Run With The Brave (26 page)

In
Tekumah's
control centre, Commander Lehmann stared incredulously at his XO after his return from questioning Ryder and Afari in the sickbay.

“Missile base? You're saying, Lieutenant, two missiles were fired from the mountain we are to target before it blew. Holy mother, were they meant for our homeland?”

“More than likely, sir.”

“That explains the order to target the mountain and Tehran, and now to destroy the Kilo probably sent to finish the job.” Lehmann shook his head.

“Could we be at war with Iran?”

“Maybe, Joseph,” the commander shrugged, cursing under his breath. No communication with Central Command was permitted under the current attack conditions. “When we go to the surface have what they said put on the SAT and we'll ask the question.” He paused to look at the data monitors. “Was the mountain destroyed?”

“They believe so – at least in part.”

“What the hell were they doing out at night in the middle of the Strait?”

“Apparently part of a mission by our Special Forces to destroy the base; they're the only two survivors. They were trying to escape to Oman. The woman is Iranian; has a shoulder wound – not serious. The man's a Brit; he's okay, just needs rest.”

The commander looked down at the chart table, features grim. “If that was the Kilo we heard,” he said, running his finger over the Strait of Hormuz, “my guess is she entered the Clarence Strait and is now somewhere about here,” he pointed to the narrow strip of water between the Iranian coastline and the eastern end of the long island of Qeshm.

“The Strait is shallow – difficult to navigate,” said the XO. “The narrows at Khuran even more so,” he pointed to the western end of the island. “No more than 100 feet, if that.”

“Taking that course is the most direct to get to latitude fifty-two; slower, yes, but less chance of detection. If right we could cross her path about here,” he stabbed a finger at the channel between the islands of Qey and Jazireh Forur, respectively ten and twenty miles off the Iranian Coast. “We'll have the element of surprise. The Iranians will not suspect an ambush; they will be too focused on the mission and try to avoid trouble.”

“Not if we're blocking their path,” replied the XO. “They think we're hostile, instinct will be to attack before we do.”

“We'll position ourselves ready. Anyway if we're wrong we still have time to make a sweep west towards the centre of the Gulf.”

“They could have reached Jazireh already with a head start of almost twelve hours,” said Lieutenant Levi, looking up from the chart table.

“I doubt it,” replied the CO, not taking eyes away from the chart. “The Clarence and Khuran would slow them considerably. They would not be able to make more than five to six knots, and at that rate it will take a little less than thirty hours to pass Jazireh from the base. If already twelve ahead, that leaves eighteen. We could be in the channel in ten, doing fifteen knots.”

“We could also be detected,” said the XO.

“A risk we'll have to take.”

The XO nodded. He could see the commander had made up his mind.

The CO turned to the helm, “Make your course two-six-zero, speed fifteen knots, depth 200.”

“Aye, sir: Course two-six-zero, speed fifteen knots, depth 200 feet,” repeated the planesman.

The Russian made KILO-class diesel-electric submarine could run stealthily below the surface at seventeen knots, using powerful batteries that made little sound below four or five knots. Two hundred and forty feet long with a crew of fifty-two officers and men, the submarine had a range of 400 miles running on batteries, and 6,000 miles using diesels, ‘snorkelling' just under the surface. Armed with twenty-four torpedoes and a cluster of short-range surface to air missiles, the KILO-class could indeed be a formidable opponent.

After an uneventful ten hours,
Tekumah
arrived in position on a line five miles north-west of Jazireh and twenty miles south-east of Qeys. Engines were cut and the computer-controlled pumps kept the submarine trimmed and steady as she lay motionless just above the seabed some eighty fathoms below the surface. The primary sonar operators listened intently to detect the telltale signature of the Iranian sub amongst the natural sounds of the ocean and vessels in the busy shipping lanes above. It was not uncommon for submarines to use noisy surface vessels to cover their tracks. If Commander Lehmann was right, the Iranian sub would pass this way sometime within the next eight hours. Orders were given to maintain a silent ship and the crew settled down to wait. The commander, concerned if he had made the right decision, invited his XO to join him in his cabin.

