Operation Arctic Sting, page 14
“While all this was happening, Norwegian Roald Amundsen had set up and was undertaking the world’s first successful Northwest Passage by sea. He wintered over twice on King William Island, on the other side of Jenny Lind Island, about seventy-two nautical miles due east of where we are right now, before moving westward on the route we just traversed. When he reached Nome, Alaska, in 1906, he found out about the event I just described. He wired his new king, stating, “My traversing the Northwest Passage was a great achievement for Norway,” and signed the wire, ‘Your loyal subject, Roald Amundsen.’ Then he named the area we occupy right now after his new queen: Queen Maud Gulf.” I grinned at Potts. “One more thing…British explorer John Rae named Jenny Lind Island after his favorite Swedish opera singer. Now that’s probably more than you ever wanted to know.”
“Actually, Sir, that’s fascinating. How do you remember all that crap?”
“I don’t really know, Potts. I read something interesting, and then I move on. At some later time, when it seems pertinent, that stuff just bubbles up into my mind. I don’t have a clue how I do it.” I grinned again. “You guys must get pretty tired of my stories.”
“Shit no! How else we gonna pass the time down here?” Now Potts grinned at me. “Seriously, Sir, you tell good stories.”
Spook picked up the last hour of our Queen Maud transit and took us through ten-nautical-mile-wide Ice Breaker Strait between Victoria and Lilly Lind Islands. Bert took over and shepherded us northeastward through lower Victoria Strait for four hours. He brought us to a stop fifty feet over the bottom in 150 feet of water, just four nautical miles southeast of Taylor Island. Both Sozh and our chart agreed on Taylor Island’s position.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis.” It was the XO, taking what would have been my watch. “We are three hundred yards off your bow.”
“This is Lyre. We have perfect agreement between Sozh and our chart and have our position accurately marked. Sat fix appears unnecessary. Suggest you approach us starboard to starboard and reset your SINS accordingly.”
“Roger, Lyre. Stand by for our approach.”
Bert lifted us straight up against the canopy. In the brightness from our beams, we could see the jumbled underside of the canopy at our location. It looked like ice in a frozen river—large chunks three or four feet thick tumbled in all directions and then refrozen. It presented no obstacle, but its appearance was as wild as anything we had yet seen.
Within a few minutes, Teuthis had come alongside, and the divers were in the water. I had not yet discussed my thoughts with Ham about diver identification, but Jake had kludged a method for us to monitor divers’ comms. It was akin to the OOD placing an open Secure Gertrude mike in front of the diver comms speakers.
Our charging ops were entirely routine this time. We were too far from shore and the polynyas near Taylor Island to be visited underwater by Polar Bears, although I would not have dismissed the possibility that a bear or two were above us on the ice. The divers had hooked us together.
We were just about to commence the charge when the lookout diver shouted, “Hey! There’s Borysko!”
I checked the monitors. Sure enough, if it wasn’t Borysko, then this Orca was his twin, right down to the shape of the bite out of his dorsal fin. Borysko approached each diver in turn, gently nudged him, and then backed off and swam in circles around our submarine sortie. One of the divers, it turned out to be Harry, returned to the Egress hatch, got a piece of 4 x 4, and pushed it toward the Orca. Borysko took the wood into the front of his jaws, swam around with it for several minutes, and then returned to the two divers. He gently poked Harry with the 4 x 4 and then left it nearby. When it rose, he retrieved it and again brought it to Harry. This time, Harry grabbed it. Borysko whipped his massive tail up and down, much like a dog wagging his tail. Harry pushed the 4 x 4 toward the canopy so that it rose and wedged itself between two pieces of ice. Borysko followed it, worried it loose with his front teeth, and brought it back to the divers.
Both we and the Basketball were able to record this remarkable play behavior.
When the charge had finished and the gear was stowed, all three divers joined Borysko for a few minutes of play. Thirty feet of 12,000-pound Borysko hovered in the clear water with three divers floating around his massive head, rubbing his dome, patting his snout, and scratching his tongue. They might have kept it up for hours, but Ham finally recalled them. They reluctantly returned to the Egress hatch, and Teuthis slowly pulled away from our starboard side.
