Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) George Wallace (the little red hen ebook .TXT) 📖

me out, XO. Then let’s noodle the idea for a while. I figure that boat is behaving like a typical boomer...slow, straight, steady, and shallow.” Edwards chuckled. “I kinda like that, ‘The Four S’s.’ ‘Boomer tactics: Follow the four S’s.’ Think I’ll copyright it.”

The CO bent over to punch some buttons on the command console, ignoring his executive officer’s odd expression. The display immediately changed to show a silhouette of the George Mason and a series of ray traces emanating from the sail.

“That’s the under-ice sonar,” Biddle observed. “We’re pretty far from needing to surface through the ice.”

“Yeah, I know,” Edwards shot back. “But it’s an upward looking, high-frequency, low-power active sonar. That’s exactly what we need right now. I’m thinking we mosey down to five hundred feet or so and slip in a little closer. Our last BT showed the water is isothermal around here, so we don’t have to worry about any layer throwing a kink in our game.”

Water temperature in the area was very consistent. Sharp differences that could deflect the sonar signal in a way that might be heard by the Iranian sub should not be a problem.

“Makes good sense,” Biddle said with a quick grin. Now he understood. “We stay passive as long as we can, but if we lose passive contact, we hit him with the under-ice in active. Damn good backup if we need it.”

“Yep, and I’m betting that their active detection system, if they even have one, won’t alarm on the under-ice frequency. If we have to use it and if it works, they’ll be teaching this stuff to the next class at New London.” Edwards winked. “Let’s get the team briefed and the system lined up.”

Edwards had barely finished when Hannon shouted, “Lost Sierra One-Four-Six. Loss of broadband contact on the Boz-Manand.”

Edwards turned to the officer of the deck and ordered, “Mr. Jennings, make your depth five hundred feet. Close the last known position of Boz-Manand. Line up the under-ice sonar for active operation, minimum power.”

The look on the OOD’s face was priceless. Under-ice sonar?

George Mason’s downward tilt was barely perceptible as the big submarine slipped a hundred feet deeper into the inky darkness and pointed toward where the Iranian submarine had been. Aston Jennings, the officer of the deck, carefully watched the fire-control-generated solution as they closed in.

“Generated slant range nine hundred yards,” he called out.

Hannon’s answer was almost instantaneous: “No sonar contact.”

“Generated slant range eight hundred yards,” Jennings called out.

“No sonar contact.”

“Generated slant range seven hundred yards.”

“No sonar contact.”

“Under-ice sonar lined up for active, min power,” Master Chief Oshley reported, his fingers dancing over the keyboard as the under-ice display flickered up on the command monitor screen. It was the first time any of them had seen the data from the specialized sonar system since sea trials and a brief test or two.

“Go active, single pulse,” Brian Edwards ordered. The modulated FM waveform really could not be called a ping. It was instead a pulse train designed to detect and picture hanging ice keels, obstructions certainly to be avoided when maneuvering beneath the polar ice pack.

“Going active,” Oshley answered.

Everyone in the crowded control room held his breath as he watched the pulse train display on the large-screen monitor. Then the return image started to form.

“Possible return, bearing one-nine-two, slant range eight hundred yards,” Oshley reported. “Return very weak.”

Jennings checked the generated fire control solution on the Boz-Manand.

“Generated bearing one-eight-five, range six hundred,” he called out.

“Drop ship’s speed to match generated speed,” Edwards ordered. “Master Chief, try another pulse.”

Jennings ordered, “Pilot, make your speed four knots.”

The second pulse generated out on the command display and then a second later the return started to form.

“Definite return!” Master Chief Oshley called out, “Bearing one-nine-two, range eight hundred.”

“Looks like the plan worked, Skipper,” Biddle said as the two stepped back from the display. “So far no reaction from the contact, either.”

“Damn good thing.” Edwards wiped beads of sweat from his brow. “I sure didn’t want to lose him. That clearly was not an option. And I sure didn’t want to use the big active sonar. That would have rung his bell even without him having to use his sonar receiver. And that might’ve caused him to do something rash.”

The skipper turned to his officer of the deck. “Mr. Jennings, conduct an active pulse on the contact every two minutes. Randomize the pulses as much as possible. Put your Weps hat on and work out a lost-contact procedure so that we have a search plan ready to go if that SOB gives us the slip again. And get a sonarman up here to relieve the COB on the under-ice. We will not lose this bastard.”

Ψ

Five hundred miles south and west of the George Mason, Joe Glass had maneuvered Toledo to a position three thousand yards aft of the Chinese PLAN submarine. After their little dust-up with this sub, the Toledo was on a war footing. The torpedoes in all tubes were fully ready and the outer doors on tubes one and two were open, set to hurl explosive death in the direction of the other submarine. Glass chalked up the last time to collateral damage; he just happened to be in the way when the crazy Chinese skipper decided to shoot. But Glass was determined that if there was a next time—if the Chinese skipper so much as farted—he would stick an ADCAP up his ass.

Standing in the forward starboard corner of the control room, Glass could watch both the section tracking party maintaining the fire control solution on Sierra Five-Five—the Chinese sub—as well as the sonar team as they milked every erg of acoustic energy they could gather.

Master Chief Zillich stepped to the door, shaking his head. He was obviously frustrated.

“This guy is tough as shoe leather. We’re only getting hints and sniffs on broadband. Thank goodness his housekeeping is a little sloppy. We’re getting transients often enough to keep us on target so far.”

“Looks like he’s just putzing down