What Commander Walcott needed to know was the formation of the Soviet fleet that was slowly heading in his direction.
“Well, at least we’ve spotted two of their pickets.”
“Yes, and they are true submarine hunters. Those SS-N-14s have a range of up to fifty kilometres.”
“So long as they have helicopters in the air to guide them.”
“Oh, they will, XO. They’ll be out there looking for us now. And, if they do find us, those destroyers can push up to thirty-five knots.”
“Get past those, and we can get to grips with the high value targets.”
“Sonar, Contact-One, identified Udaloy-1 destroyer, bearing 126, 9,000 yards.”
“Contact-Two, Roberts?”
“Bearing 086, range 15,000 yards.”
“Identification?”
“Nothing definite yet, sir, but I reckon it’s a second Udaloy.”
“Thank you.”
“Helm, ahead ten knots.”
“Ahead, ten knots, aye.”
“We’ve got two of the pickets, XO, but what about the rest?”
“We must be on their starboard quarter. If we maintain this bearing, we’ll pick them up, but we’ll be right under the Udaloy that’s coming straight at us.”
“That’s why we’re going around them. Helm. Ten degrees port.”
“Ten degrees port. Aye.”
“Bill.”
“Sir.” Lieutenant Commander Bill Legge, weapons engineering officer, known as WEPs, made his way over.
“We’re going to come in behind the Soviet fleet, Bill, so I want another check of weapons. If we can get amongst them, I want to hit them hard and then run. So make sure your team are on the ball.”
“They won’t let you down, sir.”
“Good.”
WEPs went to do another check on his team, those that would be responsible for loading and firing the submarine’s torpedoes. The first contact had eventually moved behind them, and the second contact was now directly opposite their position but, as they were moving away on a ten-degree bearing, a gap of 11,000 yards had developed between them.
A Leading Hand brought a tray of sandwiches from the galley, and the captain, sitting on his green-backed seat, called him over. He and the XO grabbed some badly needed food. They both needed sleep as well. The six hours on duty, six hours off routine had fallen by the wayside as they were now so close to the enemy that an incident or attack could occur at any moment. Both had managed two hours sleep each in the last twelve, but it might be some time before they had that luxury again.
“Sonar. Contact. No, two… three contacts. Contact-Three bearing 155, 9,000 yards. Possible cruiser. Contact-Four, bearing 128, 10,000 yards. Contact-Five, bearing 127, 12,000 yards. It’s big, sir, bloody big. It has to be her.”
The XO picked up the handset and chastised the operator. “Get a grip, Roberts.”
“Sorry, sir. Contact-Three and Four are likely cruisers, but Contact-Five is big.”
The XO, standing next to the captain in the narrow corridor of ‘track alley’, spoke first. “The big one has to be either the Kirov or even the Kiev.”
“A guided-missile cruiser. Now, taking that out would be a good start, eh XO? Helm, dead ahead.”
“Dead ahead. Aye.”
To the right of the captain’s chair, the helm went through their manoeuvres to bring the eighty-four-metre boat back on course.
Commander Walcott reached across and grabbed the handset for the internal communications. “This is the Captain. We are currently tracking a Soviet fleet off to our starboard, but shortly we will be attempting to get right amongst them. Once we can track the elements making up the fleet and isolate the key targets, we will destroy as many of them as we can; then run and hide. I know you’re all feeling a bit ragged, a bit tired, but stay focussed. All our lives depend on it. When we can get to a port or sea of safety, we can all catch up on lost sleep. This is the Captain. That is all.”
He looked left towards ‘fire-control alley’ where the repeater station for the sonar systems sat along with the fire control technicians. He envisaged they would be busy very soon.
“Ten degrees starboard. Make for fifteen knots.”
“Ten degrees starboard. Fifteen knots. Aye.”
“This is it then, sir,” said the XO.
The captain looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes, then I want to go up and take a look.”
“Is that wise, sir? There are bound to be submarines with the fleet. They’ll have a good chance of hearing us.”
“Unlikely, XO. They would have been at the head of the fleet, the fleet’s first picket line, and they appear to have missed us. I want to make sure we haven’t missed any contacts.”
“Unless they’re tracking us.”
“This is not peacetime. We’d have been blown out of the water by now if a Soviet SSN had been following us.”
After fifteen minutes, a period that seemed like a lifetime, the captain made his decision and picked up the comms handset. “Sonar. Update on contacts.”
“Contact-Eight. Udaloy-1, bearing 268, 7,000 yards. No other contacts.”
“Thank you. No sign of the big boys?”
“Negative, sir,” responded the sonar officer, Lieutenant Powers.
“Periscope depth.”
“Periscope depth, aye.”
The captain bent down and placed his eyes against the search periscope as it slowly rose. He completed a quick 360-degree turn, but could pick out nothing, apart from a quick glimpse of a helicopter, probably on an anti-submarine mission. He zoomed in towards the direction of the fleet and could see dark shapes in the distance. Although it was unlikely that the search periscope would be spotted, as the water was choppy, he had it lowered before the feather from the periscope could be seen by an observant watch keeper; then he ordered the boat to dive.
“No transports yet, sir.”
“No. Probably further behind, protected by a smaller force. Hard to starboard, steer 270, depth eighty metres.”
“This is it, sir.”
“That it is, XO.”
The submarine sprinted at twenty-plus knots for ten minutes; then drifted while the sonar technicians reacquainted themselves with any contacts. They eventually caught up with the Udaloy-1, the picket ship at the rear of the fleet. The captain took the submarine down to a depth where he could take advantage of the thermocline, maintaining a speed of eighteen knots, closing in on the Soviet destroyer, eventually passing it using the ship’s propellers to hide his boat. The fleet appeared to be in no hurry, maintaining a steady fourteen knots, so Commander Walcott was able to slowly gain on the bulk of the fleet. Once past the destroyer, they heard the propellers from a cruiser, a Sverdlov, an older class cruiser. On their port side was another Udaloy. They recognised this one. They had picked up the particular signature of this destroyer, Vice-Admiral Kulakov, on one of their ‘Take’ operations. It was one of the Soviet’s latest anti-submarine warships. Commissioned only two years ago, with SS-N-14 anti-submarine missiles and two RBU-6000 anti-submarine rocket launchers capable of firing salvos of up to twelve rounds, then automatically reloading. If Turbulent came up against this ship in battle, being bombarded with 19.5kg shaped-charge warheads, to a depth of 1,000 metres, and actively being guided in the water… Walcott shuddered to think of the consequences.
They left the Sverdlov and Kulakov behind as they steadily crept deeper and deeper into the centre of the Soviet fleet.
“Sonar, contact. Contact-Nine, 6,000 yards bearing 267.”
“The Kiev?” Uttered the XO, almost in a whisper. “God, if we could sink her… ”
“Keep talking to me, Roberts.”
“Sir. Contact-Nine, still on 267, 5,000 yards.”
“What else?”
“Contact-Ten, bearing 186, 7,000 yards. Contact-Nine, 4,000 yards.”