Empire Rising (35 page)

Christine examined the geographic display. The torpedo was approaching the protrusion in the ocean bottom
Michigan
had just passed over. If they were lucky, the torpedo would lock on to the rock outcropping instead of
Michigan
.

“Twenty seconds to impact.”

A few seconds later, a deafening explosion filled Christine's ears, followed by hollow tings echoing through Control as chunks of rock bounced off
Michigan
's steel hull. After another minute, the sound of high-speed propellers, accompanied by high-pitched sonar pings, streaked overhead from starboard to port, followed a few seconds later by identical sounds passing from port to starboard. The other two torpedoes had missed
Michigan
, hunkered down on the ocean bottom, indistinguishable from a large rock formation.

After the second torpedo passed overhead, Captain Wilson began issuing orders. “Rig for Reduced Electrical Power. Shut down the reactor.”

The submarine's Engineer, on watch as Officer of the Deck, relayed the Captain's orders, and throughout the submarine, all nonessential equipment was secured, reducing the electrical demand to within the submarine battery's capacity. As the crew continued securing nonessential loads, Wilson tapped Lieutenant Cordero on the shoulder again.

“Relieve the Engineer as Officer of the Deck.” Wilson turned to the Engineer. “Get the Turbine Generators and all nonessential loads secured as quickly as possible. The Chinese submarines are going to be overhead in a few minutes, sniffing around to ensure the first torpedo finished us off, and we need to look as much like a rock as possible. Also inspect the Engine Room to determine if we sustained any damage while driving along the bottom.”

The Engineer acknowledged, and after he was relieved by Lieutenant Cordero, the submarine's senior department head proceeded aft. As the crew rigged the submarine for Reduced Electrical Power, the ventilation fans in Control drifted to a halt, and an uneasy silence settled over the Control Room. The nuclear-powered submarine's battery was small by diesel submarine standards, and wouldn't last long. Even if they successfully simulated a rock, they could not sit on the bottom forever.

*   *   *

Five minutes later, the Engineer's voice emanated from the speaker on the Conn. “Captain, Engineer. Both Turbine Generators are secured and the reactor plant is shut down. All nonessential machinery is secured. There is no noticeable damage in the Engineering spaces, although it looks like we sucked quite a bit of silt into the main condensers before we were able to secure the Main Seawater Pumps. Once we start the reactor back up again, we won't be able to sit on the bottom for long or we'll foul the main condensers.”

Wilson acknowledged the Engineer's report, then queried Sonar over the 27-MC. “Report status of sonar systems.”

The Sonar Supervisor replied, “We've lost the towed array, but the spherical array appears fully operational.”

“Sonar, Conn. Aye.” As Wilson examined the sonar monitor at the front of the Conn, a faint white trace materialized from the random static.

A moment later, the Executive Officer turned toward Wilson, one hand on his sound-powered phone earmuffs and his other holding the mouthpiece. “Sir, Sonar reports a new contact, Sierra four-eight, classified Yuan class submarine. Most likely one of the three previous contacts.” Before Wilson could respond, a powerful sonar ping echoed through Control.

Conversation in Control ceased again as Captain Wilson and his men listened tensely with upturned faces, as if they could see the Chinese submarine lurking above them. Lieutenant Cordero joined Wilson in front of the sonar display. As the white trace and random static reflected off their pale faces, two additional faint white traces appeared on the monitor. Seconds later, two more pings echoed through Control, one slightly louder than the other.

Wilson turned to the Chief of the Watch, seated at the Ballast Control Panel on the port side of Control. “Chief of the Watch, pass over the X1J, secure all MC comms. Sound-powered comms only.”

The Chief of the Watch acknowledged and passed the order over his sound-powered phones. A moment later, the ship's Engineer returned to Control. Wilson asked quietly, “How long will the battery last?”

“At the current discharge rate, six hours.”

Wilson rubbed the side of his face again, eventually turning toward his Executive Officer. “XO.” He motioned for Lieutenant Commander Greenwood to join him on the Conn.