“Supposing they didn't enter the Clarence, instead headed directly south into the Strait of Hormuz?” he asked, more to himself than his number two.

“The towed array would've alerted us. What we got may have been the Kilo, but then again it may have been an American sub. We've detected the signatures of three so far.”

“She could have hugged the southern coastline of Qeshm – made greater speed.”

“Still could only make four or five knots, otherwise the passive would have picked them up.”

“Passive sonar does not work well inshore, as you well know.”

“Accepted, but it would be less attractive going south, even hugging Qeshm. US subs would be on a line anywhere between Bahrain and Hormuz using active sonar,” reassured the XO.

“It's possible that it may have headed south once out of the Khuran channel, passing between any of the three islands below Jazireh.”

“It would take much longer to reach the release zone that way,” countered the XO.

The captain nodded slowly. “I guess you're right. It seems logical to take the Clarence and Khuran channels, then on past Jazireh Forur,” he said, still trying to clear himself of doubt, justify his decision, but seemed less convinced he was right.

The executive officer nodded agreement and went on briefly to discuss technical aspects of the submarine's performance before he eventually left.

* * *

In the control room several hours later the commander and his XO waited. If guesswork was right, the Iranian sub should now be well in range of the passive sonar, but so far the sweep had proved negative. Maybe there was no Iranian sub in this part of the Gulf after all.

Captain Lehmann turned to his XO. “She should be showing by now.”

“Unless she's on the surface and lost in traffic,” offered the XO.

“The surface would definitely attract attention.”

The CO was suddenly tempted to go to periscope depth, but thought better of it. Any move could give their position away. “She's down here somewhere and travelling at a very slow rate of knots.”

“Go active?” asked the XO.

“No,” replied the CO sharply. “That will alert. Surprise must be kept. We'll hold here for another hour then head south-west.”

The hour passed slowly. Those in the control centre waited silently for the commander, hunched over the plotting table, to give his orders. Finally he looked at his watch, straightened up and turned to the helm.

“Make your course two-four-zero, speed five knots, depth 200.”

“Aye, sir,” replied the planesman, repeating the order.

Shortly,
Tekumah
began to rise and head slowly south-west.

Suddenly, “Captain – sonar: contact bearing zero-six-zero. Speed six knots. Range seven miles. Checking profile.”

The CO and XO glanced at one another and quickly moved to the conn, looking intently at the bank of screens displaying tracking data of the approaching sub.

“Could be our baby,” said the XO.

The CO half smiled.

“How did it get so close without our knowing?”

“Creeping at a very low rate of knots,” replied the CO, not taking eyes off the screens.

The alarm on the Acoustic Intercept Box sounded.

“Captain – sonar: active scan!”

“Jesus, they've pinged us!” exclaimed the XO.

“We moved too soon,” the CO replied, calmly.

“You were right, and we're in their path!”

The commander nodded and turned to the helm. “Left full rudder, come right around, steer course zero-four-five. Make your speed twelve knots.” He wanted to be facing the sub on the starboard quarter.

“Captain – sonar: profile reading: signature, KILO-class 6-2-3.”

This was it. The control deck hushed.
Tekumah
had turned and was now facing the oncoming Iranian submarine.

“Rig for attack; ready tubes one and two in all respects. 48 ADCAPS,” ordered the CO crisply.

“Weapons, aye,” replied the weapons officer before repeating the order.

In the torpedo bay the MK-48 ADCAPS were duly readied. On leaving the tubes they would send back data via fibre optic cables that reeled out behind. If the cable broke the torpedoes would hopefully still hit the target using the on-board pre-programmed guidance system.

“Hold course for tracking solution. Use passive approach, low speed until 1,500 yards, then go active,” ordered the CO, voice taut.

“Weapons, aye.”

“Captain – computer: tracking complete.”

“Captain, aye.”

