Operation white out, p.28
Operation White Out, page 28
The sea had calmed during our operation. Dropping Mystic down to the hundred-foot launch depth went smoothly without a hitch. Fifteen minutes later, Taggert lifted the DSRV off the cradle, slipped between the cables, and set course for the short transit home. He called Teuthis.
“Teuthis, this is Mystic. We will dock in seven minutes. Please have the five Taiwanese passengers ready to join us.”
Wilbur was on watch. “Roger,” he answered. “How is your battery charge?”
“Plenty for the transfer,” Taggert answered and turned to me. “He’s thinking—good man to have in charge.”
Taggert locked us into the cradle, and ten minutes later, the five Taiwanese sailors had boarded with their seabags.
“Everyone ready?” I asked.
The sailor who had addressed me when they first came aboard responded for all of them. “We are sad to leave. Teuthis is larger and more comfortable than Hi Bào. We have made good friends, and we are sad to leave them. But it is good that Hi Bào is free of the prisoners. Now we can continue our mission.”
When we had sealed to their lock, the sailors and I entered the Taiwanese sub. An officer escorted me to the captain’s cabin. When I entered, Tiong-hāu Zhang Min rose to his feet and shook my hand.
“Welcome back, Commander. I regret greeting you without Siáu-hāu Li Wei being here, but you are fully aware of this matter.”
I nodded, but said nothing.
“What of the prisoners?” the captain asked.
“They are being securely held on USS Pigeon, where they will be transported to Pearl Harbor. Their fate will be determined by people way above our respective pay grades.”
“I anticipate,” the captain said, “that they will ultimately be transported to Taiwan. They attacked us unprovoked. We prevailed, and the survivors are fortunate to be alive.”
“Speaking for myself only,” I said, “I agree with you. I would like to see your country thrive and become an internationally recognized independent nation.”
Smiling broadly, Tiong-hāu Zhang Min rose to his feet, signaling that our conversation was at an end. “Please give Captain Franken-Ester my warmest greeting. I expect to meet with him again when we reach Taiwan.”
USS TEUTHIS—MICRONESIAN WATERS
In the last hour of Wilbur’s watch on March 6 on the ninety-eighth day of our mission, he ordered, “Sonar, mark your contacts.”
“Sonar, aye. Hi Bào and the tanker are dead ahead at four and two miles, respectively. Sierra-one-six-four, Pigeon, is off our starboard bow near Sierra-one-six-five, California, and Sierra-one-six-three, Houston. Sierra-one-six-two, Elliot is off our starboard quarter. Sierra-nine-zero, Omaha, is astern. Sierra-nine-one, Haddo, is off our port quarter. Sierra-eight-nine, Chángzhēng three, was astern of us several hours ago. We do not hear her now.”
Following a short pause, Sonar called again. “Conn, Sonar, Houston is surfacing near Pigeon.”
Wilbur acknowledged and reported that info to the skipper.
“Houston will probably head for Guam on the surface, accompanied by California,” the skipper told him. “Follow my written orders and get us out of here.”
“Helmsman, mark your head,” Wilbur ordered.
“My head is three-four-zero, Sir.”
“Very well. Come left to three-one-four. Ahead standard, make turns for ten knots. Diving Officer, make your depth three-zero-zero feet.”
And with that, we were on our way toward Guam on the next-to-last leg of our 7,800 nautical mile trek from Thurston Island to Taiwan.
Micronesia consists of over 600 islands stretching across 1,500 nautical miles of Pacific Ocean just north of the equator. These islands lay directly in our path to Guam. They are serviced primarily by small vessels carrying cargo and people—thousands and thousands of such vessels.
We had been underway for about three hours, two hours into Franklin’s watch, when Sportsman in Sonar called Control.
“Conn, Sonar. We have lost contact with all the contacts previously reported except for Sierra-one-six-five, California, five miles off our starboard beam, and Sierra-one-six-two, Elliot, moving back and forth across our stern at five miles.” About a minute later, Sonar called again.
“Conn, Sonar. In addition to my earlier report, we have a swarm of contacts ahead and off our starboard bow. They are not presently distinguishable as individual contacts. As we identify them, I will inform you.”