As the XO stepped onto the Conn, Wilson relayed the Engineer's information. “Eng estimates the battery will last six hours. We might have to remain on the bottom much longer than that before we convince our friends we're dead, so we need to get the discharge rate down to a trickle. I'm taking everything off-line, including all tactical systems. Any objections?”

The XO shook his head slowly. “They're not doing us much good right now anyway.”

Wilson issued new orders to Lieutenant Cordero, and one by one, the console displays in Control faded to black until every watchstander sat in front of a dormant console. The overhead lights in the Control Room suddenly extinguished, and a second later, yellow emergency battle lanterns flickered on, casting an eerie yellow pall across the men and equipment in Control.

Christine leaned toward Captain Wilson, catching his attention. “What do we do now?”

Wilson's dark eyes probed hers for a moment before answering.

“We wait.”

 

54

WASHINGTON, D.C.

It was just after midnight when Captain Steve Brackman and the president descended the single flight of stairs into the basement of the West Wing, stepping into the crowded Situation Room. The entire military hierarchy was present—the Joint Chiefs of Staff, along with SecDef Jennings and various Cabinet members. In the few hours he'd been away, Brackman hoped the Japanese Self-Defense Force had stabilized its positions. But the look on the faces of the men in the room, accompanied by a glance at the eight-by-ten-foot monitor in the Situation Room, told Brackman the situation had deteriorated faster than expected.

In the eight days since the assault began, China had gained complete control of three of the four main Japanese islands; only portions of Honshu remained in Japanese hands. As expected, defense of Tokyo—the largest city on the island and the location of the Emperor's palace—was fierce. However, the PLA Army had pushed past both sides of the city and reached Tokyo Bay, completely encircling Japan's capital. Although the fate of the Japanese forces cut off in Tokyo was a concern, the status of Honshu's eastern shoreline was the more important issue.

The only way to defeat China was to land the three Marine Expeditionary Forces. Hopefully, with the Marines' superior air and ground firepower, along with the augmented air wing aboard
Reagan
, they could hold out until additional Marine Corps and Army troops arrived. Although the MEFs were equipped and trained for contested amphibious assault, the casualties suffered storming a defended beach could be enormous. Thankfully, most of the eastern shore of Honshu was still controlled by the Japanese Self-Defense Force. But at the rate the JSDF was retreating, there would soon be no viable beachheads in friendly hands.

The stress was getting to everyone. Brackman could sense the frustration smoldering inside the president, and discussions amongst the Joint Chiefs of Staff were on the verge of flaring into confrontations and accusations. How could the United States have been caught so flat-footed; how had malware been inserted into their weapon systems; and how were their satellites and tactical data links so easily jammed? Even worse, threatening to ignite the situation with its implications, not a single Atlantic Fleet submarine had emerged from under the Arctic ice cap. The lead submarines were now six hours overdue.

Brackman took his seat at the conference table as the president settled into his chair and asked for an update. Admiral Grant Healey, Chief of Naval Operations, answered. “
Ronald Reagan
continues toward Japan and has linked up with the three MEFs. We'd normally keep the MEFs well behind until the situation stabilizes, but we don't have time. We project we'll lose the last beachhead in three days, so we have to start moving toward shore. Of course, we'll have to call everything off without the Atlantic Fleet submarines. Without fast attacks to clear a safe path to Japan,
Reagan
won't be able to get close enough to sustain flight operations, and you can forget about landing the three MEFs. The Chinese submarines will sink the amphibs as they approach the coast.”

The president nodded tightly as Healey fell silent. “What's the status of the Atlantic Fleet submarines?” the president asked. “Were they sunk when the Chinese bombed the ice pack?”

Healey hesitated a moment before answering. “I don't know, sir.”

The president silently digested Healey's answer. Brackman had felt the uneasiness in the room deepen as each hour passed without word from any of their submarines. Each element of their plan had to succeed: the Atlantic Fleet submarines had to complete their under-ice transit,
Reagan
had to reach striking distance of Japan, and most important of all, the SEAL team had to succeed.

