So how does one deploy the mines to close the port in question? The problem here is that the North Koreans have a proven track record of hostility toward U.S. surface vessels and aircraft operating anywhere near their borders. (Remember the capture of the USS Pueblo and the EC-121 shootdown in 1968?) Thus it is imperative that any such action be handled carefully. Just the kind of job submarines are best suited for.
The mines are quietly delivered to a 688I at a tender at Guam or some other forward base. The 688I probably off-loads all her missiles (except perhaps for Tomahawk antiship missiles in the VLS tubes), and most of her Mk 48 torpedoes. Other than the mines, her only weapons are likely for self-defense. In addition, a SEAL team might be embarked to assist in any on-the-spot surveys required to support the mission. The mining plan has probably been carefully worked out, with appropriate consideration given to such things as the activation times, tidal and seabed conditions, types of mines, and appropriate warnings to the other interested parties involved. Of critical importance is knowledge of the exact placement of each mine, as we would probably have to sweep them (as we did in North Vietnam in 1973) after the incident is closed.
The operation begins with the 688I reconnoitering the areas surrounding the port. Part of this is to establish the operating patterns of North Korean patrols, but also to check for irregularities in the charts and seabed surveys that might affect the mining plan. Here, the Navstar GPS system is critical, as it allows for precise navigation of the boat in the confines of the North Korean coastal waters, and placement of the mines. Once the survey is finished, the job of mine deployment begins.
First out of the tubes probably are the Mk 57 moored mines, to be placed in the outer mouth of the port. The 688I goes in slowly using every sensor of the BSY-1 system to look for trouble. Every few minutes, another mine package is ejected from her torpedo tubes, their activation clocks ticking away to a prearranged time (probably one to two days later). As each mine is released, its position is carefully noted for future sweeping. It will not take many of these, as ship captains are creatures of habit who follow their charts and rarely deviate into less traveled channels. Once this is done, the submarine's commander may fire some of the Mk 67 mobile mines up into the shallow channel leading to the inner harbor, say six to eight of these for each side of the channel, to sit on the bottom. Now the 688I carefully moves out of the area. Just to keep things fair in the coming crisis, the boat might move to one of the nearby naval bases that handles their fleet of diesel submarines and patrol boats. Here it could lay a few more Mk 67s in the channel, and possibly a belt of Mk 6 °Captors to keep the North Korean Navy, particularly their force of diesel submarines, bottled up during the coming confrontation. You don't even have to do it to all of their bases. Just do it to one, and say that you have done it to all of them. Who is to know, right?
You now have a foreign policy fait accompli. And don't forget the press release…
Mission #7 — Submarine Rescue
It is an acknowledged fact that duty on submarines is more hazardous than other forms of military service. And unfortunately, these extra hazards can translate into the loss of a submarine and its crew. This is the part of submarine duty that is almost never spoken of, even between members of the sub force and their families: if a boat is posted as missing and presumed lost, it probably has been lost with all hands at sea. This was certainly true of submarine losses during the world wars, when very few individuals survived submarine sinkings. And in both of the nuclear submarine losses suffered by the United States during the Cold War (the Thresher and the Scorpion), this precedent held true, with all hands being lost.
Nevertheless, history also tells us that sometimes men do survive submarine sinkings. When the submarine USS Squalus sank because of a faulty induction valve off the New England coast in the 1930s, prompt action by the rescue forces of the U.S. Navy saved about half her crew. And when USS Tang was sunk by a circular-running torpedo in 1944, a small number of her crew were able to escape and survive until being picked up and taken prisoner by the Japanese. The point here is that circumstances sometimes do allow the crew of a damaged or sunken submarine to survive. And if a navy failed to provide those survivors a chance to live and be rescued, morale in that force would plummet.
So those navies that operate large forces of submarines have invested considerable funds into providing their submariners with equipment and skills to allow for their rescue if they survive whatever initial calamity befalls them. Some of these, like the Steinke hoods and Mark 8 survival suits issued by the U.S. Navy and Royal Navy, are designed for use by the men themselves. But certainly the most visible signs of commitment to the mission of submarine rescue are the Deep-Submergence Rescue Vehicles (DSRVs) operated and maintained by the United States and England. In the wake of the loss of Thresher in 1960, the United States built two of these miniature submarines, and the United Kingdom built one. These small submarines, operated from a mother ship or another submarine, can off-load the crew from a sunken or damaged submarine and return them to safety.
Example — Rescue of a Downed Submarine
It's a funny thing: most submariners feel that the time of their greatest hazard is during the transits to and from their home bases. This is because of the simple fact that submarines are, by design, hard to see and find. This is especially true when the boats are on the surface, in the transit lanes leading into and out of their lairs. Their low silhouettes and relatively low radar signature make them tough to see. And if a merchant ship crew becomes sloppy or lax, it is quite easy to get run over. The British lost a boat in the Thames estuary in the 1950s, and the French a large cruiser submarine in World War II, to just such accidents. And with the sloppy handling of supertankers that has been so evident over the last few years, it is not hard to imagine an event like this taking place.
So let us suppose that the worst comes to pass, and a merchant vessel, running in heavy fog, collides with a British nuclear attack submarine during a transit back into base at Plymouth. We will suppose that the hit occurs while the sub is running on the surface, striking the after portion of the boat, rupturing the after ballast tanks and destroying the propulsion train. The boat will probably begin to settle from the stern, and there is a good chance of flooding back in the engineering spaces through tears in the hull and the shaft packing seals. With the inrush of water aft, the boat will be headed down to the bottom. During this time, the crew are trying to secure the flooding and seal hatches. The automatic safety systems will "scram" the reactor, making it safe. If there is time, the captain will order the radio room to get off a distress call to the operations center at Plymouth. If not, the crew deploys a buoy, which will transmit its own distress signal to attract attention.
Because of the long continental shelf around the British Isles, there is a good chance that the damaged boat will bottom out in water something less than 1,000 feet deep. Since this is less than the rated crush depth of a British SSN, there is a good chance that some or all of the crew will escape any flooded compartments. At this point, their goal is to survive and wait for rescue if possible. If there is continued flooding, the crew will move to the forward escape trunk, don their Mk 8 escape suits, and free-ascend to the surface. But if the surviving compartments are dry, they will probably try to stay put, hoping for rescue by forces from Plymouth.