Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

“I hope Topeka remembers where the hell we are,” he thought to himself. “Sonar!”

“Aye, sir!”

“You hear so much as a grouper fart out there, I want a solution on it.”

The sonar officer grinned. “Aye, sir.”

The Captain got up and moved to the plotting table. That bastard has to be out there. He traced a finger along their search track. He knew this was the best route. He could feel it in his bones. Why run the risk of being that close to the South Korean shore? This was the best way, no matter what. Still, the NK sub had to know Miami and her sister were waiting for them. After that God awful bang, every sub from here to India must know their position. The Captain rubbed at his chin as he tried to work through the tactical puzzle. There was a chance the Korean sub just thought Miami was the bomber breaking up or even one of their own dropped noisemakers. No matter how he looked at it, damaged or not, his was still the best position. The bomber had proved that. He could ask for assistance. Nobody would fault him. But he had never been one to share the glory. Topeka covered the South Korean side of the narrow pass and if he was just plain wrong, then that crew would claim their just rewards. But, and he knew it was a big but, if he was right, then the Koreans would not be expecting them here and the tactical advantage would be his.

“Five degrees up on the planes helm. Take us up to two hundred.” The Captain wanted the Leader between the surface and the first thermal layer. His gamble was the Americans would, out of habit, stay beneath the first thermal layer.

The layer acted as a natural barrier against detection by passive sonar systems. With the sea in such a state as it was right now, Captain Kil-Yon knew it was too rough to deploy sonobouys and surface-mounted towed arrays. If the Americans played true to form, they would sit below the thermal layer and wait for him to come to them. The Great Leader took on a medium slant as it moved into the bottom area of the surface waves.

“I want silence, comrades,” said the Captain. Talk dropped into silence, broken only by odd mutters as orders were conveyed and equipment stowed and secured. The Captain looked to the sonar officer. The officer shook his head. No contacts yet. “First officer. Are the torpedo tubes flooded as ordered?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Captain sank back into thought. This was the worst part; the wait for contact. It was also the best part; the anticipation of the hunt. Another glance at the sonar station, another shake of the head. He motioned his first officer over. “Have the Chief Engineer make sure the cargo is still secure and safe.”

The First Officer left the bridge. Still nothing from the sonar. The Captain wished that they had a longer towed array. Then he would have been able to move over the thermal layer, duck under it and then move back over it to give his array a good listen. The longer the array, the longer it would linger under or over the thermal. But now was not the time for wishful thinking. It was time to be bold. The Americans were expecting them to slink through their lines like a cur dog. That was definitely not the way of a true warrior. At first he had been satisfied to passively slip through, but had his country not been able to supply them with the needed confusion of the depth charges? Had they not already been able to slip through the lines of the great American defense? And how? With boldness. The pilot and crew of the bomber had given their all to help the Great Leader accomplish its task. The Captain would honor their sacrifice by doing the same. “Sonar, plot a firing solution to that last transient contact.”

The sonar officer turned around, his face drained of all color.

Had his leader gone mad? “Sir, I was only able to guess at the range and bearing of that contact. We could be shooting at nothing and giving away our position.” There was an audible intake of breath on the bridge.

The Captain smiled with his mouth at his officer’s question. When he answered, his voice was level with intent. “Do you fear death, comrade?”

The man stiffened in his chair. “No Captain.”

Kil-Yon nodded, “Of course you don’t. Do you not trust my judgment?”

“Your judgment has always proved correct, sir.”

“Then you are only doing your job and advising me of the situation?”

The officer took the proffered out. “Of course, Comrade Captain.”

“Then proceed with the calculation to as close as you feel is accurate, Comrade.”

“Sir.” The sonar officer bent over his workbench to calculate the solution.

The Captain turned to the other side of the bridge to allow the sonar officer to wipe the sweat from his brow. He disliked such shows of rank, but it was necessary at times. He could not have his crew cracking under the strain of what he was going to subject them to in the next five hours. He turned to his Second Officer. “Mister Tan, tell the engineer to get the diesel ready to run. I may need all of the power we can spare, very soon.” His number two disappeared, much like the first officer, through the hatch at the other end of the bridge. The Captain turned back and glanced at the now furiously at work sonar officer. “Well?”

“Well?”

The Miami’s sonar supervisor shook his head. His uniform and face coated in residue from burnt wiring insulation from the starboard lateral array processing nodes buss. “Sorry sir, but the lateral arrays took a pasting on that last explosion and the fire in the power-plant caused a surge that hit one of the processor nodes. Minus our towed array and the starboard rear sensors, we’re deaf as a post in our stern section. If they get into our baffles, we’re done.”

The Captain rubbed at his temples. “Well looks like the NK’s really did a number on us.”

“Blind luck, sir, on their part. Just plain bad, on ours.”

The Captain moved over to communications. “Anything new on ELF?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Load up a SLOT buoy with our present situation and launch it. Abrahams is most likely having a fit right now anyway.” The Captain turned to go, but stopped. “And son? Don’t be too kind. Tell them how it is. Maybe it’ll stop them bitching about how we have it so easy down here all of the time.”

The Radop smiled, “Yes, sir.”

Abrahams could not believe his ears. “I command one of the most powerful surface fleets in the world, and you’re telling me that this Korean sub Captain will succeed and we will fail?”

Chun answered the question, “He knows what his plans are. You can only guess.” A knock at the wardroom door stopped the conversation.

“Come!”

The door opened. “Transmission from the Miami, Admiral.”

Abrahams waved the ensign over. He signed for the message and began to read after the young man had left. Like all of the other news he had received this day, it was not good. “Well, things just keep going from bad to worse.” He tossed the file folder onto the tabletop, got up and began to pace the room. After two minutes of this, he stopped and looked directly at Chun. “Miami got hit by the remains of that Bear we shot down. The sub is a mess, but her Captain is keeping it on station just in case. I’m going to message Topeka to leave station and join the Miami.” He looked down at the carpet. “But it’s probably going to be too late to do any good.” Abrahams waved a hand at the weather outside. “And because of this crud, I can’t get anything up to hunt this bastard down. He’s running shallow, I can feel it in my bones. So that leaves our battle group in the Sea of Japan.”