He also knew the only reason the Polish helo had detected the Kilo in the first place was that it had been moving into position, preparing to fire on the Orkan, so Hagen wanted to be close enough to detect the other Kilo’s attack when it came.
Hagen was pleased to see that his USWE, or undersea warfare evaluator, on duty, Lieutenant Damon Hart, played no part in the brief celebration in the CIC. Instead, Hart loomed over the dead-reckoning tracer table, his eyes rapidly scanning the contacts and tracks, taking in headings, speeds, directions, and even coastline features.
The commander saw Weps was as focused on finding, fixing, and finishing that other Russian sub as he was.
Hagen shouldered up next to the young man and scanned the display himself now. As NATO members and close allies of the U.S., the Poles were on the same tactical data-exchange network as the U.S. Navy, and this made coordination between the two nations’ fleets and aircraft as seamless as Hagen could possibly hope for. The Northrop Grumman Link-16 network allowed every designated track of every surface or subsurface contact — friend, foe, civilian, or unknown — to be immediately shared with every allied system in the hunt. The Polish helos and ships, the American helos and ships, all had the same near-real-time visual understanding of the battle space, and they were all rendered on the digital map on the big table.
Lieutenant Hart glanced up quickly at his captain. “That other Kilo is out there, sir.”
“I know it is, Weps. The question is, will he attack this entire SAU while he’s alone?”
Hart said, “I sure as hell wouldn’t.” He followed that with a “Sir.”
“I wouldn’t, either, unless I got a little blue communications folder from Naples ordering me to. Remember, this isn’t just about the psychology of the Russian captain, or the conventional doctrine of submarine warfare. This is about his orders. Politics is driving this fight. Not the military minds under the sea.”
Hart nodded. “The right move for him, if he is alone, would be to play it safe. If he doesn’t play it safe, if he does attack, it must mean there is another element to this fight I haven’t figured out yet.”
Just then, the ASW tactical air controller came over the speakers. “All stations. Casino One-Two is reporting passive broadband contact, bearing zero, zero, eight. Initial classification of contact is POSS-SUB, confidence level high.”
Hart said, “Designate Contact-Enemy Sub One-One.” A red V-shaped indicator showed up on his digital dead-reckoning tracer table a moment later, east of the Polish SAU and eight degrees off the starboard bow of the Greer. This went instantly to everyone on the Link-16 system, meaning all the Polish ships saw the contact from the MH-60 Romeo, as well. The allied vessels only had a single bearing, not enough to identify the track of the submarine.
Seconds later, Hart heard a voice in his headset. “USWE, Sonar. Polish contact designated Friendly Surface Zero Five has gone active sonar.”
“USWE, aye.” Hart looked up to his commander. “That’s one of the two Polish frigates, the Generał Kościuszko. He’s exposing himself to that Kilo.”
Seconds later the same voice said, “USWE, Sonar. Friendly Surface Zero Five has launched two torpedoes. Heading one, eight, eight.”
“USWE, aye. Are they acquiring?”
“Sonar, negative. Not yet.”
Hart and Hagen stood there, hoping like hell the Polish frigate took out the Kilo before it had a chance to fire back. Now that the frigate was actively pulsing the water hunting for echoes, the Kilo would have no difficulty launching Type 53-65s right at it.
Hart said, “The frigate is firing the fish to keep the Kilo on the defensive. We’ll be able to launch an ASROC at the same contact in three minutes, but we’re still out of effective range for now.”
Hagen just nodded.
A radio operator just feet away in the CIC spoke loudly into his mike: “All stations, I have one… correction, I have two undersea missile launches. Popping up on the surface. I say again, two Vampires in the air!”
It was quiet in the CIC for two seconds while this information was processed. The Russian Kilo was not known to have undersea missile launch capability. It only had torpedoes and mines.
The commander spoke calmly over Hart’s shoulder. “What bearing?”
Hart asked the question into his mike. “What’s the bearing on the launch?”
“Bearing zero, three, one.”
Hagen and Hart looked down at the display. The missile launch had come from a completely different bearing from the designated contact.
This could mean only one thing. It was a different sub.
Hart said, “Jesus Christ! What the fuck is over there?”
“Calm down, Weps,” Hagen said, then he spoke over the 1-MC net. “All stations. General Quarters. Condition Zebra. Missiles inbound off the starboard bow. Set Aegis to ready-automatic. CWIS to auto-engage. All hands prepare for impact.”
A confirmation of the orders came over the net a moment later.
Hagen looked up at one of the two big Aegis display screens on the wall. A pair of missiles were in the air, forty miles from the James Greer, but only thirteen miles from the Polish frigate that now pinged active sonar. He called over his headset. “EW, this is the captain. Can you ID those Vampires?”
The electronics warfare technician came over the net an instant later. “Captain, EW. Missiles in the air appear to be P-800s. They are not heading for us. Looks like they are going after Friendly Surface Zero Five.”
Hart and Hagen exchanged a glance. Hart said, “That has to be a mistake. The P-800 is the Oniks. The only sub that carries those is the Severodvinsk class, but the Baltic Fleet doesn’t have a—”
Hagen said, “Trust the data in our hands now, Weps. Not the intelligence reports.”
“USWE, Sonar. Passive sonar from friendly Air Zero Nine designates contact at bearing zero, three, one. Initial classification, POSS-SUB high. No cross-fix information. Evaluating acoustics now.”
“USWE, aye,” Hart said, the distraction in his voice noticeable. “We have to get close enough to get a cross fix on that target.”
“USWE, Sonar. Both torpedoes launched by Friendly Surface Zero Five failed to acquire, break. We have solid track on the Kilo.”
“Range to target Enemy Sub Zero One?”
“Range, twenty-four thousand yards.”
Hart spoke softly, not exactly to his captain, not exactly to himself. “That’s just barely in the launch window.” He took a couple of calming breaths and said, “Fire Control, USWE. Launch two ASROCs on Contact-Enemy Sub Zero One.”
A female voice replied instantly. “USWE, Fire Control. Launch two ASROCs on Contact-Enemy Sub Zero One, aye!”
On the deck of the James Greer, a hatch sprang open, and a cloud of white smoke billowed out. From within the smoke, a fourteen-foot-long RUM-139 VL-ASROC antisubmarine rocket launched into the cold night air above a pillar of flame.
Two seconds later another missile cell on the deck launched a second weapon, and it chased its teammate up toward the stars.
Inside the housing of each missile was an MK-54 torpedo, but it did not splash into the water to begin its search immediately. Instead, it lifted high into the sky, pitched over on the heading of the Kilo submarine directly off the ship’s bow, and climbed to a height of 10,000 feet. At the apex of its flight path the missile broke apart and the Mark-54 dropped in free fall toward the water above the submarine contact. Shortly before the Mark-54s hit the water, parachutes deployed from each torpedo, but the devices still hit the water hard enough to descend far below the surface from gravity alone.