A few minutes later, Sam got us underway for our remaining twelve-hour run through Victoria Strait.
___________
14 See Operation Ivy Bells, the first book in the Mac McDowell Mission Series.
Track of USS Teuthis & Lyre from Victoria Strait to the Tasmania Islands
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Tasmania Islands
THE LYRE—VICTORIA STRAIT
We were six hours into our eighth day when Sam got us underway through Victoria Strait on course 071 degrees. Our immediate goal was Larsen Sound and then Franklin Strait stretching north between Prince of Wales Island to the west and the Boothia Peninsula that pushed northward from the Canadian mainland into the Canadian archipelago.
According to our chart, our route was fairly shallow—722 feet at the deepest part of Victoria Strait, but otherwise typically less than 400 feet. The canopy was nearly six feet of solid ice—old ice. This shit hadn’t broken up in decades.
Sam drove us for two hours. Then Potts took the next five. I had the final five and brought us into Larsen Sound. This was a straight run at ten knots. We did not stop for anything. My one regret was that Borysko probably would not be able to follow us. He could break through fairly thin ice, but five or six feet was totally beyond him. He was too smart to trail us without known breathing holes.
As we passed through the northern reach of Victoria Strait, Barry contacted me from Teuthis. “Lyre, this is Teuthis. We have picked up a Soviet sub intermittently ahead of us. Not sure if it is in M’Clintock Channel or Franklin Strait. Insufficient data to determine type or range. We designated this contact Sierra-seven.”
“Could be Shchuka,” I responded. “She could have headed west of Banks Island up to Parry Channel and could now be working her way south through either M’Clintock or Franklin.”
“It’s not Carp because Frisco has kept her well south,” Barry said. “The captain thinks the Soviets have put more submarine resources than just Carp and Shchuka on our tail. He suspects they will be monitoring all three north-south channels we might access—M’Clintock Channel, Peel Sound-Franklin Strait, and Prince Regent Inlet-Boothia Gulf. The captain says that when they do not find us in M’Clintock, they’ll assume we are either heading to Parry Channel to cross over and head south down the east side of Baffin Island, or we’ll transit Bellot Strait to go south through Fury and Hecla Strait.”
I turned to Spook, who was preparing to relieve me. “You get all that?”
Spook nodded. “I’ll play around with Okean to see if we can come up with something.” He turned to examine the Okean console. “My guess,” he added, “is it’s another sub altogether.”
THE LYRE—LARSEN SOUND
Larsen Sound is actually the confluence of M’Clintock Channel to the northwest, Franklin Strait to the northeast, and Victoria Strait to the south, from whence we had just come. Typically, according to our charts, its average depth is 300 to 500 feet, but it has a 700-foot depression near its center. The northern reaches of both M’Clintock and Franklin drop down to more than a thousand feet.
Our immediate destination was just south of Wrottesley Inlet on Boothia Peninsula—the Tasmania Islands, projecting into Franklin Strait from Boothia Peninsula. We intended to take a few hours on the bottom at the Tasmania Islands to allow my crew to return to Teuthis for a shower and a “home-cooked” meal and for Barry to transfer our track info to his charts.
Spook was not able to pick up the Soviet sub—Sierra-7— on Okean. He tried throughout his watch but got nothing. By the time Bert took over, we had begun to lose a clear line of sight to M’Clintock Channel. Halfway through his watch, Bert got a couple of hits on Okean, nothing to hang our hats on, but enough to decide that Sierra-7 was in Franklin Strait. This was both good and bad—good because we knew where he was and bad because he was where we needed to go.
Shortly before Sam assumed the watch, we got a Secure Gertrude call from Teuthis. It was the XO.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis. We have firm contact info on that Soviet sub—Sierra-seven. She’s a recent Victor III class—the Volgograd (K-502). She’s hanging out west of Pemmican Rock, the entrance to Bellot Strait. Swordfish transited west of Banks Island and is dropping down through Peel Sound to investigate.”
An hour into Sam’s watch, the XO called us again.
