Just off the coast of Russia’s Kola Peninsula, USS Pittsburgh cruised eastward at periscope depth. Lieutenant Bob Martin, on watch as Officer of the Deck, rotated the port periscope slowly, his right eye pressed against the eyepiece. As the scope optics swung to the south, Martin shifted the periscope to high power for a detailed scan of Kola Bay, the exit point for Russian warships stationed in ports along the shores of the Murmansk Fjord. He paused at the fjord entrance and pressed the doubler, increasing the periscope magnification to maximum.
Still nothing.
This morning’s intelligence message reported that Russia’s newest guided missile submarine, K-561 Kazan, would likely head to sea today. Satellites had monitored Kazan’s crew loading supplies and weapons, and the submarine’s nuclear reactor had been brought on-line—all solid indicators that Kazan was preparing to deploy.
Where Kazan was headed was what COMSUBLANT wanted to know, and Pittsburgh had been tasked to find out: gain trail on Kazan as she emerged from Kola Bay and follow her until she exited the Barents Sea. There were a few options regarding Kazan’s destination, with the leading contenders being west toward the GIUK Gap—a naval choke point between Greenland and the United Kingdom, with Iceland in the middle—for an Atlantic Ocean or Mediterranean Sea deployment, or north under the ice for transfer to Russia’s Pacific Fleet.
Anywhere was fine with Martin, as long as there was something to trail. There was nothing more boring than walking round and round on the periscope for hours on end, scouring the horizon for contacts. Trailing submarines was far more exciting, and Martin hoped to be the one to snag Kazan. He had only one week left. Pittsburgh was nearing the end of its Northern Run, and USS Boise was already en route from Norfolk to relieve Pittsburgh in the Barents Sea.
Martin’s thoughts were interrupted by the Sonar Supervisor’s report over the Conn speaker. “Conn, Sonar. Hold a new contact on the towed array, designated Sierra three-four, ambiguous bearings two-one-zero and zero-three-zero. Analyzing.”
Pittsburgh’s towed array was a valuable asset, detecting contacts at longer ranges than the submarine’s other acoustic sensors. However, the array was an assembly of hydrophones connected in a straight line, which meant it could not determine which side the sound arrived from, resulting in two potential bearings to the contact—one on each side of the array.
Martin acknowledged Sonar’s report and rotated the periscope to a bearing of zero-three-zero, shifting to high power and activating the doubler. There were no contacts. He swung to the south. As he examined Kola Bay, he spotted a small speck on the horizon. He called to the Electronic Surveillance Measures watch. “ESM, Conn. Report all radar contacts to the south.”
“Conn, ESM. I hold no contacts to the south.”
Martin selected the Captain’s stateroom on the 27-MC control box, then with his eye still against the periscope, retrieved the microphone from its holder.
“Captain, Officer of the Deck.”
The submarine’s Commanding Officer replied. “Captain.”
“Captain, Officer of the Deck. Hold a new surface contact exiting Kola Bay with no radar signature.”
“Very well,” he replied. “I’ll be right there.”
Commander John Buglione entered the Control Room and stepped onto the Conn—a one-foot-high platform surrounding the two periscopes—and stopped behind Lieutenant Martin.
“Let me take a look.”
Martin swung the periscope to a bearing of two-one-zero, then stepped away. Buglione took his place, adjusting the periscope optics to his setting.
The contact had a boxy superstructure, which meant it was either a container ship or one of Russia’s nuclear-powered icebreakers. Since it was transiting through coastal ice, it had to be an icebreaker, and it was most likely breaking the ice for Kazan.
Unfortunately, Buglione couldn’t see behind the icebreaker; the ship was pointed almost directly at Pittsburgh and its large, boxy superstructure blocked Buglione’s view. They needed to move off the icebreaker’s track so they could see behind it. They were on a good course, however, traveling perpendicular to the icebreaker, and Buglione eventually spotted a trailing contact—a thin, black rectangle: the sail of an outbound submarine.
“Sonar, Conn,” Buglione called out. “Hold an outbound submarine behind Sierra three-four. Do you hold anything on sonar?”
“Conn, Sonar,” the Sonar Supervisor replied. “The only thing we hold is Sierra three-four. It’s masking anything behind it.”
Buglione studied the outbound submarine’s sail. He and all of Pittsburgh’s officers had the sail shape of every Russian submarine class memorized, so there was no need to pull up images on the combat control consoles. After sorting through the possibilities, he settled on the best match, which was a Yasen class submarine—Kazan was entering the Barents Sea.
As Buglione examined Kazan, plumes of water spray jetted into the air from the submarine’s bow and stern. It was submerging, venting the air in its Main Ballast Tanks.
Buglione turned to Martin. “Come down to one-five-zero feet and station the Fire Control Tracking Party.”