“Reduce speed to sixteen knots, silent running rules in place,” Jacobs ordered. “Sonar, con, what exactly do we have?”
The helm answered first, “Make speed sixteen knots, aye-aye, Sir.”
Stephanos, the sonar officer spoke next, “We have a faint sonar ping, Sir, frequency and strength indicate it’s being used to map the ocean floor.”
“Any screw sounds?” Jacobs asked. Screw was navy slang for propeller.
“No, Sir, nothing yet. At this depth sounds travel in thermal channels, which are also frequency sensitive. We’re going to have to get closer to pick up the screw signature.”
“Any estimate on the depth of the ping,” Jacobs asked.
“Too far away, Sir, but for us to hear it, it must be around our depth.”
“Very well, keep on top of this.”
“Aye-aye, Sir.”
Jacobs examined the tactical layout on the electronic screen, which showed a red dot on the top edge of the screen representing the location of the potential ghost sub. “If all they’re doing is mapping the ocean floor, then this is probably an intel mission rather than operational,” Jacobs said to Silverton.
“That would be good news,” Silverton replied.
“Maybe. It certainly changes our range of responses. We need to get closer to get a more accurate idea of what’s going on.”
“Of course.”
Stephanos, stuck his head into the control center. “A minute, Captain?”
Jacobs walked back into the sonar room. “What’s up?”
“We picked up a very faint sound, Sir, something we’re not sure about.”
“So you’re speculating about this sound?” Jacobs asked.
Stephanos shrugged. “We’ve never heard anything like it before, hence our speculation.”
“Which is?”
Stephanos looked at his men seated at their consoles and then back to Jacobs. “We think it sounds like something hitting the ocean floor, Sir. Something heavy.”
“How long after the ping?”
“Around six minutes, Sir.”
“Let me know if it happens again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Over the next two hours, the Massachusetts gradually closed the distance to the suspected ghost sub, reducing the distance to 24,000 yards. Stephanos again poked his head into the control center and motioned for Jacobs to come to the sonar room.
“We were picking up some very faint screw sounds, not enough to identify, and then the sound disappeared.”
“Are they turning to clear baffles?” Jacobs asked.
“Can’t really tell, Sir.”
Jacobs leaned into the control center, “Helm, all stop.”
“All stop, aye-aye, Sir.”
Jacobs stood in the doorway to the sonar room as the Massachusetts drifted slowly and silently forward. It felt like the entire crew was holding its collective breath, waiting to see what would happen next.
“Another single ping, Sir,” a sonar tech said. “Just like before, mapping the ocean floor.”
They all waited in anxious silence.
“There’s another very faint sound, Sir.”
“Best guess?” Jacobs asked.
The sonar tech looked over at the Captain, clearly uncertain of what he heard. “It sounded a little like a torpedo being flushed out of the tube, but there’s no screw sounds. Just silence.”
Jacobs felt his inner guts tighten. Could they know the Massachusetts was following them? They may have deployed a torpedo left to drift silently in the water, waiting for the Massachusetts to get close to it, at which time it would awaken to the sounds of the sub, go active and home in on them. It was the cat and mouse, predator and prey game, if only you knew which one you really were.
“Screw sounds,” the sonar tech announced. “Target is picking up speed.”
“We’re going to stay here for a few more minutes,” Jacobs said. “Let’s see if something hits the bottom of the ocean again.”
“Got an ID on the screw signature, Sir,” the sonar tech said. “It’s our ghost sub, signature confirmed.”
“Well, that answers our first question.” Jacobs said. “Now for the second one.”
The waiting game continued. Finally the sonar tech looked over at the Captain. “Heavy impact on the ocean floor, Sir.”
“Time in between ping and impact?”
“About six minutes, Sir.”
“Okay, so probably not a torpedo waiting for us — so far, so good.” Jacobs walked back into the control center. “We need to update COMSUBPAC and see what they want to do. Helm, maintain heading, make your speed sixteen knots and your depth 500 feet.”
“Heading true north, sixteen knots, 500 feet, aye-aye, Sir,” the helmsman answered.
As they rose above one thousand feet depth the sonar officer called out, “Con, sonar, surface contact directly above us.”
“Helm, hold this depth,” Jacobs quickly ordered.
“Holding depth, Sir,” the helmsman answered.
Jacobs ducked back into the sonar room.
“Screw signature is from a Chinese Frigate, full Anti-Submarine Warfare capable according to our records,” Stephanos said.
“Chinese?” Jacobs asked incredulously. “Have they heard us?”
“Doubtful, Sir. Very heavy weather topside, I’d be surprised if they can hear anything at our depth.”
Jacobs slowly wandered back into the control center of the Massachusetts, deep in thought. “Helm, take us back down to 1500 feet and resume pursuit of the ghost sub.”
“Making depth 1500 feet, course 000,” the helmsman replied.
“Lieutenant Kent, you have the con. Notify me if anything changes — anything, you understand?”
“Understood, Sir.”
“XO, COB, join me in the wardroom.” As the two men followed Jacobs, he asked Stephanos to join them. They entered the wardroom where officers’ meals and conferences took place, and sat around the long oval table. “Gentlemen, this is our dilemma.”
CHAPTER 45
Billingsly met with Cummings and Bentonhouse again after their monthly dinner. Cummings appeared especially distraught. “Ralph, calm down and tell me what’s happening,” Billingsly said.
“Our country is going to die,” Cummings said, “and China is going to kill it.”
“They don’t have the weaponry to do that,” Billingsly replied calmly. “Besides, we have the best anti-missile defense system on the planet. It’s suicide for China to start a war with us. The whole of China would be radioactive for the next 10,000 years. They’re not going to do it.”
“You don’t understand,” Cummings replied. “China has a gun to our head. It’s not nuclear, it’s financial.”
Billingsly frowned. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“China owned $1.2 trillion in U.S. Treasury Notes and Bonds.”
“What do you mean, ‘owned?’ What did they do with them?”
“China dumped all of them on the international market 48 hours ago,” Cummings said.
“So we buy them back,” Billingsly replied. “That’s only, what, 7 % of the national debt. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“No, no. The notes and bonds aren’t the problem. The Federal Reserve is running the printing presses day and night to print enough U.S. currency to buy back the notes and bonds. If we don’t, the value of the U.S. dollar crashes. We have to buy them back at market value.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?”
“China hasn’t lost anything by selling the notes and bonds.” Cummings said. “They get paid in U.S. dollars, just like they got paid for everything they used to send to us as imports. With all of the money they have collected, plus the dollars from the notes and bonds, by the end of the week, China will hold over two trillion in U.S. dollars.”