“Tube five flooded, doors open. Launch tube five.” The canister was ejected and rose to the surface. The cap blew off, the missile ignited and shot off north over the Cay.
“Sonar. Get your big ears on. Report.”
Benson listened.
“Noise, sir. Sudden, indistinct. There could be gas escaping. Definite bubbles and gas.” A minute went by. “Whoa, big one. A blast sir, sounds like a secondary. I think we have a Hot Datum.”
USS Stonewall Jackson sailed around the Cay. Nathan raised the periscope; there, about a mile away, were a few life rafts. He shook his head, there were just four of them.
“It’s gone Larry.” He lowered his head. “What did the Duke of Wellington say after the victory at Waterloo? Nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won.”
NATHAN DECIDED TO GET some sleep; he retired to his cabin.
Some hours later in the control room, Nikki stood.
“I’m going for a coffee sir. Would you like one?”
“Yeah,” said the XO. “Get one for the Skipper too, wake him, he’s had a few hours now.”
Nathan startled awake with her warm lips on his and her ponytail softly tickling his neck.
“Nikki, what are…?”
“Here’s your coffee sir, the XO told me to wake you with it. I went one better.” She smiled and left the cabin.
Nathan walked into the control room.
Lieutenant Commander Lemineux approached him.
“Here Sir, it came in a few minutes ago.”
PRIORITY RED
R 2314649Z OCT 89 ZY011
COMSUBPAC PEARL HARBOR HAWAII//N1//
TO STONEWALL JACKSON
PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//
NAVAL OPS/02
MSGID/PACOPS 6722/COMSUBPAC ACTUAL//
MSG BEGINS://
PLANAF FORCES ARE DEPLOYING SOUTH. PATROLS OF SHNAANXI Y-8, FLYING THE AREA. Y-8Q DEPLOYED SOUTH. SUSPECTED SITES ARE, SUBI, FIERY CROSS, MISCHIEF.
MSG END//
He handed the communication to Weaps.
“Give me the rundown on the Y-8Q?”
He studied the dummies guide. “Ok, Sir. Shaanxi Y-8. It’s their maritime patrol aircraft. A medium sized four-engine turboprop, based on the Soviet AN 12. Its range is 3,400 miles. The Y-8Q is an ASW version with search radar, forward looking infra-red, a tail boom with a Magnetic Anomaly Detector and an internal bomb bay. It’s almost certain to carry the Yu-7 air dropped torpedo, range nine miles, 43 knots. It’s one to respect, sir.”
“We’ll do that. Kaminski, put us about 20 miles south of Subi Reef.”
“Aye sir.” The boat headed off down south.
“War committee, Wardroom.” The XO and Kaminski followed him down the companionway. “Ok. I’ve been speaking to the Joint Chiefs.” It still surprised him how that sounded. Like he did it every day. “In short. The Chinese have been trying to rip them a new one.”
Kaminski snorted.
“They’ve threatened to nuke Guam and Pearl.”
“Christ on a crutch,” said Larry.
“The Chiefs and NSA Stockhaisen don’t buy it. So, they want us to keep on handing the Chinese their ass to them. I wanted you to know what’s at stake, because the Chiefs could be wrong. What we are doing down here could result in Guam and Pearl being turned into a sheet of glass. If anybody wants out, I’ll understand. It’s your call. I’m going to the control room. If you turn up for duty, I’ll know you’re in.”
Nathan left the room.
“SIR,” SAID BENSON, “we have transients consistent with sonobuoys being dropped. There’s a line moving south. The sea’s not deep enough for a thermocline, so we’ve no layer to hide under.”
Nathan rubbed his temples. “I guess we’ll be seeing a lot more of these things. It’s taken them a while to get moving but with local runways, you have to expect them to use organic ASW.”
“I read that they looked at a sail mounted SAM system for the boat, sir?”
“Yeah, I’d like one, but we have to live without one. They could be a double edged sword, in truth. As a last minute use it or die weapon, yeah. But use one and don’t achieve a kill, then you’ve just given your position away.”
“I see sir.”
“Ok, Weaps, plot the chart positions of the line.”
Weaps looked up and frowned; that wasn’t his job.
“It’s ok, I’ve got it.” Kaminski sat at her station. She glanced up at Nathan and smiled. Nathan turned; the XO stood at his post looking forward, his expression resolute. Nathan smiled. All right.
THE Y-8Q HAD BEEN SOWING its trap of sonobuoys for an hour. Nathan knew it was a matter of time until their job was done. Discovery was inevitable.
The Chinese aircraft finally picked them up, and a Yu-7 dropped into the sea.
“The fish is heading for us 43 knots, sir.”
“Come to 200 degrees, speed 20 knots.” It had been dropped well to the north.
“Range six miles,” said Benson.
“Range three miles… two point three miles.”
“Ready countermeasures port side. Stream the lure.”
“Lure streamed, sir. Do you want it to dance?”
“Not yet, Weaps.”
“Range one point two miles… range point eight miles.”
“Dance the lure.”
“Range point six miles… range point four miles. Wait one, wait one. It’s fading, the fish is slowing, dropping. That’s it. It’s gone, they launched too early.”
Nathan knew they’d been lucky. “Ok, flood one and two, two thirds. Speed three knots. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth.” The boat sank into the depths.
“Depth 980 feet. One thousand and twenty, 1,060.”
“All stop.”
There was a crump sound outside of the hull. The USS Stonewall Jackson settled quietly on the seabed in 1,150 feet of water. Alone, silent in the blackness. It would wait until the ASW aircraft gave up. The Shannxi Y-8Q would eventually give up, or more probably run low on fuel.
He decided it was time to make a move.
“One and two, two thirds, up bubble ten, make your depth 100, speed 12 knots. Bearing three six zero.”
The boat cruised north.
“Sir,” said Benson, “we have transients consistent with sonobuoys being dropped. Now two lines twelve miles apart. There’s two birds up there.” Nathan knew this would only get worse.
“Right, that’s it, we wield the big stick now, I’ve had enough. Kaminski get a course to this point.” He indicated a point on the chart.
“Yes Sir,” she calculated. “Two five five Sir.”
“You heard her Planesman.”
“Aye Sir.”
“Weaps, it’s time we got aerial.” The Weapons officer grinned.
“Yes Sir, I couldn’t agree more. I’ll wake Johansson up, we’ll check over the VPM tubes.”
THE WEAPONS OFFICER knocked on the Goat Locker door and then entered.
“CPO Johansson.”
“He’s behind his jack off curtain, dreaming about his Grotopotamus.”
Johansson was known to have a large girlfriend from the Groton area.
A voice came from the bunk area. “I heard that Twiny, going short are we?”
“Johansson,” said Weaps, “let’s take a check on the VPM tubes.”
“Sir.” The two men walked towards aft to an area forward of the engine room known as the ‘Redwoods room’, called after their namesake giant trees, as the three vertical tubes were of very large diameters. Johansson checked the current feed lines to the tubes, then opened the pressure hatch on number one. There were seven dispensers, each would be ejected up to the surface. The cap would blow off, and a Tomahawk BGN-109 cruise missile would ignite and be launched. For this operation, the nuclear warheads had been removed. The warhead was a 1,600 pound HE-FRAG round or 166 BLU 97/B bomblets. The Tomahawks, or TLAMs, have a range in excess of 1,500 miles. Twenty one terrain-following missiles could rain down on an opponent.