survived, and was, no doubt, about to be assigned to show the Chinese how wrong they were.
Captain Mackey was looking over the side of the bridge as the first Mk 48 was already being hoisted into the air and swung over from McKee to Cheyenne waiting crew. The job had to be hot if weapons were being transferred even before the mission debriefing.
Mack liked this assignment. He couldn't recall the last time an American submarine went after a real merchant convoy. During World War II, the Japanese had not developed a real convoy system like the United States had with the British. Most of the ships American submarines sank were independents or just ships travelling together. Closely escorted convoys like this one just weren't used.
Which meant that with this mission Cheyenne would get to set the standard for how a modern convoy battle occurred. Mack liked that a lot.
Cheyenne had more sophisticated weapons than were available during World War II, weapons that were faster and had a longer range, but so did the escort defenses. It would still be a case of Cheyenne getting into position as quietly as possible and then hitting the convoy before they could react.
'So we get to stop that convoy,' Mack said. He nodded and patted the side of the bridge. 'We can do that.'
'Yes, sir,' the executive officer said. Then his eyes focused beyond the captain. 'Looks like they're getting impatient on McKee. The combat systems officer and operations officer are already over there.'
Mack glanced over at the submarine tender and nodded. 'I'll be back as soon as I can. Let me know how long until the reload is completed when I get back. I suspect we'll need to be under way again as soon as possible.'
The executive officer gave a quick salute and said, 'Aye, aye, sir,' as Mack scrambled down the ladder to the control room. He then turned and looked out over the vast expanse of the South China Sea and wondered what the next few days would bring and how a modern convoy battle would really shape up.
Far out to sea, the same thoughts were going through the mind of the Chinese escort squadron commander as the convoy was steaming toward the Spratly Islands. The best speed some of the convoy ships could make was ten knots, which was far too slow to attempt a sudden dash to the Spratly Islands. But the South Sea fleet commander had been adamant about taking some of the AK troop transport ships and an ARS repair ship with the convoy. So now he was in command of a slow convoy with an escort squadron that was too small and underarmed. Only one of his seven ships carried helicopters for ASW prosecution, a mission area that the entire Chinese fleet was sorely inexperienced in. But they did have a lot of ASW ordnance. Years of cooperation with the then Soviet navy had sponsored a reliance on massive firepower. If an American submarine was unfortunate enough to be caught trying to torpedo any of his ships, a tremendous amount of firepower was available to respond. The big problem would be finding the American submarine.
The United States had notoriously quiet submarines. The first indication the Chinese would have that an American was out there would probably be when a ship blew up. But that could not be helped.
The convoy commander tightened his knuckles until white skin showed clearly through the gloom of the closing night. Rapid response and good joss would have to answer for American technology. That and a good plan. He permitted himself a slight smile. Since he could not dissuade the admiral from the convoy mission, he had at least tried his best to guarantee its safe arrival. He knew that the best weapon against a submarine was another submarine. Years of experience had taught him that. It was common sense and a frequently quoted slogan among American submariners, but none of the quiet diesel submarines in the Chinese fleet could keep up for long while underwater and running on its batteries, even with his slow convoy.
But they could be strategically placed in carefully selected locations and thus be in position to listen for, detect, and then kill any American submarine that attempted to attack the convoy.
He had no doubt that an American submarine would find and track the convoy. He had no doubt that an American submarine would attack the convoy. He had no doubt that a few, perhaps even several, of his ships would be sunk by the American submarine. But he also had no doubt that the American captain would never suspect that a string of hidden Chinese submarines would be strewn along the convoy's path like a manned minefield.
The American captain wouid pay dearly for attacking the convoy.
On board Cheyenne, plans for the attack were being made.
'Be seated, gentlemen.' Captain Mackey waved his officers to sit down on the wardroom chairs and bench seat. 'Here's the situation. A Chinese merchant convoy under close escort is headed toward the Spratly Islands with supplies, troops, and a repair ship. As we've already found out, the UN total exclusion zone doesn't mean anything to them. Our job is to intercept the convoy and prevent it from reaching the Spratlys by any means necessary.'
Mack paused to let that information sink in. 'Okay. The operations officer will let you know what we're up against.'
Mack leaned back in his chair and watched his officers as he listened to the briefing. Mack smiled to himself. They were ready. Their last foray had been a crucible to harden them into battle-tested veterans.
As Mack assessed his officers, the operations officer went on with his report. 'The convoy itself is comprised of four military troop transports, one ARS-type repair ship, four merchant container ships, and one merchant tanker. The convoy escort is made up of two Luda class destroyers, four Jianghu class frigates, and one Luhu class destroyer carrying two ASW helos. The convoy should be able to make thirteen knots, but our satellites are tracking it at only ten. We should be able to be in position just after they pass the exclusion zone at dusk in two days. Looks like they want to make the run in darkness to avoid detection for as long as possible.'
Captain Mackey sat upright in his chair after the operations officer sat down. 'Thanks, ops. Any questions?'
There weren't any, so Mack allowed the meeting to break up. 'Okay,' he said. 'You all know what to do. We're under way at 0600. We'll station the maneuvering watch at 0500. Dismissed.'
The executive officer crossed over to the coffeepot, poured two cups, and slowly added sugar to both. 'So how do you intend to play this, Captain?'
Mack leaned forward, interlocking his fingers beneath his chin. 'I'm not sure on this one,' he said. 'It's a different ballgame going after a convoy. There's no one primary target to focus on, planning how to attack it and avoid getting caught. Instead, we're going to have to make an attack, break off to reload as necessary, and then get back into position to re-attack. And keep on doing it until all the ships in the convoy are sunk or turn around.'
'Too bad we don't have a deck gun like the old boats.' The executive officer sipped his coffee as he set the other cup in front of Mack. 'But at least we've got range with both weapons and sensors against these guys. And we're faster, so getting back into position should be fairly easy. It shouldn't be any problem as long as we don't get too cocky.' He looked down at the captain's untouched coffee. 'But you're still not comfortable with it. What's wrong?'
'The escort squadron commander is what's wrong,' Mack said.
The executive officer looked up at his captain, 'Why does he bother you?'
Mack paused as the messenger of the watch entered the wardroom and, standing at attention in front of his captain, reported professionally, 'Captain, the officer of the deck sends his respects and reports the hour of 2000.' He then handed the 2000 report sheet to the captain.
When Mack had acknowledged the report, the messenger of the watch left the wardroom as quietly as he had entered.
When the messenger had departed, leaving the two of them alone once again, Mack straightened, took a long drink of coffee, and carefully set the cup back down. Getting to his feet, he moved toward the wardroom door and then paused with his hand on the doorknob. 'Because their commander is reportedly a previous submarine commanding officer, one of their best,' he said. 'Why would a submariner be in command of a surface escort group and baby-sitting the convoy?'
As the captain left the wardroom, the executive officer began to worry, too, and to wonder what would
