Ashes of Victory, page 12
“Confirmed,” Sergeyev said without expression.
A few of the men exchanged concerned glances. After nearly two years of training, they were about to make their first actual attack on a ship. The timing of the torpedoes would be critical given their proximity to the American carrier and especially its submarine escort.
Sergeyev rechecked the status of the six weapons. All systems were ready for the order to fire.
“Five thousand six hundred feet. Bearing two-six-five,” Popov reported.
“Stand by,” Sergeyev said, running the speed, distance, and timing equation through his mind one last time. The integrated control, navigation, and weapons system had given him a solution, but Sergeyev always did the math the old-school way as a final check—another habit from Arkhipov.
“Three thousand eight hundred feet, bearing two-six-seven,” Popov reported, wiping beads of perspiration from his head.
Popov’s visible concern prompted Sergeyev to scan the faces of the rest of his crew, reading their expressions. He knew most of them were wondering how long he would wait to give the order. If a torpedo malfunctioned and shot out of the water, it could expose the general position of the submarine. The Virginia-class sub plus ASW helicopters could pounce on them in under a minute.
“Slightly under three thousand feet,” Popov updated. “Bearing two-six-eight.”
Sergeyev waited ten seconds, deciding that the Virginia-class sub that prowled the sea between the carrier and his sub was deep enough to be out of the way.
Then he said, as calmly as any of his prior commands, “Fire one,” and punched his stopwatch. Without a hint of a sound, the revolutionary water-ram hydraulic system released the first torpedo.
Ten seconds passed. “Fire two.”
Sergeyev waited seven more seconds. “Fire three.”
The sequence continued until all six torpedoes were fired. Now it was time to slip away quietly from the carrier strike group.
“Left full rudder,” Sergeyev ordered before glancing at his stopwatch and adding, “Ahead slow.”
Zhdanov stared at the captain for a moment, obviously concerned by the command.
“Left full rudder, Anatoli,” Sergeyev repeated, dropping the pitch of his voice a dash. “Ahead slow.”
“Left full rudder, ahead slow. Aye aye, Captain.”
Obviously confused by Sergeyev’s order, Zhdanov and the crew began glancing at each other. He let them have their moment of trepidation and just monitored his stopwatch.
Be there, he thought. Don’t fail me.
“Sir,” Popov announced as he removed his headset, “the American sub is starting to take evasive action.”
Sergeyev nodded, just as the first torpedo hit the bow of Stennis. The blast created an explosion that reverberated through K-43. Another nerve-shattering detonation followed ten seconds later, and third and fourth blasts right after.
Sergeyev slipped the stopwatch into his pocket. “Rudder amidships, ahead one-third.”
The fifth explosion, a double shock, seemed more powerful, the acoustic energy making the overheads and the screen flicker for a moment.
Sergeyev caught the eye of his sonarman, who quickly pressed one headphone to his ear, then said, “I think the fifth one struck the sub, the Virginia class. It’s breaking up.”
“Unfortunately, Leonod,” Sergeyev said, frowning. He had immense respect for the American submarine forces from his years in the Soviet Navy. He took no pleasure in destroying the sub.
“Cap’n—” Zhdanov hesitated, struggling to select his words as the last torpedo struck Stennis. “We’re headed directly toward the carrier pier.”
“Gentlemen,” he finally said, looking about as wide-eyed stares converged on him, “where is the last place the Americans will look for us? Lying on the bottom near their very own pier, of course.
USS JOHN C. STENNIS (CVN 74), OUTSIDE PORT OF SINGAPORE
THE FIRST EXPLOSION BELOW the starboard bow stunned Capt. Marcus Madison and the entire crew of Stennis, shaking the superstructure and blasting through three decks of living quarters, including the space occupied by the pilots of two fighter squadrons and the contingent of SEALs, instantly killing more than seventy men and women.
Madison was about to ask for a damage control report when a second explosion rocked the ship.
Surmising the carrier was setting off mines, he ordered the crew to general quarters. A klaxon began sounding through the ship as the third torpedo hit the engineering spaces, killing dozens of sailors and causing extensive damage and flooding. The crew raced to their stations: forward and up on the starboard side of the carrier; down and aft on the port side.
