The Trident Deception Page 38

  “Sir, the reactor fuel cells are beginning to melt. We must shut down.”

  Gallagher replied quickly, irritated with the Engineer’s melodramatic, qualitative assessment. “Inform me when radiation levels at the Secondary Shield have reached the new limit. Assuming the ship is out of harm’s way, we’ll shut down then.”

  “Yes sir,” the Engineer replied stiffly before leaving Control, allowing Gallagher to return his attention to the tactical situation.

  “Pilot, ahead two-thirds,” Gallagher ordered.

  As the North Carolina slowed to search the surrounding waters, he reviewed the relevant data.

  For the last four days, they’d been heading west at ahead full. Luckily, they had been headed in the right direction, and after detecting an underwater explosion two hours ago, only a minor course correction to starboard was required. They had already slowed in the vicinity of the explosion, but there was nothing there. So Gallagher had continued west, increasing speed to ahead full again. A few minutes ago, Sonar had detected mechanical transients, most likely missile muzzle hatches being opened. Their adversary was close.

  Time to slow down and find it.

  “Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts.”

  83

  USS KENTUCKY

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  USS KENTUCKY

  “Man Battle Stations Torpedo,” Malone announced as he entered Control from Radio.

  The Chief of the Watch made the announcement on the shipwide 1-MC, then sounded the General Alarm, followed by a duplicate 1-MC announcement. Men began streaming into Control, manning their workstations.

  Malone called out to the open microphone. “Sonar, Conn. Report classification of Sierra two-four.”

  * * *

  Inside the Sonar shack, Petty Officer DelGreco was starting to sort things out. They had already determined it was a submerged contact. A high-speed submarine in the middle of the Pacific Ocean meant it was probably nuclear powered, and that meant it was a U.S. submarine.

  DelGreco tapped the Narrowband Operator, Petty Officer Rambikur, on the shoulder. “Look for 688, Seawolf, and Virginia-class tonals.”

  DelGreco had lots of experience going up against Los Angeles–class submarines, and one glance at the frequencies told him this was no 688. That meant it was either a Seawolf or a Virginia. Rambikur came to a more specific conclusion.

  “Sonar Sup. Sierra two-four is classified Virginia-class submarine.”

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  “Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact, designated Sierra five-seven, bearing two-seven-two, classified submerged.”

  “Sonar, Conn. Aye,” Gallagher replied.

  This was their target.

  “Attention in Control. Designate Sierra five-seven as Master One. Track Master One. Carry on.”

  Gallagher turned his attention to the geographic display. They were headed directly toward their target, but had no idea yet how far away it was. Headed toward it, they weren’t going to get any useful bearing rate information for their combat control algorithms.

  Time to turn.

  “Pilot, right fifteen degrees rudder, steady course north.”

  The Pilot acknowledged, and the North Carolina began turning.

  USS KENTUCKY

  “Conn, Sonar. Contact zig! Sierra two-four has turned away to the north.”

  Malone glanced at the one of the three combat control displays, then at the XO, who nodded, confirming Sonar’s preliminary analysis.

  Not good.

  The Kentucky had been detected, and Sierra two-four was beginning target motion analysis. They were developing a firing solution.

  Under normal circumstances, Malone could probably extend the cat-and-mouse game for hours, constantly maneuvering, making his adversary’s job of developing a firing solution a nightmare.

  But Malone was at periscope depth, moving slowly at five knots. His first priority at the moment was to repair the Radio Room and communicate with COMSUBPAC. It looked like American submarines, and not just the Australians, had orders to hunt down the Kentucky, and the sooner Malone contacted COMSUBPAC, the safer they would be.

  There was a problem with his plan, however. The Virginia-class submarine would not receive new messages until she went to periscope depth. Even if Malone contacted COMSUBPAC and they ordered the Virginia-class submarine to stand down, she would not receive the message until after she had sunk the Kentucky and went to periscope depth to report.

  Should he stay at periscope depth and communicate with COMSUBPAC, or go deep and run?