“Lyre, this is Teuthis. We’ve picked up a second Victor III class sub north of us. Designate Sierra-eight. This one is not in our books.” The XO paused. “Sierra-eight, the unknown Victor-III, appears to be heading toward the Tasmania Islands, so watch yourself!”
THE LYRE—BOTTOMED AT THE TASMANIA ISLANDS
The Tasmania Islands are somewhat of a mystery. They sit atop a mound jutting out from Cape Rendel on the Boothia Peninsula surrounded by about a hundred feet of water that drops to 500 feet over a range of one-third to one-and-a-half nautical miles—a slope of 2.5 to 12 degrees. This was in sharp contrast to the 30-degree slope and vertical cliffs we experienced at Hecla and Fury Islands when we placed the transponder when we were trying to lose the Alfa during Operation Ice Breaker15. Although they are charted, all but two remain unnamed. Toms Island, the second largest, lies 0.8 nautical miles due west from the largest, that is unnamed. Graham Island lies three nautical miles northeast from the largest island, just 0.8 nautical miles north of Cape Rendel.
A three-quarter nautical mile wide tongue-like canyon pushes north between Toms Island and the largest island. It stops one-third nautical mile south of a small islet between the two larger islands.
Our intent was to bottom both subs, commence the charge, and bring half my crew at a time to Teuthis for a shower and a steak and baker dinner. The skipper decided to bottom both subs at the lip of the canyon. Sam brought us up the canyon, placing us crosswise at the lip with our starboard side facing downslope. Waverly brought Teuthis alongside, starboard to starboard.
Within a few minutes, Ham put three divers in the water—Harry, Whitey, and Jake. Ham had solved the diver identity problem with Storekeeper First Class Frank Ender, Teuthis’ senior Storekeeper under Lt. j.g. Wilson Ferrer, the Supply Officer. Ender created cloth badges that attached to each diver’s helmet displaying a bright letter representing the diver’s surname. So, Harry, Whitey, and Jake wore B for Blackwell, F for Ford, and P for Palmer, respectively.
Harry and Whitey swam the shorepower cable from the Egress Lock to our external connector while Jake and the Basketball watched from above. Suddenly and unexpectedly, Borysko appeared from the canyon behind Teuthis. The giant cetacean whipped his tail around like a joyous puppy—a 12,000-pound puppy.
“Where the hell did he come from?” Harry barked.
Sergyi looked at me. “How is this possible? He has to breathe. We just crossed under one hundred eighty nautical miles of solid ice.”
“Well…” I said, giving myself some time to come up with a meaningful answer. “Orcas roam all over the world. Any specific Orca has a territory of several hundred to thousands of miles. This is Borysko’s home territory—he knows it well. Orcas have excellent sonar. I think Borysko tracked us sonically while he headed east to Boothia Peninsula. Then, tracking our sound, he followed the coast northward from polynya to polynya until he found us right here. He seems pretty happy. If that isn’t joy, then I don’t know what joy is.”
After his greeting, Borysko swam around both subs, carefully inspecting everything, perhaps to ascertain that things were normal. He paid particular attention to Mystic moving independently through the water. I am sure this gave the crew plenty of opportunity to kid Bob Taggert and his crew about Borysko’s intentions toward Mystic.
The Tasmania Islands are home to a large number of Polar Bears. The thin ice and currents under the ice give the bears an endless supply of fresh fish, and both the seal population around the islands and musk-ox herds on Boothia supply nearly endless game. Because they looked so much like seals, the divers were on continuous alert for swimming bears. With Borysko around, they felt much safer.
Mystic had taken half my crew to Teuthis—Bert, Spook, Dokey, Hart (the DIA sonar specialist), and Sergyi. Potts had the watch, and a half-hour later, he called me to Control.
“What do you make of this, Mac?” he asked, pointing to three blips on both Okean and Akkord. Each was accompanied by a small Cyrillic character. The outside blips displayed II-1 and II-2. The middle larger blip displayed C.
I called Teuthis. “This is an emergency! Get me Sergyi!”
