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  “Conn, Sonar. Hold a new surface contact on the towed array, ambiguous bearings designated Sierra three-two and three-three, bearing one-nine-zero and one-one-zero. Analyzing.”

  North Dakota’s towed array was a valuable asset, detecting contacts at longer ranges than the submarine’s other acoustic sensors. However, the array was an assembly of hydrophones connected in a straight line, which meant it could not determine which side the sound arrived from, resulting in two potential bearings to the contact—one on each side of the array.

  Molitor acknowledged and rotated the photonics mast to a bearing of one-one-zero, shifting to Narrow-Field view. There were no contacts. He swung to the south. As he examined Kola Bay, he spotted a small speck on the horizon. He called to the Electronic Surveillance Measures watch. “ESM, Conn. Report all radar contacts to the south.”

  “Conn, ESM. I hold no contacts to the south.”

  Molitor reached for the ICSAP handset and pressed the button on the touch-screen display for the Captain’s stateroom. A few seconds later, Commander Paul Tolbert answered.

  “Captain.”

  “Captain, Officer of the Deck. Hold a new surface contact, designated Sierra three-two, bearing one-nine-zero, exiting Kola Bay. Hold no navigation radar.”

  “Very well,” the Captain replied. “I’ll be right there.”

  Commander Tolbert entered the Control Room a moment later, his arrival announced by the Quartermaster. “Captain in Control.”

  * * *

  Commander Paul Tolbert stopped behind the command workstation, examining both displays over the shoulder of his junior officer. Molitor had resumed his visual search routine, and the photonics mast was rotating slowly clockwise.

  “Show me what you’ve got,” Tolbert directed.

  Molitor swung the photonics mast to a bearing of one-nine-zero, then shifted to Narrow-Field view. The speck on the horizon was larger now, but was still difficult to classify. It was hull-down—only the top of the distant ship was visible due to the curvature of the earth. All Tolbert could see was the contact’s boxy superstructure. Since it was transiting through coastal ice, it had to be an icebreaker. Breaking the ice for what?

  Tolbert ordered, “Take an observation using the laser range-finder.”

  Lieutenant Molitor repeated back the order, then pressed a soft key on his command workstation, activating the laser range-finder on North Dakota’s photonics mast.

  Molitor called out, “Prepare for observation, Victor one, Number One mast.”

  One of the two fire control technicians manning the starboard consoles reported, “Ready.”

  Molitor aligned the photonics mast to the contact, then announced, “Bearing, mark,” and squeezed the trigger on the joystick.

  The fire control technician called out, “Bearing one-nine-zero, range ten thousand yards.” Lieutenant Molitor added, “Angle on the bow, zero.”

  If the icebreaker was clearing a path for a warship, Tolbert now knew its range. It would trail close behind the icebreaker, traversing the clear water before ice chunks floated back into the open channel. However, the icebreaker’s large superstructure blocked North Dakota’s view, making the detection of a ship behind it impossible. They needed to move off the icebreaker’s track so they could see behind it. Tolbert decided to turn perpendicular to the icebreaker’s course.

  “Come to course zero-nine-zero.”

  The Pilot tapped in the ordered course, and as North Dakota turned to port, Tolbert suppressed an involuntary shudder. It had taken a while to get used to the Virginia class design. Although he was now comfortable with a Control Room containing sonarmen but no periscopes, and calling the Helm a Pilot, he still got the willies from normal course and depth changes.

  On older submarines, the Officer of the Deck would give a rudder order when changing course more than ten degrees, and when changing depth, the Diving Officer would order a specific up or down angle for the boat. On Virginia class submarines, however, “the ship” made those decisions. The Officer of the Deck would order a new course or depth and the Pilot would enter it into the Ship Control Station, and the ship’s computer would automatically adjust the submarine’s rudder, bow, and stern planes to the optimal angles. If desired, manual control could be taken by ordering a specific rudder or ship angle. But it was normally a “hands-off’ operation.

  North Dakota steadied on the ordered course and the ship’s computer returned the rudder amidships. They were at periscope depth traveling at only five knots, and Tolbert’s submarine moved slowly off the icebreaker’s track. Tolbert and Molitor studied the photonics display, searching behind the icebreaker. Slowly, a black rectangle appeared—a submarine sail.

