The Blue Effect (Cold War) Page 15

  The GIUK Gap force had four key missions: help protect the airfield on Iceland, interdict Soviet SSNs attempting to go south to threaten NATO reinforcement and supply routes, and act as a blocking force for any major Soviet surface incursion into the Norwegian Sea. The last mission, jus as important, was tracking down and destroying Soviet SSBN ballistic missile carriers. It was likely that many of their Deltas and Typhoons were already attempting to secure their positions in preparation for a nuclear launch, should it be required. US and British SSN nuclear hunter-killer submarines would be tailing those that they were able, ready to destroy this element of the Soviet strategic nuclear arm should the threat worsen.

  The Soviet Northern Fleet, the Red Banner Fleet was effectively responsible for the defence of north-western Russia, and was based at Severomorsk and in Kola Bay. The fleet was significantly larger than the entire British Royal Navy, with over 200 submarines at its disposal. The range started from the coastal diesel-electric (SS) attack submarines to the more powerful nuclear-attack submarines (SSN), along with the deadly strategic ballistic-missile submarines (SSBN). The armada that had assembled north of Murmansk was extremely powerful and a major threat to NATO’s northern flank. The aircraft-carrier/cruiser Kiev carried vertical take-off and landing fighters as well as helicopters, and sported a sizeable array of weapons. It was supported by the nuclear-powered missile-cruisers Kirov and Frunze. Two Slava class guided-missile cruisers, the Slava and Marshal Ustinov, along with at least four Kresta-II class cruisers, backed up this powerful core of the fleet. Of particular interest to the British SSNs was an Anti-Submarine Division, consisting of a mix of Udaloy I and II class destroyers, whose primary mission was to provide an anti-submarine barrier and picket patrol. An element of this Soviet flotilla that was of particular interest to NATO high command was the 175th Independent Naval Brigade. This large military force could be used to threaten a number of NATO locations anywhere from the northern part of Norway to Iceland. A diversion had already been initiated on Zealand in Denmark, but the Danish forces had repulsed the attempted airborne assault and the snap landing by another Soviet Brigade.

  Commander Walcott sipped at his coffee; his hand holding the mug seemed to tremble slightly. He swapped hands, holding the drink in his left, and straightened his right hand, flexing his fingers then clenching them into a fist. The fingers relaxed as he opened his hand again, and on further examination he could see it was perfectly still. He looked up and saw his XO watching and nodded, returning his coffee to the appropriate hand and finished his drink. It wasn’t nerves or fear, he knew that. Just tiredness, bordering on fatigue. Operating in these conditions for an extended period of time would put a strain on the strongest man. His 130 crewmen had been in ‘silent mode’ for the last twenty-four hours. The standing order: if you don’t have to move, don’t. He would need to keep a close eye on his crew, perhaps a word with his XO later, although they appeared to be holding up well.

  He slipped off his seat and went to check the plotter. The sub was on target. It wasn’t the first time he, his crew and HMS Turbulent had entered these waters. During operations to acquire ‘The Take’, intelligence gathering that would enhance their knowledge of Soviet naval operations, he and his men had slipped past Soviet ships to spy on their exercises, fleet manoeuvres, being conducted by the perceived enemy. Now, though, they were a true enemy. But they must be close to the fringes of the enemy fleet by now. The outer anti-submarine defences would be the first of the barriers they needed to cross. Although, initially, they were part of a submarine pack, they would in fact operate independently as each submarine now had no idea where the other SSNs were since separating on leaving the Norwegian Sea. They would be aware of their respective allocated sectors of operation but beyond that, nothing.

  “Sonar, contact bearing 124.”

  Walcott moved across the control room and into the sonar space where the operator was bent over his sonar stack, the first stack green, the bottom two white. The operator put his hand to the white cloth-covered headphones, a tattoo showing on his bicep under the rolle- up sleeve of his blue uniform shirt.

  “What have you got, Roberts?”

