Hurriedly, they were helped down the beach to the waiting boats – two SAS carrying Grace on the stretcher; another two carrying weapons and packs. The rest of the twelve commandos fought a holding action.
Once in the boat, Grace was made as comfortable as possible whilst Ryder and the others slumped alongside. The rear guard was then ordered to retreat.
Shortly, the remaining SAS team came hurriedly down the beach, still firing while splashing through the water’s edge without loss. Throwing in all the gear, they rolled over the gunnels and into the boats, continuing to fire up the beach as they headed fast out to sea.
Minutes later, three helicopters flew from the darkened land mass, veered seawards and gave chase. They closed fast, their powerful searchlights skimming the waves. Very soon, the two boats would be within range of their machine guns.
From the submarine bridge, the captain ordered the weapons officer to release missiles at the oncoming aircraft. One minute later, as shells and tracers began to churn up the sea around the incoming boats, three UGM-84 Block 1C Harpoon missiles with warheads containing 488 pounds of Destex high explosives left their casings and flew up into the night sky. Each steadied as the small turbojet engines kicked in, then flew straight towards their targets. Their seekers were now firmly locked onto the targets. Seconds later, the night sky erupted with three large orange fireballs scattering wreckage into the sea. Overkill, but the missiles had done their job.
The two inflatables arrived safely alongside the submarine. Ryder and his team were hurriedly taken on board, together with the boats. Once all were in, the hatches were closed and the warship slid silently beneath the waves to head back to the American base at Pusan. Operation Blue Suit had come to an end.
40
K267 sliced silently 600 feet below the surface of the water over the Puerto Rico Trench.
“Torpedoes!” cried the sonar operator. “Two inbound, bearing one-three-five. Range 3,000 yards.”
Captain Denko and his XO looked up in shock from the chart table.
“DIVE! DIVE! DIVE! Full speed! Angle twenty!” Denko screamed at the helm. Then to the weapons officer, “Launch noisemakers!”
“Aye, aye, sir. Launching now!”
Seconds later, “Launch decoys!”
“Aye, aye, sir. Launching mobile decoys now!”
Hissing and hollow thumps signalled the ejection of the two countermeasures.
Denko and his crew prayed that the decoys would work or a layer would deflect before the approaching torpedoes inevitably acquired them and changed to active sonar, creating the dreadful pinging sound, which told the occupants they had only a short time to live. In less than two minutes, they would know if they were to live or die.
K267 angled down 20 degrees to the horizontal; salt water flooding the forward ballasts as she gathered momentum, releasing MG-74 noisemakers, MT-70 sonar interceptors and bubble generators as she went, desperately seeking a thermocline that would deflect and confuse the torpedoes’ guidance systems.
“650… 700… 750… 800 feet,” called the diving officer.
The high-pitched whine of the incoming torpedoes could now be clearly heard resonating through the hull. The sound grew louder as the torpedoes rapidly approached.
Two explosions shook the Russian submarine and for one awful moment Denko thought they had been hit, but it soon became evident the decoys had done their job. It had been a close call. Denko could not believe their luck; the torpedoes had come so near. But who the hell had released them?
“900… 950… 1,000 feet.”
The submarine began to creak.
“Level off. Maintain 1,000. Make your speed five. Zig-zag holding course,” he ordered, following standard procedure to avoid sonar taking a positive fix. “Prepare for action. Ready all tubes.”
The atmosphere was extremely tense throughout the submarine as the crew waited for another attack.
“Looks like we’ve lost them,” said the XO ten minutes later, still very shaken. “Americans?” he then questioned.
“Has to be,” Denko replied, adrenaline still pumping effectively. “The British and French have no need to attack in these waters. Count out K449; her presence has to remain secret if she is to accomplish her mission. Stealth, Sergio, is her only ally. Now the Americans know we are here; the risk of being tracked down before we can locate K449 has increased ten-fold. From now on, we need to be continuously looking over our shoulders.” Then, nodding his head, “Sergio, we must thank the almighty that the decoys worked.”
The XO gave a cynical half-smile. “More likely we should give thanks to the technos who put our safety first despite the cutbacks demanded by those who know nothing of the risks we take.”
Captain Denko smiled too, still nodding, and then surveyed the control room. He was highly relieved, knowing next time they may not be so lucky. “Stand down action stations. Bring her to 800 feet. Steer standard zig-zag pattern on course two-nine-zero. Speed five.”
41
“Captain – sonar. Minor bursts. Strike negative. Contact Sierra Nine lost.”
“Captain, aye.”
“Hit decoys. She’s gone deep – got away,” said Ambush’s XO.
Captain Curtis turned away from the data screens, hardly able to conceal his disappointment, and looked at his XO. “Fuck! How could we miss? Those fish went active at 2,000.”
“Diving sharply from 700 shortly after we released indicates her sonar latched on before that. At that depth, she could’ve gone through layers, deflecting the homing signal and we know the Akula IIs have acoustic countermeasures almost as good as ours.”
Curtis acknowledged the XO was right, but that didn’t take away the disappointment of failure. It would be harder to track the Russian now she knew they were on her tail. If they were to ignore her and concentrate on finding the Delta, which Curtis was convinced was in this part of the Atlantic, he would perhaps do so at his periclass="underline" a) because she just might be the rogue sub they were all looking for; and b) she could attack his sub when least expected. Maybe it could even be a sub sent to track down and destroy the Russian rogue. He now had two Russian submarines to contend with.
“Inform COMSUBOP of our action and that we will stay searching the area until further orders.” He turned to the helmsman and ordered, “Steer course two-nine-five. Speed ten. Make your depth 600.” He desperately wanted to pick up the Russian Akula again or maybe even the elusive Delta III.
42
Alternating above and below the thermocline layers at between 400 and 700 feet on a zig-zag course, K449 made her way slowly along the southern edge of the Puerto Rico Trench, steering gradually northwest. Forty-eight hours later, she had reached the northwestern end of the Trench. Another twelve hours and she would be at the southern reaches of the Bahama string of islands, less than 900 nautical miles from where she intended to release the missile. Rigged for silence and cruising at seven knots, 400 feet below the surface with her keel almost five miles above the floor of the Puerto Rico Trench, K449 heard the underwater explosions.
“What do you make of that, Captain?” asked his XO.
“Too faint to be positive – could be anything. My guess: torpedoes or maybe depth charges.”
“Range and bearing puts them thirty nautical miles to the northeast. Too close for comfort.”
“Could be Americans conducting exercises. Unless subs other than American are out there, I would suggest likely.”
“We are being hunted, Lieutenant. All noise has to be treated with suspicion. Other subs could be out there looking for us, even the Russians. Any sub as close as this to the infidel’s homeland would be a target under the circumstances; shoot now, question later would be the American position.”