  “Sonar, Conn,” Molitor called out. “Hold an outbound submarine behind Sierra three-two. Report additional contacts in vicinity of Sierra three-two.”

  “Conn, Sonar,” the Sonar Supervisor replied. “The only thing we hold is Sierra three-two. It’s masking anything behind it.”

  Tolbert studied the submarine’s sail. Based on its size and shape, he discarded one submarine class and then another, leaving only one. Yury Dolgoruky was headed to sea.

  Plumes of water spray jetted into the air from the submarine’s bow and stern. It was diving, venting the air in its main ballast tanks.

  Tolbert turned to his Officer of the Deck. “Come down to one-five-zero feet and increase speed to ahead two-thirds. Station the Fire Control Tracking Party.”

  * * *

  Three minutes later, North Dakota was at 150 feet and ten knots, the photonics mast lowered. Every console in the Control Room was manned, with supervisors standing behind the men at their workstations. The submarine’s Navigator had relieved Lieutenant Molitor as Officer of the Deck, and Molitor now occupied a console on the starboard side, one of three workstations configured to determine the contact’s solution—its course, speed, and range.

  Tolbert assumed the Conn, leaving the Navigator with responsibility for the Deck—handling routine evolutions and monitoring the navigation picture, ensuring North Dakota stayed clear of dangerous shoal water. Tolbert stopped behind Molitor and examined the geographic plot on the upper display of his dual-screen workstation. It contained a map of the southern Barents Sea, with North Dakota in the center and the Kola Peninsula and Kildin Island to the south. Sonar hadn’t detected Yury Dolgoruky yet; it was still being masked by the icebreaker.

  Finally, the Sonar Supervisor’s report came across the speakers. “Conn, Sonar. Gained a fifty-Hertz tonal on the towed array, designated Sierra three-four and three-five, bearing zero-eight-zero and one-seven-zero. Analyzing.”

  A discrete frequency with no broadband meant whatever was generating the noise was designed to be quiet.

  Dolgoruky.

  The Russian Captain had turned to the east, hugging the shore of Kildin Island in an attempt to slip by anyone awaiting them.

  Tolbert announced, “Sierra three-five is our contact of interest. Designate Sierra three-five as Master One. Track Master One.”

  The Fire Control Tracking Party began determining Master One’s course, speed, and range. Tolbert’s Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander George Sites, studied the geographic plot on Molitor’s console. After examining the distance to the shoals surrounding Kildin Island, Sites announced into his headset, “Maximum range to Master One is six thousand yards.”

  It didn’t take long for the two fire control technicians and Lieutenant Molitor to converge on similar solutions. The Executive Officer examined the three consoles, then tapped one of the fire control technicians on the shoulder. “Promote to Master.”

  Tolbert examined the solution on the display. Master One was on North Dakota’s starboard beam, on course one-zero-zero, ten knots, range four thousand yards. He would normally fall in behind the Russian submarine. However, if he turned south, toward shallow water, his towed array would drag on the bottom, damaging it. Tolbert couldn’t retrieve the array either, since it was the only sensor they held
Dolgoruky on. That meant North Dakota would remain in deeper water to the north, setting up a dicey situation.

  “Attention in Control,” Tolbert announced. The twenty watchstanders in the Control Room ceased their conversations, turning toward Tolbert as he continued. “I expect Master One will eventually turn north. We’re in a bad position, on Master One’s port beam. We’re going to slow and open range, pulling as far back as possible. Carry on.”

  Tolbert followed up, “Pilot, ahead one-third.”

  The Pilot tapped the appropriate symbol on the Ship Control Station screen, and North Dakota slowed. Tolbert monitored the narrowband display on one of the sonar consoles, watching the tonal’s signal strength fade. When North Dakota opened range to five thousand yards, the Narrowband operator spoke into his headset.

  “Sonar Sup, Narrowband. I’ve lost the automated tracker on Master One. Buzzing bearings manually to fire control.”

