Operation Arctic Sting, page 12
“Teuthis, this is Lyre. We are in position.”
Over the next few minutes, as Potts finished his watch, Teuthis placed her sail twenty feet below the ice and inched her way toward us until she hovered just twenty feet from our starboard side. As she got closer, we were able to watch her progress on our monitors. The Basketball appeared and dropped to our shorepower connection to ensure it was clear.
As the divers appeared on our monitors, I officially assumed the watch from Potts. The divers plugged the cable into our socket following the same procedure they used on the initial charge—packing the socket with silicone grease before making the connection. It was a slip connection, of course, so it would disconnect should we drift apart.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis.” I recognized Waverly’s voice. He had assumed the watch on Teuthis from the XO. “We’re connected.”
Bert, Potts, and Gilbert Edwards (the Alfa reactor specialist) stood by in the engineering space.
“You guys ready?” I asked over the intercom.
“Here it comes,” Bert said as he threw the main breaker.
I had an eye on the Ritm console that showed the state of onboard machinery. My current interest was the state of the battery charge. It hovered just below 20%. When Bert threw the breaker, the needle jumped momentarily and then settled back to its original position.
I watched. There was no apparent movement. I turned to Wyatt Cook, the senior DIA Alfa specialist, and then turned back to the console. To my relief, the needle had moved a fraction of an inch.
Our schedule allowed two hours for the charge, but so far as I was concerned, I would let the schedule slide to ensure a full charge. Once again, I was impressed by the Soviet engineering. The initial charge was rapid, and Potts reported that the battery cells did not seem to be heating up appreciably.
An hour later, we were three-quarters charged. Bert explained that the charge-rate would slow down as we topped off the batteries. He was right. The remaining charge took another full hour.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis. How is your HP air charge?”
“We’re topped off,” I answered. “We used no air since our last charge off Point Barrow. Our battery bank is charged. We have opened the circuit.”
“Roger that, Lyre. Divers will disconnect shortly. We will let you know when to proceed.”
On our monitors, we watched the divers disconnect the shorepower cable from both subs—the water was transparently clear with a couple hundred feet visibility—and stow it in the DDC…well, at least we watched them take it beneath Teuthis and disappear. I guess, technically, we didn’t see them push the cable into the DDC.
About thirty minutes later, Teuthis released us. “Lyre, this is Teuthis. You are released to proceed at two hundred feet on a course of zero-nine-five, generally.”
As I’ve written in my previous mission reports12, submarining is often characterized as endless hours of tedious boredom interrupted by moments of sheer panic. For the next fourteen hours, we most definitely were on a tedious boredom leg. The Akkord automatics were so efficient at keeping us at depth and on our general course of 095 degrees that the watch officer had virtually nothing to do.
From my fourth hour to Sam’s third, we slipped silently under the canopy, covering 113 nautical miles with nary a peep from anything behind or ahead of us. Each hour, either Sergyi or Matt manned the Okean. We knew that Frisco and Swordfish were somewhere behind us, but Okean could not pick them up. Every now and then, Okean got a hint of either Shchuka or Carp. It didn’t get enough, however, to identify either one of them. Had we not known they were back there somewhere, their detection would have been meaningless.
Only one marginally significant event happened during this fourteen-hour leg: About 100 nautical miles into the leg, we passed Demarcation Point, the point on the coastline where the United States and Canada meet. At this time of year, it was all ice-covered. It occurred to me that we may have been the closest humans to this point, there being no reason at all for anyone else to be near—on land or sea.
I made an appropriate log entry.
THE LYRE—NORTH OF THE PINGOS
Those of you who read my previous mission report13 will already be familiar with pingos. They do not really have much bearing on this mission report, but they are so interesting that I decided to include a short description.
On land north of the permafrost zone, pingos are a type of frost heave where ice forms beneath the surface layer on top of the permafrost, pushing the ground above it into a mound that can rise as high as 180 feet. The Tuktoyaktuk Peninsula, roughly south of our position, is home to a very large number of these formations.