  “Still increasing in intensity, sir. Bearing now 125.”

  The chess game has started, thought Walcott.

  “Any thoughts?”

  “Small, sir, but I can’t be certain.”

  “Distance?”

  The sonar operator checked his stack. “Eleven thousand yards, sir.”

  The XO joined him.

  “Udaloy?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Ten thousand yards, bearing 125.”

  Walcott turned to the XO. “We’ll maintain course, keep him to our starboard.”

  “New contact, bearing 086, 16,000 yards…a destroyer, I think, sir.”

  “Well done, Roberts. Keep on them.”

  “Their outer screen. What do you plan then, sir?”

  The captain picked up the handset. “Left rudder, ten degrees.”

  “Ten degrees, left rudder, aye, sir,” came the response from the helm.

  “Need more of the picture, XO.”

  They both moved across to the board. Two pieces of the jigsaw were in place, but not enough to provide the bigger picture.

  “We need to get a picture of his battle space, and two destroyers won’t give us that,” the captain continued.

  What Commander Walcott needed to know was the formation of the Soviet fleet that was slowly heading in his direction.

  “Well, at least we’ve spotted two of their pickets.”

  “Yes, and they are true submarine hunters. Those SS-N-14s have a range of up to fifty kilometres.”

  “So long as they have helicopters in the air to guide them.”

  “Oh, they will, XO. They’ll be out there looking for us now. And, if they do find us, those destroyers can push up to thirty-five knots.”

  “Get past those, and we can get to grips with the high value targets.”

  “Sonar, Contact-One, identified Udaloy-1 destroyer, bearing 126, 9,000 yards.”

  “Contact-Two, Roberts?”

  “Bearing 086, range 15,000 yards.”

  “Identification?”

  “Nothing definite yet, sir, but I reckon it’s a second Udaloy.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Helm, ahead ten knots.”

  “Ahead, ten knots, aye.”

  “We’ve got two of the pickets, XO, but what about the rest?”

  “We must be on their starboard quarter. If we maintain this bearing, we’ll pick them up, but we’ll be right under the Udaloy that’s coming straight at us.”

  “That’s why we’re going around them. Helm. Ten degrees port.”

  “Ten degrees port. Aye.”

  “Bill.”

  “Sir.” Lieutenant Commander Bill Legge, weapons engineering officer, known as WEPs, made his way over.

  “We’re going to come in behind the Soviet fleet, Bill, so I want another check of weapons. If we can get amongst them, I want to hit them hard and then run. So make sure your team are on the ball.”

  “They won’t let you down, sir.”

  “Good.”

  WEPs went to do another check on his team, those that would be responsible for loading and firing the submarine’s torpedoes. The first contact had eventually moved behind them, and the second contact was now directly opposite their position but, as they were moving away on a ten-degree bearing, a gap of 11,000 yards had developed between them.

  A Leading Hand brought a tray of sandwiches from the galley, and the captain, sitting on his green-backed seat, called him over. He and the XO grabbed some badly needed food. They both needed sleep as well. The six hours on duty, six hours off routine had fallen by the wayside as they were now so close to the enemy that an incident or attack could occur at any moment. Both had managed two hours sleep each in the last twelve, but it might be some time before they had that luxury again.

  “Sonar. Contact. No
, two…three contacts. Contact-Three bearing 155, 9,000 yards. Possible cruiser. Contact-Four, bearing 128, 10,000 yards. Contact-Five, bearing 127, 12,000 yards. It’s big, sir, bloody big. It has to be her.”

  The XO picked up the handset and chastised the operator. “Get a grip, Roberts.”

  “Sorry, sir. Contact-Three and Four are likely cruisers, but Contact-Five is big.”

  The XO, standing next to the captain in the narrow corridor of ‘track alley’, spoke first. “The big one has to be either the Kirov or even the Kiev.”