  Tolbert overheard the report. North Dakota had dropped back as far as possible, and they now needed to match Master One’s pace. “Pilot, ahead two-thirds.”

  The Pilot entered the command as Tolbert examined the geographic display on Molitor’s console again. North Dakota was trailing forty-five degrees behind Dolgoruky, in her aft port quarter. They would watch Master One closely now, waiting for her turn to the north.

  4

  BARENTS SEA

  YURY DOLGORUKY

  Captain First Rank Nicholai Stepanov leaned over the navigation table in the Central Command Post, examining his submarine’s position on the electronic chart. Seated beside him was the Electric Navigation Party Technician, wearing the enlisted rank of Michman on his uniform collar. Erik Glinka was busy verifying the operation of the submarine’s two inertial navigators. It would be a long patrol with infrequent trips to periscope depth to obtain satellite position fixes. Satisfactory operation of their inertial navigators was critical.

  Glinka looked up. “Both navigators are stable and tracking together, Captain.”

  Stepanov acknowledged Glinka’s report, then turned his attention to the center of the Command Post, where the submarine’s most experienced Watch Officer, Captain Lieutenant Mikhail Evanoff, supervised his watch section, his eyes scanning each display and the men at their consoles.

  Yury Dolgoruky’s First Officer, Captain Second Rank Dmitri Pavlov, entered the Command Post, joining Stepanov at the navigation table. “Everything is satisfactory, Captain. All equipment is functioning normally.”

  “Very well,” Stepanov replied as his eyes settled on his second-in-command.

  Dmitri Pavlov was a rising star in the Russian Navy—smart and capable, lacking only in experience. Pavlov had joined the Navy after the fall of the Soviet Union, and like many of his contemporaries, had spent little time at sea. Pavlov had been assigned to Dolgoruky to glean as much knowledge as possible from Stepanov, who was Russia’s most experienced commanding officer. He had just completed a three-year tour in command of Gepard, the most advanced Project 971 nuclear attack submarine, and had taken command of Yury Dolgoruky upon her commissioning. As Dolgoruky headed to its patrol area, Stepanov focused on the training of his First Officer.

  “First Officer Pavlov,” Stepanov began. “If you were captain of Yury Dolgoruky, what would you do next?”

  Pavlov glanced at the electronic chart. Kildin Island was sliding by to the south, and thus far, they had detected no submerged contacts; only several merchants to the north. But they had not yet deployed their towed array, their most capable hydroacoustic sensor.

  Dolgoruky’s First Officer answered, “We have completed our two-hour transit to the east, and should turn north toward our patrol area, deploying our towed array once we reach water deep enough.”

  “Correct,” Stepanov replied, then turned toward his Watch Officer. “Captain Lieutenant Evanoff, prepare to deploy Number One Towed Array.”

  Evanoff relayed the command to Hydroacoustic, and Stepanov returned his attention to his First Officer. “As we begin the journey to our patrol area, what is your most significant concern?”

  “That we might be trailed by an American submarine,” Pavlov answered. “But that is highly unlikely,” he added. “Yury Dolgoruky is the quietest submarine in our Navy.”

  “You must always assume worst-case,” Stepanov countered. “An American submarine could have detected our surface transit and tracked us once we submerged.” Pavlov looked at Stepanov skeptically as the older man continued, “If so, where would the Americans be?”

  Pavlov examined the navigation chart, studying the outline of Kildin Island and the half-dozen bottom-contour lines circling the island.

  He answered, “If an American submarine has detected us, they would likely be tracking us on their towed array. Under normal circumstances, they would trail us from behind. However, we are still operating in shallow water, and the Americans would have to shadow us in water deep enough for their towed array. Assuming their array droop characteristics are similar to ours, at ten knots they could not deploy it in water shallower than one hundred fifty meters.”

  Pavlov studied the bottom contour curves, then placed his finger on the 150-meter curve, on Dolgoruky’s port quarter. “That would put them somewhere around here.”

  “Excellent deduction,” Stepanov said. “Station yourself as Command Watch Officer. If there is an American submarine following us, find it.”