Over the next few days, as we passed through Micronesia’s scattered islands, Sonar carried some twenty or so contacts nearly all the time. On day 103, in the middle of Seth’s watch, Sonar called.
“Conn, Sonar. We reacquired Sierra-eight-nine, Chángzhēng three, in our port quarter at seven-five miles. She’s paralleling our course, averaging fifteen knots, but her speed ranges from flank to bare steerageway.”
Seth called the skipper, and I met them in Control. We looked at the chart. The skipper stepped off several measurements with a divider and then said to me, “Mac, contact Elliot, and have them investigate and drive Chángzhēng three away.”
I picked up the Gertrude. “Elliot, this is Teuthis.”
“Elliot, Roger.”
Reception was not ideal given the distance and Elliot’s location to our stern. I explained the situation. Within five minutes, Sonar called again.
“Conn, Sonar. Elliot just went active, and Chángzhēng three has gone to flank, heading due south. Elliot cannot keep up with her while maintaining sonar contact.”
Seth acknowledged. “What do you think we should do?” he asked me. “Chángzhēng three is not going away. I think she’ll drop below the thermocline and go ultra-quiet. She knows our ultimate destination, but she needs to stop us well before then.”
“There’s nothing south of us she can use to hide,” I said, looking at the chart. “The only islands anywhere near are the Nukumanu Islands, and they’re really too far to be an effective shield. They know we are limited to eight knots, not because of any special knowledge, but because that’s been our effective speed ever since we left Thurston. They know our destination, so they can track ahead for an ambush.”
“So, that’s why we have California and Elliot running a shield,” Seth said. “Makes sense.”
“Except California is a bit distracted,” I said. “She’s running our shield and cover for Houston on the surface. She’s pretty capable; she can do both, especially since she doesn’t need sonar to track Houston.”
Two days and three hours out of Guam, we transited the deep waters just south of Onoun, an isolated Micronesian island with a scant population of less than 500. To the northeast lay Namonuito Atoll, at 661 square nautical miles, the largest atoll in Micronesia with an average depth of just thirty feet.
Franklin was finishing up the last hour of his watch when Sonar called Control. “Conn, Sonar, torpedo in the water bearing one-zero-five relative! He’s several miles out but closing rapidly.”
“XO has the Conn!” I announced to Control. “Helmsman, right full rudder. Come to course zero-five-nine. Diving Officer, thirty degree down-bubble, make your depth one-zero-zero-zero feet.” I picked up the 1MC. “Captain to the conn! Captain to the conn!”
As the skipper arrived at the periscope stand, I said, “Chief-of-the-Watch, sound the collision alarm!”
I let the high-pitched slow siren sound for a few seconds and then ordered, “Man Battle Stations, Chief!”
On the 1MC, the COW announced, “Man battle stations!”
He sounded the general alarm—fourteen automatic bongs, followed by “Man Battle Stations!”
Within thirty seconds, a sound-powered phone talker stood beside me. To him I said, “Torpedo Room, stand by to launch decoy.”
“Sonar, Conn. Where’s the thermocline?”
“Six-zero-zero feet, Sir.”
“Diving Officer, mark your depth.”
“Five-zero-zero feet, Sir, dropping fast.”
“Torpedo Room, launch the decoy!” I ordered this over the 1MC while the phone talker paralleled my order on the sound-powered circuit.
Moments later, we dropped through the thermocline while the decoy hovered fifty feet above the layer.
“Conn, Sonar.” It was King at his battle station in Sonar. “It’s pretty quiet down here, but I think I hear another decoy near the Hi Bào. It sounds like Hi Bào and the tanker have dropped beneath the layer as well.”
I turned to the phone talker. “Torpedo, load another decoy. What do you have in your tubes?”
“Torpedo says, Mark forty-eights in tubes one, two, three, five, and six. Decoy in tube four in three minutes,” the phone talker answered.
“Conn, Sonar. Both California and Elliot are active at three miles off our bow.”
Three minutes later, “Conn, Sonar. I just reacquired Chángzhēng three. She just dropped through the layer four miles off our bow.” And then, “Torpedo detonation! It was between Hi Bào and the tanker—I believe it detonated above the layer. They are below the layer.”
I turned to the team at Plot. “Give me a firing solution on Chángzhēng three.” I looked at the skipper.