  “A guided-missile cruiser. Now, taking that out would be a good start, eh XO? Helm, dead ahead.”

  “Dead ahead. Aye.”

  To the right of the captain’s chair, the helm went through their manoeuvres to bring the eighty-four-metre boat back on course.

  Commander Walcott reached across and grabbed the handset for the internal communications. “This is the Captain. We are currently tracking a Soviet fleet off to our starboard, but shortly we will be attempting to get right amongst them. Once we can track the elements making up the fleet and isolate the key targets, we will destroy as many of them as we can; then run and hide. I know you’re all feeling a bit ragged, a bit tired, but stay focussed. All our lives depend on it. When we can get to a port or sea of safety, we can all catch up on lost sleep. This is the Captain. That is all.”

  He looked left towards ‘fire-control alley’ where the repeater station for the sonar systems sat along with the fire control technicians. He envisaged they would be busy very soon.

  “Ten degrees starboard. Make for fifteen knots.”

  “Ten degrees starboard. Fifteen knots. Aye.”

  “This is it then, sir,” said the XO.

  The captain looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes, then I want to go up and take a look.”

  “Is that wise, sir? There are bound to be submarines with the fleet. They’ll have a good chance of hearing us.”

  “Unlikely, XO. They would have been at the head of the fleet, the fleet’s first picket line, and they appear to have missed us. I want to make sure we haven’t missed any contacts.”

  “Unless they’re tracking us.”

  “This is not peacetime. We’d have been blown out of the water by now if a Soviet SSN had been following us.”

  After fifteen minutes, a period that seemed like a lifetime, the captain made his decision and picked up the comms handset. “Sonar. Update on contacts.”

  “Contact-Eight. Udaloy-1, bearing 268, 7,000 yards. No other contacts.”

  “Thank you. No sign of the big boys?”

  “Negative, sir,” responded the sonar officer, Lieutenant Powers.

  “Periscope depth.”

  “Periscope depth, aye.”

  The captain bent down and placed his eyes against the search periscope as it slowly rose. He completed a quick 360-degree turn, but could pick out nothing, apart from a quick glimpse of a helicopter, probably on an anti-submarine mission. He zoomed in towards the direction of the fleet and could see dark shapes in the distance. Although it was unlikely that the search periscope would be spotted, as the water was choppy, he had it lowered before the feather from the periscope could be seen by an observant watch keeper; then he ordered the boat to dive.

  “No transports yet, sir.”

  “No. Probably further behind, protected by a smaller force. Hard to starboard, steer 270, depth eighty metres.”

  “This is it, sir.”

  “That it is, XO.”

  The submarine sprinted at twenty-plus knots for ten minutes; then drifted while the sonar technicians reacquainted themselves with any contacts. They eventually caught up with the Udaloy-1, the picket ship at the rear of the fleet. The captain took the submarine down to a depth where he could take advantage of the thermocline, maintaining a speed of eighteen knots, closing in on the Soviet destroyer, eventually passing it using the ship’s propellers to hide his boat. The fleet appeared to be in no hurry, maintaining a steady fourteen knots, so Commander Walcott was able to slowly gain on the bulk of the fleet. Once past the destroyer, they heard the propellers from a cruiser, a Sverdlov, an older class cruiser. On their port side was another Udaloy. They recognised this one. They had picked up the particular signature of this destroyer, Vice-Admiral Kulakov, on one of their ‘Take’ operations. It was one of the Soviet’s latest anti-submarine warships. Commissioned only two years ago, with SS-N-14 anti-submarine missiles and two RBU-6000 anti-submarine rocket launchers capable of firing salvos of up to twelve rounds, then automatically reloading. If Turbulent came up against this ship in battle, being bombarded with 19.5kg shaped-charge warheads, to a depth of 1,000 metres, and actively being guided in the water…Walcott shuddered to think of the consequences.

  They left the Sverdlov and Kulakov behind as they steadily crept deeper and deeper into the centre of the Soviet fleet.

