“No contacts, aye. Walter?”
“No contacts,” said Walter’s sensor operator, Sonar Technician First Class Lionel Frederick.
“Stay sharp, guys. We should be making contact in about five minutes. Make sure the imaging sonar is in single-frequency mode,” ordered Ford. Both sonar techs acknowledged the command and confirmed the setting.
Jerry had pulled up the sonar display for both UUVs on his command console and watched as small rocks, soft coral, and the occasional fish passed through the sonar’s beams. Each UUV was equipped with a bow-mounted, high definition 3-D imaging array that operated at a very high frequency. This would be the primary means of identifying underwater objects as the camera and lights had been replaced by the transponder beacons and NAEs in each UUV’s cargo module. In the single-frequency mode the sonar had a detection range of just over a hundred and twenty yards, and produced a reasonable picture of anything within its field of view. With the exception of the odd color scheme of the display, the objects appeared as slightly blurry, but easily recognizable images. In dual-frequency mode the range dropped to seventy-five yards, but the resolution improved considerably. And even though the UUVs were actively transmitting, the frequencies they were using were so high that it was unlikely any Russian sensor would be able to hear them.
As the distance to the minefield slowly shrank, Jerry listened to the four operators as they exchanged information with one another. He was impressed with their professional decorum and the finely tuned working relationship. During the workups for this mission, the crew spent a lot of time preparing both the UUVs and the control consoles. Every subsystem was checked and triple-checked to ensure all was in order. And while they understood the seriousness of what they had to do, they still swapped jokes and teased one another while working.
Since he had more day-to-day contact with the two lieutenants, Ford and Lawson, Jerry hung out as often as he could in the hangar and UCC to spend more time with the two sonar techs. Frederick was a particularly interesting fellow. A short and slender African American — no, Jerry had to admit the guy was just plain scrawny, so much so that he made Jerry look big. Frederick was also several years older than his commodore. Given the sonar tech’s age and rank, Jerry initially assumed the man had some disciplinary issues. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
During one of the numerous casualty drills Segerson ran, Frederick had confided that he had joined the navy at the eleventh hour, fifty-ninth minute mark. He beat the navy recruiting age limit by just a few months, after aimlessly wandering about for most of his early life. Jerry silently wondered how a thirty-four-year-old man would’ve handled boot camp, “A” school, and then submarine school with snarky adolescents nearly half his age. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. In spite of Frederick’s small stature, he projected an aura of authority. That he knew his trade cold was obvious, and he expected the more junior personnel in his division to do likewise. Armed with an infectious smile, bright eyes, and a firm but fair leadership style, it was no surprise that the younger sonar techs called him “Pops.”
“Conn, Sonar, hold two new contacts. Sierra one four bears one six five, and Sierra one five bears one seven zero. Both contacts appear to be submerged.”
The report jerked Jerry back to the here and now. He wasn’t surprised that they’d picked up two submarine contacts; they were almost certain Russian boats would be in the area, but detecting them reminded him of the dangerous nature of their mission. Switching to the TB-33 towed array input, Jerry saw the faint narrowband signature build on the waterfall display. After only two minutes, he was pretty sure that Sierra one five was a Type 6 nuclear boat — an Akula-, Sierra-, or Oscar-class sub. That likely meant the special purpose mothership, Belgorod. His suspicions were confirmed with the sonar supervisor’s next report.
“Conn, Sonar, classify Sierra one five as an Oscar-class nuclear submarine with position-keeping thrusters. Sierra one four is classified as a nuclear-powered submarine with turbo-electric drive and thrusters. Both appear to be stationary and are in close proximity to Sierra one three that bears one six zero.”
Jerry heard Weiss acknowledge the report. “Sonar, Conn, aye.” So far, so good, no big surprises yet. Suddenly, Frederick’s light blue North Carolina Tar Heels ball cap lunged forward toward the console.
“Contact!” he barked. “I hold a mine anchor and cable bearing one six eight, range four thousand one hundred yards from own ship.”
“Control, UCC, Walter has detected a mine. Bearing one six eight, range four thousand one hundred yards from own ship. Recommend coming left to one seven zero,” advised Jerry.
“Come left to one seven zero, UCC, Control, aye.”
Jerry looked past his console to see Ford glancing over his shoulder. “All right, people, here we go. Execute the breakthrough plan, Ben.”
“Aye, aye, sir. Slowing Walter down to one knot while maintaining contact on the mine. José come left to one one zero and find the next mine in the line.” Lawson acknowledged the order and soon the display showed José starting to cut across Carter’s bow. Six minutes later Alvarez sang out. “Contact! Mine anchor and cable bearing one eight zero, range three thousand seven hundred yards from own ship.”
“What’s the distance between the mines?” Jerry shouted to the fire control technician at the plotting table behind him.
There was only a brief delay as the enlisted man plotted the mines’ positions and measured the distance. “Mines are one thousand one hundred yards apart, Commodore.”
Jerry nodded and toggled his mike. “Control, UCC. José has detected another mine, bearing one eight zero, range three thousand seven hundred yards from own ship. Distance between the mines is one thousand one hundred yards. Own ship’s course looks good.”
Carter began inching even closer to the bottom; the secure Fathometer now read just twelve feet. Jerry took a deep breath and whispered softly, “Now we make like Robert Mitchum and crawl our way through the enemy’s defenses on our belly,” referring to the movie the crew had watched the night before, The Longest Day. And at a speed of three knots, Carter would cover just three hundred yards every three minutes — this would be a long approach.
For the next half hour, Carter crept closer and closer to the minefield. The mine that Walter had discovered was barely one thousand yards away, just off their port bow. There was no idle chatter now, and when a report was made, everyone spoke in hushed tones. Soon, very soon, Jerry would find out if all the analysis they’d done was correct—Hell of a theory to practice exercise, he thought. The commodore fidgeted in his seat as he stared at the UUV sonar displays. Walter was holding position, keeping the first mine in view as the larger boat advanced. José had altered course to the south and was now three thousand yards directly in front of Carter, scouting the path ahead.
“Contact!” called Alvarez. “Contact bears one six eight, range three thousand three hundred yards from own ship. It looks like some sort of cable.”
Looking at José’s bow sonar input, Jerry could just make out the line on the silty bottom. “UUV range to target?” he asked.
“Ninety-five yards, sir,” was the response; still too far for the dual-frequency mode.
“It looks like the line is running parallel to the minefield. Is the PMK-2 a controllable mine?” asked Lawson.
“Not according to the intel reports,” Ford answered.
Jerry was confused as well, and he didn’t like it one bit. They needed to identify this object, and fast. “Alter José’s course to the east. I want to know what this thing is ASAP!” he ordered.