D. M. Ulmer 01 - Silent Battleground (24 page)

Brent considered his predicament but knew nothing he could say or do would damage his career any more than it already was. 
So what the hell? 
“I have problems with all three, Captain.”

Tension filled the wardroom.  Emotionally
drained from the
Alfa
close call, none
wanted another knockdown drag-out session between the Captain and Brent.

Continuing, Brent said, “Most of us have heard
Alfas
on surveillance missions.  He’s much quieter than this guy showed us today.  An escort would have to go ahead in order to do the
Alfa
any good, and he would have to pass right by us.  If he didn’t hear us then, he sure wouldn’t have with the
Alfa
in between. 

The trouble with two is securing a noise augmenter does not affect an active acoustic torpedo at close range.  With his target strength, our ADCAP should’ve seen him right after enable and that’s the same problem with number three.  He did something planned and it worked.  We’ve got to think this through more carefully.”

Brent did not raise his eyes to the captain, whose face had become flushed.  Bostwick took a deep breath then spoke softly
and with self-control, “Take charge of this meeting, Jack.  Report to me what you conclude our plan should be,” then he left the wardroom.

No one spoke for several moments.

Brent broke the silence.  His stomach churned, but he knew the train had to be set back on the tracks.  His voice cracked slightly
as he said, “I think they know a lot more about our tactics than we give them credit for.  For openers, how would we defend ourselves against a 688 if we knew her attack style?  I think that’s the direction we should take.”

Dan added, “We need more data.  We can’t throw up our hands based on this tiny sample.  We gotta figure out what to do next time.”

“Shoot,” Jack Olsen said.  “Start the ball rolling.”

“Attack with a bow aspect.  It’ll be completely
different and give us more advantage.  We’re obviously
quieter, ’cause he passed right by and never heard us.”

Brent responded, “Think about what happened today.  That tactic would have shortened his torpedo run, reduced the gyro angle, and because he wouldn’t have to reach back into his baffles to find us, would’ve counter fired against our ADCAP much sooner.  I don’t think we’d be alive for this meeting had we used that tactic. 

“Damn it … guys, listen!  This guy is not the submarine school attack trainer out here.  If we screw up we’re not just going to hear the voice of our friendly
instructor saying ‘Bang, gotcha,’ over the 21MC.”

He turned to Dan who ground his jaws and bowed his head in embarrassment.  “Dan, I’m sorry.  Maybe we let the pucker factor have too much control.  I poke at your idea but have nothing better to offer.  And I don’t defend the tactics of this afternoon.  They damn near got us killed but did permit us to escape.  Let’s not throw the baby out with the bath water.”

Jack Olsen asked, “What’s your suggestion, Brent?”

“I say we stay with the game plan for now, but pay more attention.  Next time, have Sonar tape the whole thing and we’ll analyze it from here to kingdom come.  In the meantime, let’s study the stuff Dan assembled for us.  If anybody sees anything or even thinks he does, speak out.”

Jack asked, “Further comments?  Okay everybody, let’s get some rest.”

All rose to leave.

Jack stopped Brent.  “Stick around.  I’d like to talk a little.”

Brent forced a smile.  “Gee.  I wonder whatever about?”

After the others left, Olsen said, “The hostility between you and the captain has reached the point where it can no longer be ignored.  Letting it get out of control is dangerous for all of us.  Because he is the captain, we owe him loyalty.  I think you understand that and probably
even practice it better than the rest.”

Surprised to hear this, Brent did not interrupt.

“You understand tactics head and shoulders above anyone else in
Denver
.  I think you also recognize the captain’s ego has a tough time handling this.  You don’t rub his nose in it, but on the other hand, you don’t let him make any mistakes.  This patrol, whether he realizes it or not, assures fulfillment of his lifelong dream of making flag.  The nation needs heroes and
Denver
will provide the first news worth cheering about.  Your hand in the success of this mission has been pivotal.  The captain might even recognize this, but I doubt he’ll admit it.  Keep doing more of the same, however, I want you to do one thing.”

“What’s that, Jack?”

“Be sure there are always some officers around when you give him advice.  Me preferably, but anybody will do.”

Brent scoffed, “The captain never talks to me directly so it’ll have to be in a group.”