“Captain – sonar: torpedoes: three incoming. Bearing, zero-five-zero. Range 4,000 yards. Bearing steady,” came the slightly agitated voice of the operator.

The CO remained cool, mind calculating the level and type of evasive action.

“Release decoys. Down ten; full ahead. Level at 400,” he ordered, praying the torpedoes were not active homing.

Tekumah
immediately angled down through the water at 10 degrees to the horizontal at maximum speed, at the same time ejecting noisemakers and bubble generators to create an acoustic barrier to reflect the radar energy of the incoming torpedoes.

“Captain – sonar: bearing still steady.”

After two of the longest minutes: “Cut engines; free fall.”

“Aye, sir.”

Everyone held their breath.

Seconds later they all heard torpedoes pass overhead and fade quickly away.

“That was real close,” said the XO, sweat clearly visible on his brow.

Retaliation must be immediate.

Suddenly, a loud bang reverberated through the submarine.
Tekumah
shuddered violently and lurched sidewards, sending many of the crew sprawling.

“Jesus!” shouted the XO, gripping bulkhead over. “What the fuck was that?”

Tekumah
steadied.

“Torpedo!” exclaimed the CO, holding grimly to the edge of the plotting table and looking urgently around the control deck. “Dud – has to be.” He reached for the intercom “This is the Captain. All sections report damage… I repeat: all sections report damage.”

“Pre-programmed gyro?”

“No question – and a dud. Count ourselves lucky. Had that been a MK-48 we'd be on our way to the bottom – doomed.”

“Thank God the Iranians are still using gyros.” The XO referred to the previous generation of torpedoes using gyroscopic guidance systems with often unreliable explosive mechanisms.

“Captain – weapons: torpedo bay. Several men badly injured, damage superficial. No water penetration. All six tubes registering faults; outlets one, two, five and six jammed, three and four registering external obstruction.”

“Captain, aye. Lay to the seabed; rig for silent ship.” The only thing he could do now was go to the bottom, wait until the damage could be fully assessed and pray no more torpedoes came their way.

“Captain – engine room: no damage. All systems fully shut down.”

“Captain, aye.”

“Captain – comms: no damage; all systems on stand-by.”

“Captain, aye.”

The rest of the ship reported negative damage.

“Captain – sonar: hostile silent, last bearing, zero-six-zero. Range 4,000 yards. Speed zero.”

The CO looked urgently at his number two. “She's waiting for us to move.”

Both knew if their torpedoes could not be fired they would have to wait in the hope the Iranian submarine would eventually leave to complete its mission. Unfortunately,
Tekumah
had soon to replenish batteries.

“How long before we need to surface?” the CO asked, slight tremor to his voice.

“Three hours at most.”

“Ready tubes three and four,” ordered the commander, voice now steady.

“Weapons, aye.”

Then to his XO: “Prepare dive team for external inspection.”

“Aye, sir,”

Lieutenant Levi left the control deck to return several minutes later.

“Dive team are all badly injured. They were in the torpedo room at the time.”

“Backup team?”

“Sir, they were reassigned.”

Grim-faced the CO remembered and shook his head, “Any of the crew with dive experience?”

“None, sir.”

The CO looked resignedly down at the plotting table.

“Maybe the Brit can dive,” offered the XO. “Part of Special Forces training, I'm told.”

The commander eyed the XO with some scepticism.

“Well, go ask him!” he all but shouted.

Ryder was on his cot talking to one of the medics when Lieutenant Levi arrived at the infirmary bay.

“Can you dive?” the exec officer asked him straight out.

He nodded.

“Good. Please join me in my cabin.”

Ryder nodded again, raised eyebrows at the medic, wondering what was up, and followed the XO to his cabin.

When they arrived, the officer gestured towards the only other seat in the small cabin, and came straight to the point. “We have a problem and need your help.” He then went on to explain what had happened and the danger it presented.

Ryder was taken aback.

“We need to know the extent of the damage. Will you inspect the hull?”

“What about your own divers?”