“I think the inland seas would be a big mistake, Ravi,” emphasized Admiral Badr. “But I accept that the final word is yours. And I will abide by your decision.”
The General smiled and said, “Let’s go, Ben, all ahead…”
“Which way, sir?”
“Straight into the North Pacific.”
“Aye, sir.”
And so they accelerated to the southeast, taking a route south of the bigger islands of Yaku-shima and Tanega-shima. They crossed the line that marks the Japan Current and held their depth at 150 feet. They left the ocean rises of Gaja-shima and Yakana-shima to starboard, twice coming to periscope depth, just short of the 130 degree line of longitude. They picked up the flashing light on Gaja and then the more southerly warning off Yakana.
And after that it was much simpler. The ocean shelved down to depths of more than two miles, and there was relief in the voice of Admiral Badr when he made his course change.
They held a course inshore, some 60 miles off the jutting headlands of Ahizuri, Stiono, and Nojima Beach, the latter of which lies 50 miles south of Tokyo. The seabed rose and fell along here, and the water was famously “noisy,” never less than a mile deep, and full of crisscrossing currents. Captain Mohtaj had the ship where he wanted it, in deep, turbulent sea, full of fish and undersea caverns where the mysterious sounds of the deep echo and re-echo, causing mass confusion to all sonar operators.
The
They were still 60 miles offshore, 1,440 miles and five days out from Huludao, when they made their turn up towards Japan’s big triangular northern island of Hokkaido, north of the 40th parallel. From here they would begin to edge out to starboard to the east, away from the Russian patrols along the Kurils. Ravi insisted on ensuring a good distance between themselves and the Kamchatka Peninsula, when eventually they reached that far northern outpost of the old Soviet Navy’s Pacific Fleet.
The first landfall they would record would be the Alaskan Island of Attu, which sits at the very end of the Aleutians, bang in the middle of the North Pacific, dead opposite, and due east of, the Russian Navy Base of Petropavlovsk, less than 500 miles of ocean between them.
The Aleutians stretch in a narrow 1,000-mile crescent from the seaward tip of the great southwestern panhandle of Alaska, more than halfway across the Pacific, dividing the world’s largest ocean from the Bering Sea, which lies to the north of the islands. The weather, all along the Aleutian chain, is mostly diabolical, a freezing, storm-lashed hell for eight months of the year.
Not that this worried General Ravi and his men, who would make the journey past the islands in the warm comfort of their underwater hotel, way below the gales and thunderous ocean.
For 1,500 miles they ran northeast from the Japanese coast south of Tokyo. They stayed deep, leaving the little cluster of Russia’s Komandorskiye Islands 120 miles to the north, off their port beam. These remotest of islands stand 140 miles off Kamchatka, with their southeasterly point only 180 miles from the outer Alaskan Island of Attu.
The Commanding Officer of
Admiral Badr knew the Stalemate required a wide berth, but he considered its eastward side too close to Attu Island. To transit the 230-fathom channel between the two would take them far too close to known American ocean surveillance. Attu was a very sensitive listening station for the U.S. Navy, having stood as the first line of defense against ships from Soviet Russia for many, many years.
In Shakira’s opinion, they needed to make a slow sweep around to the north and then begin their 1,000-mile journey along the island chain. It was Friday, July 16, shortly after noon, and they were moving very slightly north of the 53rd parallel, heading due east across the two-mile-deep Bowers Basin, which lies to the north of Attu.
There is a long, near-deserted seaway between the Attu group and the next little cluster of Rat Islands, and according to all the data Shakira had amassed, the U.S. Navy surveillance, both radar and sonar, were extremely active all through these waters. She had spoken at some length to Admiral Badr and they agreed they should give Attu a wide berth to the north and to stay out there for 540 miles, deep at 600 feet, making no more than 7 knots.
That ought to take them past the next major U.S. listening station on Atka Island somewhere to the north of Nazan Bay. Thereafter, the Aleutians comprised the much larger, yet still long, narrow islands, Unmak, Unalaska, and Unimak, all three of which Shakira claimed would have intense U.S. surveillance in place.
They had of course accepted Shakira’s assessment of the southern route, which she had deemed impossible, since she was stone-cold certain there would be at least one, and possibly two, Los Angeles — class nuclear submarines patrolling the Aleutian Trench 24/7, the long, deep ditch that lay between the sensitive U.S. Navy SOSUS wires to the south and the southern shores of the Aleutian Islands.
On the previous mission Lieutenant Commander Shakira had claimed she would rather see the whole operation abandoned than risk being fired upon in the Aleutian Trench by a U.S. submarine, which would unleash deadly accurate torpedoes, fatal to any intruder.
They crept past Attu Island at slow speed, 600 feet below the surface, the great black titanium hull of the
Immediately the bow went down and the
The CPO Ali Zahedi had an instant vision of the submarine heading all the way to the bottom, and shouted…“
The 47,000 hp turbines slowed and then churned furiously in the water, pounding the wash over the hull the wrong way and causing the nearest thing to underwater commotion a big, quiet nuclear boat can manage.
The huge prop thrashed, arresting the forward speed, then hauling the 8,000-tonner backwards. But the angle was still wrong.
Everyone heard the for’ard tanks blow their ballast, much more loudly than Admiral Badr would have wished. The submarine righted itself. And moments later the secondary system came on line and the jammed plane moved correctly. There were already two engineers working on the seal change, trying desperately not to make a noise, hanging on carefully to the rubber-coated wrenches, knowing the crash of anything on the metal deck could be heard miles away. Everyone in the boat was aware of the continued, unbreakable rule of silence, the need to tiptoe through the ocean, making certain that no one, anywhere, could hear anything, ever.
Unfortunately, luck was against them. The U.S. listening and processing station at the easternmost point of Attu picked up the sound, at 45 miles. And it was a strong signal, more than just a fleeting “paint” on the sonar. The young American operator nearly fell off his stool, so stark were the marks of the
