The Blue Effect (Cold War) (15 page)

“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.”

Walcott picked up the handset. “Steady, lad, steady. Just monitor the others, and let me know if they get within 4,000 yards, but report on the carrier.”

“Aye, sir. Contact-Nine, dead ahead, 2,000 yards.”

“Helm. Turn slowly to port, ten degrees. Heading 190.”

“Ten degree rudder, course 190. Aye, sir.”

“From the side, sir?”

“Yes XO. But I also want give us some room so we can track the other ships. WEPs, standby for four solutions.”

“We going for the nearest three, sir?”

“We are that. Depth fifty.”

“Depth fifty, aye.”

“They’ll pick us up soon, sir.”

“Once we fire, the entire fleet will know where we are.”

The tension rose in the control room as the submarine settled at a depth of fifty metres.

“Sonar, where is Contact-Nine now?”

“Bearing 175, range 5,000 yards, speed fourteen knots. New contact…”

The captain and XO moved aft along track-alley to the plotting tables, the SNAPS tables.

“Christ, sir, we’re in the middle of Hades.”

They were practically in the centre of the Soviet fleet. Now Turbulent had settled on a steady, level course and was away from the thrashing blades of the Kiev’s propellers, the passive, towed array sonar could do its job of picking up the movement and location of the Soviet fleet. The high value ships, the Kirov, a nuclear-powered missile cruiser, and the Kiev aircraft carrier were at the centre, and in the inner circle were three Kresta-I and one Kresta-II cruiser, and a Slava-class guided missile cruiser. For the pickets, on the outer-circle, they believed there be at least five Udaloy destroyers, at least one, the Kulakov. On top of that, there would be constant patrols by anti-submarine helicopters.

What the captain didn’t know was how many Soviet SSNs, hunter-killer nuclear subs like his own, there were and, more importantly, their location. They would have a role on the picket line, far ahead of the fleet, sniffing out the enemy navy or any threats from SSNs. So far, they had failed. But Walcott’s biggest fear was of a submarine closer to the centre of the fleet, looking for an enemy submarine doing exactly what he was up to.

It was time. The Captain and XO returned to the centre of the control room, the captain back on his chair.

“Are all targets designated, WEPs?”

“Yes, sir.”

Further forward, down in the bomb shop, as the crew referred to the torpedo room on the third level, the men got ready to fire the four Tigerfish torpedoes. One torpedo would be fired at an individual target, but two for the big one. The captain’s choice would have been two per target, the Tigerfish warhead was not the most powerful of weapons, but he had to settle for just two for the Kiev.

“Standby for engagement.”

The fire control technicians stared at the red and amber plasma displays, concentration etched on their faces.

“Fire One.”

“Fire One,” mimicked the WEPs technician.

Very quickly, three more were fired and four torpedoes were away, the crew frantically reloading the next four.

The torpedoes were tracked and, at a speed of thirty-five knots, the first two fired would close on their target, the Kiev, in less than three minutes. For the Kirov and Sverdolov, the second two ships, it would take slightly longer.

“Talk to me.”

“All four tracked, all four on target.”

“The Soviet fleet?”

“No change, sir. Two minutes to impact.”

“Let me know the minute they show any sign of alarm.”

“One minute.”

The captain and XO glanced at each other. Both were thinking:
This is going too well
.

“Kiev has powered up, sir! Course change, 080.”

“Time to impact?”

“Fifteen seconds, sir.”

“Speed?”

“She’s up to twenty knots, sir. Ten seconds. Torpedoes gone active.”

“Kirov?”

“Kirov picking up speed too, sir. Course now 115.”

“Damn, XO.”

“Five seconds.”

They both heard and felt the explosions as the two Tigerfish exploded beneath the Soviet carrier.

“It’s a hit, it’s a hit,” called out Roberts. The rest of the crew quickly picked up the excitement, fists thumped the air and grins spread across their faces.

“Silence!” Snapped the XO.

“Kirov?” asked the captain.

“Speed twenty-five knots, bearing 120. Time to target one minute.”

“We’re not going to get it, XO.”

“Contact. Bearing 085, Udaloy, thirty knots.”

“It’s that destroyer we passed earlier, sir,” suggested the XO.

“Damn. Time to dive and get out of here.”

