aircraft had been upgraded into the “B-bird” in the early 80s. In addition to
its acoustic processing suite and ESM capabilities, it was a superb surface
surveillance and command and control platform. Armed with the APS-137 ISAR
radar and Forward Looking Infrared Radar (FLIR), the S-3B could carry Harpoon
antiship missiles, Mk-46 torpedoes, and sixty sonobuoys.
Today, Hunter 701 was on an ASW (Anti-Submarine Warfare) mission, with
secondary tasking as SUCAP (Surface Carrier Air Patrol). Anything that
floated on or under the water was fair game, at least until the carrier could
determine what platform had caused the two explosions. Its radar and FLIR
were designed to detect snippets of periscopes protruding up from the depths,
and the S-3B’s look-down capabilities far exceeded that of the F-14.
ASW, however, was not the most exciting of taskings. It was, thought
Rabies, somewhat akin to watching grass grow.
The S-3B held a crew of four, two pilots in the forward two seats and a
TACCO and an enlisted Aviation Anti-Submarine Warfare Specialist (AW) in the
two backseats. The TACCO was a Naval Flight Officer trained in managing the
intricate battle problem and sensors. The AW ran the acoustic sensor suite,
monitoring the sonobuoys and Magnetic Anomaly Detector (MAD) boom that trailed
fifteen feet behind the aircraft. While the S-3B lacked the flashy sleek
lines of the fighter community, her long endurance, ability to operate at
slower speeds, and remarkable flexibility made her much more than an ASW
aircraft.
And, Rabies thought, at least she was a jet. He cleared his throat and
said, “Okay, all together now. Just follow the chords–C major, F major, then
E flat. Just imagine Waylon playing along with us. Ohhhhh, she may have
dumped me, but I’m never dumping you. She may have been untrue, but-”
“Rabies, come back around south,” the TACCO interrupted. “We’re getting
out of range of buoy seventeen, and Harness thought he heard something
interesting.”
“Harness, don’t you be lying to the TACCO just to get me to quit
singing,” Rabies huffed. “A little culture ain’t going to hurt you none.”
“No shitter, sir–I got something interestin’ sniffing around that buoy,”
Harness replied. Not that he wouldn’t have invented something if he’d been
certain it would get the commander to quit singing. Harness, who suffered
from having perfect pitch and a keen appreciation for classical music, had
gotten desperate enough to do just that on previous flights.
“Interesting? As in submarine interesting?” Grills felt a small surge of
adrenaline.
“Probably just a whale farting,” Harness replied. “Still, I’d like to
monitor the buoy a few minutes longer.”
“Never hurts to be safe. South it is.” Rabies put the aircraft into a
steeper turn back toward their original course.
“Okay, that’s-shit, sir, we got one!”
“You gotta be kidding!” the TACCO said.
“No, sir, diesel submarine engine sounds. Looks like almost all the
engine components! Hold on, look at-there it is! I’ve got a probable snorkel
mast, bearing one-eight-three, range four miles! Picking up FLIR, too.”
Rabies stood the aircraft on its side, banking back toward the bearing
Harness had indicated and using the turn to descend.
They’d been monitoring the buoys at seven thousand feet, but a snorkel
mast from a submarine warranted a closer look.
“Classify this contact probable Kilo-class diesel submarine, snorkeling,”
Harness announced.
Ahead in the water, Rabies saw the distinctive feather of disturbed water
streaking away behind a large black pipe. “Make it visual identification.
Wonder if this bad boy’s been launching any missiles at tanks lately?”
“Let’s get some practice. This is a drill, gentlemen. Setting up for
deliberate attack,” the TACCO said, entering the steering coordinates for the
pilot. The pointers and courses popped up on Grill’s display.
“Roger, got it. We don’t need a MAD run with VID. And gentlemen, please
note that this is a simulation. It wasn’t our tank that got blown off the
island, and we’re not killing a submarine today,” Rabies said.
While the pilot maneuvered into position for an attack, his copilot
updated the carrier on the tactical situation, talking with the Destroyer
Squadron Commander, or DESRON, onboard the carrier. The DESRON, a senior
Captain with extensive surface ASW experience, inhabited the 08 level of the