H.M.S. Unseen

Navy base in this part of the world is situated bang in the middle of absolutely nowhere, 1,000 miles south- southwest of the tip of the Indian subcontinent, 7 degrees south of the equator, 1,600 miles east of the Horn of Africa. It feels like the hot end of the earth, and the nights are dark and silent. It is not the favorite place of United States Navy personnel.

Commander Krause ordered a course of two-two-five, heading southwest away from the Chagos Archipelago, a group of towering underwater peaks that rise up from an ocean depth of 16,000 feet between DG and the southern end of the Carlsberg Ridge.

Navigation Officer Lieutenant Richard Farrington, who stood on the bridge with the captain, put the total distance to the search area at 1,587 miles. Columbia’s two nuclear-powered turbines, which generated 35,000 horsepower, would have to drive her at a high-speed 27-knot average, twenty-four hours a day, to give them a chance. That meant well over 600 miles a day, which the commander thought was touch-and- go, even with no stops. Six miles off the island, he ordered her deep “Make your depth 400 feet…all ahead flank…steer two-two-five.”

Columbia thus raced toward the southwest. On the first day her objectives were simple; she wanted to be over the line of 70 degrees longitude by midday, and out over the north end of the Mid- Indian Ridge by midnight. On Wednesday it was even simpler; she needed to be across the Nazareth Bank, south of Mauritius, and the 60-degree line of longitude, before midnight. That would give her a reasonable ten-hour run to the search area. All of that assumed there would not be the slightest problem in running. The only slowdown factor would be periodic moves to the surface for GPS checks and satellite comms.

And they very nearly made it. A CO₂ scrubber went on the blink after twelve hours, which cost them ninety minutes fixing it and ventilating the boat afterward. But they were only two hours late at the Nazareth Bank, and they made good speed into the area west of the 53-degree line of longitude, where Columbia came to periscope depth. Lieutenant Farrington had them bang on 18.55 South, and at 1139 on Thursday morning, as they slowed down to come to periscope depth, they picked up some odd noises directly ahead. Through the periscope they thought they saw something about 10 miles off their port bow… but it was difficult to identify.

The captain himself finally expressed the view that it could have been the fast-disappearing fin of a submarine, beam on. They just caught a glimpse, and it was gone. POSIDENT was very difficult. It could have been an Upholder-Class submarine, but it had disappeared before he saw it, just as Columbia had come to periscope depth. The fact was they were too far away to do much about it. Except watch and proceed cautiously in the same direction, using passive sonar for the moment. Active was not an option, for fear of alerting their target.

But they never saw it again. Columbia continued her careful approach, the sonar revealing nothing. And it was with great reluctance that the American team had to admit to themselves they had missed their quarry. The carbon dioxide scrubber, which allowed them to breathe, had cost them the mission.

For half an hour they moved forward, now steering course three-one-five. Still on passive, still watching the screen for the slightest indication. But it was to no avail. HMS Unseen possessed all of the most diabolical attributes of stealth and silence that were common to the Russian Kilo. If she stayed slow at around five knots, she was literally impossible to hear. And Columbia was hearing nothing. The only information Mike Krause and his sonar team had was that the submarine was probably an Upholder, clearly the tiresomely named Unseen. She had showed up right on time at 18.55 South, 52.20 East, her last-known position. And she was last seen heading north 200 miles off the east coast of Madagascar. Destination unknown.

The CO knew that he probably could open up on active sonar and pick up his fleeing opponent. But that course of action had its dangers. Unseen was a very quiet, possibly hostile submarine, and she could be within 10 miles of him. He had been told not to sink anyone without POSIDENT, and he could not swear that he had it. And there was the possibility of a preemptive shot against him, at short range, with short notice. Mike Krause was not too happy about any of that.

And it was with some irritation that the CO came back to PD at 1300 and accessed the satellite to inform SUBLANT he had traveled flat out, but had been too late. By about fifteen minutes. To give chase now on active sonar, Mike Krause felt he needed new rules of engagement. Caution was his watchword. He was no Boomer Dunning.

