That’s a waste, Mack thought to himself.
The Typhoon had been built with its double-hull construction not just for survival against torpedo attacks, but also to allow it to punch through the polar ice cap and launch its missiles with near impunity. The Mk 48s would have to be accurately placed to damage the SSBN. Screw damage would be assured; but the Typhoon also had dual spinners, in addition to the two main screws, with their 90,000 SHP (shaft horsepower), for enhanced slow-speed maneuverability and depth control in and around the ice keels.
The Typhoon’s ability to “ice-pick”—to hover in place under the ice for months at a time — would also make the Typhoon hunt more than a challenge. The lack of IUSS in the South China Sea didn’t help much, either. Mack decided he would probably have to use some Mk 48s in the “swim-out” mode as off-board search sensors in the patrol-area locations where Naval Intelligence estimated the Typhoon could be located.
Naval intelligence, Mack knew, was basing this on estimates that the Typhoon’s SS-N-20 SLBMs (submarine-launched ballistic missiles) were not capable of short-range ballistic trajectories like some of their earlier missile systems — especially on the Yankees — were. The Typhoon could launch at Taiwan from the Arctic Ocean where it would require the United States to detect and track the missile trajectory. By the time it was determined where the missiles were headed, it would be too late.
The captain decided that after today’s reactor startup Cheyenne would stay critical every time in port so long as there was a threat of ballistic missiles. If the Typhoon launched, there would not be time to conduct pre-critical checks, reactor start-up, and engine room light-off before the missiles detonated in the sky over the Tsoying Naval Base.
Upon returning to the ship, the combat systems officer reported the weapons loading complete, including two Harpoon missiles, just in case. Mack wasn’t happy that torpedo space was traded for Harpoons, but at least they weren’t loaded in the torpedo tubes.
After departing her mooring alongside McKee shortly before dark, Cheyenne got under way and headed to the north off Kangshan on the surface. Since the Russian RORSAT satellites had been sweeping the area for the Chinese, the intent was to fool the satellites into believing that Cheyenne would be patrolling to the north, when actually she would be doing an end around to the east of Taiwan, where the water was deeper. Cheyenne no longer had her running lights energized, nor the submarine ID beacon. She was running “darkened ship.” But she was not alone in running without any lights to give away her position.
The stillness of the night was broken by the staccato noise of gunshots — smaller caliber in the after port quarter and somewhat larger caliber in the after starboard quarter. These sounds were followed by the distinctive impacts of ricochets off both sides of the sail.
The source of the gunfire maneuvered past Cheyenne at high speed, essentially on the same course. There were two attack craft, and their passage could be heard by the bridge watch standers who had ducked down behind the safety of the high-tensile-stress steel.
“Officer of the deck, Captain,” Mack said. “Rig the bridge for dive and lay below ASAP. I have the conn.”
Never before had the bridge been rigged for dive so quickly. The spray from the opened main ballast tank vents nearly engulfed the men as they made the final closure of the bridge clamshell. Cheyenne was already passing forty-five feet when the last man reported being down, bridge hatches secured. Mack had finely timed the dive to ensure that the upper bridge-access hatch was shut before the surface of the sea reached that height.
When the ship stabilized at 90 feet in only 130 feet of water, Captain Mackey used the sound-powered phone to explain to the crew what had happened. A Chinese (Soviet-built) Komar class fast attack craft was in a running gun battle with a Taiwanese fast attack craft. The 25mm (Chinese) and 76mm (Taiwanese) gunfire was what they had heard and what had bounced off the sail.
Cheyenne had needed to submerge quickly before the Komar launched its SS-N-2 surface-to-surface missiles and the Taiwanese craft reciprocated with its Otomat missiles. The chances of the missiles inadvertently homing in on the “innocent” Cheyenne’s sail had been too great. Similar incidents between the South and North Korean gunboats fighting it out nearly twenty years before had not been lost in the archives of submarine history.
Some of the crew had sustained minor injuries during their rushing to lay below. The OOD, looking at his bleeding fingers and those of his compatriots from the bridge, tried to bring a little levity to the situation. “Does this mean,” he asked, “that we’re eligible for the Purple Heart?”
The executive officer answered that it would be the first for submariners since World War II, but that it was worth a try. The joking in the crew’s mess and the wardroom that night served to ease tensions, as each man from the bridge was presented with large cardboard Purple Hearts attached to their spaghetti bibs. The ship’s yeomen had made them up from pictures in the Awards Manual, using the color scanners and printers in the ship’s office.
Once Cheyenne submerged, Mack reversed her course to the south. He had decided that the squeeze of the shallow water of the Formosa Strait would be too much if they continued to the north submerged. Besides, the RORSAT deception was OBE (overcome by events) by now. If it didn’t work, it didn’t work. The rest was up to Cheyenne’s sonars and their extraordinary operators.
Mack also ordered the ship to periscope depth until they were clear of the shallow water. He would remain in the control room with the navigator and the OOD — who, along with Mack himself, were the officers with the greatest responsibility — to prevent bottoming.
“Conn, sonar, we have that Chinese Komar bearing 355, emerging from our starboard baffles. Designate Master 123.”
“Conn, ESM, the Komar’s radar is painting the Type 18, signal strength three.”
Mack ordered the chief of the watch to “man battle stations, Harpoon.” He followed that with the order to the torpedo room to change the load of torpedo tube one to Harpoon. Torpedo room personnel were already rearranging stows to get one of the Harpoons lined up.
Mack elected not to expend Mk 48s on the Komar. Cheyenne would launch the Harpoon on ESM bearings while continuing to the south, an “over-the-shoulder” launch that Mack had loved practicing in the fire-control trainer.
Five minutes later, the Harpoon was loaded and tube one made ready. After Mack ordered ESM bearings matched and the Harpoon fired, he saw it depart the water ahead of the ship and execute its sweet turn to starboard, racing toward the bearing of the Komar. The Harpoon hardly had time to accelerate to its maximum speed before the seeker found its target, crashing into the bridge of the Komar, tearing it in two as the missile’s momentum and its explosive combined to create total destruction. A flash in the night, then nothing, as if the Komar had literally disintegrated.
After a day’s quiet transit, Cheyenne arrived in the first patrol area. Located two hundred nautical miles east of Macclesfield Bank, Mack had decided this would be the most likely Typhoon patrol area.
On arrival near the northeast corner of the area, Mack ordered the OOD to launch an SSXBT. The information it gathered on temperature versus depth through the water column would be sent by wire to the BSY-1 for use by the sonar and fire-control systems. It also would provide layer-depth information, which Mack wanted. He could use that data to allow Cheyenne to effectively hide beneath the layer, or even a second deeper layer.