“Alright, NAV, thanks. You call me if you need anything.”
“Roger, ma’am.”
The bridge tactical communications circuit came on with, “Bridge, Combat, is the air boss there?”
“Affirm.”
“Please have her rejoin us in Combat. Penguin 434 just got a sniff. We may have found the Chinese sub.”
24
Juan shot up out of his bed as the alarm went off.
“General quarters, general quarters, all hands man your battle stations.” The voice on the 1MC didn’t sound bored like it had during training a few weeks ago. Now it was alert. Intense. Angry.
Juan had been sleeping in his flight suit. He looked at his watch. Three a.m. One hour before he was supposed to wake up.
He threw on his brown leather boots and began tying the laces.
Plug opened his door and said, “Yo. Dude, we’re launching. Boss just called me. They found the sub. Get your shit on and meet me back in the hangar in five. Boss wants us off deck ASAP.”
“Got it.”
The announcement for flight quarters immediately followed the call to battle stations. He wondered how they had found the sub.
Juan ran through the main passageway of the destroyer until he got to the hangar. AWR1 Fetternut saw him and threw him his helmet. He put it on and fastened the chinstrap, then grabbed his heavy survival vest.
Caveman ran by, giving Juan a thumbs-up. “Hey, man, the bird’s already preflighted. External power’s on, and I made sure everything is set up in the cockpit. You guys should be ready to go. I’ll be down in the LSO shack.”
Plug stuck his head outside of the cockpit, “Hurry up!”
The ASWO ran up to Juan, handing him a sheet of paper. “Here! It’s the latest we got on the submarine. It’s them. The P-8’s tracking it now, but they don’t have a torpedo.”
“What? Why not?” Juan shook his head. “Whatever.”
“Good luck.” The ASWO jogged back out of the hangar.
Juan saw members of the crew walking in through the hangar door, carrying the engine plugs that kept out seawater.
A minute later, Juan and Plug both strapped into their pilot seats, with AWR1 checking the sonobuoys one last time. Their hands raced over switches and circuit breakers, making adjustments and checking for proper positioning.
Juan went through his checklist. “Seats, belts, pedals, and mirrors — adjusted?”
“Adjusted.”
“Cockpit window emergency releases — aft and shear wired?”
“Let’s go, let’s go. We don’t have time for all this,” said Plug. “Shut your door. I’m starting up number two.” Plug slammed his door shut and gripped the number two engine power control lever, thumbing the silver starter button.
Everything happened fast. The high-pitched whine of the General Electric T-700 engine spooling up. The plane captain pointing at the engine and spinning his free hand as he did. Plug started the number two engine, then he removed the rotor brake and throttled the power control levers forward. The rotors began spinning with ferocious speed, and Juan’s heart beat faster as he realized that they were about to go into combat.
“471, Deck, you have amber deck for breakdown, green deck for launch.”
“471 copies.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Juan saw the blue ocean water rising and falling with the ship’s movements. The ship heaved and tilted wildly. The destroyer was racing at twenty-two knots, finishing its turn into the wind.
Plug, gripping the controls, called, “Chocks and chains.”
Juan used hand signals to communicate with the plane captain that they were ready to remove chocks and chains. The plane captain pointed at the two enlisted men standing next to him and signaled them to go in. They sprinted in from each side of the helicopter and removed the chocks and chains as fast as a NASCAR pit crew. Juan could hear the heavy steel chains dragging on the deck as they brought them back in front of the aircraft for inspection. The pilots gave them a thumbs-up, and the enlisted men disappeared inside the hangar.
Juan looked through the windscreen and saw his fellow 2P, Caveman, standing in the LSO shack with his headset on, ready to open the steel trap that held them in place on the deck.
“Deck, 471, ready to lift.”
“Roger, 471, beams open.”
Plug said, “Coming up and aft.”
The power pull was aggressive. Much more than Juan was used to, or comfortable with. The instruments that measured engine power and torque rose up into the yellow zone, even flickering red for a moment. But Plug knew the limits of the bird. The MH-60 shot up and aft, paused for a nanosecond, pedal turned to the left, and then nosed over, climbing and accelerating. The blue ocean water and grey steel of the ship’s hull raced past them.
Plug said, “Get the P-8 on the horn. Check in with them and get the latest info. AWR1, you too — both of you, get all your combat checks, sonobuoy launch checks, and torp launch checks out of the way now. I want to be ready to drop our torpedo the second they tell us they’ve got a target.”
“Roger,” said Juan.
“Roger, sir,” said AWR1 Fetternut.
“Pelican 434, Cutlass 471, standing by for your updated sitrep.”
The P-8 began reading off information on all of its sonobuoys and the latest details of the submarine track.
“Cutlass 471, Pelican 434, how many torpedoes do you have?”
Juan said, “471 has two Mark 54s aboard.”
“Roger, Cutlass 471, we are ready to prosecute the sub. We’re tracking her passively right now, but she probably knows it. We intend to go active as soon as you’re on scene. We’ll vector you in for the torp drop.”
“Roger, Pelican. ETA twelve minutes.”
The double click on the comms was all the response he got, letting him know that the P-8 understood.
Juan triple-checked that all his torpedo launching checklist items were complete and that all of his switches were in the right place.
Plug said, “AWR1, are you listening to their buoys?”
“Yes, sir, I’ve got ’em tuned up.”
“Have you got a track?”
“Yes, sir. You can see it on your screen… now.”
Juan switched to his ship communications frequency and related all their information back to the ship.
The ship’s ASTAC said, “Roger, sir. We’re copying everything from link. Good hunting.”
Plug said, “Traffic, twelve o’clock high, no factor.”
Juan looked up and saw the grey P-8A flying straight and level. Every few seconds, a barely visible cylindrical object would drop from its underbelly. These were the sonobuoys. Brightly colored mini-parachutes slowed their descent towards the ocean.
When they were within a few miles of the target, Juan made his call to the P-8. “Pelican 434, Cutlass 471, we’re ready for your vector.”
“Roger 471. We just put our DICASS sonobuoys in the water. We’ll be going active shortly.”
A few moments later, Juan turned up the knob to hear the sound from the sonobuoy through his helmet audio. An electronic-sounding high-pitched noise emanated from the speakers in his ears. It was the pinging noise from the active buoys.
The Chinese submarine captain stood watching his team of young officers and crew as they did their work. The captain had ordered them to rig for red lighting so their eyes would adjust prior to going to periscope depth. The dim red lighting fit the tense mood of the men.
These men had worked on very little sleep for the past week. Stalking their prey. Executing the previous attacks flawlessly. And now, finishing the kill.
After their initial attack, they had gone deep and silent, listening to the breakup of the hulls from the sinking ships, and tracking the lone American destroyer that had gotten away. The captain had expected the orders to follow it, and destroy the US Navy warship. It had been the primary target, after all. But he hadn’t expected the urgency.