“Sir, sir. Explosions in the water. It’s the Udaloy. It’s been hit.”

“It must be one of the others.”

“Well then, XO, time to get out of here. Standby to dive the submarine. XO, take us down. One hundred metres.”

“Sir.’

“We’ve got the Kiev. Let’s go and hunt the Kirov.”

C
hapter 15

1
905, 9 JULY 1984. CORPS PATROL UNIT. NORTH OF GESTORF, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

Wilf stirred the three sleeping soldiers and suggested they get some food down them, as they would be moving out in twenty minutes. While they were eating, Wilf did a quick scout of the area, circling their position out to fifty-metres, making sure there was nothing that would impact on their patrol once they left the hide. He sniffed the air which seemed quite fresh; just the occasional whiff of smoke coming from the many still burning hulks and buildings scattered around the countryside. He stopped for a moment, crouched down and listened. He could hear a steady drone of traffic moving along Route 3, a major road running south from Pattensen: reinforcements and supplies travelling south, with casualties and crippled vehicles heading in the opposite direction. Although, back in the UK the four men, as part of their remit, had studied the likely flow of Soviet logistical traffic and expected it to be heavy, even they had been astounded by the sheer volume. Apart from that, he could see or hear little else. He rose up from the ground, his thighs aching slightly, and continued his circuit. The previous day and night had been a heavy tab. After crossing the River Leine, Wilf’s CPU had been tasked with moving at all speed west, with a specific target in mind. The speed of the advancing Soviet forces had outpaced the movement of the stay-behind forces. One of their patrols, allocated the area south of Hanover, had been diverted from the task Wilf and his team would now pick up. NATO electronic warfare units had picked up what could only have been a Soviet Army Headquarters, and their sister CPU had been re-tasked and given the HQ as their target. Wilf and his team would now have to replace that unit and carry out the task they had initially been ordered to complete. Wilf and his team had travelled at speed throughout the previous night, including early evening and late into the morning of the second day, until they had eventually crossed the river south of Hanover and made their way to a forest south of Hupede where they were now laid up. Going to ground in the trees at the most northern tip, the four men had eaten some of their rations, cold, then grabbed at least eight hours of sleep, taking it in turns to go on stag and watch the backs of their sleeping comrades. Wilf had taken the last watch, needing to think through the final plans for tonight. Soviet troops were everywhere and, on more than one occasion, the patrol had had to detour round them. Once, they were nearly hit by friendly aircraft fire as low-flying bombers came out of nowhere and strafed a Soviet column. Whenever they were able, reports of troop movements were radioed back to 1 BR Corps headquarters, their primary role still being that of reconnaissance. Now, however, they had been given two additional tasks: locate and report back the centre of mass of a missile regiment, probably belonging to either 3rd Shock Army or 20 Guards Army, and, once done, sabotage it to the best of their ability.

Wilf smiled as he remembered Badger’s response to their orders.
“Yeah, let’s take on half the Soviet army, why don’t we?”

Hacker and Tag had taken the mickey out of him for the rest of the day. But Badger would fight when called upon and not let any of them down, they knew that. And it could well become a major fight. They were glad they had all agreed to sacrifice some of their supplies so they could carry additional ammunition. Wilf completed his circuit and rejoined his team who were now ready. They knew the importance of speed, they still had a precarious route to travel, and they were in no doubt they were heading into a hornet’s nest. They completed one last check of their kit then moved off. Tag took point, followed by Wilf, Badger and Hacker as tail-end Charlie. They headed southwest first, through the wood, avoiding a small engineer unit encamped amongst the trees to their south, not more than 600 metres away. The men then turned west again and patrolled until they came to the edge of the wood. There was a gap of about 300 metres they would need to cross before they could enter the much larger forest opposite. Tag and Hacker crossed first while Wilf and Badger covered them. Once safely across, and with no sounds indicating the two men had been compromised, Wilf and Badger joined them. They moved southwest, deeper into the forest, slowly climbing a hillock about 200 metres in height, weaving through the trees before turning south. Wilf wanted to intersect with a track. He could then get his bearings then head west along it until they reached the western edge of the forest. Finally they would be in the area where the Soviet unit, as a consequence of its poor communications security, had been located by an EW unit. It was not their first choice to use such obvious routes, likely points for a potential ambush, but speed was important. Time was running out for NATO, and, apart from providing good intelligence, the team were impatient to hit back at the enemy themselves. Hacker, who was now the lead, signalled that they were approaching the track. A steep bank dropped down towards the hard-packed route that would lead them to the edge of the forest. Hacker caught a flicker of white light below him. He turned to warn his colleagues when the mildew-covered soil gave way beneath his boot, his leg flying upwards, the second one following close behind as he crashed to the ground, his large heavyweight pack thumping him in the back as he plummeted down the slope, steadily gathering speed as he frantically attempted to dig his boots into the earth in order to slow his progress down the slope. He couldn’t use his hands to try and get some purchase as they were gripping his weapon tightly, not wanting it lost or damaged. Wilf cottoned on to what had happened within a matter of seconds and pounded down the slope, bumping into trees to control his forward movement as he chased after Hacker. Hacker came to an abrupt halt at the bottom as his boots crashed into a Ural motorcycle, a dispatch rider’s motorbike, toppling it off its stand, the weighty vehicle crashing down, clipping his shoulder as he slid past it and ground to a halt.