  They had been fortunate against an Australian submarine with Mod 4 torpedoes. But against a Virginia-class, most likely carrying MK 48 Mod 7s?

  Their only hope was to convince the Virginia-class submarine to not attack.

  But how?

  Radio messages were not an option. That left …

  Sonar.

  Malone spoke into the open microphone. “Sonar, Conn. Line up the WQC for underwater comms.”

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  “Steady course north.”

  Gallagher acknowledged the Pilot’s report, then turned his attention to the sonar displays, waiting for the towed array to stabilize after the turn. This was the same contact they had encountered before—it had the same tonals—and it was a very quiet target, held only on narrowband. They would have to wait until the towed array stabilized and accurate bearings were fed into their Combat Control System. A few minutes passed, and the awaited report came from the Sonar Supervisor.

  “Conn, Sonar. The towed array has stabilized. Sending bearings to fire control.”

  The submarine’s Executive Officer stopped behind each of the three combat control consoles, examining each operator’s solution, going back to the middle fire control technician, tapping him on the shoulder.

  “Promote to Master.”

  Their target was moving slowly, and hadn’t maneuvered.

  Turning to Gallagher, the XO said, “I have a firing solution.”

  USS KENTUCKY

  “Conn, Sonar. WQC is lined up to transmit.”

  Malone pulled the WQC microphone from its holster. He held it an inch away from his mouth. His voice would be transmitted by sonar hydrophones though the water and would be difficult to understand. He pressed the microphone button, then spoke slowly, distinctly.

  “United States submarine. This is the USS Kentucky. Do not attack. Repeat. This is the USS Kentucky. Do not attack.”

  Malone waited a minute, then repeated his announcement.

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  “Conn, Sonar. Receiving underwater comms.”

  Gallagher looked up from the combat control display. He exchanged surprised glances with his Executive Officer, then turned to the Sonar Supervisor.

  “Put it on speaker.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  There was only the background noise of ocean biologics for a moment, then a warbly but understandable message. “United States submarine. This is the USS Kentucky. Do not attack. Repeat. This is the USS Kentucky. Do not attack.”

  The Control Room broke out in a flurry of conversations. Gallagher was stunned by the communication. So was his Executive Officer, by the look on his face. But then his expression hardened. Gallagher wanted to hear his thoughts, but there was too much commotion in the Control Room.

  “Silence in Control!”

  The conversations ceased immediately.

  “What are you thinking, XO?”

  It took a moment for the XO to answer, but when he did, he answered emphatically.

  “They’re lying, Captain!”

  The XO continued, “The Chinese built a replica of a Trident submarine and they know they look like one on sonar. Now that we’ve caught them, they’re pretending to be an American submarine. It’s a ploy, sir.”

  Gallagher absorbed his XO’s opinion. If he was wrong and he attacked, they would sink a U.S. submarine. Was it possible this was the Kentucky?

  He turned to his Navigato
r. “What do we know about waterspace assignments for Trident submarines? Can we confirm the Kentucky is supposed to be in this area?”

  “No, sir,” the Nav answered. “We’re not privy to Trident waterspace assignments. There’s no way for us to know if the Kentucky is supposed to be here or not.”

  Gallagher folded his arms across his chest. They were lacking the necessary information to make this critical decision. He would have to rely on the counsel of his XO and his department heads. His most senior department head, the Engineer, would normally have been his Officer of the Deck. Unfortunately, he had been assigned to Maneuvering due to the dropped control rod, and there was no time to bring him forward. That left the XO, whose opinion was clear, the Nav, and the Weps.

  “Weps, what do you think?”

  “Sir, if it could be the Kentucky, we should err on the side of caution. The ramifications are too great if we’re wrong.”

  Gallagher nodded thoughtfully, then turned to the more senior department head.

  “Nav, what’s your opinion?”

  “We would not have been sent into an area, weapons free, with one of our own submarines in it. There’s no way Master One is an American submarine.”