Stennis went immediately to Condition One, its maximum state of readiness. Condition Zebra followed; all closures, hatches, porthole covers, doors, and valves were secured. This provided watertight integrity and sealed compartments, helping to localize flooding and control any fires.
The shocked sailors manning the Damage Control Center fought to stabilize the carrier, trying to adjust to ever-changing conditions in the ship and giving directions to help ensure the vital systems used in flood control and firefighting stayed operational.
The fourth torpedo penetrated one of Stennis’s large hangars belowdecks, destroying dozens of aircraft, including most of the brand-new F-35C Lightnings. More than fifty sailors died immediately and many others sustained serious injuries as seawater started flooding the compartment.
The fifth torpedo, meant to flood the cavernous engine room, was drawn in by the increased cavitation of the Virginia-class submarine, North Dakota, as it began evasive maneuvers in the wake of the first blasts. The torpedo tore a jagged hole into the sub’s bow, detonating right next to the compartment storing its load of MK 48 torpedoes, each packing a 650-pound high-explosive warhead. The shockwave propagated along the entire boat, breaking it up into several sections, instantly killing its entire crew and kicking up a curtain of seawater a hundred feet high.
The last torpedo detonated by Stennis’s four propellers, damaging two of them, as well as one of the propeller shafts.
CAPT. MADISON AND HIS crew reached a quick conclusion; since they had not encountered any mines leading to the naval base, a submarine had to be the culprit. One of the carrier’s SH-60F Seahawk ASW helicopters and a Singaporean anti-submarine patrol vessel began an immediate search for the elusive target.
The helicopter, armed with MK 54 torpedoes, used its dipping sonar to search for the submerged enemy.
Despite the heroic efforts of the carrier’s crew, and the expertise of the damage control repair parties, including sealing off the damaged hangar, Stennis soon took on a six-degree list to starboard.
SEVEN HUNDRED YARDS FROM the carrier pier, Capt. Yuri Sergeyev breathed a sigh of relief. “Ahead slow.”
“Ahead slow. Aye aye, Captain,” Anatoli Zhdanov repeated.
Sergeyev patiently waited for the submarine to decelerate to minimum maneuvering speed.
“Right full rudder,” he ordered.
“Right full rudder,” Zhdanov replied.
Sergeyev shook his head as the Type 212A completed 175 degrees of turn. In his heart, he knew the carrier had survived, primarily because the Virginia-class sub had absorbed the torpedo meant to flood the massive engine room. “Rudder amidships,” he said firmly. “All stop.”
“Rudder amidships, all stop, Captain.”
When the submarine stabilized, Sergeyev spoke in a whisper. “Put her on the bottom.”
“On the bottom, aye, Captain,” Zhdanov said.
Sergeyev met Popov’s gaze. “What’s the carrier doing?”
“It’s continuing on course,” Popov answered in a disappointed voice. “We damaged it, but it isn’t sinking.”
Disgruntled, Sergeyev said, “We did the best we could.” He turned to leave but paused and added, “Ty dolzhen gordit’sya.” You should be proud.
“Spasibo,” Popov replied in a subdued voice.
“Set the watch and make sure all hands get some sleep.”
K-43 settled into the sediment, and Sergeyev retired to his small stateroom to try to get some sleep before the next storm.
— 11 —
THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, DC
PRESIDENT CORD MACKLIN AND First Lady Maria Eden-Macklin were supposed to be attending a lunch in New York as guests of honor at a special tribute to Rodgers and Hammerstein at Lincoln Center. But Macklin just couldn’t do the social thing in the wake of the Truman disaster and the wave of retaliatory strikes. So, they had flown from Camp David back to the White House.
He was in the middle of enjoying a light lunch with Maria in the Treaty Room, the president’s private study located on the second floor near the presidential living quarters, when Hartwell Prost entered and leaned down to speak to him quietly.
“Mr. President,” he whispered. “We just got hit again. Stennis.”
