But the admiral had acted. That’s what leaders do when faced with a problem; they make decisions even if sometimes the decision is wrong. The key attribute of good leaders is willingness to change their minds when they realize they’re marching toward the wrong decision.
Holman had shouted for the Communications Officer and given him a week to correct the problem. The Information Technicians from the Radio Shack and every sailor who had the word “technician” in his rating spent a week working the problem. Even Petty Officer Taylor, the maintenance technician for ASW, had spent two days helping hook up a legacy “push-to-talk” intercom system. Agazzi scratched his head. He wondered where they found all this old stuff, but at least it worked.
“Combat, this is Sonar; we have a contact, bearing 220 degrees, range unknown.”
“Roger,” came the scratchy response through the jerry-rigged voice box. “Wait one.”
“Wait one” meant the young sailor on the other end was getting someone more senior, which was most of Combat. “Sonar, TAO here; what you got?”
“Commander Stapler, Senior Chief Agazzi here. Same direction of the contact we had yesterday, but the signature is different. Looks as if we may have two submarines out there trailing us.”
“Any idea of the range?”
Agazzi shrugged. “Hard to say, Commander. I would guess no closer than fifteen nautical miles, sir. But if we are picking them up from a convergence-zone hop, then they could be double, even triple the range.”
Gentron touched Agazzi’s arm. Agazzi leaned down. “I would say it’s between twenty to forty nautical miles, Senior Chief. The noise is too strong to be from a second convergence zone,” Gentron whispered.
Sound waves under the water oscillated when they traveled, bouncing off the layer beneath until they reached the surface, to be bounced back toward the bottom. A good sonar technician could recognize a convergence-zone contact by the losses and gains of passive noise as the ship sonar sailed in and out of the zone. A continuous contact usually meant the contact was within striking distance because the noise was direct. Passive sonar techniques involved listening to the underwater sounds and deciphering them. Sonars seldom went active like the ones seen in old World War II movies. An active sonar was an invitation for an adversary to track the return back to you.
Agazzi nodded, thinking of Gentron being new to the AN/SQR-25. Only last month Gentron had been the backup for MacPherson, and in the confrontation with North Korea, Gentron had been the pilot of the second UUV. Seaman Gen-tron had very little experience in passive sonar techniques, but then Gentron had been the one who had successfully identified the class of the North Korean submarine.
“Commander, my sonar tech believes the noise is too strong for the contact to be any farther away than forty nautical miles, but that’s an educated guess, sir. I wouldn’t hold us to that maximum range.”
“Thanks, Senior Chief. You got a UUV out there somewhere. Why don’t we send it down the line of bearing and see what it finds?”
“We can do that, sir,” Agazzi said with hesitation, looking at MacPherson, who nodded and immediately leaned forward toward the UUV console. “Commander, if I may, I understood Admiral Holman to say we wanted to do nothing that could be misconstrued as hostile. If I send the UUV…”
“I understand, Senior Chief, but I’m not saying attack the damn thing. Just go out far enough to see if you can refine the range of this submarine from Sea Base…”
Agazzi stood back from the speaker, recognizing Stapler’s anger.
“… so we don’t get a torpedo up our ass. You understand?” “Aye, aye, sir.” Stapler was going to get them sunk one of these days.
“Let me know when the UUV is outgoing on the line of bearing.”
Agazzi acknowledged the order.
“Vintage Stapler,” MacPherson said without looking up. “Didn’t like what the admiral told him to do?”
“He’s got a better idea of what is hostile and what isn’t,” Agazzi answered, silently agreeing with the second-class petty officer.
“Then he hasn’t looked in the mirror lately.”
Agazzi pointed at the console. “Aren’t you supposed to be sending the UUV down the line of bearing?”
“You sure that’s what you want me to do, Senior Chief?” MacPherson asked.
“Gentron, you keep tracking the contact.”
Gentron’s eyebrows rose. “Don’t have to do much to track a submarine on the AN/SQR-25 sonar in passive mode, Senior Chief. The system works itself.”
“Well, you help it work itself.” He looked up at the maintenance table where his other seaman, Calvins, sat on a stool silently watching everything. “Calvins, go ahead and set up the sound-powered phone watch.”
The lanky kid from New Oxford, Pennsylvania, jumped down from the stool, nearly falling. “Aye, Senior Chief.” Without looking up, MacPherson added, “And watch your step, Calvins. Don’t want you killing yourself and getting blood over everyone.”
Agazzi picked up the telephone and dialed the UUV Compartment. Stapler was the only qualified Tactical Action Officer on board Sea Base. The TAO was someone the Captain trusted enough to give him or her a letter authorizing the TAO to fire weapons and fight the ship if attacked. Stapler took seriously anyone trying to tell him what he could and couldn’t do when it came to protecting Sea Base, including the venerable Admiral Holman.
Holman was the Commander, U.S. Seventh Fleet, embarked on board the USS Boxer, an amphibious ship accompanying Sea Base. He was a hero within the warrior ranks of the Navy, and much hated by the political flags who made up most of the senior ranks of the military.
“Senior Chief, didn’t mean to upset you,” MacPherson added as Agazzi held the telephone to his ear.
Agazzi nodded. They both knew the game of leadership. Regardless of what you might have in negative thoughts toward your seniors, you keep them to yourself unless there’s something illegal involved. When you retired is when you could gripe, complain, and write editorials against the politics of command.
Three minutes later, Agazzi finished his telephone call with Keyland. The three men in the UUV Compartment would be back on the watch in the ASW Control Center soon. Even if they left the Bellatrix immediately after his telephone call, it would take them fifteen to twenty minutes to climb up six decks, cross two ships, then climb down another six decks to Sonar. As soon as they reloaded the UUV on the transom, then the three would head back.
Five minutes later, Gentron had the contact back on his scope. After working with MacPherson, Agazzi called the TAO and told him the UUV was heading out on the line of bearing. He glanced at Gentron’s console, where a trace of steady noise ran down the rainfall display. What would the submarine do once it heard the noise of the UUV approaching it? Last month in the Sea of Japan, from the reactions of the North Korean submarine, its captain must have thought the UUV was a torpedo heading toward it. It had been the wrong decision.
SIX
“Weasel, Black Leader checking in.”