Just offshore of Tuktoyaktuk Peninsula, extending for fifty nautical miles right to the edge of the drop-off into the Arctic basin, is a large number of gas-hydrate pingos that bubble methane from the tops of their structures. They are not very well understood but might indicate the presence of oil beneath the seafloor. The ice surface above these pingos is mostly smooth and fairly thin—six to eighteen inches for the most part.
We expected to pass just north of this large pingo field, right at the continental break—the drop-off into the Arctic Basin. We intended to lay the third transponder about eighty nautical miles north of the eastern-most point of Tuktoyaktuk Peninsula.
Other than a course change to the left to 085 degrees and an eighty-three nautical mile leg that took all of ten hours, this leg was much like the last—tedious boredom. This was about to change, however.
THE LYRE—CONTINENTAL BREAK
“Lyre, this is Teuthis.” I was in the second hour of my watch, and I recognized Waverly’s voice. The Secure Gertrude was as clear as ever.
“This is Lyre.”
“We are eight nautical miles off your port bow over the location where we will emplace Transponder-three. Approach my location slowly at two hundred feet while I obtain a sat fix.”
“Roger, wilco,” I responded.
I guess I’m repeating myself, but the Akkord is truly remarkable. I dialed-in the parameters, and Akkord guided Lyre to our destination. We arrived an hour later.
“Teuthis, this is Lyre. We have arrived.”
“Roger that, Lyre.” Waverly still had the watch. “We got a good sat fix. Stand by for position coordinates.”
I received the coordinates and put them into Akkord. Akkord had us several nautical miles from our actual position. I noted the difference in the log and made a mental note to keep a closer eye on our Akkord position—get a manual update hourly from Teuthis. Obviously, the Soviet dead reckoning system did not match ours.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis. We are setting up Mystic ops. Remain where you are until Mystic is well away from Teuthis. When I notify you, ease your way up to the canopy, starboard side to Teuthis. When you are stable, let me know, and we will approach you for the battery charge.”
About twenty minutes later, Teuthis told me to ascend to the canopy. “Don’t worry about breaking through,” Waverly told me. “The ice is about five feet thick.”
This was the second time we had done this—charging our batteries just beneath the canopy. As we ascended with lights bright and cameras on, instead of a smooth undersurface like we had experienced before, a jumble of jagged ice filled our monitors.
I slowed our ascent and moved us around, looking for a relatively smooth spot to settle against. The jumbled ice spikes pushed down as far as thirty feet. For fifteen minutes, I crept below the jumble, looking for a clearing. Finally, I settled for an upside-down canyon about fifty feet wide. I eased Lyre up between the ice walls until her sail rested against the ice above us.
“Teuthis, this is Lyre,” I transmitted. “I’m against the canopy, but you will have some difficulty getting next to me. My bow is at zero-five-zero, wedged between two downward-thrusting ridges. I think there is room beyond the ridge to my starboard.”
Because she was not carrying Mystic right then, Teuthis could be more aggressive in clearing out a space on my starboard side. Mystic would just have to wait to return until Teuthis dropped down to deeper water after the battery charge.
It was a full half-hour before divers appeared to starboard on our monitors. They dragged the shorepower cable under the ridge and came up short by three feet.
“Teuthis, this is Lyre,” I transmitted again. “The cable is three feet short. You may be in a better position to drop several feet and hover than I. The Akkord is good, but I’m not willing to trust it to maintain my depth to the precision we need.”
“Roger that, Lyre. We’re descending five feet and moving closer to you.”
As they did, on the monitors I watched the divers struggle with the cable, and then one gave a thumbs up.
“We got it, Teuthis. Hold your position.”
The divers disappeared as Sam threw the breaker, and we commenced sucking up trons. Two hours later, with the charge complete—we had sucked up all the trons the batteries could hold—the divers showed up on our monitors as Spook assumed the watch from me, and Barry took over from Waverly on Teuthis.