Macklin closed his eyes. Christ Almighty.
Taking a second to gather himself, he turned to the first lady and said in a quiet voice, “Maria, I have to—”
“Go,” she acknowledged. “And don’t forget these,” she added, pointing at the reading glasses next to his plate.
The president thanked her, grabbed them, and followed his DNI. Tailed by Okimoto and his detail, they went straight down to the basement Situation Room, where he sat at the head of the table and regarded the six individuals gathered there.
General Les Chalmers sat in his usual spot immediately to the left of the president, and he was accompanied by the vice chairman and the chief of staff of the air force. Opposite sat Prost, Defense Secretary Peter Adair, and Secretary of State Brad Austin.
Macklin immediately sensed the panic in the room and knew he needed to quickly rein them in, as they appeared ready to gallop off a cliff.
“I got the rundown on the walk over,” he said, pointing at Prost. “So, I know the what. I would like to understand the who and then the how.”
Everyone looked at the secretary of defense. “I really don’t have any idea whose sub it was,” Adair replied in a barely audible voice. “I can only speculate at this point. At slow speeds, the latest version of China’s Type 095 is as quiet as our Virginia-class subs. If it was stationary, lying in wait, it would have been difficult to detect. Same goes for the German Type 212A or the new Russian Yasen–class attack subs. They are all virtually impossible to find with our current ASW systems.”
Prost turned his attention to Chalmers. “General, it seems that in the aftermath of the Cold War, our navy’s anti-submarine warfare capabilities have deteriorated. I strongly recommend you and Admiral Blevins give a high priority to reconstituting our ASW muscle.”
Macklin tipped the glasses toward Prost. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later, Hart. Our priority now has to be ensuring it doesn’t happen again. Our naval bases need some immediate protection. Constant ASW coverage, submarine nets, whatever the chiefs decide, whatever it takes to keep our naval ports safe from attack.”
Chalmers nodded his agreement. “I’ll contact Admiral Blevins this morning. I know he’s already working the problem.”
Pete Adair eyed the general. “Whatever he needs.”
“Yes, sir,” Chalmers said in a tight voice.
Macklin sat back, thinking. With Truman and Stennis disabled, it left the United States with just four operational carriers, Vinson in the Gulf, Lincoln in the Mediterranean, Roosevelt in the Sea of Japan, and Reagan still at port in San Diego. To make matters worse, the ability to deploy a combination of carrier strike groups and expeditionary strike groups had been crippled. The global balance of power was in dire jeopardy, leaving the door open for the Chinese, North Koreans, Iranians, or even the Russians to contemplate actions that would normally have been considered grossly irresponsible, if not suicide. The Russians had seized Crimea when the US had been at full strength. Macklin feared what they might do now.
After a long pause, Macklin broke the silence. “Our national prestige has taken a heavy toll. Two of our crucial assets have been damaged and one of our new subs destroyed—along with hundreds of trained navy personnel. Our ability to surge carrier strike groups is jeopardized. That could invite all kinds of mischief, especially from Beijing, Moscow, Tehran, and Pyongyang.”
The president cleared his throat. “In two days, Brad is going to speak at the UN. His speech will leave no doubt of our resolve. However, we have to be able and willing to put up . . . or shut up.”
Prost spoke up. “Mr. President, in the past twenty-four hours we’ve had increased chatter from the Russian Federation, North Korea, Iran, and China—especially China. They’re continuing to amass amphibious assault ships and fighter aircraft directly across from Taiwan and—”
“Fucking Xi,” Macklin hissed under his breath, tossing the glasses on the table. “What’s the little bastard up to?”
Prost raised his eyebrows, and everyone else’s eyes widened.
Taking a deep breath, Macklin said, “Go on, Hart.”
“Yes, sir. I was going to add that Beijing has deployed its brand-new Type 096 ballistic missile submarine to the strait out of Shanghai. That sub is equivalent to our Ohio-class subs and carries twenty-four JL-2 long-range missiles, each capable of deploying up to four independent nuclear warheads. On top of that, their older Type 094 ballistic subs—five of them—are roaming somewhere near their Yulin Naval Base in Hainan Island, five hundred miles southwest of Taiwan. They are close enough to be a pain in our ass. Those carry sixteen JL-2s each.”
