“That’s right, but we can’t turn them loose on automatic until we clear Sea Base. Too many things bopping around under Sea Base like sea anchors, dipping sonars, keels, and props. If we preprogram them, Gentron and I are going to have to use about five minutes of our time maneuvering them clear of Sea Base. In those five minutes, we will be unable to control the four we have out there.” MacPherson glanced at Agazzi. “Dangerous to do, Senior Chief.”
“We could preprogram them to dive beneath the layer.” “The layer is at one thousand feet according to today’s oceanographic report,” Gentron added.
“We could do it,” Keyland said with a sharp nod.
Bernardo laughed and uncrossed his legs, sitting forward with his elbows on the narrow ledge of the console. “Unfortunately, the dipping sonars are below the layer and the sea anchors pop up and down through the layer all the time. We preprogram to do a set of routines and they will do that set of routines.” He leaned back in his seat. “Won’t matter to the routine they are following if a sea anchor or dipping sonar gets in its way.” Bernardo made an exploding sound, throwing his arms outward. “We could sink ourselves.”
“Tell Petty Officer Taylor to let us know when the fifth UUV is in place. If we lose one of the four UUVs, I want the fifth one launched immediately,” Agazzi said.
“You’re a bunch of good news,” Keyland said to Bernardo.
“But Pope is right,” MacPherson said. “I understand the next generation of UUVs will have better logic in them so they can avoid underwater things you don’t want them to hit.”
“Senior Chief,” Calvins said.
Bernardo threw down his headset. “Damn! Calvins, why didn’t you tell us they were about to ping?”
“I was trying,” Calvins protested.
“He did — earlier,” Keyland said.
“Yeah, but he didn’t say they intended to do it now. He just said—”
“That’s enough,” Agazzi said. “Focus on your contacts.”
“We've pinged,” Commander Stapler said to Garcia.
Hank nodded as he acknowledged the statement. Now, they waited.
A half minute later, the antisubmarine warfare controller turned toward Stapler and Garcia as he lifted his headset off one ear. “Skipper, Commander; three of the LAMPS report exact locations on their contacts. Fourth one reports no joy.” “Which one?”
“Contact 7311; the one bearing 225 degrees. According to the LAMPS, they show nothing in the water. The helo is requesting permission for another ping.”
Garcia turned to the sound-powered telephone talker. “Ask ASW what they have on the contact bearing 225.”
Almost immediately, the phone talker reported Agazzi and his team still holding the contact hovering in the exact location on a bearing of 225.
“If that’s true, then why didn’t our active sonar pick him up?” Stapler argued. “There is no way we can have all this passive shit detecting them and then they not be there. It doesn’t compute.”
“What is the depth of the dipping sonars on the four helicopters?” Garcia asked.
He waited patiently as the ASW controller gathered the information. Meanwhile, he could feel the anxiety building within him. What were the Chinese doing in these vital minutes as he rushed to find the fourth submarine?
The second class who earlier had brought him a cup of coffee came up silently to his chair. The young sailor lifted Garcia’s cup and disappeared. Someone must really want to test his bladder control, he thought, bringing a slight smile to his lips. He basked for a few seconds in the deference being shown by the sailor. Respect from sailors was always earned and never freely given. He frowned for a moment. There was an aspect to war-fighting that made you feel a little “John Wayne-ness.”
The sound-powered telephone talker lifted his headset again and talked with Stapler, Garcia’s Tactical Action Officer. Tactical Action Officers were officers whose skills U.S. Navy Skippers had such confidence in that the Skippers signed written orders authorizing them to fight the ship in the Skippers’ absence. With that order, Stapler could legally fire weapons, mount an attack, or run from one. Right now, Garcia was glad he was here because Stapler was not the running type and the man’s short patience had become apparent during these past two months.
Stapler came over to Garcia. “The three reporting sonar contact had their sonars below the layer at 1100 feet. The LAMPS hovering over the contact bearing 225 degrees had his dipping sonar at six hundred feet. I have ordered him to take it beneath the layer, let us know when it is there, and then I recommend we authorize him to do the single ping again.”
Garcia rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, his hands gripped as he rested his chin on them. He raised his head off his hands. “What would you do if you heard the first ping and that ping was a ways from you? Then, you hear a second ping. The second ping is stronger.” He made a fist. “And it seems right on top of you.” Garcia leaned back. When Stapler failed to answer, he asked him again, “Commander Stapler, what will the Captain of that submarine think? And more important, what will he do?”
“Raptor Leader Formation, this is Mother; turn to course two-six-zero and form up to the south of Black Formation. Raptor 10, turn right onto course three-zero-zero and form up north of Black Formation. Raptor-20 formation, continue on course one-nine-zero and report when you’re twenty miles from your current position.”
“What are we doing now?” Franklin asked on the formation circuit.
“I’m not sure either,” Johnson replied. “Tight End, what do you think?”
Franklin’s eyes widened. She’s asking someone their opinion and using their call sign?
“I don’t know, Pickles,” Crawford replied. “I have you on my radar, if you want to call it that. I expect to form up with you within five minutes.”
“All formations, this is Mother; the two formations of J-12s are running for base. Well done. They have passed the sixteen contacts we have coming your way. Request expedite formation. Black Leader, report when ready.”
“Ready for what?” Franklin asked.
“We must be going to meet those sixteen bandits,” Johnson replied.
“Good news is we still have all our missiles and our guns are fully loaded,” Crawford added.
“So far, we haven’t fired a shot, sunk a ship, nor destroyed an aircraft and we’re winning. What kind of war is this?” Johnson asked.
“My kind,” Commander Lester Tyler-Cole said.
“Black Leader, didn’t know you were on our circuit.”
“You gave me your formation frequencies last month when we were busy with our old enemy the North Koreans. I apologize for intruding, but I’ve been on your circuit since I recognized the griping and complaining of my friend Blackman. Captain Franklin, how are you?”
Franklin shut his eyes and shook his head. He wondered if he had said anything derogatory about the commander or the Royal Navy. “I apologize, Commander. I thought Major Johnson and I were on private circuits.”
“Not to worry, Blackman. This time you said not one disparaging thing about your Royal Navy counterparts.”
“Black Leader, Raptor Leader here; what is Mother up to?” “I think we are going to do some churning and burning where our stealth capabilities convince the approaching bandits that we are a superior in number force.”
Franklin’s eyebrows arched in a V as he thought about the sharp maneuver Black Formation did when they launched the flares. It had momentarily exposed the Royal Navy F-35 fighters to radar detection. The turn accompanied with the flares had convinced the Chinese J-12 stealth fighters that missiles had been fired against them. The Chinese had launched flares against nonexistent missiles. When anything emerges from a stealth fighter such as missiles or flares, it involves opening something on the fuselage of the aircraft that increases radar detection.