“Down bubble ten. Head for datum two.” The boat slowly, quietly, moved deeper into the enemy’s lair.
“Approaching datum two sir,”
“Planesman, up bubble ten.” Franks setup for a scan. The scope raised its one eye above the surface did a 360 sweep and retracted. At this point, north of 1-Y Bastion, the inlet was just 500 yards wide.
“Good sweep Sir,” said Nathan. “Slava class, probable Moskva. Kirvak class and Admiral Grigorovich class. This is the heart of the base.”
Three blasts came from the port side and the hull sounded like it was ripping. Two more loud explosions rocked the boat from below.
“Sir,” said Nathan with alarm in his voice, “it’s port defenses.”
“Come to two seven zero degrees, all ahead.” The boat turned and headed for the open sea.
“Sir. They must have a shore battery of RBU-6000,” said Nathan.
“They’re anti-submarine mortars, unguided but lethal. Range and depth, plenty enough.” The boat was accelerating towards the exit. Several more detonated just ahead of the boat. The boat’s bow raised slightly, due to the expanding gas bubble from the explosion.
“Keep going,” said Franks, “they’re guessing our position.” The mortars had been fired from a multi barrel launcher, more normally fitted to warships as a defense against submarines. How the hell did they sense our presence? thought Franks. The mortars would straddle the target, hitting at a local spread of positions. The mortars would be set to detonate at various depths.
“Breakwater’s coming up sir.” Several more detonated behind. The hull buckled; she rolled to starboard. More hit the water and blew tall waterspouts from the bay. USS NYC was racing for the exit. The crew of the RBU-6000 would be reloading mortars as fast as they could. More of the lethal mortars would be arcing in, heading their way to kill USS NYC. Her S9G reactor flashed off steam. At full speed, her 40,000 horse power turbine raced. The boat wasn’t out of it yet.
Chapter 3
USS NYC FORCED HER way towards the exit from Sevastopol as more deadly mortar shells arced in towards her.
“We’re through the Breakwater,” said the Navigation Officer.
More mortars fell ahead. Just because they were out of the port didn’t help.
“Make your depth 170 feet.”
There was another explosive ripple behind, but the boat kept on at full speed for several minutes.
“Make your depth 230. Eighteen knots.”
Franks looked to the XO, Cortez. “I don’t want to spend time in there with that going at me. It’s like being in a crazy monkey’s cage, and the goddamn monkey’s playing with grenades.”
“No sir. I don’t think they liked our company.”
“Damage control?”
“It’s light sir, a burst oil line. Now fixed,” said the COB.
“We seem to have got away with it with some luck; they could have got a better shot. Did you get some good images from the sweeps, Blake?”
“Yes sir, it’ll take me some time to go through them.”
“Good,” said Franks. “Now let’s get out of here.”
“Sir,” said Nathan.
“Yes, Weaps.”
“There’s something odd about this Destroyer. I’d like to go back inside for another look sir.”
Franks frowned and then grinned. “Then get your wetsuit on, because you’ll be fucking swimming in.”
The boat cruised on west, away from the port.
“Sir,” said Nosey, “contact to the north, subsurface vessel, heading south at a high rate of knots. Full speed. Russian library has it classified as a probable Kilo class boat. Heading zero five degrees, speed 20 plus knots. Range 12 miles. Depth 1500.”
Franks shook his head. Kilo class was one of the most deadly boats out there, so quiet, it was known as the black hole.
“They have an intruder in Sevastopol. He’s got the alert and is desperate to get here; he’s going so fast he’ll be deaf. Weaps. Get a Mk 48 in him.”
“Tube one Mk 48 CBASS. Flooding tube, outer doors open. Firing solution laid in, good lock,” said Nathan.
“Tube flooded, outer door now open. Weapon ready in all respects, sir.”
“Launch!” barked Franks.
There was a rushing sound.
“Fish away, heading north, the fish is hungry.” The wire guided torpedo headed off, towards its prey.
“Range two miles. Closing.”
“Range one point three miles. Pinging, pinging. Cutting wire. Fish active.” The torpedo homed in.
“Kilo has reduced revs,” said Nosey, “he’s released countermeasures. He’s heard the fish. Range point six miles, point three. He’s turning to port and blowing ballast. More countermeasures. The fish has missed, sir.”
“Fish has lost the target, it’s searching north of him,” said Nathan, “it won’t find him now, it’ll look to the north, his last position.”
Franks knew they had a deadly foe out there, and they needed to find out where he was.
USS NYC carried an innovative new device that was untried in a real life confrontation; was this its time?
“Weaps, what’s our warshot status?” he asked.
“Tubes two and three Mk 48, tube four Harpoon. Tube one is being reloaded with Mk 48.”
“Unload the Harpoon. Let’s sniff him out, get a dog in there.”
Nathan spoke by intercom to CPO weapons in the forward torpedo room. “Load a Pointer in tube four.”
“Yes sir.” The Pointer was a wire-guided sensor drone, developed as phase one of the Mobile Off Board Clandestine Communications and Approach, or MOCCA; a drone named after the hunting dog. It would swim under guidance and sense an enemy submarine, either by passive or active sonar, and transmit the information back to its mothership. If it used active sonar it might be destroyed, but its submarine would know where the enemy was.
“Nosey. Can you detect any layering here?”
“I’ll try, sir.”
Franks picked up the intercom from his Conn.
“All hands, we are at silent running, silent running.”
Nosey spent a couple of minutes analysing. “Sir, biologics indicate that we have a layer at 500 feet.”
“Flood forward. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Planesman, down bubble 15, make your depth 550 feet. Speed six knots.”
“Five fifty at six, aye sir.”
A layer is an acoustic reflector caused by the temperature and density of the waters at different depths. It can deflect sound waves and make the submarine harder to detect. USS NYC slipped below the depth’s cold layer into concealment.
“Range to Kilo?”
“Seven miles, sir. We are now below the layer.”
“All stop. Maintain depth.”
Franks turned to Nathan and smiled. “Weaps, let the dog off her leash.”
“Flooding tube four, opening outer doors.” There was a pause. “Pointer launched. I’m keeping her east of the target. Permission to set up a fish, sir?”
“Go ahead Weaps.”
“Tube two, Mk 48. Firing solution pending position info. Target designated Tango one. Flood tube, opening outer door. Fish ready, waiting for the Pointer.” Nathan steered the Pointer north, keeping it between the Kilo and the peninsula. After a few miles, he stopped the Pointer and fed the acoustic feed to Nosey.
“Possible contact Weaps, I need to refine. Could you come west?”
Nathan steered the Pointer towards the west for a mile and came to a stop. He routed the feed to Nosey. Nosey listened. “Goddamn it Nathan, this is like sonar school.”
“What?”
“They used to tell you there was a signal and there wasn’t, then they’d tell you no signal we’re calibrating and then they’d feed you a signal. Trying to catch you out.”
“Come on Nosey, do you have something?”
“I do, it’s quiet, give me a minute.”