The pride of the Motherland, the Krasnoyarsk, made her way north, quietly stalking her prey.
Thirty minutes later she was in the vicinity of the contact.
“Do you have anything, Korobkina?”
“Sir,” said the Krasnoyask’s Sonar Operator, “it’s very faint but we’ve got something about four kilometres to the north.”
“Maintain course and speed.”
Volodin kept an eye on the time; at around two kilometres from the contact, it transmitted a single pulse.
“Damn, it’ll have us. Come to a stop.”
Korobkina looked to the Captain, concern on her face.
“Sir, it’ll have detected us, but also the pulse has detected Novosibirsk, nine kilometres to our north.”
Their sistership, K573 Novosibirsk, had been assigned to support them. Volodin knew they were in the general area but not precisely where. The enemy SSN would now be aware of both of them.
“Chertovski ha.” This was turning into a crisis. At least they had a good fix now on the enemy.
“I have a call waiting on the S phone,” she said. “It’s the Novosibirsk, sir.”
The S phone was the Russian version of the USN Gertrude, an acoustic phone for conversations underwater. It was encrypted, but would give away their position to the enemy. Not that that mattered now after the enemy’s sonar pulse; they’d be aware of the pair of them anyway.
He walked to the Conn and picked up the S phone. “Put him through.”
“Commander Bortsov here. How are you Captain Volodin?”
“I was fine until the Chertovski SSN pulsed us both.”
The enemy SSN would know their positions now, so using the S phone’s acoustic signature didn’t much matter.
“You know what we have to do, Bortsov?”
“Yes, comrade Captain. Novosibirsk will do her duty, this NATO crew won’t be long for this earth.”
“We’ll pincer him. Take Novosibirsk five kilometres northwest and come about. Slow, Bortsov. We’ll do a direct attack and either sink him or drive him towards you. He’ll find himself in the worst of all possible worlds, between two Yasen class.”
“We’ll do it, Volodin.” He laughed. “He’s a dead man. Submarines have been lost under the ice before. Sunken hulls are hard to find down here.”
Volodin smiled. “Yes, let them find this one. Good luck, good hunting.”
Volodin looked at the time and calculated when it was time to make his move.
The minutes passed by. Volodin looked around his control room bathed in its dull red night lights. Bortsov in the Novosibirsk would be making his slow, stealthy approach. It was time.
“Weapons Officer, flood tube two, open outer doors.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Make 12 knots. Let’s stir this enemy’s guts.”
Krasnoyask advanced towards the enemy.
“Korobkina?”
“Sir?” asked the boat’s Sonar Operator.
“What’s he up to?”
“Nothing so far, sir.”
Scooby’s sonar detected the SSN moving in, and his brain made a choice. It was a choice built in by the two company’s teams who programmed Scooby’s AI. He increased his speed to 17 knots and emitted the sounds of a tube being flooded.
He angled upwards and came to 220 feet to bring himself closer to the ice ceiling. This should make him harder to detect due to backscatter.
Scooby listened for a response from his pursuer. His AI decided that it would be best to allow the pursuer to come closer; he’d detected that he increased his speed to 20 knots.
Deception strategies had been worked out and incorporated to increase the probability of him being thought of as an SSN. At a certain point, he’d come about and bear down on the approaching submarine, causing him to make a hard turn left or right.
Scooby would carry out a Crazy Ivan manoeuvre. If an SSN you’re following turns and makes a run at you, you’ve little option but to turn out of the way. With this, you’ll give away your own presence. Soviet SSBNs had used this to flush out any following NATO SSN.
Scooby waited; not yet, not yet, but soon. The enemy SSN would need to be a little closer.
The Weapons Officer was getting edgy. Come on, Volodin.
“Do I launch on him, sir?”
“Not yet, Weaps.”
“Sir, I have a good solution and good launch attack parameters.”
Volodin bristled; his decisions were being brought into question. He’d have words with Weaps after this event ended. “Hold your position. We’re driving him into Novosibirsk’s trap.” Volodin would wait a little longer.
“Sir, we have an active ping from Novosibirsk,” said Korobkina. “Type 53 in the water; he’s launched, it’s running for the Tsel one.”
“Weaps, launch tube two, target Tsel one,” snapped Volodin.
The Type 53 was pushed from its tube, and it started its run after the enemy SSN.
“Let’s see how he likes two 53s on him.” Volodin smiled.
The two-death fish ran in. Volodin checked his timer. One minute 45 seconds to the end.
“Tsel one is making a turn to the left,” said Korobkina, “Fifty three is following. Enemy releasing countermeasures.”
The last seconds ticked by, then Novosibirsk’s fish exploded, followed five seconds later by Krasnoyarks’s. The sea under the icecap was pulsed by shockwaves and the waters boiled in turbulence. Blocks of ice fell from the cap. They’d return once the boiling ended by the physical law that said ice weighed less than water. The chaos was total. The sea’s stability returned.
“Korobkina?”
“Nothing, sir. Tsel one isn’t there anymore. He must have plunged to the bottom. I couldn’t hear anything during that strike.”
Volodin nodded. “One NATO SSN lost under the ice. Northern fleet will be proud.”
An hour later, Volodin was in his cabin writing his report when there was a knock on the door. He opened it and there stood Korobkina.
“Sorry, sir, but there’s something you should look at.”
Volodin followed her to the control room.
“Here, sir, put these on and look at this sonar screen.”
He listened to the recording. The turbulence died down and then odd sounds filled the void. The screen told him nothing; it looked like an abstract artist on glue. He handed back the headphones.
“What is it?”
“Sir, I detected it to the south of the explosions. Coming from a gap in the ice peak is the sound of a drive. It’s running down a channel between the hanging ridge.”
“So, when was this recording taken Korobkina?”
“Sir, one minute 40 seconds after the impacts.”
Volodin slapped the back of her chair.
“Chertovski ha. So this enemy turned left at the end. He was heading for this cleft in the hanging ridge. He’s got away, the lucky bastard. Pass the coordinates to navigation. We’re going after him.”
Scooby’s AI had calculated that its immediate mission was over. It had endured the torpedo attacks and witnessed the confusion among the enemy that followed.
Scooby’s job was deception first and foremost, then live to deceive again. It was time to return to Mother, so he headed for the lat and long he’d been given.
Following him through the ice cleft was the Yasen class, Krasnoyarsk, and she was pissed, seriously pissed off.
9
Benson looked over to Nathan. “Sir, there’s two torpedo explosions out in Scooby’s area of operations. I don’t know if he survived.”
“Two major fish explosions. That’s a big punch, we have to assume the worst. RIP Scooby.”
“I can confirm that it looks like two Yasen class were involved, sir. I can’t be certain though, the echoes are confusing down here.”