Macklin frowned at the confusing naming convention. The Types 094 and 096 were ballistic missile subs. The 095 was an attack sub, equivalent to the Virginia class. But all were nuclear powered.
Stress showing in his voice, Prost continued. “Those JL-2s have the ability to hit targets 7,400 miles away. That means they can patrol northeast of the Kuril Islands and strike three-quarters of the United States. If they advanced across the international date line, they could hit all fifty states.”
Pete Adair and Les Chalmers exchanged concerned glances.
Staring into Macklin’s eyes, Prost continued in a level voice. “Mr. President, the missiles contain state-of-the-art guidance and warhead technology stolen from US military contractors. They are very reliable and accurate.”
“Your recommendation?” the president queried.
“Same as before: We still need to move a carrier strike group to the strait ASAP to send a clear military signal to Beijing. Then you need to get on the horn with President Jiechi.”
Adair almost jumped out of his chair. “Your suggestion is going to spread ourselves too thin, Hart. We have two carrier groups in the Middle East, and that’s barely enough to keep it contained. And in anticipation of possible retaliations for our recent airstrikes, the Israelis have called up two brigades of reservists and are positioning armor along their borders with Lebanon and Gaza. Our targeted strikes against terrorists in many Middle Eastern countries have soured our relationships with many of our so-called allies in the region. Although we were fully justified in our actions, the reality is that with two carriers disabled, we’re rapidly approaching a one-war-at-a-time situation.”
“Wrong, Pete. Not when we still have the upper hand,” President Macklin flared, picking up the glasses and directing them at his secretary of defense. “It’s called boomers. That’s why we have Ohio-class ballistic missile subs in our inventory. Our situation has drastically changed since nine-eleven. I’m going to make it clear that we will use whatever it takes to prevail in any conflict. As president, I will show determination to use nukes, if necessary, to prevent or retaliate against attacks or imminent threats of WMD use. Our adversaries must believe the United States has the will to use overwhelming force, including nuclear weapons, to prevail in any scenario.”
The blunt declaration was met with stunned silence.
Breaking the silence in the tension-filled room, the secretary of defense spoke in measured words. “Mr. President, China is less predictable than the Soviet Union ever was. Their new president is just one guy in a sea of old-school sharks who hate our guts for upholding the Taiwan Relations Act of 1979. China’s rapid military buildup is aimed squarely at us. They have missiles capable of targeting all of our country and many of our allies. This is not the time to provoke Beijing.”
The president sat back and took a deep breath. The TRA, which he had pretty much memorized, required the US government to make available to Taiwan defense articles and defense services in such quantities as may be necessary to enable Taiwan to maintain a sufficient self-defense capability. In addition, it required that Macklin inform Congress promptly of any threat to the security of the people of Taiwan, and finally it stated that the president and Congress shall determine the appropriate action by the US in response to any such danger.
To Macklin, it pretty much meant that he had a responsibility to protect the people of Taiwan as he did the people of South Korea, Japan, and even the Philippines. And the best and most visible way to do so was by parking a carrier strike group there just as he had parked Roosevelt and her escorts in front of the Korean Peninsula.
The president shoved his chair back and rose to his feet. His eyes bored into Adair. “We need a strong presence in the Gulf, in the Sea of Japan, and in the Taiwan Strait. I need a defense secretary that can provide me with a recommendation to cover all three.”
Adair’s cheeks turned red. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, then lifted his gaze and said, “Stennis was supposed to cover the latter, so the only option I see is to move Vinson over there ASAP, keep Lincoln in the Mediterranean, and Roosevelt parked by North Korea, and use Reagan as the surge. We will also have to rely on long-range strategic bombers and cruise missiles to cover the slack. In addition, I will recommend that we increase our air force assets at Bagram, Kandahar, and also at al-Udeid Air Base in Qatar. That will help offset the loss of a carrier in the region.”