“I’ve noticed, but just in case.”

“You got it, boss.”

“Brent, I know how much the Navy means to you and how all this must make you feel.”

Brent thought,
Damn it!
 
It’s the last time I tell Dan anything.

Jack went on, “Nothing in this life is certain, but I’ve gained a sort of stranglehold on the old man that puts me in a good position to ensure he doesn’t hurt you.  I give you my word, Brent, I’ll pull that string as hard as I can and I have reason to believe I’ll be successful.”

A great load had been lifted from Brent’s shoulders; he smiled and said, “Thanks a lot, Jack.  Ya know, it’s too damn bad the skipper chose the political route and not the tactical one.  Once he settles in, he’s damn good.  His problem is he hasn’t given it enough thought so he doesn’t have the self-confidence.  And he’s too proud to take advice from us.”

“Well, he took the political path and that’s what we have to live with.  At least until we get back and he’s relieved.  The situation is survivable for you, at least in my view.  Just keep up the good work.”

“I’ll give it my best shot, Jack.”

The executive officer left and Brent indulged himself a few quiet moments to enjoy his rejuvenated spirits.  He searched through the box of cassettes and selected a Cleveland Symphony rendition of the Nutcracker.  He did not understand the music, but it helped him to recall his first and penance date with Den Mother to thank her for rescuing him and his drunken cohorts.

The overture had barely
finished when Woody Parnell hobbled into the wardroom for the first time since being wounded.  “Hi, Brent.”

“Hi, yourself, hero.”

Recognizing the music, Woody exclaimed, “Ah ha! Peter Ilyich Tchaikovsky.  Did you know he only
wrote the ballet?  The actual story is by E. T. A. Hoffman.  Wanna hear all about it?”

Brent replied, “You bet your ass,” and thought,
Dan absolutely
gets no more from me
.

Chapter 13

Jim Buchanan thought,
It’s sure good to be at sea again
,
even on a tugboat
.  He stood on the tiny bridge of a yard craft converted to a cable layer by the resourceful Dutch Meyer.  Slight of build, his face in its apparent perpetual pleasant expression, Jim’s pale blue eyes squinted through the black rims of his navy issue glasses.  Under normal circumstances, failing eyesight would have precluded his command tour but war changed that.  Three years ago, he believed his career as a seagoing officer had ended.

A superb teacher, his value to the Navy continued in a different vein and the best and brightest among submariners benefited from Buchanan’s able tutelage.  His knowledge and passion for tactics combined did much to prepare embryo warriors for the grim days no one realized lay ahead.  Although unplanned, Jim’s path choice proved to be the exact medicine needed to mend his career.  War generated a vital and immediate need for his expertise in the conflicts that now raged in the silent battleground.

Evening neared and golden sunrays brightened the final hours of a beautiful spring day off the Washington coast.  Underway for nearly
twenty-four hours, the snowcapped ridges of the Olympic Mountains had fallen below the eastern horizon.

Jim said, “Looking really
good, Dutch.  As long as we use the same Loran-C rates you planted the hydrophones with, we’ve got no worry about geographical position error.  All we need is the location of the missiles relative to the phones.”

Both men nursed hot cups of coffee.  War shortages be damned, black coffee is the lifeblood of seaman; and sailors always find ways to get it.

Even the inscrutable Dutch Meyer found it difficult to contain his excitement over the impending test.

Jim said, “This oughta give you some empathy for women, Dutch.  Now you know how they feel when they’re about to give birth.”

Dutch chuckled at the analogy.  “That’s new ground for me, Commander,” he said then got back to the business at hand.  “There’s a crew ashore listening on the phones.  They’re marking our position hourly.  I’ll check for deltas when we get back and that should be the frosting on our cake.”

A small barge astern on a bridled towrope yawed from side to side in the moderate seaway.  Behind it, a cable paid out connecting it to the shore-based test equipment.  A canvas tarpaulin covered its deadly
cargo of four encapsulated Sealance missiles.

Jim asked, “How long to station?”

“About an hour and a half.  It’ll be totally
dark.  I’m glad as hell you thought about satellite surveillance.  I’d never have covered the missiles.  Think they saw me plant the hydrophones?”

“Maybe they did, but figured you were a fishing boat.  From all appearances, both would look like the same thing and there are plenty of them out here.”