  Gallagher’s head tilted down toward the deck for a moment. Then he looked up, his eyes canvassing the other men in Control. “Anyone else have any thoughts?”

  No one said anything.

  Commander Dennis Gallagher considered his XO and department heads’ words, and the orders he’d been given. He was weapons free, the target was in the area as expected, and it had Trident tonals as expected. What were the odds the Kentucky was also in the area and COMSUBPAC didn’t know about it?

  Gallagher made his decision.

  “Firing Point Procedures, Master One, tube Two. Open outer doors, tubes One and Two.”

  USS KENTUCKY

  With the Kentucky at Battle Stations Torpedo, the sonar shack was now at full manning. Seated at the spherical array display, headphones against his ears, was Petty Officer 2nd Class John Martin. Unlike Cibelli and DelGreco, Martin had completed a previous tour on a Virginia-class submarine. When he heard the unusual, low-frequency sound in his headphones, followed a few seconds later by the exact same sound, he knew exactly what it was.

  * * *

  “Conn, Sonar. Sierra two-four is opening torpedo tube outer doors!”

  Commander Malone was standing on the Conn, WQC microphone still in his hand, when the 27-MC announcement blared from the speakers.

  Malone resisted the urge to order torpedo evasion—evading at this point was futile. The Virginia was obviously entering Firing Point Procedures and the Kentucky would not get away from its MK 48 torpedo. Their only hope was to talk their way out of it. His first attempt had failed. Perhaps a more personal approach would work. But for that, he needed to know who was in command.

  Malone called into the overhead microphone. “Sonar, Conn. I need you to determine which Virginia-class submarine is out there. And I need the answer in thirty seconds.”

  * * *

  Inside the sonar shack, the sonar operators were already on it. Cibelli was pulling up the Virginia-class tonals from the database, while DelGreco was analyzing the frequencies of Sierra two-four, attempting to identify a unique tonal present on that Virginia submarine, and no other. The problem was the time. Given enough of it, they could eventually identify which submarine they were up against. But they had just thirty seconds. That meant they could pick only one frequency and bounce it against the database. If they were lucky, it would be unique, emitted by only one Virginia—the one about to sink them. Pick the wrong tonal, and it would show up on every Virginia, and they would have no idea which submarine was out there.

  DelGreco scanned the frequencies. Had it been a 688, an unusual frequency would have jumped out at him. But he was unfamiliar with the Virginia-class. Several of the frequencies he stared at looked unusual. He quickly ruled out the common machinery tonals, but that left three to choose from.

  They had fifteen seconds left, and Cibelli still had to look up which submarine it correlated to.

  DelGreco scanned the three tonals again.

  He couldn’t figure it out.

  He grabbed Martin by the arm. “Which one?”

  Martin leaned over, squinting at the display in the darkness. He pointed to the lowest frequency. “It’s not that one. That’s common. Don’t know about the other two.”

  That narrowed it down. But unfortunately it still left two.

  There was no way for DelGreco to figure it out.

  He picked one.

  Cibelli punched the frequency into the database. It took only five seconds for the results to display on the screen.

  “Shit! That’s not it,” Cibelli said. “They’ve all got that tonal.”

  DelGreco picked the next one and passed it to Cibelli. He looked at the clock. They had passed the thirty-second mark.

  * * *

  “Sonar, Conn,” Malone called into the microphone. “I need an answer, and I need it now!”

  “We’re working on it, Captain.”

  “Working on it isn’t good enough. I need a goddamn name!”

  There was no immediate response from Sonar.

  Then an excited announcement blared across Control. “It’s the North Carolina! The North Carolina!”

  Malone brought the WQC microphone to his mouth again. He knew most of the submarine commanding officers in the Pacific, and all of the Virginia-class submarine COs. He prayed there hadn’t been a last-second change of command, and that Dennis Gallagher was still in command of the North Carolina.

  USS NORTH CAROLINA

  “Weapon ready, tube Two!” the Weapons Officer called out, verifying the torpedo presets were matched with combat control.

  “Solution ready!” the XO announced, verifying the best target solution had been promoted to Master.