Moments later, Sergyi answered. “Yes, Boss…”
I described the three blips and their Cyrillic letters. Sergyi interrupted me. “This is very important, Mac. Those are Russian diver carriers. The IIs are Protei-five one-man diver carriers. Protei is simple machine. Has large battery container against which diver lies prone, two hinged braces in front that press against diver’s shoulders, hinged bar that swings up between diver’s legs, and shrouded electric propeller near diver’s feet. It also carries transponder, a simple homing indicator that points to a beacon, and on/off switch. No accelerator, brake, or steering. To stop, rider turns it off. He changes depth and steers with his fins.
A Morskoy Spetsnaz diver riding a Protei-5 carrying an APS underwater rifle
“The C is two-man Sirena torpedo; it has double warhead. Sirena has small homing readout—no range, just direction. Also magnetic compass, but that useless up here.
Two Morskoy Spetsnaz divers riding a Sirena two-man torpedo
“We are under attack by Soviet Morskoy Spetsnaz—Naval Spetsnaz. Very good…very dangerous. I suit up and get into water immediately! Get armed divers in water fast. Watch out! These guys armed with APS underwater rifle and SPP underwater pistol. APS fires twenty-six darts in full automatic—lethal range forty feet. Pistol fires four darts in double-action—lethal range twenty-five feet.”
APS Underwater fully automatic Assault Weapon and dart. Magazine holds 26 darts
SPP-1 Underwater double-action pistol and darts. Darts load in a cartridge of four
Sergyi left to prepare for the dive. I asked for the skipper.
“What is it, Mac?” the skipper asked several seconds later. I told him about the approaching divers.
“I recommend,” I said quickly, “that you put all the divers into the water on rebreathers with dart guns and ammo, break off the charge, and slide Teuthis into the canyon. Drag the shorepower cable with you. If possible, leave the Basketball above the lip. These Spetsnaz guys don’t know what they are getting into. My guys can handle them.”
“Your divers are entering the water now,” the skipper said. “Sergyi is with them. Let me worry about Teuthis’ disposition. You concentrate on gaining control of the in-water situation.”
ON THE SEAFLOOR—THE TASMANIA ISLANDS
I had an immediate decision—to turn on my external lights or not. We were mid-winter in the high Arctic. Above the ice canopy was dark 24/7. Even were there daylight above, very little light would have penetrated to our 100-foot depth. We were below the canyon lip, and the water was crystal clear. If I turned on only those lights that shined downward, I suspected that the incoming attackers might not see the glow. On the other hand, each of my divers wore a helmet light he could turn on or off as necessary. The incoming divers certainly would be wearing helmet lights and possibly lights on their vehicles.
I decided—no external lights and extinguished them.
Ham had instructed each diver to give frequent updates on his position and surrounds.
The five crew members still onboard Lyre joined me in Control. “Gil,” I said to Gilbert Edwards, the DIA reactor specialist, “terminate the battery charge.” He left to carry out the order.
I checked the monitors. Teuthis was still alongside; I had no idea whether or not the skipper would move down into the canyon. There was nothing he could do where we were. All the divers were deployed. I suspect they took with them all the darts they could carry—perhaps all we had. Teuthis’ only potential task would be to accept wounded divers, should that become necessary. With the double warhead coming toward us, I relegated diver safety secondary to Teuthis’ safety.
Teuthis lifted several feet off the bottom and commenced drifting downslope into the canyon. Harry, Whitey, and Jake were already in the water. Jimmy, Jer, and Sergyi joined them. I saw a seventh diver, but before I could ask Ham, he told me over the Secure Gertrude that Bill had requested to get wet for this fight. Then I spied two more divers that Ham identified as Wyatt Cook, the DIA supervisor, and Kendrick Long, the hull specialist.
“They both insisted on joining the fight,” Ham told me.
On word from Ham, the divers extinguished their lights. My monitors showed pitch black, but I could detect a faint glow over the lip to the north.
Borysko had remained with the divers below the lip but seemed subdued, almost as if he could pick up their vibes. On the monitor, against the glow from the oncoming divers, I could see silhouettes of Harry, Whitey, and Jake aligned in a spaced-out line along the lip. Then Borysko’s bulk blocked my view as he checked them out.
