Along the starboard bulkhead were the fire control stations, including the BSY-1—pronounced "Busy-one" — combat system, the heart of Pittsburgh's death-dealing power. To port were the ship controls, including the ballast controls, ship status board, and navigational consoles. In the port-forward corner were the side-by-side bucket seats — complete with seat belts — for the helmsman and planesman, with the diving officer between and behind them, literally watching over their shoulders. At the moment, the control room was red-lit, standard procedure when it was night "on the roof" and the crew needed to keep their eyes dark-adjusted.
Satisfied that all was running nominally, Creighton walked the few feet aft to the Mark 18 periscope. There were two periscope mountings, set side by side on the raised platform. The Type 2 scope, to port, was a basic optical attack scope — one little changed from its WWI antecedents. The Mk. 18, however, was the most advanced optical periscope in the Navy's inventory, though it had been superceded in terms of bells and whistles by the more advanced photonics mast system employed on board the new Virginia-class attack boat… or on the Ohio-class refit. The Mk. 18 could see in low-light conditions, and the view could be projected to a number of large-screen monitors elsewhere on the boat. It also included a 70mm camera for recording the scenes for later analyses.
"Up scope."
As the periscope slid silently up out of its deck housing, Creighton draped his arms over the snap-down handles, "hanging on the scope" as he pressed his eye against the eyepiece, and walked it in a complete circle, checking the horizon for a full three-sixty to make sure they hadn't come up close aboard an unheard and unsuspected surface vessel.
The surface upstairs was brightly if unevenly lit. The waters were moonlit, and the light from the city cast a wavering glow that shifted and broke with the movement of the waves. The immediate area was clear, though there were a number of vessels visible. Most serious was a light patrol frigate less than a thousand yards off Pittsburgh's starboard beam. She was close, and she was in approach… though not dead-on.
He centered the frigate in the periscope's crosshairs. "Target, bearing zero-zero-five… mark."
"Sonar contact Sierra Niner-five," the sonar officer called back, identifying the target. "Twin screw, military screw. Library IDs her as a Vosper Mark 5. Speed fifteen knots."
"Hull number seventy-two," Creighton said. "What do you have on her, Dick?"
Lieutenant Commander Dwayne Tracy — with the inevitable nickname "Dick" — was Pittsburgh's executive officer. He was already looking up the warbook information on the contact, which was stored in Pittsburgh's extensive computer memory.
"Iranian Navy Alvand class," he said. "Former Vosper Mark 5 class. Hull 72 is the Alborz … formerly the Zaal. Displacement of 1,540 tons, full load. Two shafts. Two cruise diesels, 3,800 bhp, top speed seventeen knots… but with two TM-3A boost gas turbines at 46,000 shp, top sprint speed of 39 knots. Sonar, Type 174, hull-mounted. Armament… five-cell Sea Killer SSM, one 114mm DP, one dual 35mm AA, four 20mm mounts, two 12.7mm MGs, one Limbo ASW mortar.
Crew of 135."
The frigate was probably primarily employed for harbor patrol off Bandar Abbas. She could sprint and she could hit, though ASW mortars, like the hedgehogs of WWII, were not notoriously accurate. At a speed of fifteen knots, she was not going to pick up anything on sonar. The roar of water rushing past her hull would drown out any trace of the lurking American sub.
On her current heading, the Alborz would miss the Pittsburgh by a generous margin, passing off her starboard side, coming no closer than eight hundred yards.
"Control Room, Sonar!"
"Go ahead, Sonar."
"Captain… new contact, designated Sierra One-one-eight, bearing zero-zero-zero. Single shaft, military screw… and she's quiet. On the surface, but I think it's a diesel boat, sir."
Creighton panned the periscope slightly counterclockwise, checking astern of the passing Alborz. He didn't see anything….
No! Wait! A low, black shadow momentarily blotted out the lights of the port.
"Helloooo… target!" he said softly. "Sonar! You think it's a Kilo?"
"Negative, Con. Not a Kilo. I don't know what the hell it is. But it's damned quiet. My guess is it's trying to slip out in the Vosper's wake."
Over the past decade or so, Iran had acquired a number of Kilo-class diesel attack submarines from the former Soviet Union. The boat was the CIS's premier military export sub, deadly and stealthy in the extreme. Some sources said Iran now possessed ten Kilos.
But the new target wasn't a Kilo…
Creighton took his time examining the low silhouette. Under starlight enhancement he could make some details of the other boat's sail. She was rising low, her deck completely submerged, but the sail wasn't as long as a Kilo's, and the periscope mast arrangement was different.
He couldn't be certain, but he thought he just might be looking at an Iranian Ghadir-class submarine.
The Ghadir had been launched three years ago, in May 2005. Precious little was known about them, though, because the Iranians had been careful about deploying them. All that was known was that they were ultraquiet, the design based on the Russian Kilos.
The frigate's speed suddenly made some sense. By creating a churned-up wake of white noise, the frigate's captain was creating a kind of shield within which the Iranian boat could travel almost undetected. It was sheer chance — as well as a tribute to U.S. sonar technology and the sonar watch's talent — that they'd picked that target out of the hash.
Creighton considered the situation a moment. Pittsburgh had been deployed to the waters off Bandar Abbas for several reasons: to scout out the harbor approaches, determine the nature and strength of the local defenses, and to pay close attention to military vessels in-port.
The Ghadir-class boats were definitely of serious military concern to the United States, and this was a God-given opportunity to get a closer look at one.
"Helm!" he said. "Come right to zero-zero-zero. Maneuvering, ahead slow."
"Helm coming right to zero-zero-zero, aye aye, sir," the enlisted man at the helm announced.
"Con, Maneuvering. Ahead slow."
They would come about in a half circle and drop onto the Iranian submarine's tail. The frigate could provide a sound screen for both submarines.
Efficiency. Creighton liked that.
"Down scope!" He didn't want to give Pittsburgh's presence away with either a periscope wake or the telltale rush of surface water on the tube.
Silently, a black shadow in the black waters, the Pittsburgh turned to pursue her prey.
6
"Damn it, COB!" ST2 Roger Caswell wailed. "You can't do this to me! I'm getting married this Saturday!"
"I've got news for you, son," Master Chief Earnest O'Day said with an easy smile. "The Navy can do it to you… and, in fact, the Navy has done it to you. Saturday morning you're going to be saying farewell to the fleshpots of Bremerton and be on your way to Hawaii."