“You’re doing fine,” he said.
“Conn, Firecontrol. We have a firing solution. It’s plugged into the fire control computer. Standing by.”
I turned to the skipper again. “Are you ready to do this, Sir?”
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedo in the water, fired by Chángzhēng three.”
I started a stopwatch and looked at the skipper again. He nodded. “Stand by, tube one,” I said. “Shoot tube one!”
As soon as the torpedo was away, I started a second stopwatch and ordered, “Launch the decoy!” followed by, “Diving Officer, take us to four-zero-zero feet fast!”
“Helmsman, come left to course three-one-four, make turns for five knots.” I checked the stopwatch. The torpedo had been running for four minutes.
At five and a half minutes, the sound of a large explosion several hundred feet below us penetrated the hull. Teuthis reacted by surging up and down.
“Damage reports,” I ordered the Chief-of-the-Watch.
“Conn, Sonar. Torpedo in the water! Elliot has launched a mark forty-six. It appears to be headed straight for Chángzhēng three.”
I glanced at my second stopwatch. One minute to go.
“Conn, Sonar. Explosion vicinity of Chángzhēng three. Another explosion, same location. Looks like both torpedoes hit Chángzhēng three, Conn!”
Five minutes later, Sonar called. “Conn, Sonar, I hear imploding sounds on Chángzhēng three’s last bearing.” Sonar put the sound on the speaker so we could hear it.
“Secure from battle stations, Mac,” the skipper said as he turned and walked forward to his cabin.
Teuthis, Hi Bào, and Qiántng Yóuchuán Èr transit from Guam to Taiwan.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Philippine Sea
USS TEUTHIS—THE FINAL LEG
I sat in my stateroom, thankfully all mine again, quietly contemplating the last few hours while I sipped on a cup of fresh Joe. I had personally ordered the death of seventy-five people aboard Chángzhēng 3. Sure, I had help from Elliot, but in my mind, I was responsible for the sub’s demise. I understood completely that we were being fired upon, that it was us or them, but a small part of my mind wondered if Teuthis really was their intended target. After all, weren’t they trying to prevent Qiántng Yóuchuán Èr from reaching Taiwan? And, several days earlier was the collision of the Houston and the DPRK sub. She was a modified Romeo Class, so she carried fifty to sixty men. They were all lost. Although not so clear here as with Chángzhēng 3, again, we were in a self-defense role.
When I killed the Soviet diver in the Sea of Okhotsk, it was him or me.29 I had no remorse for killing another Soviet diver off Point Barrow.30 I certainly had no problem taking out several bad guys in Kodiak to protect Kate, and I had no trouble eliminating several Morskoy Spetsnaz divers under the Arctic ice pack,31 so how was this different? I took a sip of my cooling coffee. One thing stood out. My previous kills were one-on-one—an immediate him-or-me, live-or-die situation. As I saw it, those were no-brainers. Taking out an entire ship of men—somehow, that felt different, not wrong, but definitely different. I was not going to resolve this right now. I finished my coffee and went out to Control.
We were a couple of days into our week-long transit of the Philippine Sea to Taiwan. Waverly had the watch, with King holding down the fort in Sonar. The bottom was deep and mostly featureless except for a north–south ridge nearly bisecting our path. Unlike our previous leg to Guam, Sonar had little to do. Our track lay distant from the usual traffic lanes in this part of the world.
When I arrived in Control, King was lounging with Henshaw at the plot table. The door to the Sonar Shack was open. I joined them at Plot.
“Whatcha got?” I asked.
King pointed to two plastic markers. “This is California, three miles ahead and two miles north of our position.” He pointed at the other marker. “Elliot, three miles behind and two miles south of our position.”
“Nothing else?” I asked.
“Nope. Clean as a baby’s ass.”
“Conn, Sonar. I have a new contact…”
“Shit!” King said and went into Sonar, shutting the door behind him.
“…bearing zero-three-zero relative, drawing right, designate Sierra-one-six-seven. This contact sounds like a warship making turns for about thirty knots.”
I decided to join King in Sonar. I found him looking through a signature volume, comparing a printout of S-167 with known vessels.
