Larry Bond - Shattered Trident

“Speed one knot and falling,” the pilot called. Jerry studied the trim indicators, although the OOD and chief of the boat were both watching them as well. Jerry knew the last knot would come off quickly. He’d actually taken time to practice coasting to a stop, timing how long it took from different speeds. Conning a sub should not involve guesswork.

“The boat is stationary.” Franklin took just long enough to verify the pilot’s report, then passed the word over the intercom. “Torpedo Room, Conn. We’re hovering. Launch Minot.”

The big ISR UUV, nicknamed “Minot,” was designed for quiet launch. Using its own electric propulsion, it simply pulled itself out of the vertical tube, pitched over into a level attitude, and swam off to the west at three knots. The vehicle’s entire track was programmed, along with several alternative plans that could be triggered by satellite downlink, acoustic modem, or on its own, depending on what its sensors detected.

North Dakota ’s two UUVs, Minot and Fargo, allowed Jerry to extend his patrol area. While the vehicle’s sonar wasn’t as good as a Virginia ’s, the UUV was a hair quieter and much smaller than the sub, making it harder to detect than the submarine.

By the time Minot was headed to the west, the payload tube hatch had closed and the torpedo room watchstanders began pumping down the flooded tube. Franklin had ordered the boat back to her eight-knot patrol speed and turned it toward the next patrol waypoint, all without Jerry having to say a word.

Three or four days from now, in a different spot along the western edge of their zone, they would recover Minot and replace it with Fargo, the second UUV. Until then, the submersible robot was on its own, to listen and report.

“Next waypoint bears zero seven five, twenty-two miles.” Lieutenant Ed Rothwell, the navigator, had made the announcement almost as a formality. The waypoint was marked on the starboard big screen and also showed as the indicated course on the pilot’s console.

The waypoints had been carefully chosen to be as random as possible, while also taking into account the current weather, the acoustic conditions at that time of day, and the likely movements of the ships they were supposed to be listening for.

North Dakota prowled and listened inside a bent rectangle wrapped around the southern end of Hainan Island, with the UUV’s zone an angled box at the western end. Santa Fe ’s area lay to the east, separated by a buffer zone. Although this was only a surveillance mission, it was vital that if North Dakota or Santa Fe heard another submarine, there would be no time wasted making sure it wasn’t an American boat.

Slipping quietly through the water at three hundred feet, there was little for most of the watchstanders to do: no maneuvers except turning from one waypoint to the next, not even many depth changes. All the action was at the sonar watch station, as they listened and waited.

Lieutenant Stuart Gaffney, the sonar officer, watched his troops at work, making sure they and their gear were in top shape. They were, but even the best sonarman has to wait for something to hear.

“So she really hugged him? In front of everyone?” Lieutenant Lymburn’s question was directed to the XO, also standing near the sonar station. She gestured toward Gaffney. “I can’t believe either half of what this guy says.” Gaffney, surprised at being identified as the rumor’s source, did his best to fade into the bulkhead.

Thigpen nodded sagely. “I heard it from two guys on the squadron staff when they ‘came by to check on our supply status.’” He gave a short laugh. “Right. What they really wanted was to pump me about how the skipper knew Dr. Patterson. I said they’d been shipmates and longtime friends, back to when he’d solved that bomb plot at the Naval Academy when he was a midshipman.”

“You know, I’m right over here,” Jerry remarked acidly. They’d been speaking softly, of course, but not that softly, and the well-run control room seemed even quieter than normal. “And I never did anything like that!”

“Well, sir, you did go to the academy. There could have been a bomb plot, and of course it was kept out of the papers. They thought it was fascinating.”

Jerry rubbed his face and groaned. Thigpen was having far too much fun at his expense.

Turning back to Lymburn, the XO answered, “In this case, Lieutenant, Stuart is correct. The deputy national security adviser did, indeed, hug our beloved captain.”

Gaffney studied the sonar consoles carefully, conspicuously ignoring the conversation.

“Wow,” Lymburn exclaimed. “Did she kiss him?”

“No. He’s not that beloved.”

She turned to Jerry. “Sir, does Mrs. Mitchell know about this relationship?” Lymburn looked serious, and a little worried.

“Dr. Mitchell, who was Dr. Davis at the time, was the maid of honor at Dr. Patterson’s wedding,” the XO interjected. “Emily used to work for her. Isn’t that right, Skipper?”

“ That part of what the XO said is true,” Jerry replied. He did his best not to smile, and added, “XO, didn’t you have to inspect something, somewhere?”

“Yessir, I was just on my way to do that.”

To her credit, Lymburn had kept one eye on the control room during the conversation, but two eyes were better. She and Gaffney remained by the sonar consoles. Since it was daytime, they weren’t running with the multifunction mast up, which listened in on the local airwaves. The first sign of a contact would appear on sonar.

The southern end of Hainan Island held a large commercial port, two busy naval bases, and was home to many fishing boats and smaller craft. North Dakota ’s sonarmen constantly sorted man-made ships from the abundant sea life, and then naval from civilian vessels. They depended on a computer library of marine sounds, as well as a database holding acoustic information on warships and merchant sound signatures. Even then, the final call often came down to a petty officer’s experience and judgment. Sometimes, though, the Chinese made it easy.

“Sonar contact bearing three one two, multiple sources, high blade count. Correlates with active sonars on same bearing.” After a moment’s pause, the petty officer added, “Sonars are SJD-5 and 7.”

The sonar bearing, actually a cluster of white lines, appeared on the port VLSD.

“Pointing straight at Yalong Bay,” Jerry observed. “The same time as yesterday.”

A few moments later, the fire control system changed the cluster of lines to a blurry point twenty-six miles away, and added an arrow pointing almost due south. “Just leaving the eastern naval base,” Jerry remarked.

The petty officer reported, “Base course is one seven zero, speed ten knots. But we’re getting high-speed beats as well as slower screws that sound like merchants.”

“With active sonars, they have to be escorts,” Lymburn remarked. “Looks like they’re still worried about submarines.”

“But we’ve seen lots of merchant traffic in and out of Yulin that wasn’t escorted,” Gaffney commented.

“Could be part of the exercise they’ve announced,” Lymburn suggested. “They’re practicing wartime procedures, just as if there was a sub waiting for them to leave harbor. And maybe there’s a Chinese submarine, waiting to conduct mock attacks against them.”

Jerry knew the Chinese weren’t practicing. He hadn’t shared the details of the briefing with all of his crew. Only the XO, department heads, and the COB knew the full story. But still, she’d raised a good point.