Dangerous Ground

“Conn, sonar, we’ve detected a third explosion, this one to port, bearing two nine five. Classify explosions as echo-ranging line charges.”

“Sonar, conn, concur with your assessment,” Hardy answered. “Keep a sharp lookout for anything that sounds like a Bear Foxtrot.”

“Conn, sonar aye.”

Jerry had to remember his sub school classes on allied and foreign ASW systems. The U.S. Navy used explosive echo-ranging back in the 1950s, before active sonobuoys entered the Fleet. The theory behind explosive echo-ranging was simple enough. Lay a field of passive sonobuoys, then drop small explosive charges. The buoys not only picked up the sound of the explosion, but any echoes off the hull of a submerged sub. The U.S. Navy stopped using the technique in the 1970s, however, because in practice it proved a lot harder to do.

The Soviets, on the other hand, had never given up on the idea, and they perfected it long before the West did. It was used to find quiet submarines operating in shallow water. Like Memphis in the Kara Sea.

It meant that there was a passive sonobuoy field near them, which had been laid by antisubmarine aircraft. Now they were monitoring the field and dropping charges, trying to find them.

“The charges are small ones,” Hardy explained. “They’re less than a pound, not much more than grenades. If they get close enough, though, they’ll find us.”

“But why didn’t we hear the aircraft this time?” asked Patterson, showing a hint of fear.

“They’re probably up high enough that the blade noise was attenuated before it reached the water. They didn’t want to spook the prey,” replied Hardy flatly. “Good tactics on their part.”

It was a nasty situation. Go fast to get away from a sonobuoy field, and you’d make enough noise for the passive buoys to pick up. Creep along, and you’re in the field long enough for them to locate you with the explosive echo-ranging.

“Mr. Berg,” the Captain ordered, “come right to course zero six zero, speed five knots. Mind your depth. I want to keep us as close to the bottom as possible and rig ship for ultra-quiet. Ladies, I need you to return to your stateroom.” Without protest, Patterson and Davis left control.

Jerry only glanced at the chart, but it was clear Hardy was taking them out of the trench, which was the sensible thing to do. The trench was an obvious route for any sub trying to leave the area, so the Russians had laid a barrier across that ten or fifteen miles. Leave the trench, and now their quarry could be anywhere in the Kara Sea. Except the trench, of course.

Lenny Berg repeated the Captain’s course and speed order and ordered Memphis down to eight hundred feet. That left sixty feet under the keel. “Jerry, get over there and watch that fathometer. Report the depth every time it changes more than ten feet.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Jerry answered.

“Conn, sonar, more explosive charges, to the north and the south.”

“Sonar, conn aye,” Berg replied, with Hardy nodding his understanding. The Russians were closing in, bracketing their position, but Memphis was already doing what needed to be done.

Jerry kept his eyes glued to the fathometer. “Depth is eight four zero feet.”

Berg replied, “Understood,” and continued working at the chart. He ordered, “Diving officer, make your depth seven eight zero feet.”

Chief Swanson repeated the depth and double-checked the planesman as he brought the boat up to the new depth. Jerry called out the depth as the bottom sloped upward.

Hugging the bottom, Memphis crept and inched her way northeast into shallower and shallower water. Berg kept his eyes on the chart and made sure the boat was never more than sixty feet off the bottom. “Sir, I recommend coming left ten degrees. There’s a deeper spot at three two zero relative, and it also puts us on a more northerly course.”

“Stay on this course, mister.” Hardy shook his head. “They were waiting for us in one deep spot. Right now, if I could, I’d put wheels on this boat.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Berg replied.

Jerry rapidly called out the depth changes, “Depth is four two zero feet and shoaling.” He tried not to sound worried. So what if the charts were incomplete? So what if the Russians were chasing them?

The sudden call on the intercom shocked them all. “Conn, sonar. Engine noises off the port bow. Multiple contacts.”

Hardy took over. “Mr. Berg, I have the conn. Increase speed to ten knots, right fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course zero nine zero. Mr. Berg, watch our depth.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Our depth is good for the next mile on this course.”

“Right fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course zero nine zero, helm aye.”

“Maneuvering making turns for ten knots.”

“Very well,” replied Hardy to the stream of reports, his eyes shifting quickly between the sonar display, fire control, and the nav chart.

“Sonar, conn. What can you tell me about those contacts?”

“Conn, sonar. I’ve got four surface contacts close aboard. They appeared suddenly and I’m getting high blade rates on all of them. I believe they were loitering in the area and now they’ve increased speed to close on us. They currently bear between zero four four and zero six five.” After a moment’s pause, the sonar operator added, “Conn, sonar. Detecting Bull Horn transmissions. Same bearings as the surface contacts.”

The report was largely redundant, as the acoustic intercept receiver started bleeping its warning tones as soon as the ships above them lit off their sonars.

That would put them right over that deeper spot that Lenny had wanted to use, Jerry thought. The Russians were using the landscape to their advantage. But how had they known Memphis was passing by? And where did those ships come from? We didn’t hear them at all!

Another buoy field, he thought. They knew Memphis would leave the trench once she heard the explosions and flushed her from one trap toward another: toward the hunters sitting in a duck blind.

The Captain continued to work with sonar. “Sonar, conn. What is the bearing rate of the surface contacts?”

“Conn, sonar. Very slight right drift, sir, and their blade rate’s increasing, they’re cavitating. I think they’re building up to maximum speed.”

“Man battle…”

Rippling thunder interrupted Hardy’s order. A deep rumble filled the air inside the boat and stopped all activity, every quiet conversation. It was a rough, uneven noise that rose and fell, but as it fell, Jerry felt a mild vibration in the deck and the bulkhead. The Russians were shooting at them.

“Launch an NAE beacon!” Hardy ordered. “Man battle stations. Change course to three five zero, speed twelve knots. Mr. Berg, our depth?”

“We can increase depth to two hundred feet, sir. As long as we’re heading northwest at all, the slope will be downward.”

“Conn, sonar. Multiple clusters of explosions to port and starboard. Evaluated as RBU 6000 fire.” It was old news, but knowing the explosion’s location and identifying the weapon was helpful, if distressing.

Hardy nodded to Berg, then pressed the key on the intercom. “My intention is to run under them and get in their baffles while they try to sort out that countermeasure.”

Berg cautioned, “We risk leaving a wake at this speed and depth, sir.”

“I’m hoping they’ll miss it in the roiled water from the attack. Make your depth one eight zero feet,” the Captain ordered. “That should help as well.”

Lieutenant Commander O’Connell, the Navigator and battle stations OOD, came in and quickly relieved Lenny Berg. That freed up Jerry as well, and he hurried down to the torpedo room.

Most of the torpedo division was already at their stations. Jerry saw Senior Chief Foster fussing with the firing panel. He’d already declared it dead, even cremated, but he wouldn’t stop trying to resurrect it.

The phone talker, TM2 Boyd, saw Jerry and said, “Control wants to man stations for Manta launch, just in case. We’re still at ultra-quiet.”

Jerry quickly put on his phones and started checking the panel. Davidson and Greer were already at their