knots they could not deploy their array in water shallower than 150 meters.
He placed his finger on the 150-meter curve on Kazan’s port quarter, then looked up at the Electric Navigation Party Technician, wearing the enlisted rank of michman on his uniform collar. “Calculate a course to intercept a contact starting at this position, heading zero-seven-zero at ten knots.”
Michman Erik Korzhev entered the parameters into the navigation chart and a line appeared. “Course three-two-five.”
Plecas turned to his Watch Officer. “Captain Lieutenant Urnovitz. Come to course three-two-five and deploy the towed array once water depth is sufficient.”
Pittsburgh’s Sonar Supervisor, standing behind the consoles in the Sonar Room, evaluated the changing parameter of their contact, then made his report.
“Possible contact zig, Master one, due to upshift in frequency.”
The fire control technicians and Lieutenant Martin examined the time-frequency plot on their displays, watching the frequency of the tonal rise. Lieutenant Commander Schwartz stopped behind the consoles, and after the frequency steadied, he announced, “Confirm target zig. Contact has turned toward own-ship. Set anchor range at five thousand yards.”
Buglione stopped beside his Executive Officer, examining the displays. Kazan had maneuvered to the north as expected. In the worst-case scenario, Kazan and Pittsburgh could be on an intercept trajectory. Although submarine collisions were uncommon, they did occur. In these very same waters, USS Baton Rouge, a Los Angeles class submarine, had collided with a Russian Sierra class submarine.
Buglione planned to ensure there was no repeat of that incident. He had to maneuver Pittsburgh, but needed to know Kazan’s course so he didn’t make the situation worse.
“I need a solution fast.”
Schwartz examined the combat control consoles, his eyes squinting as the three operators slowly converged on a common solution. A minute later, Schwartz informed the Captain, “I have a solution. Master one is on course three-two-five, speed ten.”
Damn. The Russian submarine had turned onto an intercept course. They either knew they were being followed or had guessed where Pittsburgh was with incredible accuracy. Buglione had to get off Kazan’s track.
“Helm, left full rudder, steady course zero-four-five. Ahead standard.” They would move out of Kazan’s way, let her pass, then fall in behind.
Shortly after Pittsburgh turned northeast, a report from Sonar came over the speakers.
“Sonar, Conn. Picking up mechanical transients from Master one.”
Buglione waited while Sonar analyzed the sound. Mechanical transients could be almost anything, from innocuous events such as someone dropping a tool onto the deck to torpedo launch preparations.
Sonar followed up. “Conn, Sonar. Sounds like Master one is deploying a towed array.”
Buglione listened to the report with concern. Range to Kazan had decreased to four thousand yards. The United States had scant data on the new Yasen class submarines and their tactical systems, and he had no idea at what range Pittsburgh would be detected.
Plecas checked the red digital clock at the front of the Command Post. They had deployed their towed array ten minutes ago, enough time for Hydroacoustic to check all sectors. Captain Lieutenant Urnovitz must have been watching the clock as well, because he slipped the microphone from its holster.
“Hydroacoustic, Command Post. Report all contacts.”
The Hydroacoustic Party Leader replied, “Hydroacoustic holds three contacts. All three contacts are merchants to the north.”
Plecas joined his First Officer, Captain Third Rank Erik Fedorov, in front of the hydroacoustic display, searching for patterns within the random specks. Despite Hydroacoustic’s report, Plecas was not yet convinced they weren’t being trailed. Narrowband detections were not instantaneous like broadband; the algorithms needed time. As the two men examined the display, a narrow vertical bar rose from the bottom of the display. The Hydroacoustic Party Leader’s report arrived a moment later.
“Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new contact on the towed array, a sixty-point-two Hertz tonal, designated Hydroacoustic five, ambiguous bearings zero-one-five and two-six-zero. Sixty-point-two Hertz frequency correlates to American fast attack submarine.”
Plecas’s fear was confirmed — they were being trailed.
“Man Combat Stations silently.”
The two Command Post Messengers sped through the submarine, and three minutes later, Kazan’s Central Command Post was fully manned.
Plecas announced, “This is the Captain. I have the Conn and Captain Lieutenant Urnovitz retains the Watch. The target of interest is Hydroacoustic five, classified American fast attack submarine. Track Hydroacoustic five.”
Fedorov stopped behind the two fire controlmen, monitoring their progress as they converged on the same solution. The American submarine had crossed in front of them and was now traveling down Kazan’s starboard side in the opposite direction. The Americans were trying to circle around and fall in behind Kazan again.
Plecas needed to break trail and considered his options. Under normal circumstances, he’d deploy a mobile decoy and engage the electric drive — a quiet propulsion system capable of propelling the submarine at up to ten knots — then turn to a new course, slipping away while the Americans trailed the decoy. However, Kazan hadn’t been operational for long, and a variant of the mobile decoy, matching the submarine’s sound signature, hadn’t been developed yet.
Instead, Kazan carried stationary countermeasures they could eject — decoys and acoustic jammers designed to interfere with submarine and torpedo sonars — but the odds of success were lower and he didn’t want to alert the Americans that he was onto them. There was another plan with better odds; one that was more creative and would eliminate the possibility the American submarine would regain them if Kazan slipped away.
“Steersman, right ten degrees rudder, steady course north.”
Fedorov approached. “North?” he asked, realizing their navigation plan took them west toward the Atlantic Ocean.