The startled dispatch rider, who earlier had been shining a small torch over his map in the vain hope he could get his bearings, all the while cursing in Russian, scrambled to get his AK-74 that had been resting on the fuel tank. His first thoughts were of an animal, but he caught sight of a moving body that looked more human than animal just in front of his bike. Before the Soviet bike rider’s thoughts coalesced, Wilf shoulder-charged the man, knocking him sideways, but at the same time causing himself to lose balance, ending up sprawled on the floor. As the Soviet soldier pulled himself up onto one knee, then staggered to a half crouch, the butt of Badger’s C-7 carbine collided with the side of the unfortunate soldier’s head, a wet thud indicating a strike to the temple rather than the skull. The man dropped to his knees, poleaxed, as Badger struck him again in the same spot, knocking him to the ground. Tag, who had also arrived panting from his forced sprint down the slope, slipped the blade of his killing knife into the soft muscle of the dispatch rider’s neck, in between the head and shoulder. Gripping the man’s helmet, pulling it back hard so the strap, tight beneath his chin, forced the throat to arch, he cut deep into the oesophagus, sawing through the gristle before lowering the man to the ground.

The four men moved quickly, forming a circle around the motorcycle and body, each covering a compass point, steadying their breathing, listening, watching. Wilf slowly raised his body until on one knee, getting the image intensifier from its sack. The green glow lit up his eyes as he completed a full 360-degree sweep of the area. Nothing.

After a further ten minutes, they relaxed, or as much as was sensible. Wilf tapped Badger and Tag on the shoulder. They knew what had to be done: the soldier needed to disappear. While they carried the body away, Wilf and Hacker pushed the heavy dispatch bike into a dip about fifty metres off the track and, lying it on its side, pulled what dead branches they could find, supplemented by mulch, and covered it as best they could.

Regrouping, they moved off. Time was moving on. It was now 2036. They needed to be in position by at least 0200 the next morning so they could conduct their recce between then and 0330 when sleep would be dragging at the eyes of the sentries on duty, and any other soldier in their right mind would be getting as much sleep as possible. Another hour found them at the western boundary of the forest. Opposite them was the L422, running southwest towards the large village of Gestorf about a kilometre away. They would have to be quick and careful. They knew instinctively there were Soviet troops in the area. Just before the last battery of the image intensifier died, Wilf had spotted a vehicle a few hundred metres to their west, along with a small contingent of
Komendantskaya
, Soviet traffic controllers. They were camped on the opposite side of the L422, in a clump of trees a kilometre north of Gestorf. There was a steady stream of traffic moving along the road. Convoys travelling at about twenty kilometres per hour moved in both directions. Wilf led his men north, keeping just inside the treeline, out of sight of any prying eyes and of the Soviet traffic police. After 500 metres, the treeline veered sharply right and, after a few minutes observation, using binoculars and comparing what they could see with what was on the map, they concluded that they were at the western edge of a U-shaped opening in the centre of the forest. The U-shaped clearing was scattered with clumps of trees throughout. The U-shape was about 600 metres deep by 200 metres wide, completely open at the western edge. They were at the lower branch of the U-shape. Two dark shapes that could be seen off centre warranted further investigation.
Maybe we’ve found what we’ve been seeking
, thought Wilf, the purpose of the Soviet traffic police close by now evident.