“Aha!” he said, pointing to a page. “This looks like a ChiCom Jianghu-II-class light cruiser.” He scanned the page. “They call it Zhaotong (Pennant 555). She was commissioned just a couple of years ago. She has a decent sonar suit, but nothing we can’t evade.” He laid the open book on the counter top. “Do you think Chángzhēng three transmitted her position before lying in wait for us?”
“I don’t doubt it at all. When HQ didn’t receive an after-action report, they sent Zhaotong to investigate.” I did a quick mental calculation. “If she got underway shortly after Chángzhēng three sank, she would be about here right now.”
One of the watchstanders raised his hand. “I got another one, Senior Chief.”
“Well, tell Control.”
“Conn, Sonar. I have a new contact bearing zero-four-two, drawing right, designate Sierra-one-six-eight. Sounds like another warship making turns for about two-eight knots.”
King pulled the printout from S-168 and paged through the same book. “Here it is,” he said. “It’s a DPRK Najin-class frigate. Don’t really know much about it, except it’s a piece of shit compared to anything we’ve got. It wouldn’t last ten minutes against Zhaotong either.” He looked at me earnestly. “What do you think she’s doing here?”
“Join me at Plot,” I said.
We walked out of Sonar, and I waved Waverly to Plot. “Here’s what we got,” I said, and I briefed him on what we knew about the two warships. “Sonar places Zhaotong at twenty miles and the Najin-class at thirty miles.”
Waverly called the skipper, and King and I repeated our explanation to him a few minutes later.
“Let me get this straight,” the skipper said. “One sixty-seven is a ChiCom light cruiser, and one sixty-eight is a DPRK light frigate. They’re looking for Chángzhēng three and that DPRK sub, respectively.”
“That’s my best guess,” I answered. “Let’s check with California.”
The skipper agreed, so Waverly got on the Gertrude and called California.
“California, this is Teuthis.”
California answered, and Waverly briefed them on Zhaotong and the Najin-class frigate.
“We have both on radar,” California said. “We’ll try to contact them.”
Several minutes later, California called back.
“Teuthis, this is California. We spoke with Zhaotong. She is searching for one of their nuke subs that failed to report in. We offered to help, but she declined. The DPRK frigate did not respond.”
About a day out of Taiwan’s Kaohsiung City near the island’s south end, Franklin had the watch with Sportsman supervising Sonar. It was day 115 of our extended mission. We had crossed several ridges, and now the bottom lay between 4,000 and 10,000 feet beneath us. Surface traffic had picked up considerably, and Sonar was more than busy keeping up with the surrounding contacts. Since encountering Zhaotong and the DPRK frigate, Sonar had logged over 100 new contacts.
“Conn, Sonar. I have a new contact off the starboard bow with suppressed cavitation, drifting slowly right. Designate Sierra-two-seven-zero.”
A few minutes later, Sportsman reported, “Sierra-two-seven-zero is a Chinese navy submarine of the same class as Chángzhēng three. We believe it is Chángzhēng four—basically the same type of sub, but with better sonar capabilities. She is at fifteen miles, outboard of California.”
Sportsman stepped out to Plot to confer with Quartermaster Second-class Marcel Theron. After a few minutes of intense focus, Sportsman reported to Franklin, “Frenchy and I think Chángzhēng four is circling slowly at one position, looking for our submerged convoy. California is vectoring toward the sub, and Elliot has placed herself between the sub and us.”
On the Secure Gertrude: “Teuthis, this is Hi Bào. We and Qiántng Yóuchuán Èr are circling west around Chángzhēng four while she is distracted by California and Elliot. We expect to dock in fifteen hours. A delegation will meet you when you arrive.”
“Conn, Sonar. We lost Chángzhēng four. We believe she dropped below the thermocline.”
“Sonar, Conn. What is the depth of the thermocline?”
“Six-zero-zero feet, Conn.”
When Sonar acquired Chángzhēng 4, I joined Franklin in Control. Upon hearing Sonar’s report, he ordered, “Diving Officer, make your depth seven-zero-zero feet.”
While Teuthis creaked her way to 700 feet, I examined the chart at Plot. One hostile submarine was being held at bay by California and Elliot, while Hi Bào escorted her precious tanker around to the west to Kaohsiung City harbor. These last few hours looked like they would be easy.
