“And I appreciate your dedication,” Lipovsky said. The Admiral fell silent, his eyes probing Stepanov until he finally spoke again.
“How many men know what Yury Dolgoruky carries?”
It was Stepanov’s turn for silence, reviewing in his mind the images of the loadout three days ago in the missile handling facility.
“The entire crew knows,” Stepanov replied. “Missile Division assisted with the loadout, and you cannot keep something like this a secret.”
Lipovsky leaned forward. “You must keep it a secret. No one besides your crew and the personnel in the missile handling facility can know.”
Stepanov nodded. “I have already spoken to my men. They know not to speak about this to others. Not even family members.”
“Good,” Lipovsky replied. “We cannot underestimate our peril if others learn of our deception. The Rodina itself would be at risk.” Lipovsky paused before continuing, expressing his fear more distinctly. “The Americans cannot discover what you carry.”
3
Just off the coast of Russia’s Kola Peninsula, USS North Dakota cruised at periscope depth, the top of its photonics mast sticking above the ocean’s surface. Seated at the command workstation near the front of the Control Room, the submarine’s Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Scott Molitor, studied the left display on the dual-screen console, examining the image from the photonics mast as he rotated it clockwise with a tilt of the joystick. Molitor paused on each revolution to study Kola Bay to the south, the exit point for warships stationed in the Northern Fleet ports along the shores of the Murmansk Fjord, searching for their target of interest.
Yury Dolgoruky.
The latest INTEL message reported the Russian ballistic missile submarine was preparing for her first patrol. If things went as planned, North Dakota would accompany her.
Molitor had only one hour left on watch, but so far had nothing to show for his effort. After five hours of scrutinizing the shore and surrounding ocean, he had detected only a few merchant ships far out to sea. He commenced another sweep with the photonics mast, shifting to the low-power Wide-Field view with a push of a button on the joystick. He was thankful North Dakota had photonics masts instead of periscopes. He couldn’t imagine going round and round on his feet for six hours straight, dancing with the Gray Lady—the senior officers’ phrase for countless hours spent circling with one of the mechanical periscopes on older submarines.
As Molitor continued his clockwise rotation, the Sonar Supervisor, standing only a few feet away, spoke into his headset, his report coming across the speakers in Control.
“Conn, Sonar. Hold a new surface contact on the towed array, ambiguous bearings designated Sierra three-two and three-three, bearing one-nine-zero and one-one-zero. Analyzing.”
North Dakota’s towed array was a valuable asset, detecting contacts at longer ranges than the submarine’s other acoustic sensors. However, the array was an assembly of hydrophones connected in a straight line, which meant it could not determine which side the sound arrived from, resulting in two potential bearings to the contact — one on each side of the array.
Molitor acknowledged and rotated the photonics mast to a bearing of one-one-zero, shifting to Narrow-Field view. There were no contacts. He swung to the south. As he examined Kola Bay, he spotted a small speck on the horizon. He called to the Electronic Surveillance Measures watch. “ESM, Conn. Report all radar contacts to the south.”
“Conn, ESM. I hold no contacts to the south.”
Molitor reached for the ICSAP handset and pressed the button on the touch-screen display for the Captain’s stateroom. A few seconds later, Commander Paul Tolbert answered.
“Captain.”
“Captain, Officer of the Deck. Hold a new surface contact, designated Sierra three-two, bearing one-nine-zero, exiting Kola Bay. Hold no navigation radar.”
“Very well,” the Captain replied. “I’ll be right there.”
Commander Tolbert entered the Control Room a moment later, his arrival announced by the Quartermaster. “Captain in Control.”
Commander Paul Tolbert stopped behind the command workstation, examining both displays over the shoulder of his junior officer. Molitor had resumed his visual search routine, and the photonics mast was rotating slowly clockwise.
“Show me what you’ve got,” Tolbert directed.
Molitor swung the photonics mast to a bearing of one-nine-zero, then shifted to Narrow-Field view. The speck on the horizon was larger now, but was still difficult to classify. It was hull-down—only the top of the distant ship was visible due to the curvature of the earth. All Tolbert could see was the contact’s boxy superstructure. Since it was transiting through coastal ice, it had to be an icebreaker. Breaking the ice for what?
Tolbert ordered, “Take an observation using the laser range-finder.”
Lieutenant Molitor repeated back the order, then pressed a soft key on his command workstation, activating the laser range-finder on North Dakota’s photonics mast.
Molitor called out, “Prepare for observation, Victor one, Number One mast.”
One of the two fire control technicians manning the starboard consoles reported, “Ready.”
Molitor aligned the photonics mast to the contact, then announced, “Bearing, mark,” and squeezed the trigger on the joystick.
The fire control technician called out, “Bearing one-nine-zero, range ten thousand yards.” Lieutenant Molitor added, “Angle on the bow, zero.”
If the icebreaker was clearing a path for a warship, Tolbert now knew its range. It would trail close behind the icebreaker, traversing the clear water before ice chunks floated back into the open channel. However, the icebreaker’s large superstructure blocked North Dakota’s view, making the detection of a ship behind it impossible. They needed to move off the icebreaker’s track so they could see behind it. Tolbert decided to turn perpendicular to the icebreaker’s course.
“Come to course zero-nine-zero.”
The Pilot tapped in the ordered course, and as North Dakota turned to port, Tolbert suppressed an involuntary shudder. It had taken a while to get used to the Virginia class design. Although he was now comfortable with a Control Room containing sonarmen but no periscopes, and calling the Helm a Pilot, he still got the willies from normal course and depth changes.
On older submarines, the Officer of the Deck would give a rudder order when changing course more than ten degrees, and when changing depth, the Diving Officer would order a specific up or down angle for the boat. On Virginia class submarines, however, “the ship” made those decisions. The Officer of the Deck would order a new course or depth and the Pilot would enter it into the Ship Control Station, and the ship’s computer would automatically adjust the submarine’s rudder, bow, and stern planes to the optimal angles. If desired, manual control could be taken by ordering a specific rudder or ship angle. But it was normally a “hands-off’ operation.
North Dakota steadied on the ordered course and the ship’s computer returned the rudder amidships. They were at periscope depth traveling at only five knots, and Tolbert’s submarine moved slowly off the icebreaker’s track. Tolbert and Molitor studied the photonics display, searching behind the icebreaker. Slowly, a black rectangle appeared — a submarine sail.