  Pavlov announced to the watchstanders that he was stationed as the Command Watch Officer, with the authority to direct shipboard operations as if he were the commanding officer. He then pointed to the spot on the navigation chart.

  “Michman Glinka. What is the course to intercept a contact at this position, headed east at ten knots?”

  Glinka entered the parameters into the navigation chart and a line appeared. “Bearing three-two-five.”

  Pavlov turned toward the Watch Officer. “Captain Lieutenant Evanoff. Come to course three-two-five and deploy the towed array.”

  USS NORTH DAKOTA

  North Dakota’s Sonar Supervisor, standing behind the sonar consoles on the port side of Control, evaluated the changing parameter of their contact, then made his report.

  “Possible contact zig, Master One, due to upshift in frequency.”

  The fire control technicians and Lieutenant Molitor examined the time-frequency plot on their displays, watching the frequency of the tonal rise. Lieutenant Commander George Sites stopped behind the consoles, and after the frequency steadied up, he announced, “Confirm target zig. Contact has turned toward own-ship. Set anchor range at five thousand yards.”

  Tolbert stopped beside his Executive Officer, examining the displays. Dolgoruky had turned toward the north as expected. In the worst-case scenario, Dolgoruky and North Dakota could be headed directly toward each other. Although submarine collisions were uncommon, they did occur. In these very same waters, USS Baton Rouge, a Los Angeles class fast attack submarine, had collided with a Russian Sierra class submarine.

  Tolbert planned to ensure there was no repeat of that incident. He had to maneuver North Dakota, but needed to know Dolgoruky’s course so he didn’t make the situation worse.

  “I need a solution fast, XO.”

  Sites nodded and scanned the combat control consoles, his eyes squinting as the three operators slowly converged on a common solution. A minute later, Sites informed the Captain, “I have a solution. Master One is on course three-two-five, speed ten.”

  Damn. Dolgoruky was on an intercept course. They either knew they were being followed or had guessed where North Dakota was with incredible accuracy. Tolbert had to get off Dolgoruky’s track.

  “Pilot, come to course zero-four-five. Ahead standard.” They would move out of Dolgoruky’s way, let her pass, then fall in behind.

  The Pilot entered the commands and as North Dakota turned to the northeast, Petty Officer Second Class Reggie Thurlow, stationed as the Broadband operator, pressed his headphones to his ears, listening to the unusual sound.

>   “Sonar Sup, Broadband. Picking up mechanical transients from Master One.”

  Chief Bob Bush donned the Broadband headphones and listened to the distinctive sound. It was much quieter than on other Russian submarines, but recognizable nonetheless.

  Bush reported, “Fire Control Coordinator, Sonar Supervisor. Picking up mechanical transients from Master One. Sounds like towed array deployment.”

  Commander Tolbert listened to the report with concern. Range to Dolgoruky had decreased to four thousand yards. The United States had scant data on the new Borei class submarines, and he had no idea at what range North Dakota would be detected.

  YURY DOLGORUKY

  Stepanov checked the red digital clock at the front of the Command Post. They had deployed their towed array ten minutes ago, enough time for Hydroacoustic to check all sectors. Captain Lieutenant Evanoff must have been watching the clock as well, because he slipped the microphone from its holster.

  “Hydroacoustic, Command Post. Report all contacts.”

  The Hydroacoustic Party Leader’s reply came across the speakers. “Hydroacoustic holds three contacts. All three contacts are merchants to the north.”

  Stepanov joined Pavlov in front of the hydroacoustic display, searching for patterns within the random specks. Pavlov was not yet convinced. Narrowband detections were not instantaneous like broadband. The algorithms needed time to generate. As the two men examined the display, a narrow vertical bar rose from the bottom of the display. The Hydroacoustic Party Leader’s report arrived a moment later.

  “Command Post, Hydroacoustic. Hold a new contact on the towed array, a sixty-point-two-Hertz tonal, designated Hydroacoustic five, ambiguous bearings zero-one-five and two-six-zero. Sixty-point-two-Hertz frequency correlates to American fast attack submarine.”

  Pavlov and the submarine’s Watch Officer turned in their Captain’s direction. Stepanov announced, “Man Combat Stations silently.”