Sea of Shadows (For fans of Tom Clancy and Dale Brown) Read online

  “TAO—EW, I could if they were showing me anything. So far, both of them have been as quiet as church mice.”

  “Right out of the old Soviet tactical book,” the captain said. “Low, fast, and quiet. They won’t point their radar at us until they’re ready to illuminate us for missile-lock.”

  “They meet all the requirements for an auto-engage,” the TAO said. “Aegis will take them out as soon as they come into missile range.”

  The captain shook his head. “Negative. Prohibit auto-engage on all Bogies.”

  “But, sir,” the TAO said, “you said yourself they’re going to shoot us as soon as they get missile-lock.”

  “We can’t shoot them,” the captain said. “Not now, anyway. The Rules of Engagement won’t let us. We can’t even technically classify them as hostile.”

  “Captain, I don’t understand,” the TAO said. “The Sirajis have already launched two dozen missiles at us. What more do we need?”

  “For one thing,” the captain said, “we don’t even know for certain that those planes are Siraji.”

  “They’re coming out of Siraji airspace, and they’re flying strike profiles,” the TAO said.

  “Not good enough,” the captain said. “We fly planes through Saudi air space all the time, but it doesn’t make our planes Saudi. As much as I hate to say it, under U.S. Rules of Engagement, flying low and fast without radar is not considered a hostile act. As soon as one of them launches or lights off his fire control radar, they all become fair game. Until then, keep an eye on them but concentrate on your Vipers.”

  The TAO sighed. “Aye-aye, sir.”

  Three hostile-missile symbols disappeared from the Aegis display screens.

  “TAO—Air. Splash three more. Two of them got jammed, and the third one got suckered by chaff.”

  “TAO, aye. Break. EW—TAO. Nice job. Stay on it.”

  The ship gave a rapid sequence of shudders, accompanied by a series of thunderous roars.

  “TAO—Weapons Control. Eighteen more birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted two each on the inbound Vipers.”

  “TAO, aye.”

  A trio of red octagonal symbols appeared on the tactical display, each of them superimposed over a different part of the Siraji coast. “Captain—Radar Supervisor, I’ve got cross-fixes on three of the enemy missile launchers, sir!”

  “Punch them into the link!” the captain said. “Weapons Control, you have batteries released. Engage those missile launchers, now!”

  A few seconds later, the ship jerked as the 5-inch deck gun fired for the first time. The report of the big gun was astonishingly loud, even in the insulated confines of CIC. The gun quickly fell into a rhythm, punching out a high-explosive shell every three seconds, with a series of teeth-rattling booms.

  The TAO keyed his mike. “Air—TAO. What’s going on with those inbound Bogies?”

  “They’ve sheared off, sir, but they’re not bugging out. They’re staying outside of our engagement circle but just barely. I think they’re waiting for their shore-based Silkworm launchers to saturate our defenses. Or they could be hoping we’ll run out of missiles.”

  The captain said, “At the rate we’re using up SM-3s, either one could be a good bet. Keep an eye on them, son. They might decide they want a piece of this fight at any second.”

  “Aye-aye, sir.”

  * * *

  On the Aegis displays, eighteen friendly-missile symbols merged with the nine flashing red symbols that represented inbound Vipers. For a few seconds, the converging array of symbols made a confusing knot on the screen, and then they began to disappear as the Aegis computers sorted out which missiles had been destroyed and which were still providing valid radar returns. When the display finished updating itself, only two missile symbols remained—both shown in flashing red.

  “TAO—Air. Two of the Vipers have gotten past our first salvo of interceptors.” There was another quick series of shudders, followed by the thunder of launching missiles. “Four more birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted two each on the inbound Vipers.”

  “TAO, aye.”

  Twenty seconds later, the interceptors merged with the inbound Vipers on the tactical display, and—when the display updated itself—one of the Viper symbols remained, still closing rapidly.

  “Shit!” the Weapons Control Officer shouted. “TAO—Weapons Control, one of the Vipers got through. It’s kicked into terminal homing phase, and it’s too close to re-engage with missiles.”

  “It’s up to CIWS, now,” the XO said.

