Day 32—Saturday
The tension inside the Colorado’s control room was intense. The crew’s stress level ratcheted up several notches eight hours earlier when the submarine cruised through the Luzon Strait and formally entered hostile waters—the South China Sea. All consoles and workstations inside the compartment were staffed. Conversation between individuals was all business.
Yuri studied the control room’s horizontal large screen display. A digital chart of the northern half of the South China Sea filled the waist high touchscreen. Colorado’s current position and its projected course were superimposed on the display. It was six hundred feet below the surface running at a stealthy sixteen knots.
Commander Tom Bowman was next to Yuri. Colorado’s CO gestured toward the high definition screen. “One of those new bottom stations is right here.”
“How far away are we from it?” Yuri asked, noting the skull and crossbones icon that marked the location of the Chinese seabed-based antisubmarine weapon system.
Bowman touched the screen. “Right now, it’s sixty-four nautical miles away.”
“How close can we come to it?”
“COMSUBPAC’s latest report ordered us to maintain a minimum separation of forty nautical miles but we’ll be around forty-five.”
Bowman referred to a scheduled radio check-in with the commander of Submarine Force, Pacific Fleet. While underway, Colorado deployed its floating wire to intercept encrypted VHF radio transmissions originating from Pearl Harbor. The very high frequency waves penetrate the ocean surface to a depth of five to six feet, allowing reception by the sub without the need to raise a radio antenna.
Yuri noted that the proposed route on the display bisected two additional death’s-head icons located eastward of Hainan Island. “So, two more of those things to go along our route after this one?”
“That’s right.”
“Which one did Tucson tangle with?”
“The one southeast of Sanya, just north of the Parcel Islands.” Bowman pointed with a finger.
Yuri looked up. “How close to that station did Tucson come?”
“About thirty-five nautical miles but as you’ll recall, Tucson only detected those things ascending from just a couple miles away. My gut tells me those two units were in active patrol mode when Tucson showed up.”
“That makes sense,” Yuri said, nodding. “How many more bottom stations?”
“At last count, eight confirmed installations in the South China Sea, six in the north basin and two in the south. But it’s likely going to increase.” Bowman kneaded his nose. “The PLAN has had two ships installing the damn things.”
“You must be tracking them by satellite.”
“We are, plus we have our own SOSUS network that allows us to monitor what the ships are up to twenty-four seven.” Bowman referred to the U.S. Navy’s Sound Surveillance System, a network of underwater listening posts.
“In the South China Sea?”
“That’s right.”
Bowman’s revelation was new to Yuri. “Do the Chinese know?”
“We don’t think so. We were careful during deployment. The PLA Navy needs to remain in the dark about our network.”
Yuri put it together. “You used subs to install the hydrophones.”
“No comment,” Bowman said with a smirk.
* * * *
The Novosibirsk breached the northern Ryukyu Islands on schedule, passing between the Japanese volcanic islands of Kuchinoerabu-jima and Kuchino-shima. The Russian attack submarine crossed the Yaku-Shin Bank and entered the Pacific Ocean. The Novosibirsk was currently southbound.
With the troubled waters of the Korea Strait and the East China Sea now in Novosibirsk’s wake, Captain Petrovich took the opportunity to leave the attack center, where he had “camped out” for the past three days. He just arrived at the torpedo room.
The watch officer snapped to attention as Novosibirsk’s commanding officer approached. “What’s the status of our ‘specials,’” Petrovich asked.
“They all check out, Captain. No problems.” The twenty-seven year old lieutenant was a recent transfer to the Novosibirsk.
“Excellent.”
The Novosibirsk typically carried thirty heavyweight torpedoes but for this mission only four were aboard. The “war fish” were loaded in four of the sub’s ten torpedo tubes. Occupying the weapon’s bay racks were thirty self-propelled anti-ship mines. Nearly the same length as the torpedoes, the mines consisted of a propulsion unit and a mine package. Once ejected from a torpedo tube, the mine was designed to swim to pre-designated bottom coordinates where it would settle onto the bottom and wait.
“Ah, Captain, will the deployment water depths still range from twenty to forty meters?”
“That’s the current plan—why do you ask?”
“Just concerned about possible discovery because of the shallow water.”
“Your job is to ensure that the units are deployed as planned and that they will detonate.”
“Understood, sir,” the assistant weapons officer said. But he was not finished. “It’s just that these units are foreign made. I don’t know how reliable they are.”
“Fleet vetted the mines prior to our mission. They’re based on our own SMDM mine system but with improvements.” The GRU purchased the Chinese exports through a host of middlemen and cutouts, ensuring that the trail would not lead back to the Kremlin.
“The SMDM—but how?”
“Not your concern. Any additional questions?” Petrovich asked with an edgy tone.
“No sir.”
“Very well, carry on.”
“Aye, Captain.
Petrovich exited the torpedo compartment, deciding to pay a surprise visit to the engine room. As he headed aft, he considered his conversation with the weapons officer. The lieutenant’s concerns about the mines were justified. Fleet engineers at Vladivostok assured Captain Petrovich that the Chinese mines were functional, which was not a surprise to Petrovich. The buzz circulating within the senior naval officers at Pacific Fleet Headquarters shed light on the origins of the “specials.”
A civilian engineer in Saint Petersburg working for the Russian Navy sold the complete SMDM design package to an MSS agent. Chinese engineers in Shanghai took the plans and specs and improved on the design. The knockoff units actually worked better than the original Russian manufactured torpedo mines.
After confessing to an FSB interrogator, the engineer was sentenced to thirty years of hard labor at a Siberian prison camp.
Petrovich and his colleagues all agreed that the traitor should have faced a firing squad instead.
* * * *
The Heilong progressed northward, following the east coast of Japan’s most northerly island of Hokkaido. The fisheries city of Nemuro was one hundred and seventy nautical miles to the west. The submarine cruised at twenty knots just over a thousand feet below the surface. Water depth in this region of the ocean was around three miles deep.
Operations aboard the Chinese submarine had evolved into a routine of around the clock watch standing, endless drills, continuous maintenance, and constant surveillance. Of particular concern to Heilong’s commanding officer this day was the sonar report of a surface contact. Commander Yang Yu discussed the contact with Heilong’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Zheng Qin.
“What do you make of this?” asked Yang.
“It does appear to be following our track, matching our speed and heading.” Zheng was thirty-one, scrawny with jet-black hair cut to regulation length. Pockmarked from severe acne as a teen, his face mimicked the surface of the moon.
The two officers peered at the plotting table in the Heilong’s attack center. The electronic chart displayed the submarine’s current position and the sonar contact. Sonar identified the ship’s acoustic signature as a Japan Coast Guard cutter.
Commander Yang checked his wristwatch. “It’s been on the same course for an hour now.”
“But how could it detect us at this depth, Captain?”
“It shouldn’t.”
“It may just be a coincidence,” Zheng offered. “The ship’s likely on a routine fisheries patrol. Sonar reported over a dozen fishing vessels in the general area.”
“You’re probably right.” Yang stared at the digital chart. “We’ll continue as we are for the next hour. If it still follows, we’ll reevaluate our options at that time.”
“Very good, sir.”
The Japanese patrol ship changed course to a westerly heading twenty minutes before Yang’s time limit. Relieved that the sonar contact was a false alarm, Commander Yang decided to return to his stateroom for a nap. XO Zheng commanded as Yang rested.
In the Heilong’s wake some twenty miles away, a predator stalked its prey.
The USS Mississippi, ever vigilant, was ready to strike if ordered.