The captain nodded. “Good idea. XO, we should have thought of that.
I’m glad the Ramage’s captain is thinking about the whole battle group with the workload he has swamping him. Make it so.”
“Captain, recommend we change our course and slow our speed until we know for sure the submarine has either left the area or been sunk,” the XO suggested.
“No, the hell with them. Why do you think we were attacked? That’s what they want. It doesn’t matter whether they sink us or not. What they’re trying to do is keep the United States Navy out of the Mediterranean. To hell with them. In this narrow body of water I’ll run over the son of a bitch and send him to the bottom, if I have to.
This is a carrier. It ain’t no destroyer. It’d take more than one submarine with torpedoes to stop Stennis, and I’m not going to let them tell a United States warship when and where it can go.” He paused and pulled a cigar out of his vest pocket. “I just wish I knew who ‘they’ were,” he mumbled.
“May be a Kilo submarine, Captain. Those are the only missing submarines within five hundred miles.”
“Could be, XO. But, I don’t know for sure yet, and neither does Ellison on Nassau. But I will, and when I do, I’m going to blow hell out of them and every swinging-dick warship they’ve got,” he said, his eyes moist, flashing with anger.
“What if we don’t find out?”
“Then we’ll bomb Libya. At least, bombing Libya has always made us feel better.”
The master chief interrupted. “Captain, Combat reports USS Seawolf has joined the ASW attack.” He held up his hand as he listened. “And Ramage has halted further air attacks while Seawolf is in the battle zone. Ramage is securing active sonar at this time and turning the ASW prosecution over to Seawolf.”
“If we’re sending the submarine Seawolf in, make sure Ramage maintains firm and positive control over those helicopters, including those Royal Navy bubbas.”
“Yes, sir,” the XO replied. “Seawolf can go below the layer and find the enemy submarine, hopefully before it escapes.”
“Okay, make it so. Tell Ramage to continue sonobuoy and passive prosecution, but not to conduct any further attacks until cleared by me. I know I am overemphasizing, but I do not want a ‘blue on blue’ misunderstanding sinking the Seawolf. Tell Ramage to keep firm control on those itchy air dale trigger fingers,” Holman said, his Texas drawl pulling the “blue on blue” out.
“Let’s move to the forward bridge wing where we can have a better view ahead of us,” Holman added. An unlit cigar hung from his lips. “Damn!”
Holman exclaimed as his helmet bumped the top of the hatch, jarring his head as he entered the bridge.
The XO shook his head and followed.
The master chief unplugged his sound-powered phone and followed the two officers off the starboard bridge wing into the bridge, turning sideways so his massive chest could get through the hatch. A minute later the three stood on the forward bridge wing directly below the windows of the bridge. The hatch behind them remained open so the OOD could talk directly with the captain.
“Sir,” the master chief reported. “Ramage has broken off attacks and reports contact with Seawolf on its passive sensors.”
“Roger, warn them once again not to initiate any attacks without my permission, and even then, not until they are sure that Seawolf is out of harm’s way.” Holman had a bad feeling about this. Too many things go wrong in the heat and fog of battle. Eventually war boils down to the human level.
“Seawolf has disappeared beneath the layer. Ramage estimates put enemy submarine inside the Strait.”
Aboard the Algerian Kilo, fleeing the American battle group, the captain, sweat running off his forehead and into his eyes, had ignored the orders to remain on station for thirty days prior to returning. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, momentarily clearing his vision. The captain of the Al Solomon screamed and shouted at the crew as the Algerian submarine fled to perceived safety on the other side of the strait.
Terrified, he increased the speed of the Al Solomon as it entered the main transit channel of the Strait of Gibraltar. The pinging of the American sonars and active torpedoes had sent waves of panic through the crew, who added to the confusion by their own screams and shouts at each other as the submarine maneuvered to evade contact. The quiet associated with a professional crew was never evident as the Algerian submarine crew shattered into frenzied chaos. Twenty-five frozen bodies rested in the refrigerators of the mess decks — among them their best tactician and their best helmsman. Revolutionary zeal combined with political intolerance never failed to claim a lot of lives.
The chaos diminished with the fading sounds of American sonars and torpedoes, herding the Kilo eastward.
When the sound of active pinging disappeared, a small cheer burst forth as the crew congratulated themselves on losing the American force. Five kilometers behind them, the dark cigar-shaped American hunter-killer attack submarine USS Seawolf silently eased beneath the layer.
By chance, Al Solomon avoided the first two mines, sowed by its sister ship, Al Nasser, by entering the strait four miles south of their location.
Five hundred meters further on, the third mine’s logic head weighed the magnetic contact of the Al Solomon and the noise ratio of its props before it activated. The sea anchor cut loose. The mini-torpedo turned east and quickly reached forty knots. The homing device in the head of the mine changed its trajectory minutely as the explosive underwater device headed directly for the spinning props of the Algerian submarine.
The ASW operator on the Al Solomon heard the highspeed prop cavitation in his earphones, but the celebrations within the control room drowned out his warning shouts. The propeller-driven mine was two hundred meters from the submarine when the next mine picked up the magnetic and noise signature of the Al Solomon. Its sea anchor detached and it started on its deadly path toward the Algerian submarine just as the captain of the Al Solomon increased speed again, this time to fourteen knots to hurry their transit through the strait. The increased speed aided the torpedo mines in their targeting.
The USS Seawolf detected the highspeed turns of the mines-turned-torpedoes, and immediately executed a sharp left turn and cut all engines to barely making way. The maneuver saved the Seawolf, the world’s quietest nuclear submarine. Unknowingly, it had turned away from the first mine, where the logic head had already locked on the magnetic signature of the Seawolf and was only milliseconds away from a valid acoustic detection.
Failing to get the two factors it needed, the mine’s program reset and it resumed its lethal wait for the next opportunity. The mines were programmed to deactivate in another twenty six days. Until then, they guarded the strait against ships the size of carriers and super tankers and against any submarines trying to sneak through submerged.
“Captain,” the Master Chief said. ” Ramage reports underwater explosions dead ahead in the strait at a range of ten nautical miles.”
“Looks like Seawolf bagged a submarine,” the XO said, a smile breaking across his rugged features.
“Let’s hope Seawolf did and that it wasn’t the other way,” Holman replied. He took his lighter from his trouser pocket.
“Ramage reports they have a target above the layer. Looks as if it’s surfacing, Captain.”
“Tell Ramage and Hue City to take it under gunfire if it surfaces and refuses to surrender. The submarine either hoists the white flag immediately or it’s sunk. Tell the bridge that I want channel sixteen, bridge-to-bridge common, down here. I want to tell that bastard myself.” He lit the saliva-soaked cigar despite seeing the grimace on the XO’s face. “By the way, XO. The Stennis is no longer a smoke-free ship.”