Mack had been around long enough to know that sometimes lousy intelligence happened. That was why it was called the “fog of war.” But that didn’t make him feel any better. Not when it was his submarine and his crew at risk because of someone else’s mistake.
The one good thing that had come out of that mess — besides Cheyenne’s performance — was the P4 message he held in his hand. The P4, or “personal for,” message was an apology from USCINCPAC himself for the lousy intelligence Cheyenne had been provided before the last mission. Mack especially liked the part where the admiral had quoted the CNO (Chief of Naval Operations), currently the most senior officer in the Navy, as taking a personal interest in the intelligence fiasco.
He opened the message and read that part one more time. The CNO had directed a “reevaluation of procedures and decision-making personnel” within the naval intelligence chain of command. Mack smiled. That meant a lot of people were going to come under fire, and that was good. With luck, the next commanding officer and crew going into battle would be better prepared with accurate intelligence.
Especially since, Mack suspected, he knew who that next commanding officer was going to be. Cheyenne was still the best asset the U.S. Navy had in the area, at least for the kinds of missions that were being conducted, and Mack was pretty sure that they would be called upon again soon.
“Excuse me, Captain,” the executive officer said. He had just climbed to the bridge and poked his head through the upper access hatch. “They’re waiting for you on McKee. Sounds like something hot.”
“Thank you,” Mack said. “Any idea what’s up?”
“Well, sir, judging from the latest intelligence…” The executive officer let the sentence taper off as Mack shot him a hard look.
“Not funny.”
“No, sir, not at all, but snafus do happen. I’m just glad that the crew was ready for the challenge.”
Mack nodded and the executive officer continued, “From what I can gather from the intelligence officer on board McKee, the Chinese merchant convoy that was assembling off the south coast of China has decided to make a fast break for the Spratlys. My guess is somebody figures that we didn’t make it out of that last scrap intact and they want to take advantage of that by trying to get some supplies through while there’s no one around to stop them.”
Mack nodded. That was a good reading of the situation. Except that the Chinese were wrong. Cheyenne had survived, and was, no doubt, about to be assigned to show the Chinese how wrong they were.
Captain Mackey was looking over the side of the bridge as the first Mk 48 was already being hoisted into the air and swung over from McKee to Cheyenne’s waiting crew. The job had to be hot if weapons were being transferred even before the mission debriefing.
Mack liked this assignment. He couldn’t recall the last time an American submarine went after a real merchant convoy. During World War II, the Japanese had not developed a real convoy system like the United States had with the British. Most of the ships American submarines sank were independents or just ships travelling together. Closely escorted convoys like this one just weren’t used.
Which meant that with this mission Cheyenne would get to set the standard for how a modern convoy battle occurred. Mack liked that a lot.
Cheyenne had more sophisticated weapons than were available during World War II, weapons that were faster and had a longer range, but so did the escort defenses. It would still be a case of Cheyenne getting into position as quietly as possible and then hitting the convoy before they could react.
“So we get to stop that convoy,” Mack said. He nodded and patted the side of the bridge. “We can do that.”
“Yes, sir,” the executive officer said. Then his eyes focused beyond the captain. “Looks like they’re getting impatient on McKee. The combat systems officer and operations officer are already over there.”
Mack glanced over at the submarine tender and nodded. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Let me know how long until the reload is completed when I get back. I suspect we’ll need to be under way again as soon as possible.”
The executive officer gave a quick salute and said, “Aye, aye, sir,” as Mack scrambled down the ladder to the control room. He then turned and looked out over the vast expanse of the South China Sea and wondered what the next few days would bring and how a modern convoy battle would really shape up.
Far out to sea, the same thoughts were going through the mind of the Chinese escort squadron commander as the convoy was steaming toward the Spratly Islands. The best speed some of the convoy ships could make was ten knots, which was far too slow to attempt a sudden dash to the Spratly Islands. But the South Sea fleet commander had been adamant about taking some of the AK troop transport ships and an ARS repair ship with the convoy.
So now he was in command of a slow convoy with an escort squadron that was too small and underarmed. Only one of his seven ships carried helicopters for ASW prosecution, a mission area that the entire Chinese fleet was sorely inexperienced in. But they did have a lot of ASW ordnance. Years of cooperation with the then Soviet navy had sponsored a reliance on massive firepower. If an American submarine was unfortunate enough to be caught trying to torpedo any of his ships, a tremendous amount of firepower was available to respond. The big problem would be finding the American submarine.
The United States had notoriously quiet submarines. The first indication the Chinese would have that an American was out there would probably be when a ship blew up. But that could not be helped.
The convoy commander tightened his knuckles until white skin showed clearly through the gloom of the closing night. Rapid response and good joss would have to answer for American technology. That and a good plan.
He permitted himself a slight smile. Since he could not dissuade the admiral from the convoy mission, he had at least tried his best to guarantee its safe arrival. He knew that the best weapon against a submarine was another submarine. Years of experience had taught him that. It was common sense and a frequently quoted slogan among American submariners, but none of the quiet diesel submarines in the Chinese fleet could keep up for long while underwater and running on its batteries, even with his slow convoy.
But they could be strategically placed in carefully selected locations and thus be in position to listen for, detect, and then kill any American submarine that attempted to attack the convoy.
He had no doubt that an American submarine would find and track the convoy. He had no doubt that an American submarine would attack the convoy. He had no doubt that a few, perhaps even several, of his ships would be sunk by the American submarine. But he also had no doubt that the American captain would never suspect that a string of hidden Chinese submarines would be strewn along the convoy’s path like a manned minefield.
The American captain would pay dearly for attacking the convoy.
On board Cheyenne, plans for the attack were being made.
“Be seated, gentlemen.” Captain Mackey waved his officers to sit down on the wardroom chairs and bench seat. “Here’s the situation. A Chinese merchant convoy under close escort is headed toward the Spratly Islands with supplies, troops, and a repair ship. As we’ve already found out, the UN total exclusion zone doesn’t mean anything to them. Our job is to intercept the convoy and prevent it from reaching the Spratlys by any means necessary.”