The Admiral was referring to the ultra-secret American underwater network of acoustic surveillance, which covers most of the world’s oceans, particularly sensitive areas like the GIUK Gap.
“Once we get a SOSUS fix on ’em, we can use Maritime Patrol Aircraft, MPA, to localize. This is going to take time and a bit of luck, but it’s all we’ve got.
“I think we should first look at a holding area, where you will await your prey. I was thinking of here.” The Admiral pointed to an area in a three-hundred-foot depth of water south of the Shetland Isles, 59.7N right on the two-degree line west, 180 miles due north of Scotland’s granite city of Aberdeen.
“This will put you around four thousand miles from New London, Boomer,” said Admiral Dixon. “If you run at around twenty-five knots across the Atlantic, it’ll take about six and a half days. Right now we think the Kilos will leave in the first week in January. You should be on station southwest of the Shetlands by December thirty-first.”
“Yessir. Hell of a way to spend New Year’s Eve. But before we begin a detailed plan, I should like to ask one question.”
As Boomer spoke, the door swung open and a guard let in the pugnacious figure of Admiral Morgan. “Hey, Johnny, Boomer. How we comin”?”
“Just started,” said the Admiral. “I have selected a holding pattern for Columbia, but Boomer has a question. Commander?”
“Sir, do we expect the Kilos to be armed?”
“Yes, you’ll have to assume they’ll be armed, Boomer. Fully armed,” Admiral Morgan answered. “And you can expect each of them to be equipped with its full complement of torpedoes — twenty-four each. These two hulls we are looking at are older than the remaining five, but I think we should assume they have been fitted with the newest Russian system. They probably have wire-guided torpedoes that can be fired in pairs, and engage two targets simultaneously.”
“Yessir. Got that, Admiral. Seems they’re catching us up all the time. I guess I need to plan for the worst case, like they’re both dived when we meet up. D’you think they’ll be on the surface, or will they make the whole journey dived?”
“We can’t be sure. The three Kilos the Chinese now have all went by freighter. Brand-new submarines are normally delivered on the surface because it’s much more fuel efficient, less wearing on machinery, and safer. But this is a bit different. We have two Chinese crews training in Russia for several months, and as we speak they are working the boats dived, out in the Barents Sea. I gotta hunch they might be planning to make this journey underwater.”
Boomer nodded. “Either way we have no options,” the Admiral continued thoughtfully. “I just spoke to the President again. He is very clear. We cannot allow ourselves to be shut out of the Taiwan Strait and permit another power to dominate the sea in that part of the world. Right here I’m thinking not only of Taiwan, where we have billions of dollars invested, but of our friends in South Korea, and our trading partners in Japan. They are more worried than we are. That Chinese Navy is a world-fucking nuisance. They have two hundred and fifty thousand people in it.
“The President thinks this issue is about the balance of power in those waters. If China gets a working submarine fleet, they will call the shots on every level. We would be impotent in the Taiwan Strait; the risk to our ships and people would be too great. We’re not going to let them have those submarines.
“Columbia will be lying in wait. It’s our ambush. You must strike fast and decisively. Take ’em out, and right there fourteen percent of a bitch of a problem will be over. There’ll be five left. And not all of them will be your problem. Maybe none.”
“Nossir. I guess the only real difficulty could be getting ’em both at once. Can’t loose off one weapon active too quick, or it’ll alert the other Kilo, which will then have time to go silent and fire back. Maybe even get away long enough to tell his base what’s happening. Still, my team is well trained, and unless the Chinese have the Kilos more than four or five miles apart, or less than five hundred yards apart, we should be okay. Just need to wait till they’re close enough to separate on the screen.”
“I’m assessing they’ll make their passage in loose company, Boomer — about two thousand yards apart — which they’ll know is good for low-power underwater telephone, but not so close they have to worry about running into each other. I just can’t see ’em having time to get one off themselves.”
“But I can’t count on that, sir. They got one off in the South Atlantic. Damn quick.”
“Yeah,” Admiral Dixon interjected. “But didn’t they have that Israeli commander on board?”
“Not according to Baldridge. He says the Russian captain got one away.”
“Hmmmm. We’ll have to trust you to get it right, Boomer. I do not want Columbia fired on,” said Admiral Dixon. “I do not want anyone even to know she is there. We’re looking for a silent, sudden, and deadly trap.”
“Meantime I think we ought to run through the broad outlines of the search phase,” said the Admiral. “We have Admiral Morgan right here, and I’ve a feeling we could use his help.
“For starters, we want one of our special-fit fishing trawlers in place, as near as they can get without being arrested, to the entrance to the bay. You know, the one which leads right down to Pol’arnyj, just in case the Kilos do, after all, stay on the surface. We also want the regular Barents Sea SSN on standby, though I don’t want to sink ’em right there. Too many ears in the water, right in the Russian backyard.
“The MPA boys will work out their own plan. But they cannot start too far east, or the Russians will see what they’re up to. And, we don’t want to start too far west, or south, or we might use up two years’ worth of sonobuoys in a week and still not get ’em. I guess we’re agreed, the GIUK Gap is the last resort.”
Arnold Morgan stared at the chart desk. “No alternative to those thoughts,” he said. “We have to get these guys as early as we can, without being caught. If they stay on the surface the Gap is the sensible place. If they dive, we want them as soon as we can, after they round the North Cape. The MPA boys can work there without being obvious, if, as I suspect it will, the Barents Sea SSN either misses or loses them.
“And Johnny, they’re gonna need a mass of support close to the op area. You have any idea yet where we’re gonna work from?”
“Well, it’ll be from the UK. I’ve penciled in my choice, a perfect spot, but we’ll need some clearance in Whitehall.”
“Don’t sweat it, Johnny. I’ll fix it.”
“Excellent. I’m looking at Machrihanish, an old disused former NATO air base. It’s stuck right down on the southwestern Atlantic corner of the Mull of Kintyre, opposite Campbeltown Loch, an old submarine haunt on the west coast of Scotland. But it’s a quiet place.
“I’m working on the theory that we’ll probably want six MPA for two weeks. More would be suspicious, and fewer wouldn’t cut it. They’ve gotta operate passive, without their radars. Keep Ivan in the dark, right?
“We’ll fly the aircraft in, Orion P-3C’s. They’ve got a pretty good long endurance, about fifteen hours. Then we’ll need a Galaxy transporter to bring in possibly as many as eight thousand sonobuoys, and all the support equipment. We’ll need a ton of fuel for the aircraft. But there are NATO stocks on the field. We ought to be able to rely on that, so long as we pay. The problem is, what do we tell the Brits? And what do we tell NATO?”