It didn’t take long for a suitable tanker to enter the Marmara Sea, headed north. Wilson took a look, then after verifying they held the contact on Sonar, lowered the periscope.
Wilson announced, “I have the Conn, Lieutenant Shroyer retains the Deck. Helm, ahead two-thirds, right twenty degrees rudder.” As Michigan increased speed and swung around behind the tanker, Wilson ordered, “Steady as she goes.”
As Michigan headed up the Bosphorus, the tension in the Control Room rose as the remaining miles counted down. Wilson and his crew were unsure what awaited them, relying on the latest intel report for the basic order of battle. If the report was correct, there were no Russian submarines remaining in the Black Sea. Five Kilo class attack submarines, along with a Slava class cruiser and Kashin class destroyer, had transited the Turkish Straits into the Mediterranean, where they joined the Northern Fleet as it headed toward the Suez Canal and into the Pacific. What remained in the Black Sea were four anti-submarine warfare frigates, patrolling near the northern end of the Bosphorus.
Wilson guided Michigan up the narrow channel while leaving the submarine’s Deck in Lieutenant Shroyer’s capable hands. The junior officer monitored the two inertial navigators, watching the two white dots on the electronic navigation chart creep up the Bosphorus, and when Michigan was one nautical mile from the channel’s exit into the Black Sea, he informed the Captain as instructed.
Michigan’s Commanding Officer announced, “Raising Number One scope,” then twisted the orange periscope locking ring above his head, raising the attack periscope.
Wilson did a quick 360-degree sweep, returning to a forward view, sweeping back and forth as Michigan entered the Black Sea. As Shroyer wondered if there were Russian combatants in the area, Wilson’s next order clarified the situation.
“Man Battle Stations Torpedo.”
89
SIBERIA, RUSSIA
Delta Force operator Joe Martin, wearing a ram-air parachute system strapped to his body, sat quietly in the cargo hold of the MC-130H Combat Talon II, awaiting the end of his journey. After taking off from Dolon Air Base in Semey, Kazakhstan, and heading north, Martin and the other operators in his Delta Force unit were flying at thirty thousand feet, having entered Russian airspace moments earlier. Although the aircraft was outfitted with terrain-following radar that enabled operations as low as 250 feet, it wouldn’t be needed today. The MC-130H Combat Talon, flying at the same altitude and flight path as commercial airliners traveling between Kazakhstan and Russia, would blend into the traffic.
Under normal circumstances, deploying against heavily defended installations, Martin and his team would have been dropped under the cover of darkness. This wasn’t the case today, as it was approaching noon in the Siberian province. Martin wasn’t worried, however. The facility would be lightly defended, if at all. Plus, the small size of the metal objects they carried meant they wouldn’t be detected by radar during the jump, and the speed of their descent would give their opponents little time to respond even if they were.
As Martin’s unit headed north, he knew that two dozen Delta Force and Navy SEAL units were aloft, heading toward their targets. Martin surveyed the other fifty-one men in the aircraft’s cargo hold. Each was outfitted with a helmet, goggles, and oxygen mask, which wasn’t surprising given their plan for a HALO — High Altitude Low Opening — insertion. Martin was breathing oxygen supplied by the Combat Talon to help clear the nitrogen from his bloodstream, and would shift to his own oxygen supply shortly before the jump.
Although Martin would breathe oxygen during his descent, there was always the risk of hypoxia, which could result in unconsciousness. As a safeguard, his parachute would deploy automatically at a designated altitude — four thousand feet in this case — and his team would assemble in the air and land together in the designated drop zone. Martin was also dressed warmly, with a layer of polypropylene knit undergarments, to guard against frostbite, since temperatures during HALO jumps could dip to minus fifty degrees Fahrenheit.
Additionally, today’s jump would be a heavy one. Martin’s rucksack weighed over one hundred pounds, filled with weapons, food, water, first-aid kit, and a special selection of armaments required for this mission. With a parachute system weighing forty pounds, his rucksack, plus ammunition and body armor, Martin would exit the aircraft today weighing almost four hundred pounds.
A burst of static from Martin’s radio was followed by an order, and the fifty-two men in the cargo hold stood. Martin switched over to his own oxygen supply and disconnected from the aircraft’s, and when the jump light switched from red to yellow, he checked his equipment one last time. The ramp at the rear of the MC-130H slowly lowered, and frigid air filled the cargo hold. Hand signals followed, and Martin led the way toward the back of the aircraft. When the jump light switched to green, he stepped off the ramp and plummeted toward earth.
During the free fall, Martin’s team maneuvered to stay together, forming several tactical groups. Martin monitored his HALO altimeter during the descent, and his parachute opened as programmed at four thousand feet. As he approached the ground, Martin disconnected and dropped his rucksack, suspended by a lanyard, keeping the heavy bag away from his body in preparation for landing. As the landing zone rose up to greet him, Martin pulled on his parachute risers and angled toward his target.
90
USS MICHIGAN
“Bearing, mark!”
Captain Wilson pressed the red button on the periscope handle, sending the bearing to combat control, then flipped the handles up as he stepped back. “Angle on the bow, port twenty.”
The Periscope Assistant reached up and rotated the locking ring, lowering the scope into its well. The entire periscope observation, from the time the scope broke the water’s surface until it slipped beneath, took ten seconds.
Shortly after exiting the Bosphorus, Wilson had spotted four Russian frigates patrolling the entrance to the Black Sea. With each combatant armed with periscope detection radars, Wilson couldn’t afford to leave the periscope up longer than a few seconds.
Wilson examined the nearest combat control console, which displayed a picture of the contact when he pressed the pickle—the red button. Using the two trackballs on his console, the fire control technician drew a box around the frigate, framing the waterline and top of the ship’s superstructure, along with its stern and bow. Wilson had identified the frigate as a Burevestnik M, referred to as Krivak II by NATO forces.
“Matches,” the petty officer reported. Wilson’s angle on the bow matched the contact’s calculated course, which put the frigate headed toward them, offset twenty degrees to port.
Wilson paused to assess the tactical situation. The nearest contact, Master one, was approaching at ten knots and would get dangerously close. Michigan couldn’t move out of the way, with the submarine’s speed limited to five knots to prevent a white wake behind the periscope while it was raised. However, Wilson didn’t need to move out of the way. Michigan was Weapons Free.
Taking out the incoming frigate wouldn’t be a problem. Steady on course and speed, he could have hit it with a straight-running World War II torpedo. The problem was, a torpedo exploding beneath its hull would inform the other three frigates of Michigan’s presence, and instead of patrolling the Black Sea in semi-boredom, the crews would go to General Quarters. As long as the frigates didn’t realize Michigan was nearby, the advantage weighed heavily in Wilson’s favor, an advantage he didn’t want to give up.