  * * *

  As if in answer, the forward Close-In Weapon System locked onto the incoming missile and opened fire. The six-barreled Gatling gun rapped out a burst of 20mm tungsten rounds. Somewhere out in the darkness, a brief flash of exploding fuel announced the destruction of the Viper.

  “TAO—Weapons Control. Got the bastard!”

  “Good job,” the TAO said. “Break. Air—TAO, what’s the status of our Bogies?”

  “They’re just inside our missile range, sir. And still circling.”

  “Don’t lose track of them,” the TAO said. “And watch for more Vipers.”

  * * *

  The next missile attack wasn’t long in coming. “TAO—EW, I’ve got five more inbounds! Make that ten; they’re all getting off a second bird!”

  “God damn it!” the Radar Supervisor shouted. “I’ve got ’em too! Confirm, ten inbound Vipers! How many are they going to throw at us?”

  * * *

  “TAO—Weapons Control. I think we’ve got a kill on one of the missile launchers, sir. I’m shifting my fire to the other two cross-fixes. I’m going to need position data on the remaining three sites pretty quick here, sir.”

  “I’m working on it, sir!” the Radar Supervisor shouted.

  Captain Bowie keyed his mike. “Radar Supervisor, this is the captain. Calm down, son. I need you to keep a clear head right now.”

  “Yes, sir! I mean, I’ll try, sir!”

  * * *

  The 5-inch gun continued to hammer out high-explosive rounds every three seconds or so.

  Navy Red warbled. “Towers, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My buoys five and six are hot! We hold narrowband tonals consistent with a Type 212 diesel submarine. Initial classification: POSS-SUB, confidence level high!”

  The XO’s voice was incredulous. “How in the hell do they do that? How do they always manage to show up just when the shit is hitting the fan?”

  The captain keyed Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is Towers. Take your shot. Try to make it a good one.”

  On the Aegis display screen, three of the ten incoming-missile symbols winked out.

  “Splash three Vipers,” the Air Supervisor said over the net. “Chalk up two to jamming and one to chaff.”

  A quick series of rumbles announced the launch of another salvo of missiles. “TAO—Weapons Control. Ten more birds away, no apparent casualties. Targeted two each on the first three inbound Vipers and one each for the remaining four Vipers.”

  The odd report stopped the TAO cold. He keyed his mike. “Weapons Control—TAO, why did we only launch one interceptor on the last four Vipers?”

  “We’ve expended more than fifty percent of our SM-3 inventory,” the Weapons Control Officer said. “The computer has throttled us back to a shoot-look-shoot-shoot doctrine.”

  “Fifty percent?” the TAO said. “We carry ninety-two SM-3 missiles. How in the hell can we be at fifty percent of our inventory?”

  “Fifty percent of ninety-two is forty-six, sir,” the Weapons Control Officer said. “We’ve launched fifty missiles.”

  The TAO looked at the captain.

  The captain nodded. “Stick with it. The shooting’s not over yet.”

  “Well,” said the XO, “at least we know what those Bogies have been waiting for.”

  * * *

  “Towers, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My weapons check-off list is complete. I am prepping for my attack run, over.”
r />   The TAO keyed Navy Red. “Towers, aye. Good hunting, Firewalker.”

  The captain’s eyes traveled over the faces of the men and women of the CIC crew. “Cross your fingers and say a prayer,” he said. “If Firewalker pulls this off, the show’s over, and we’re out of here.”

  “Amen to that,” the XO said.

  Firewalker Two-Six’s buoy cross-fixes began popping up on the CDRT. Chief McPherson rolled the trackball until her cursor was centered over the first cross-fix symbol and began playing connect-the-dots. The CDRT’s computer gave her a rough course of three-five-seven at an estimated speed of sixteen knots. Gremlin Zero Four was headed north, toward the minefield. Toward Zubayr harbor and safety.

  * * *

  The TAO watched on the Aegis display screens as Firewalker Two-Six’s green friendly-aircraft symbol vectored across the screen toward the red V-shape of Gremlin Zero Four’s hostile-submarine symbol. He cocked an ear toward the speaker, expecting to hear Firewalker’s attack report at any second.

  But the next report came from the Weapons Control Officer. “TAO—Weapons Control. Scratch another Silkworm launcher. Shifting to the next target at this time.”

