Protocol 15

Chapter 11

11

THE TURNING OF THE SCREWS

Submarine USS Colorado. October 16, 1:02 a.m. local time. The Persian Gulf (Oct. 15, 4:02 p.m. EST).

“Aye, sir.” The chief of the watch ripped a microphone from above his head and issued the command. “Battle stations. This is not a drill.”

In every compartment of the boat, warning lights illuminated, indicating the heightened state of alert. Men scrambled through hatches to their stations both fore and aft.

In the adjoining compartment, the sonar supervisor said to the sonar operator, Petty Officer Third Class Thomas, “Concentrate, Thomas. This is the real thing. Just like I showed you.”

The sonar operator placed the headphones back over his ears, but held them just off his head, fearing another loud cracking sound. The captain rushed into the tight space and leaned over his shoulder.

“Tell him what you heard,” the sonar supervisor said.

“Sir,” Thomas said, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow, “what I heard sounded more like a sub sitting on the bottom with its screws turning. Then the sub cracked apart and water rushed in.”

“Before it cracked up, was there a high-speed screw? Did it sound like a torpedo hit the Russian?”

“No, sir. No torpedo in the water.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No explosion? Well, it didn’t hit a mine. All right, widen your sonar listening zone. We can’t go tunnel vision and focus on just this one thing. We’ve got to know if there’s anything else out there. If someone attacked that submarine before we came into the area, we have to know who.”

“Aye, sir,” Thomas said.

“What’s the range to the downed sub?” the captain asked.

“We’ve closed to about six thousand yards, sir,” replied the sonar operator. He pushed his hand against his headset in order to listen closer. “Wait, sir, I think I’ve got a new contact. That’s affirmative. Designate the contact Sierra Two, bearing 029. It’s submerged also . . . it’s a high-speed screw! Wait, what the hell? Hold on, it’s a high-speed screw all right, but it’s definitely not a torpedo. I’d say it’s at about ten thousand yards.”

“Another submerged contact? Can you identify?”

“Not yet, sir. It’s definitely another sub, but it doesn’t sound very large, though. The revolution of the screw . . . Jesus Christ. It’s very high pitched. What the hell is that?”

The captain turned toward the executive officer and said, “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’re not taking any chances. XO, flood torpedo tubes one and four.”

“Aye, Captain. Fire control, flood tubes one and four.”

“It’s . . . it’s tiny,” the sonar operator said, still listening with intent to the high-speed sounds of a submerged propeller. “Ah . . . computer’s coming back now, sir. Computer identifies Sierra Two as the Nautile, a deep submergence vehicle. It’s French. DSVs are used for research, aren’t they, sir?”

Tension vacated the captain’s brow.

“A DSV? Hell, there can’t be more than ten DSVs in active service in the entire world. What is a French DSV doing out here in the Persian Gulf? What’s her length, son?”

The sonar operator focused on the details displayed on the computer monitor. “DSV Nautile is only twenty-five feet long, sir. No wonder it sounded so tiny on sonar. It says she’s equipped with the usual research gear, cameras, lighting equipment, two robotic arms, maximum depth of . . .”

“All right,” the captain said, “that’s a civilian mini-sub. It’s no threat. You scared the s**t out of me. Any other traffic on sonar, Thomas? I doubt that DSV is out here on its own. It would have to be with a larger research ship nearby.”

“Yes, sir. I’ve got surface traffic. Nothing hostile though. I’ve got a Russian fishing trawler about ten thousand yards off the port quarter, and a Chinese oil tanker about three thousand yards closer. She sounds low in the water; probably topped off with crude. And . . . a ship the computer identifies as the Padma, a research ship; one of those with the split stern. She’s Pakistani flagged. Maybe that explains the DSV in the area?”

“Roger that. Deep submergence vehicles are lowered from the deck of a research vessel into the water by a crane. Or, they use a split-stern vessel like this ship has to deploy from.”