  “Sonar, contact. Contact-Nine, 6,000 yards bearing 267.”

  “The Kiev?” Uttered the XO, almost in a whisper. “God, if we could sink her…”

  “Keep talking to me, Roberts.”

  “Sir. Contact-Nine, still on 267, 5,000 yards.”

  “What else?”

  “Contact-Ten, bearing 186, 7,000 yards. Contact-Nine, 4,000 yards.”

  “Speed?”

  “Contact-Nine, travelling at fourteen knots, sir.”

  “Maintain fifteen knots.”

  “Fifteen knots. Aye, sir.” Responded the Helm.

  ‘Contact-Nine, 3,000 yards. Can hear the screws loud and clear, sir.”

  “What have we above us?” asked the captain.

  “Thirty metres, sir,” responded the Coxswain.

  “Take her up to twenty metres, XO.”

  “But we’re getting close to the Kiev, sir. There won’t be much clearance.”

  “There’ll be enough, and the noise they’re making will mask any sound we make.”

  “Take her up to twenty metres.”

  “Slowly.”

  “Slowly. Aye, sir.”

  The Turbulent moved up slowly, barely twenty metres between its fin and where the Kiev cut through the water.

  “Contact-Nine, 2,000 yards.”

  It was good to maintain the reporting, but the captain knew how close they were. The throbbing of the Kiev’s four propellers, less than 2,000 yards from his command, could be felt, let alone be heard throughout the boat.

  “Contact-Nine, 1,000 yards, sir. But sensors overloaded. I can’t pick up any other contacts or accurately identify Contact-Nine’s location.”

  Walcott looked through the periscope, and could pick out the wash from the propellers. His concentration was total as Turbulent slowly slid in underneath. From top of the periscope, and the clean lines of the aircraft carrier, there would be little more than 3-4 metres. Walcott picked up the handset. “Just get what you can. Let me know when there’s a change. I want any information we can get from the Kiev recorded, XO.”

  “I’ll see to it, sir.”

  “Helm, fourteen knots. Watch your helm, we’re right under her now.” The captain looked up. There was 41,000 tons of ship above HMS Turbulent, eight times the displacement of his vessel. A steady throbbing indicated that the Soviet aircraft carrier’s propellers were now over the stern of Turbulent. The main body of the 270-metre ship was directly above.

  The XO looked at his captain in awe, as did the crew close by. Walcott had just taken a nuclear SSN submarine, their submarine, right into the centre of the core of the Soviet Red Banner Fleet, and was sitting directly beneath the country’s capital ship. The thrashing of the four blades could be heard above, thrumming through the walls of the submarine. The captain looked at the two sailors at the helm. Sweat was pouring down their temples such was the level of concentration as they controlled the ship’s depth and heading to match the behemoth overhead. The Planesman, in particular, had a tough task: over compensate and they would go too deep or, worse, lose depth and collide with the ship. He was their best, judging when the
planes bit into the water after he had adjusted their angle. The Coxswain, sat behind the two helmsmen, caught the captain’s eye as if to say: We’re pushing it, sir.

  The captain turned to his XO and weapons officer. “It’s time.”

  They both nodded. “Standby for action. Down ten-metres. Make it thirteen knots.”

  “Down ten, thirteen knots, aye, sir.”

  “All tubes loaded with Tigerfish?”

  “Yes, sir,” responded WEPs.

  “Start sonar contact reports.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They heard and felt the noise and throb of Kiev’s propellers pounding the water above them as they slowly lost ground, slipping behind the huge aircraft carrier. They must take out this ship first. Walcott wasn’t worried about the twelve Yak fighter aircraft on board, but the twenty, Ka-25 anti-submarine helicopters would be deadly and would quickly hunt them down if discovered.

  “Contact-Nine, dead ahead, 1,000 yards. Contact-Ten, 6,000 yards. There are contacts all around, sir.”