“Want an active buoy?” the helo’s copilot asked, still stunned by the suddenness of it all. Not one of their passive buoys had picked the submarine up. Not one.
“Hell, no! Drop a torp! Left search pattern,” the pilot snapped as he brought the Sea Sprite into hover right over the spot where the rest of the enemy submarine had to be.
“Weapon away!” The helicopter lurched upward, freed from the weight of the Mark 46 as it plunged into the sea. It acquired the enemy submarine within seconds and dove straight for it.
The captain and crew of the DPRK submarine Admiral Yi died without ever knowing they were under attack or even how close they’d come to finding the American convoy.
Chun sat rigid, holding Revolution’s last contact report crumpled in his hand. His plans had failed. His forces had attacked piecemeal and they’d been defeated piecemeal. Worse yet, the Americans were ahead of him — a fact that would make it difficult, if not completely impossible, to successfully intercept them.
“Do you have any change to make in our orders, sir?” His first officer sounded solicitous. Chun’s lips thinned. The man was right to worry about him. A failure now would erase any memory of Chun’s earlier successes and would probably result in his being stripped of command, rank, and all their accompanying privileges.
He shook his head. “No. Carry on with your duties, comrade.” He tried to smile and partially succeeded. “We’ll catch them yet.”
The first officer smiled back and nodded. “Of course, Comrade Captain.” He started to turn away and then stopped. “Would you care for some tea, Captain?”
This time Chun’s smile was more genuine. Tea would be just the thing to help settle his nerves and occupy his mind during the long quiet run ahead. “Indeed, comrade. And have the cook prepare enough for all of us. After all, you know I hate to drink alone.”
Polite laughter greeted his small jest.
“Hear anything?”
The sonarman sat straighter in his chair and stretched weary muscles. His back was killing him. “Nope, Skipper. Not a peep on any of the buoys. Maybe we got ’em all.”
“Maybe.” The P-3’s pilot didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, this is why Uncle Sam sends us such big monthly checks. So stay sharp, guys. Only four more hours till we have to land and refuel.”
The expected groans met his announcement. They’d already been airborne for eight hours.
The chief cook grumbled to himself as he bustled about in the Great Leader’s tiny galley. Officers! First do this. Then do that. And none of them appreciated the difficult conditions under which he worked. They wanted tea prepared — tea for all of them to guzzle. Well, he’d be willing to bet that not a single one of them realized his tiny electric burners could only boil two kettles of water at a time. Yes, he’d wager a month’s ration books on that.
He rummaged through storage cabinets, looking for the special tea leaves the sub’s officers insisted on using and cursing under his breath all the while. Behind him, one of the kettles started to whistle thinly. Too soon, damn it! The cook spun round to turn the burner down.
Disaster struck. As he turned, his elbow knocked a stack of metal pots off the shelf. Instead of simply falling quietly onto the Great Leader’s rubber-coated deck, they tumbled and clattered against each other all the way down. Startled by the sudden noise, the cook slipped and his hand landed palm-first on the boiling kettle. The man’s scream echoed throughout the submarine.
Chun reacted instantly. “Slow to five knots! Rig for silent running! And tell that fool to shut up!”
“Transient! I have a metallic transient and other noise on number forty!” The sonar operator’s shout brought the Orion around in a tight turn, orbiting around the plotted position of sonobuoy number forty.
“Anything?”
The sonarman shook his head unconsciously before realizing that his commander couldn’t see him. “Negative, Skipper. Whatever’s down there just went real quiet. And I mean quiet. Like, they’re doing a pretty good impression of being a plain, old, harmless water molecule.”
Forward in the cockpit, the P-3’s pilot considered that. Any sub that could stay that silent was a damned big threat to the convoy, and it would probably be impossible to localize with passive sensors alone. On the other hand, staying that quiet also meant it couldn’t be moving very fast. Which meant it was still close at hand. He clicked his mike, “Frank?”
“Yeah, Skipper?” the Orion’s tactical coordinator answered.
“Drop a DICASS. I think we can ping on this guy.”
“You got it.”
The active sonobuoy splashed down noiselessly into the water and unreeled its hydrophone.
“Activate.”
Sound waves pulsed out through the water in widening circles, seeking something solid to bounce off. They found it.
“Bingo! Sonar contact bearing one four five. Range fifteen hundred yards!”
Piinng!
“They have us, Captain.”
Chun nodded. The noise was too loud for any other possible conclusion. “Take us to periscope depth, comrade. We’ll scratch this flea off our back.” He hoped his voice conveyed his confidence.
Although detected by some kind of American ASW aircraft, they still had a chance. Its Soviet builders had equipped Great Leader to deal with such a contingency. The submarine’s periscope mast carried an SA-N-8 SAM system. Now Chun and his crew would learn whether or not the system was worth the added expense.
Piinng!
“Up periscope!”
“Contact bearing steady, range one thousand yards.”
The P-3’s pilot eased his throttle back, settling the plane into its attack run.
“Look! Dead ahead!”
He followed his copilot’s pointing finger. Their target had raised its periscope well above the water. It made a good aiming mark. But what was that box attached to the scope?
“Jesus!” His startled shout was echoed by the other man in the cockpit as a finger of orange-red flame suddenly erupted from the box.
The missile flew straight into the Orion’s outer starboard engine and exploded — throwing red-hot fragments into the turboprop’s fuel lines and fans. It seized up and fireballed. The P-3 dropped toward the water with its starboard wing trailing flame.
“Feather number four and activate extinguishers!” He held the Orion on course while the copilot and flight engineer worked frantically to put the fire out.
“Range five hundred yards.” The sonar crew was still on duty.
“Dump that torpedo!”
The pilot felt the Orion lift momentarily as the Mark 46 released. He pulled back on the control, trying to gain altitude.
“Skipper, the fire’s out of control. It’s gonna — ”
Sierra Five exploded in midair.
Chun watched pieces of the American plane fall into the sea and grinned. “We got him! We killed the American bastard!”
“Captain! High-speed screws bearing three two five! Range close!”
Chun pulled his head away from periscope and whispered, “And he has killed us…”
Then he recovered and roared, “Left full rudder! Flank speed!”
He had to try to save his boat — not just for himself and for his crew, but for his country as well. Great Leader was North Korea’s most modern, most effective submarine. Without it, the North’s already uphill battle to interdict the South’s sea lines of communication would become completely unwinnable. American reinforcements and materiel would flow virtually unchallenged into the South’s teeming harbors.