“The computer’s now got more data about the first submarine, our downed Russian, sir,” Thomas said. “Since we’re closer now, the sounds detected by sonar are clearer, and the computer’s been able to definitively identify it. It’s a Delta IV-class all right. It’s a sub called the Simbirsk. It says she’s a Russian boomer . . . but, wait, I don’t get it. Sir? The computer says the Simbirsk was decommissioned in 1996 and scrapped in 2008. This sub isn’t supposed to be in service anymore.”

The captain shook his head then walked back to the control room, studying the computer printout. “Great. I’ve got a computer telling me a Russian ballistic missile submarine has magically come back to life out of the scrapyard and has cracked apart four thousand yards in front of me. That’s quite a magic trick. The damn thing’s so old that my dad probably chased it around in his submarine days during the Cold War. All right, people, let’s work up closer to this thing. We need to find out what happened to it, and fast. Sonar?” the captain called into the open mic.

“Conn, sonar, aye.”

“You hear a sound, anything strange, I mean anything, you call it out, son. I don’t care what it is.”

“Aye, sir,” the sonar operator said.

“Is that little DSV mini-sub still pushing away from us along the same course?” the captain asked.

“Aye, sir,” said STS3 Thomas, still pressing his hand against his headset. “Sir?”

“What is it, Thomas”

“Well, speaking of the DSV, I know it’s just a civilian craft, but you said to point out anything that I hear.”

“And?”

“It doesn’t sound right, sir.”

“How so?”

“Remember how at first I said it was a high-speed screw, and thought it was a torpedo?”

“How could I forget?”

“Well sir, there’s something strange about the pitch of the screw. The pitch is too high. Based on the DSV mini-sub’s listed aspect ratio, displacement, and the current revolution velocity of its screw, the little sub should be moving a lot faster than it is. It sounds heavy in the water, sir. I’m picking up a fair bit of cavitation from the single screw. Under normal operation, that shouldn’t be there. I don’t know if any of this is important, sir. It’s just strange. It almost sounds . . . like she’s weighted down.”

“Conn, aye,” the captain said.

The executive officer leaned toward the captain. “Captain, back to the downed Russian boat, what the hell is going on? We’ve got a ghost Russian sub that was supposedly scrapped several years ago. It obviously wasn’t scrapped, and now seems to be sunk on the ocean floor with its screws still turning. What do you make of it?”

“Damned if I know, Charlie. Maybe it got attacked before we came on scene, or maybe they had an accident on board. Whatever caused it to sink and c***k apart might have damaged their propulsion controls. We’re going to have to find out what happened to it, and if they need assistance, fast. There could still be people alive on that thing. But, I agree with Thomas, there’s no way that civilian DSV mini-sub limping off in the distance has anything to do with our downed boat.”

“I agree. What’s the play, sir?”

“We’ll work right up to the downed sub as quickly as possible and find out if there’s any signs of life. If there is, then God help those sailors. We’ll have to notify Fifth Fleet and see what type of rescue assets are in the region. Wait a minute. We’ve got all that hydrographic ultrasound mapping equipment on board, right? Call that civilian geologist up here. Wake him up if you have to. I know that equipment was designed to map the ocean floor, but maybe we can use it to get a view of the Russian sub.”

“Conn, sonar,” cracked the voice of the sonar operator.

“Sonar, conn,” the captain said. “Christ, son. What the hell is it now?” The captain rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, son. Speak freely.”

“I’ve just been reading historical information about the mini-sub, the DSV Nautile, from the computer, sir.”

“And?”

There was a long pause.

“Sir, the computer says the DSV Nautile was previously attached to a French research ship, the Marion Dufresne.”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“The Marion Dufresne was reported lost at sea. Three months ago, in the Aegean. She was sabotaged. Some of the crew were rescued. But everything, including the DSV Nautile, were assumed a total loss.”

The captain’s shoulders slumped and he looked at the executive officer. “No one’s ever going to believe us. You just can’t make this stuff up.”