Once we were disconnected from Teuthis, Spook dropped us to two hundred feet and set our general course to 085 degrees. Ahead lay what we hoped would be nine hours of quiet as we ran toward the entrance to Amundsen Gulf and then another fifteen hours to Dolphin and Union Strait.
THE LYRE—AMUNDSEN GULF
As things turned out, our nine-hour transit to Amundsen Gulf and the following fifteen hours to Dolphin and Union Strait were without incident—another boring leg of the submarining formula. I got some well-deserved sleep, but before I fell asleep, I pulled out the ivory capsule Kate had slipped into my hand as Teuthis was getting underway following our first night together. As I unscrewed the cap, her faint spicy smell filled my nostrils. I pulled out her silk panties and held them against my face for a moment. Then I restored them to the capsule before their Kate aroma could dissipate. I drifted off with images of Kate floating through my mind and filling my dreams.
I must really have needed my sleep because I slept through nine full hours, whereas I usually need only four or five hours a night. I popped awake, splashed some water on my face, and climbed the ladder to Control. Sam was on watch.
“Hey, Sam,” I said as I poured a cup of coffee. “Want one?”
“Yeah, black,” he said.
As I handed him a cup, I scanned Akkord and Okean. “Who are your contacts?” I asked.
“Teuthis…” he pointed to a relatively close contact off our port bow. “Frisco…” he pointed to a distant contact out ahead of us. “I lost Swordfish somewhere behind us. Sometimes back here,” he pointed to the edge of the monitor in our baffles. “I think I picked up either Carp or Shchuka. Not enough to identify, but whatever it is seems to be headed the same way we are.”
“What’s this?” I pointed to a smudge at the right side of the screen.
“I think it’s near-shore ice sounds,” Sam said. “King would know.” Then he looked at me with a grin. “Hey, you’re an ex-sonar type. What do you think?” He handed me a headset.
I listened for a moment. “Could be,” I answered, “but it could also be one of the Soviet subs trying to make a run-around. Keep an eye on it.”
I picked up the Secure Gertrude mike. “Teuthis, this is Lyre.” Franklin on Teuthis responded. I told him about our possible contact.
“I’ll check it and get back to you,” Franklin said. A couple of minutes later, he came back up on the circuit. “Drop down two hundred feet. You’re blocking the contact’s sound.”
Sam dropped us down, and ten minutes later, Franklin said, “It’s Carp, about twenty-seven nautical miles south, so watch yourselves. I’m going to put Teuthis between Carp and you.”
“Bring us back to two hundred feet, Sam,” I said, “and keep a close watch on Carp.”
___________
12 Operation Ivy Bells and Operation Ice Breaker.
13 Operation Ice Breaker.
Track of USS Teuthis & Lyre from Amundsen Gulf to Victoria Strait
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Amundsen Passage
THE LYRE— DOLPHIN & UNION STRAIT
In 1903, Roald Amundsen commenced the first successful northwest passage through the Canadian archipelago in his 45-foot herring-cutter Gjøa. He crossed the Atlantic, up the west coast of Greenland, westward through Parry Channel, south through Peels Sound between Somerset Island to the east and Prince of Wales Island to the west, around the east coast of King William Island, and through Simpson Strait to follow westward our eastward path through the archipelago.
Amundsen took the northern route through Parry Channel and Peels Sound because he was entirely uncertain about the shorter, southern route we would be taking through Bellot Strait and Fury and Hecla Strait, discovered in 1852 and 1822 by Capt. William Kennedy and William Parry, respectively. He suspected that ice conditions and tides and currents through both straits would be an insurmountable barrier to his little herring-cutter, and looking back on it, he wouldn’t have made it.
I assumed the watch ten hours into our push through Amundsen Gulf. My watch would end as we set up for our next battery charge. I kept an eye on Carp, who seemed to be hugging the coastline south of us. To the east, Frisco took station patrolling the entrance to Dolphin and Union Strait to protect our six as we entered the narrow passage. Rather than remain silent as she would normally do, Frisco announced her presence as a deterrence to Carp and Shchuka.