As the president stared at Admiral Healey in silence, Brackman was distracted by the appearance of a blue icon on the monitor hanging against the far wall; a lone symbol appearing in the Bering Strait between Alaska and Russia. The other eyes at the conference table followed Brackman's to the monitor, the mood lifting instantaneously as another icon appeared five miles to the east, and a few seconds later, another icon to the west. The lead Atlantic Fleet submarines had completed their under-ice transit and had entered the Pacific Ocean.

 

CASTLE

 

55

USS
ANNAPOLIS

“No close contacts!”

As USS
Annapolis
reached periscope depth, the Officer of the Deck's announcement was the first piece of routine news Commander Ramsey Hootman had heard in a while. Just over a day ago, the ice pack above
Annapolis
had broken apart, sending jagged ice keels downward, crashing into the submarine's steel hull. But they were lucky; although the Engine Room hull had been deformed, the three-inch-thick steel hadn't been punctured. However, the seawater cooling system pipes had cracked in multiple places, spraying frigid water throughout the Engine Room, and Ramsey's crew had shut the Emergency Flood Isolation Valves. Six hours later, the seawater piping had been repaired and propulsion restored, and
Annapolis
had surged south again.

They were now in the Marginal Ice Zone just north of St. Lawrence Island in the Bering Strait, and as
Annapolis
cruised at periscope depth, the lack of announcements troubled Ramsey. The Quartermaster should have reported a GPS satellite fix by now, and there was no report from Radio either.

The Navigator stepped onto the Conn. “Sir, we've reported our successful under-ice transit and our position. There must be some sort of makeshift communication system overhead, because we received an acknowledgment, but nothing else. All satellites are still down. Unable to obtain a GPS fix or download the submarine broadcast.”

“Understand,” Ramsey replied.

This was not good news. The first order of business after completing an under-ice transit was to determine the ship's position.
Annapolis
had navigated across the top of the world using her two inertial navigators, and they had become unstable as they approached the North Pole. As a result, their estimated position could be off by several miles. They couldn't approach close to shore, clearing the way for the Marine Expeditionary Forces, without knowing exactly where they were. Even more important, they needed to download new software for their torpedoes. Both of those efforts required satellites.

Ramsey stepped off the Conn, stopping at the Navigation Table, joined by the Nav. Ramsey searched for a way to verify their position. The GPS satellites were still inoperable, and the old LORAN and Omega systems had been retired years earlier. As he studied the navigation chart, an idea took hold. They were just north of St. Lawrence Island, where the water shallowed rapidly—they could do a bottom contour fix. By comparing the water depth measured by the submarine's Fathometer to charted depth, they could verify their position, at least to within a hundred yards. Not good enough for launching ballistic missiles, but good enough for submarine warfare.

Ramsey explained the plan to the Nav, then turned to his Officer of the Deck. “Bring her down to five hundred feet, ahead standard, course two-zero-zero.” The Officer of the Deck complied, and a moment later
Annapolis
tilted downward, increasing depth and speed.

 

56

USS
RONALD REAGAN

Beneath gunmetal-gray clouds, a driving rain pelted USS
Reagan
as the aircraft carrier surged through dark green seas at ahead flank speed. As daylight faded, Captain CJ Berger surveyed the wet Flight Deck through the port Bridge windows, noting the slow, but steady progress of the shipyard's Tiger Teams, reassembling the aircraft carrier's arresting cables. It was a race against time.

The Atlantic Fleet air wing had been circling above for hours, taking turns refueling from a dozen tankers accompanying the aircraft. Whoever decided to augment the air wing with Air Force KC-10 refueling tankers was a wise man or woman. The speed at which the Tiger Teams reassembled
Reagan
's flight systems was impressive considering the complexity of their task, but they still lagged behind predictions.

As difficult as it was to prepare
Reagan
to get underway, reassembling enough of her systems to conduct flight operations had been even more challenging. All four catapults were still inoperable, and the Tiger Teams had focused first on restoring the systems required for landing. Two of the ship's four elevators were back in operation, so ferrying aircraft to the Hangar Deck below wouldn't be a problem. Slowing the aircraft as they landed, their tailhooks catching an arresting wire, was the last remaining issue.