Larry Bond - Dangerous Ground

“Yes, sir. Do you think we really have a chance?”

Monroe nodded vigorously and replied, “Absolutely! All right, Mr. Mitchell, it’s time we looked like a Russian SSN. Slow to eight knots.”

Jerry dropped the Manta’s speed by two knots and settled in for the potentially long wait. He snickered to himself as he remembered his submarine tactics instructor’s description of antisubmarine warfare, or ASW, and what it really meant was Awfully Slow Warfare. “You must be patient when you go hunting submarines,” his instructor said. “Impatience can get you killed.” But as the minutes passed, Jerry noticed that Davidson was losing interest in the sonar displays. For almost forty minutes, they refused to provide any indication of Memphis’ presence. Monroe’s delaying tactics were probably having an equally unpleasant effect in the sonar shack two decks up as well.

About an hour and five minutes into the drill, Davidson was startled by something on the display. He leaned forward and stared intently for a few moments and almost shouted, “Mr. Monroe, I think I have a contact!”

“Bearing?” barked Monroe.

“Contact bears zero one zero with a moderate right bearing rate,” answered Davidson quickly.

“Very well. Mr. Mitchell, come left to zero one zero.”

“Come left to zero one zero, aye,” replied Jerry. Moments later, “Sir, steady on course zero one zero.”

Suddenly the IMC blared, “MAN BATTLE STATIONS TORPEDO!” BONG, BONG, BONG. “MAN BATTLE STATIONS TORPEDO!”

“Well, well, I do believe they managed to pick up our scent. Look alive now, lads, for the game is afoot!”

Monroe moved over closer to Davidson and looked at the sonar display. After a few minutes, Monroe said, “Yes indeed, a very nice two to three degree per minute right bearing rate. There is no hint of cavitation on the narrowband display either. I would definitely say we have found our adversary. Mr. Mitchell, come right to,” Monroe paused momentarily as he took one more glance at the primary detection display, “come right to zero four zero.”

“Coming right to zero four zero, aye, sir,” acknowledged Jerry. He could feel his heart rate speeding up as the hunt began.

“Sir! Possible target zig,” reported Davidson.

Monroe nearly fell off his stool as he quickly leaned over to look at the display. “Good call, Davidson. She’s either turned toward us or increased speed.” After another thirty seconds of watching, Monroe exclaimed, “Look at that bearing rate! It has shot through the roof! And still no cavitation. She’s close, and she had to have turned toward us. Mr. Mitchell, stand by to come hard left on my mark!”

“Yes, sir!” said Jerry. All three men were now totally engrossed in the engagement that was unfolding before them.

Monroe monitored the sonar display carefully and slowly raised his left hand, poised to signal his order. “Contact has just past through CPA, aaaand mark! Hard left rudder! Mr. Mitchell, steady on course three four zero, increase speed to twelve knots, and execute your lag pursuit maneuver!”

“Coming hard left to three four zero, increasing speed to twelve knots, and beginning lag pursuit!” replied Jerry excitedly. Gently pushing the joystick over, Jerry pulled the Manta through a tight turn and crossed behind Memphis. A couple of minutes later, Jerry executed a hard right turn and brought the Manta close to Memphis’ estimated course. According to the target motion analysis algorithm, they had passed Memphis about two thousand yards astern and they were now on her port quarter.

“Perfect, Mr. Mitchell! Now keep us on her tail,” encouraged Monroe.

“Aye, aye, sir! We are in the sweet spot and I intend to take up permanent residence.”

Monroe and Davidson watched as Jerry matched Memphis maneuver for maneuver for the next six minutes. Keeping a close eye on the target’s estimated course and speed, Jerry adroitly adjusted the Manta’s course and speed so that it maintained its relative position with respect to Memphis. Captain Hardy must be beside himself with frustration, thought Jerry. With the Manta still in his baffles, there was nothing the Captain could do. He couldn’t hear the Manta and — more important — he couldn’t simulate a torpedo shot on it. Jerry was in control of the situation, and Jerry knew that Hardy knew it as well. But all of a sudden, the small smile on Jerry’s face was replaced with a frown. Memphis had not executed a maneuver in over three minutes. Something was up.

“Mr. Monroe, sir, the Captain is up to something. He hasn’t maneuvered at all in the three plus minutes and I think he’s going to break, and break hard, soon.”

“Concur. Which way do you think he’ll go?” Monroe asked.

“He’ll go to the left. All of his past maneuvers, as small as they were, have been to the right. He’s going to go to the left in a major league way, I just know it!” exclaimed Jerry. “And when he does, I’ll go hard right, cross behind again, and settle in on the starboard side of the baffles.”

“Won’t that be risky? Our TMA solution is a little old,” questioned Davidson.

“Not really,” responded Jerry. “I’ve kept our relative position pretty constant, so the solution is still accurate and we haven’t closed the target all that much. That’s the whole point behind the lag pursuit maneuver. Furthermore, as soon as we see him commit to a left turn — and we will if he breaks hard — we start turning to the right and with our superior maneuverability we’ll finish our maneuver before he does.”

“Do we still have depth separation?” asked Monroe.

“I don’t know, sir. That’s hard to estimate. I think Memphis is a little deeper, but I can’t say how much.”

Monroe sat down and thought for a moment. He looked at his own notes and then the TMA solution. A smile slowly grew on his face. “If he turns left, Mr. Mitchell, execute a hard right turn!”

“Aye, aye, sir,” said Jerry. The three of them then sat there, glued to the sonar display, awaiting the first clue that Memphis was starting her turn. They didn’t have long to wait.

Within thirty seconds of Monroe’s decision, Memphis executed the hard left turn that Jerry had predicted. With almost lightning reflexes, Jerry simultaneously drove the Manta into a hard right turn and then eased off before they emerged from the starboard baffles. By the time Jerry finished fine-tuning, the Manta occupied the exact same position on Memphis’ starboard quarter.

“Sweeet,” muttered Davidson.

“Nicely done, Mr. Mitchell,” praised Monroe. “Now, before they can figure out what just happened, increase speed to fifteen knots. Davidson, prepare to go active.”

“Increase speed to fifteen knots, aye, sir,” replied Jerry.

With the added speed, the Manta broke from the starboard baffles. Waiting just a few seconds to let the maneuver’s effect sink in. Monroe ordered Davidson to go active on the bow array with four sharp pulses; meaning simply, “bang, you’re dead.”

“Touché, mon capitaine,” said Monroe triumphantly as he slapped both Jerry and Davidson on the back.

A couple of minutes later, the IMC announced, “Secure from battle stations. Secure from drill. Drill monitors muster in the wardroom for the critique.”

“Mr. Mitchell, you and your team recover the Manta and then join us in the wardroom,” ordered Monroe. “And a very well done to both of you.”

As Monroe headed forward, Davidson turned toward Jerry and said, “That was awesome, sir! You really handled the Manta well.”

“Thanks, Petty Officer Davidson. The funny thing is, the Manta felt a lot like an airplane. And I just fell back on my aviation training.”