Battery charging had become fairly routine. This time we were in deep water with a smooth overhead ice canopy. First, Barry on Teuthis broke through the canopy to get a sat fix. Then, Spook actually completed the two-hour charge a half-hour early because the divers had learned to be more efficient in connecting and disconnecting the shorepower cable. We were a long way from shore, and there were no nearby polynyas. This meant we had no cetaceous visitors. Nevertheless, the divers kept one person on lookout just in case.
Polar Bears had not been an issue since we departed the Pt. Barrow area. They roam over the entire Arctic ice cap, but they predominate nearshore, where the presence of game for hunting and polynyas for fishing makes life much easier. Once we moved down into Dolphin and Union Strait, we expected to see more Polar Bear activity from there through the rest of our Arctic transit.
Ten hours later, near the end of Sam’s watch, we were in our fifth day as we passed Frisco and entered Dolphin and Union Strait.
“Slow to nine knots,” I told Sam. “We have a lot of maneuvering to do as we move through the strait.” I checked the chart. “We’ve got one hundred sixty-five nautical miles of strait ahead of us—one hundred four before the next battery charge. That’s fourteen hours.”
I checked the Okean display. Frisco had moved south of us, and I couldn’t see Carp. “Looks like Frisco chased Carp away,” I said.
“Or she just went quiet to wait things out,” Sam rejoined. “Any sign of Shchuka?”
“None that I can tell,” I said.
“Maybe she headed up the west side of Banks Island or north through Prince of Wales Strait.”
“Around Banks—maybe,” I said, “but through Prince of Wales…I doubt it. It’s pretty ice jammed by now. Remember the mess we passed through.”
“And the damage this baby sustained,” Sam said, patting the Akkord console in front of him. “That’s why we’re here, I guess.”
“Just keep a sharp eye, Sam,” I said as I turned and headed for the mess.
Sergyi was in the mess preparing a LRP meal for himself—pork and scalloped potatoes.
“Hey, Mac…You gonna eat?” Sergyi asked.
“Yeah, toss me a Beef Hash.”
We each poured 1 ½ pints of boiling water into our LRP bags and then settled down on opposite sides of a mess-table to set up our chessboard. Sergyi and I started playing chess together during our joint decompression in Halibut on Operation Ivy Bells.14 We picked up the game again once we had settled into our underway status on Lyre. Back on Halibut, I had reached a point where I won about half the games. Not anymore. I suspect that Sergyi now let me win on those occasions where I prevailed.
I had five hours before my next watch, enough time for Sergyi to give me a couple of lessons—in chess and humility.
My watch passed without incident. I turned over to Spook with just three hours remaining before our next battery charge, this time with a sat fix. We were headed into a part of the strait with lots of shoals and rocky protrusions. Furthermore, their charted positions carried a lot of uncertainty.
Thus far, I had pretty much ignored the built-in charts in Sozh. Teuthis was doing the navigating, and I was following. Now, however, things were different. We would be pressing through the canopy with about seven nautical miles to the cliffs north of us and seventeen nautical miles between us and the land to the south. I needed to know as precisely as possible the location of the small islands and shoal areas in our path.
“Spook,” I said, pointing to Harkness Island two nautical miles ahead of our position on Sozh and its slaved image on Akkord, “creep up on this island until you detect its upslope on the secure bottom sounder. I want to compare Sozh’s position with its position on our chart.”
“Roger that. This ought to be fun.”
We slowed to bare steerageway and crept forward, our depth seventy-five feet with the bottom two to three hundred feet below us. About three hundred yards out from the island, the bottom surged upward sharply. Spook brought us to sixty-five feet and crept to within a hundred yards of the steep cliff-like shoreline. I plotted our position on the paper chart based upon our recent Sat fix and the Sozh DR trace since then. The paper chart position was a mile west of Harkness. Sozh has us nestled up against the western edge of Harkness—our actual position. The implication was clear. I picked up the Secure Gertrude mike.