By now Admiral Morgan had joined Joe Mulligan on the line to Alan Cattee in Hawaii, and news of the near miss spread an aura of gloom, lightened only by the fact that Ben Adnam had certainly provided data.

Nonetheless, Admiral Morgan decided to test him again, and he went back into the interrogation room and barked at the captured terrorist. “Sonofabitch was not there…the goddamned ocean was deserted…you told me there would be a fueling tanker in the area and my team found nothing. If you’re bullshitting me, Adnam, you might be spending your last day on this earth.”

If Adnam’s nerve was going, he betrayed nothing. “Admiral Morgan, I gave you the best information I have. But you know and I know that a refueling point can change at any time. The time and position can be pushed forward or back. My reading of this situation is that the submarine had already fueled and gone by, and is still proceeding north for possibly another 3,000 miles, into the deep waters of the Arabian Sea toward the Strait of Hormuz.”

He was uncertain of the precise destination, but he knew the projected route. When he had left Unseen the plan was to run north in shallower coastal water toward Oman. He thought it unlikely that Iraq would be able to keep the submarine, and that they might scuttle it in the Arabian Sea. Alternately, he believed it possible they might sell it to another Middle Eastern country, possibly Iran, which had superior submarine facilities, and which might pay very highly for such a boat.

“It’s a pretty goddamned hot property for that, isn’t it,” grunted Morgan.

“True, but ships can be altered. And Iran has excellent facilities for working on submarines. I do not, however, have firm information about their intentions. The plan was always that I should leave the ship in the Atlantic. When my mission was complete.”

Either way, Commander Adnam had indicated that the newly refueled Unseen would make for a point 400 miles east of Mombasa. From there he said it would run up the long coast of Somalia, past the Horn of Africa, and across the Gulf of Aden into the national waters of Oman, west of the ops area for the American CVBGs.

Admiral Art Barry’s Battle Group was steaming north under the clear skies of the southern Arabian Basin, way south of the Gulf of Oman, in depths of more than seventeen thousand feet. The giant carrier Ronald Reagan, pitching heavily forward, through great ocean swells, at over 20 knots, was surrounded by a formidable arsenal of Naval firepower, two cruisers, three destroyers, four guided-missile frigates, a nuclear submarine, and a big fleet replenishment ship.

SUBPAC sent a signal to Admiral Barry that arrived at midnight. In broad terms it detailed the possible route of HMS Unseen as supplied by her former commanding officer to Admiral Morgan. Admiral Cattee had been advised that Columbia was planning to follow that route in the hope of catching the fleeing Iraqi captain. The stolen Royal Navy submarine was expected to make the final 300 miles into the Strait of Hormuz on her battery; thus she could be expected to come shallow to snorkel-charge, maybe twice, when she was between 500 and 350 miles south of the strait, close to the Omani coastline.

Admiral Mulligan suggested that Admiral Barry conduct a search in that area beginning in two weeks…on May 10. The ideal solution, so far as he was concerned, was to hunt the submarine to exhaustion, force her to the surface, then board and search, identifying precisely who they were and who had controlled her operations. Then sink her. No word was mentioned about her precise activities over the past three months. But Art Barry was quite sure about the tone of the signal. Urgent.

And he sent immediately for his destroyer escort squadron commander, COMDESRON, Captain Chuck Freeburg, and his Group Operations Officer, Captain Amos Clark from North Dakota. The three men ordered coffee and pondered the charts. It was no problem to arrive off the Omani coast in plenty of time; the question was whether to take the entire force, or just peel off three destroyers or frigates and send them on alone.

Admiral Barry thought they might need fixed-wing aircraft as well as helos for such a search. This would mean the whole force would move over to the western reaches of the Arabian Sea. That decision was up to him, and he made it quickly. Everyone would go to help find the Royal Navy submarine that was causing so much angst