Two hours later, Dutch and his small crew made final equipment adjustments on the barge.  They communicated with flashing lights because radio transmissions were almost certain to be intercepted.

The quartermaster signalman reported, “Message from the barge, Commander, READY FOR TRANSMISSION CHECKS.”

Jim replied, “Aye, send it.”

Dutch Meyer ordered the shore-based test team over the trailed wire, “Spin ’em up and enter test coordinates.”

The system reacted perfectly and Dutch reported to Jim, again via flashing light.

Jim exclaimed, “Damn!  Absolutely
no reason they won’t do the same thing sitting on the bottom.”

Returning to the bridge, Jim directed the quartermaster, “Send the following message, EXCELLENT.  COMMENCE SINKING OPS, then said, “and add to it, AND GET YOUR FAT ASS BACK HERE.”

The astounded youngster asked, “Really, sir?”

“Really, sailor.” 
Denver
’s prospective commanding officer had a good chuckle then went below for another well-deserved cup of coffee.

An hour later, the barge rested on the bottom armed with four tactical Sealance missiles at the ready.  With target data provided by hydrophones on the seabed, they could place a deadly MK 50 Torpedo quickly
upon an unsuspecting target.  The tug and its elated occupants made its way back to the
Pitstop.

Captain Sherensky squinted as the briefing officer pointed to a spot on the Washington coast.  His aging eyes were troublesome, but he would not reveal this to the medical division until his tour as
Zhukov
commanding officer ended.

“Satellite surveillance shows naval activity here.  Based on the amount of equipment being moved in, it is likely
a refit facility.  We shall permit the Americans some time to make substantial investment then knock it out with an SS-N-21 land attack missile.  We will permit their hopes to build then dash them again.  Several days ago, the Americans towed a disabled 688 class SSN, likely dragged from Bremerton yard on the eve of the war and hidden until our attack abated.”

Immediately, thoughts came to Sherensky’s mind. 
Does not sound good.  The Americans must have expected the attack and competent submariners took action.  They are a force to be reckoned with.  Better such thoughts not be spoken aloud in the presence of so many zampolit.

The briefer’s pointer indicated the position of Bremerton then he continued.  “There may have been others as our satellite is unable to discern submarines among the rubble here.  Perhaps they evacuated all of them.  The one we have found appears without propulsion and it is not likely
the cautious Americans will permit such extensive repairs at a temporary base.”

More thoughts by the Soviet captain,
American writers make much of Soviet problems with submarine nuclear propulsion systems and conclude this an indication of poor combat readiness.
  He did not consider the flawless American peacetime reactor safety record an intimidating factor in the current fight.

Vasiliy Baknov also sat in the audience, equally unnerved over the briefer continually finding no significance to new findings on the Americans.  The Briefer apparently ignored the lessons of World War II.  Admiral Yamamoto’s prophecy given the day after Pearl Harbor, ‘We have succeeded only
in awakening a sleeping giant and filling him with a terrible resolve.’  He thought,
Surely we will not let that happen again.

Many questions ran through Vasiliy’s mind. 
Where were
the surviving submarines? How did they know to leave?  Had they cracked the most closely
held secret in Soviet history and knew of the planned attacks?  Also, why wait to hit the replacement bases?  Surely, the Americans recognized the Soviet submarine land attack capability and prepared accordingly.  Why not dispatch Zhukov to hit these bases before suitable defenses can be installed instead of diverting her attacks on dispersed merchant ships in the Southwest Pacific?  How many days have passed since
the Tango went missing?  How do we explain her fate?

Warned by his captain, Vasiliy would withhold his concerns lest the shortsighted zampolit interpret them as more evidence of his disloyalty to the Party.

The briefer continued, “Our submarines of the Northern Fleet have denied allies use of the Atlantic.  Materials and personnel must be flown, thus draining resources of the United States Air Force.  And the shipments fall well below the allies’ needs.  Our fighter-bombers further impede this effort and our superior numbers take their toll.  The Americans are unable to replace losses without replenishing strategic materials by sea and they are not likely
to recover this capability.  Time is a comrade for our cause, but to exploit it, we must maintain control of the sea.  Our submarines are pivotal in this endeavor.