Ghost Force

Captain Vanislav's orders, delivered from Admiral Rankov in person, were to patrol the waters east of the islands awaiting the arrival of the Royal Navy Task Force. He was then to track the carrier from a distance, and with the utmost stealth, stay in satellite communication with the Rio Grande air base, and sink the Ark Royal with torpedoes one hour after the Argentine air assault was launched.

This of course would all have been much more difficult had the Task Force already arrived on station, but Captain Vanislav had given himself all the advantages of being in place first, in position, quietly awaiting the arrival of the enemy, transmitting nothing, moving slowly, betraying no sound, no radar paints in the dark underwater caverns of the South Atlantic.

The Royal Navy Fleet would be on high alert and extremely sensitive, not to mention trigger-happy. The slightest mistake from the crew of Viper would probably cause the roof to fall in, and not just metaphorically. The Royal Navy antisubmarine capability was legendary.

But now, in the small hours of this Monday morning, the Russian nuclear boat was in place, precisely where she wanted to be — in an area through which the British Task Force must pass if they were to fight this war.

Admiral Rankov had been specific…The British will not go west of the islands because that brings them within a much closer range of the Argentine air attack. They will stay east, as Admiral Woodward did last time. Position yourself in those eastern waters, stay quiet, and the Royal Navy will come to you. At the correct time, in the pandemonium of the air-sea battle, you will sink the Ark Royal. Then come home.

Captain Vanislav knew what to do. What he did not know, however, was the precise position of Captain Simon Compton's Astute, now patrolling some fifteen miles out to the west. He assumed at least one Royal Navy SSN was quietly patrolling these waters somewhere. And he guessed correctly it would be moving very slowly, virtually silent.

Astute's towed array was operational and she was listening for engine lines from an Argentinian submarine, as she had been for the past two days, and would continue to do until the Task Force arrived. Captain Hacking had Ambush doing precisely the same thing.

But there were no Argentinian warships anywhere outside the close-in coastal waters around the Falklands, and out here, where the seas were mostly deserted, there was no trace of any intruder.

At 0438, however, a decision was made in Viper that in retrospect might be judged as careless. Almost everyone on board knew there was still a slight noise in the indicator buoy stowage area, suggesting something was still loose, and had been all the way from the North Atlantic, where the buoy had broken loose.

Captain Vanislav, in the middle of this dark, overcast night, elected to surface and have it fixed or removed. And Viper K-157 blew her ballast and came sliding up out of the deep. It looked smooth, it was smooth, but in the underwater caverns of the South Atlantic, the sound of the high-pressure air expelling the ballast was loud, extremely loud to a patrolling Royal Navy SSN.

In HMS Astute, there was a glimmer of activity in the sonar room. Chief Petty Officer Roddy Matthews suddenly thought he may have heard a slight rise in the background noise…'Only a small increase in the level,' he murmured. 'Wait…it might have been rain, swishing on the surface. But I thought I heard something…give me a few minutes.'

The sonar operators froze. No one spoke, hearts momentarily paused. And three minutes later, at 0441, Chief Matthews spoke again…'I have a definite rise in the level…Christ! It sounds like a submarine blowing ballast…'

At 0451 a lightning bolt went through the sonar room…there was now a note of urgency in Chief Matthews's voice…Captain — sonar…I have definite sounds of a submarine surfacing… several miles away.

Sonar — captain…I'll be right there.

The CO literally ran into the room to be told immediately, 'It's not very close, sir. But no one could miss it. That was a submarine surfacing.'

Three minutes later the trail went cold, and the sounds of the Russian submarine slipped away. It was the last time she would be detected in these waters, because in the next couple of hours Captain Vanislav would slow down to five or six knots, as instructed by Admiral Rankov. And then she would be as silent as Astute and Ambush. Or very nearly so.

Captain Compton put a satellite signal on the net to the advancing Royal Navy fleet, directed to the Admiral's ops room in the Ark Royal. It read: 110458APR11: SSN Astute picked up unidentified submarine surfacing app. 51.50S 56.40W 0451 today. Estimate forty-five miles offshore. Request orders should possible Russian prowler stray again into Falklands battle zone. Compton, CO Astute.

Admiral Holbrook relayed it on to the UK, Fleet Headquarters, Northwood. Admiral Palmer was in the situation room in conference with the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Rodney Jeffries, and the two men both gazed somewhat quizzically at the signal from the depths of the South Atlantic.

'Possible Russian SSN? Christ, what's that about?' Admiral Palmer looked extremely disconcerted.

'Well, before we give it serious thought, I think we should alert the Americans. They may know more than we do about a Russian prowler, and they may have an immediate answer.'

Sir Rodney nodded and handed the signal to a young Lieutenant and requested it go immediately to U.S. Naval Intelligence, Washington. Five minutes later it was circulated to Fort Meade, and four minutes after that, at 0430, the NSA duty officer called Lt. Commander Ramshawe at home.

Jimmy was just out of the shower, intending to leave almost immediately for the office. With the Royal Navy about forty-eight hours from a head-on armed confrontation with the armed forces of Argentina, he and Admiral Morris were regularly meeting in the Director's office shortly after 0530.

He listened carefully to the signal that had come from Royal Navy HQ, Northwood, and snapped, 'Get it on my desk and on Admiral Morris's desk right now. We'll both be there inside an hour.'

In fact he was there inside forty-five minutes, and having read it carefully could think only one thought… I have to tell the Big Man. He'll probably have a fit if I wake him at 0530, but not as big as the one he'll have if I don't.

'This better be fucking critical,' growled Arnold Morgan down the telephone, not caring one way or another who was on the end of the line.

'It is, Arnie,' said Jimmy, all business. 'That possible Russian submarine, the one we almost concluded was an Akula-class boat, Gepard, Cougar, or Viper, just showed up in the middle of the battle zone, forty-five miles off the eastern side of East Falkland. Royal Navy SSN picked it up on sonar, surfacing, couple of hours ago.'

'Tell me you're kidding.'

'Nossir.'

'Is George in yet?'

'No, but he'll be here in ten.'

'I'm coming over right now.' Bang. Down phone.

For some obscure reason, the Admiral's flat refusal to utter the word good-bye, or even thanks for calling, always took Jimmy by surprise.

He was not, however, as deeply startled as Mrs. Kathy Morgan, who very nearly fell out of bed when her husband actually bellowed at the top of his lungs, one hour before the sun rose over the Potomac, 'Ch-a-a-a-a-rlie!!! Quarter deck ten minutes with the car!'

'God Almighty,' she said. 'Did you have to yell like that?'

'Oh, don't worry,' replied the Admiral. 'Charlie's used to it…gotta go.'

Downstairs, Charlie did indeed hear the Admiral's bellow. The people who lived three houses away probably heard the Admiral's bellow.

Fully dressed, in readiness for just such a call, the chauffeur rushed outside, pulled the car up to the door, engine running, and was waiting patiently when the Admiral came piling out into the dawn, nine minutes later, dressed immaculately in a dark gray suit, white shirt, Annapolis tie, and highly polished shoes. Since his days as a midshipman, he always shaved right before he went to bed, just in case there was an emergency. As this most definitely was.