  “Two down,” the TAO said.

  “We’re not getting them fast enough,” the captain said. “At this rate, we’re going to run out of SM-3s before they run out of Silkworms.”

  The Air Supervisor’s voice came over the net. “TAO—Air. The Bogies are moving!”

  “TAO, aye. Are they closing us?”

  “Negative, sir,” the Air Supervisor said. “They’ve going after the helo!”

  “TAO—EW, the Bogies just lit off their radars! French-built. Thomson-CSF Cyrano IVM series. That makes our Bogies either Mirage F-1s or Mirage F-50s.”

  “There aren’t any F-50s in-theater,” Captain Bowie said. “So our bad guys are F-1s, which means we still can’t shoot them. They might be Siraji, but they might also be from Iran, Jordan, or Kuwait. Mirages aren’t exactly rare in this part of the world.”

  The TAO keyed Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is Towers. Watch your back, you’ve got two Bogies inbound from the north, over.”

  “Towers, this is Firewalker. Copy inbound Bogies. Keep them off my back for another thirty seconds, until I get off my shot, over.”

  “We’ll try, Firewalker,” the TAO said. “But the Bogies have not satisfied Rules of Engagement criteria to be designated as hostile.”

  * * *

  On the Aegis displays, ten friendly-missile symbols merged with seven flashing red Viper symbols. When the display finished updating itself, the flashing red missile symbols were gone.

  The Air Supervisor’s voice came over the net. “TAO—Air. Splash seven! We got them all!”

  * * *

  The Tactical Action Officer was about to key his mike to acknowledge when another report came in.

  “TAO—EW, Bogies just lit up their fire control radars!”

  “That’s it!” the captain said. “Batteries released! Take them out!”

  The TAO keyed the net. “Weapons Control—TAO, Bogies have been designated as hostile. You have batteries released. Engage and destroy!”

  Without waiting for acknowledgment of his order, the TAO shifted to Navy Red. “Firewalker Two-Six, this is Towers. The Bogies are setting you up for an attack! Abort your torpedo launch and get the hell out of there!”

  “Just another three seconds,” Firewalker Two-Six’s copilot said over Navy Red. “Here it comes … Weapon away—now, now, NOW!”

  * * *

  Under the starboard side of the helicopter’s fuselage, solenoid-controlled latches snapped open, releasing Firewalker Two-Six’s torpedo. The weapon dropped like a rock until its parachute pack deployed a fraction of a second later, slowing the torpedo’s rate of descent and drawing it into a slightly nose-down angle for optimum water insertion.

  The copilot keyed his mike. “Towers, this is Firewalker Two-Six. My torpedo is away. I am going evasive to avoid Bogies.”

  * * *

  “TAO—Air. Bogies are launching. I count two missiles, both targeted on the helo.”

  The ship shuddered as two SM-3s blasted out of their missile cells and turned toward the enemy jets.

  “Can we intercept their missiles?” the captain asked.

  “Not a chance, sir,” the TAO said. “By the time our birds get there, Firewalker will already be toast.”

  The little drama played itself out on the Aegis display screen, two hostile-missile symbols merging with the helicopter symbol. Somewhere out in the night sky, twisted metal and burning flesh were falling toward the darkened wave tops. On the screen, Firewalker Two-Six’s symbol changed to a last-known-position marker, and the helicopter and its crew of three were gone.

  “TAO—Weapons Control. Our birds have acquired the Bogies.”

  Seen from the Aegis display screen, the destruction of the enemy jets was no more dramatic than the loss of the helo had been. Two friendly-missile symbols converged on two hostile-aircraft symbols. Each of the missile symbols touched the symbol for one of the hostile aircraft, and the Bogies were gone. The destruction of two aircraft depicted in the sterile exchange of computer icons. No hint of the fire and violent death that those symbols represented.

  “I hope they suffered,” the XO said. “I hope those bastards shit their pants when they saw our missiles coming, and I hope they burned and bled and screamed for Allah—all the way down to the water. And I hope their souls fry in hell!”

  Captain Bowie laid his hand on his second-in-command’s shoulder and quietly said, “That’s enough, Pete.” He gave the shoulder a quick squeeze. “I understand what you’re feeling, but we don’t have time for that.”