“We need to get closer,” hissed Wilf. “I want to recce across the other side of the road. The map shows a copse about 250 metres from the road. If this is what I think it is, there will be missile TELs scattered all around this area. I’ll take Badger and we’ll go east and do a full circuit of the open ground.”

“Me and Hacker cross the road?”

“That’s right, Tag. I thought you would appreciate the exercise.”

“You mean Badger’s too knackered,” Tag responded with a smile.

“Fuck off, you two,” grunted Badger. “Outrun you wankers any day.”

“Yeah, being chased by a young girl’s irate father.”

“Stow it,” snapped Wilf. He didn’t mind the humour and knew it was just friendly banter but he needed to think, get his head around their mission. If these were what he thought they were, and headquarters for a change were correct, this was a high value target that needed taking out.

“Sorry, Wilfy,” they chimed in unison.

“We meet on the corner there,” he said, pointing to the northern branch of the U-shaped opening opposite.

“How long?” Asked Tag.

“How long do you need?” Responded Wilf.

Tag thought for a moment, calculating distances and timings. “The ground is wide open between here and the road. The soil of the field opposite the opening is too light. We’ll go south for 100 metres then cross next to the field with cabbages, or whatever they are.”

“Won’t that bring you out close to the Soviet police?”

“Yeah. I’d prefer to go round the back of this lot and come at it from the north, but we ain’t got the time.”

Wilf nodded, knowing he was right. “How long?”

“We’ll go for two hours.”

“OK, shoot.”

Tag and Hacker moved off south, and Wilf led Badger to the east. It took them eighty minutes to do a complete circuit, ending up at the rendezvous point. They had seen two TELs so suspected that Tag would find the other two across the road. After a twenty-minute wait, the pair were re-joined by Tag and Hacker.

“We found two,” informed Hacker. “SS-23s would be my guess.”

“Army?” suggested Tag.

“Yes but, according to HQ, these could be part of a GSFG SSM Brigade.”

“Shit, that means there must be eighteen of the buggers around here.”

“Wow, Badger, you listened to the briefings after all.”

Badger humphed, not responding to Hacker’s gibe.

“They have two brigades,” Wilf reminded them. “We have two TELs as well. Badger and I will see to these two. I’m afraid it’s back across the road for you, Tag. Did you see any movement?”

“Not a sausage apart from a couple of cops sat in canvas chairs on the roadside watching the traffic pass them by.”

“Right, let’s do it then. Tag and Hacker, take out the two across the road; me and Badger have these two. If you come across any resupply, sort them as well. RV here. The emergency RV is the southeast point of the Deister. We need to start moving west. OK…well, you know what to do. If you see any sentries, try and avoid them and target the vehicles. TELs first.” He patted each one on the shoulder then patted Badger’s arm twice. They would be working together. “Let’s go.”

Wilf and Badger moved off right while Tag and Hacker went left. They came across the first TEL, the NATO codename Spider, 200 metres from the base of the ‘U’ and settled down to watch.

“Great, there’s no bloody guards,” added Badger.

“They’ll have some somewhere,” whispered Wilf in response.

“Let’s get on with it then, Wilfy,” hissed Badger. “If they suddenly get a call to prep, we’ll be stuffed.”

The two TELs they were going for were spaced about 150 metres apart. Wilf peered into the darkness: only enough moonlight to pick out the lofty shapes of the bulky missile carriers. The nearest one, now within fifty-metres of their position, was heavily tarped, and camouflage netting had been stretched across it and tied to two trees on the one side making a canopy. The missile unit had chosen an area that was surrounded by trees, but the centre was open enough for the vehicles to move around freely and fire their rockets when required. This enabled the crews to hide their vehicles, but they had the ability to quickly prepare for a launch if called upon.

Wilf scanned the area with his binoculars, the batteries for the image intensifier having well and truly died. Handing them to Badger, he pointed to the bundles that lay beneath the man-made canopy, next to the nearest TEL. Badger handed the binoculars back and Wilf secreted them in his small pack, the larger pack hidden next to a tree trunk to be collected when they had completed their mission. If they were unable to pick it up as a consequence of being discovered, their supplies of food, water and ammunition would be severely limited.