  “Ship ready!” the Navigator reported, ensuring the counterfire corridor had been identified and that the ship’s torpedo countermeasures were ready to deploy.

  The North Carolina was ready to engage.

  The only step remaining was Commander Gallagher’s order to shoot.

  Gallagher reviewed the geographic display one last time, and was about to issue the order when the Sonar Supervisor interrupted him.

  “Conn, Sonar. Receiving underwater comms again.”

  “On speaker,” Gallagher ordered.

  The Sonar Supervisor acknowledged, and the warbly underwater sound emanated throughout Control.

  “… on the North Carolina. Repeat. This is Commander Brad Malone on the Kentucky. Request to speak to Commander Dennis Gallagher on the North Carolina, over.”

  This was a new wrinkle. However, the men in command of American submarines was common knowledge. This last underwater communication proved nothing. The North Carolina was locked and loaded, a button push away from launching—and sinking—their target.

  However, they could afford another minute to investigate further.

  Gallagher walked over to the sonar consoles. “Line up for underwater comms.”

  As Gallagher waited for the sonar operators to complete the lineup, he thought about the underwater message. If this really was Brad Malone, he would know a few personal details. He and Brad had gone though Prospective Commanding Officer training together. They had worked out at the gym together and hung out on the weekends during the six-month-long PCO pipeline.

  A few seconds later, the Sonar Supervisor announced, “Lined up for underwater comms.”

  Gallagher took the microphone. “Kentucky, this is North Carolina actual. If you are Commander Malone, convince me. You have one minute.”

  There was a momentary wait as the sound traveled through the water. A few seconds later, the response came through the Control Room speakers.

  “Dennis. Do you really want me to tell everyone what you have tattooed on your ass?”

  Gallagher’s eyes went wide for a moment, until he realized Brad Mal
one had spotted his tattoo as he stepped out of the showers at the gym one day.

  He broke into a wide grin.

  “Brad, what the hell are you doing here? We almost sank you.”

  Another short wait, then, “It’s a long story, Dennis. I’ll fill you in later. We’ll be contacting COMSUBPAC shortly and will proceed as directed.”

  “Understand, Brad. We’ll hang out until then and make sure no one else pesters you.”

  “Thanks, Dennis. Kentucky, out.”

  Gallagher placed the WQC microphone back into the holster, then turned back to the Fire Control Tracking Party. Realizing they were still at Firing Point Procedures, he terminated the firing order.

  “Check Fire,” he announced. “Secure from Battle Stations.”

  Turning to his Officer of the Deck, he said, “Make preparations to come to periscope depth.”

  He stopped beside his XO. “We need to have a chat with COMSUBPAC.”

  84

  USS KENTUCKY

  “Conn, Radio. Repairs are complete. Lining up EHF to the Conn.”

  Tom acknowledged Petty Officer Mushen’s 27-MC report as he rotated on the periscope. Malone emerged from Radio and stepped onto the Conn, stopping next to the red phone. Moments later, the awaited report came over the 27-MC.

  “Conn, Radio. EHF is lined up to the Conn.”

  Malone placed the handset to his face. “COMSUBPAC, this is Kentucky actual, over.”

  This time, instead of silence, there was a burst of static, followed by a man’s excited voice. “USS Kentucky, this is COMSUBPAC N3. You are a sound for sore ears. Request you acknowledge nuclear launch termination orders, over.”

  “COMSUBPAC, Kentucky. Acknowledge nuclear launch termination orders. Repeat, acknowledge launch termination orders.”

  Malone paused for a moment, his thoughts turning to the missiles they had launched, realizing their launch order must have been fake and no nuclear bomb had been detonated in Washington, D.C. They had retaliated against innocent Iranians.

  “COMSUBPAC, Kentucky. What is the status of the four missiles we launched, over?” Malone’s stomach tightened as he awaited the response.

  “Kentucky, COMSUBPAC. All missiles and warheads were destroyed by ABM defenses in the Middle East, over.”