  As if on cue, the Weapons Control Officer’s voice came over the net. “TAO—Weapons Control. Silkworm launcher number three is down for the count. Shifting to launcher number four.”

  * * *

  Out on the forecastle, the 5-inch gun fell silent for a second, swung to cover its new target, and began hammering out another barrage of shells.

  * * *

  The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the tactical net. “USWE—Sonar, we have weapon start-up. It’s Firewalker’s torpedo, sir. Placement looks pretty good.”

  A friendly-weapon symbol appeared in blue on the CDRT.

  Chief McPherson keyed her mike. “Sonar—USWE. Has the weapon acquired?”

  “USWE—Sonar. That’s affirmative. Firewalker’s weapon has just now acquired the target. It’s a tail-chase, Chief. Even odds as to whether it can catch the sub.”

  “USWE, aye.”

  * * *

  U-307:

  “Kapitan!” the Sonar Operator shouted. “The American torpedo has acquired us!”

  “Calm down!” Gröeler snapped. “Estimated range?”

  “Close aboard, sir! The signal strength is high. Estimated range—less than fifteen hundred meters.”

  “Very well,” Gröeler said. He nodded, as though he had been expecting this. The Americans were good—far better than he had thought. He had three missing U-boats to prove it. But this wasn’t over yet.

  He turned to the OOD. “Officer of the Deck, I have the Conn!”

  “Officer of the Deck, aye!”

  Gröeler barked, “All engines ahead one-third, slow to five knots! Left standard rudder, steady new course three-one-zero!”

  The boat began to heel over as the Helmsman executed his orders. “Sir, my rudder is left fifteen degrees! Coming to new course three-one-zero. All engines ahead one-third! Slowing to five knots!”

  The Officer of the Deck stared at Gröeler. “Five knots, Kapitan? Sir, how can we outdistance a torpedo at five knots?”

  Gröeler held up a hand. “Launch two static noisemakers,” he said. “Then wait thirty seconds and launch two mobile decoys. Set one of the mobile decoys for low speed and the other for high speed.”

  The Officer of the Deck stared at his kapitan for another second. Then he blinked and turne
d to the Countermeasures Control Panel. “Aye-aye, sir. Launching static noisemakers now!”

  A pair of pneumatic hisses followed by a pair of metallic thumps announced the ejection of the two countermeasures.

  * * *

  The Officer of the Deck began punching buttons rapidly, programming the mobile decoys as his kapitan had ordered. His hands trembled as he worked. Five knots? They should be racing away at flank speed, not waiting for the torpedo to catch them!

  * * *

  “The American torpedo is too close,” Gröeler said. “There is no time to run. It will catch us before we go a thousand meters. Our only chance is to fool it.”

  “Launching mobile decoys, now!” the Officer of the Deck reported. There was another pair of hisses and thumps as the second set of countermeasures was ejected.

  “Excellent,” Gröeler said. “Diving Officer, ten degrees up-angle on the bow planes. Make your depth twenty-five meters.”

  “Diving Officer, aye! Sir, my bow planes are up ten degrees. Coming to new depth two-five meters.”

  “Steady on new course three-one-zero,” the Helmsman called out.

  “Very well,” Gröeler said. He looked at his Officer of the Deck. “We give the torpedo two static noisemakers to activate its anti-countermeasure algorithm.” He spoke in a quiet, unhurried voice, as though unaware that death was rushing toward them. “Then we give it a pair of mobile decoys—not so easily identifiable. The torpedo is faced with two invalid targets and three possibly valid targets. Two of them move slowly and do not seem to be actively evading. The third moves away at high speed.”

  The American torpedo was close enough now to be heard with the naked ear. The growling whine of its high-speed screws resonated through the hull of the submarine like the buzzing of an insanely powerful electric razor. The sound grew rapidly louder as the torpedo approached.

  The Officer of the Deck’s eyes darted frantically around the control room, as though searching for somewhere to run. There was, of course, nowhere to go. “The torpedo …” His voice came out in a squeak. He stopped himself and tried again. “The torpedo will acquire the high-speed decoy and attack it instead of us?”

  Utterly calm, Gröeler turned back to the tactical display. “I estimate that we will find out the answer to that question in approximately one minute.”