By Karl Flynn
Somewhere in the Philippine Sea…
I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.
Lieutenant Commander Bowman was flying a slow racetrack pattern low to the water to maintain ground effect. Per the rendezvous procedure, she was supposed to set the Marlin down if her crew didn’t visually acquire the submarine after four complete circuits. The intent of the procedure was to save as much fuel as possible for what lay ahead. She had rehearsed resupplying a submarine dozens of times, but never in a warzone. Today, her crew would be doing the real thing.
Who the hell thought this whole thing was a good idea anyway? There’s probably a dozen things that can still go wrong. At least we’re doing this during daylight.
“Ma’am, got a periscope at three o’clock, eight hundred yards!”
Bowman leaned forward to look past Lieutenant Wei, her copilot, and squinted out of the right side of the aircraft to try to see through the sunlight dancing across the ocean surface. Sure enough, she spotted a periscope—or rather, a photonics mast—protruding out of the calm water.
Damn, there she is. Right where she’s supposed to be. Bowman allowed herself to smirk. Nice job, Weems. Maybe the rest of this will be just as easy.
_____________________________________
Meanwhile, aboard the USS Iowa, SSN-797, Lieutenant Weems spotted the Marlin II circling overhead on the LCD screen.
Son of a bitch. This is actually happening.
“Conn, visual on the marlin. Right where she’s supposed to be.”
What a beautiful bird. Weems was tracking the aircraft on the photonics mast admiring the four-engined amphibian.
“Conn, aye.” Weems’ commanding officer, Commander Nguyen, was conning the boat for the resupply. “Alright, Mr. Weems. Proceed with the linkup procedure.”
“Aye, captain.”
Weems selected the visible light from the photonics mast user interface and read through the scripted message. He remembered how his roommate had made him learn morse code with him before their Leatherneck evaluation at the naval academy. He couldn’t help but feel thrilled when they successfully used their lights to coordinate a night attack, only to receive a tongue-lashing from the staff for giving away their position with their lights.
Bet you never would’ve guessed I’d be using morse code for this.
Weems had wanted to commission as a Marine but wasn’t selected. His roommate was and had been assigned to an infantry platoon in the 3rd Marine Littoral Regiment. Based on the sheer volume of shipping the Iowa had encountered over the past few days, Weems wondered if his former roommate—or anyone in the MLR—was still alive.
No. Don’t think about that. Focus on the task at hand.
_____________________________________
Back aboard the Marlin, Wei was deciphering the flashes of light from the submarine.
“M-A-R-L-I-N-8-0-8… D-E… I-O-W-A… S-T-E-A-D-Y… C-S-E… 0-1-5… R-E-A-D-Y… T-O… P-R-O-C-E-E-D… K.” Wei turned to his pilot. “Hot damn! They’re ready for us!”
Bowman felt a surge of adrenaline. She wagged the massive aircraft’s wings three times in accordance with the pre-arranged acknowledgement signal. “Alright, Wei. Let’s go through the landing checklist.”
“Aye, ma’am!”
_____________________________________
Weems was fixated on the enormous airplane. He watched it recede behind the boat, circle back, and line up parallel to the Iowa’s track offset by a few hundred meters. As the plane approached, he saw the flaps lower even further, then the sea spray kicked up behind the plane as it descended. Finally, the craft settled down into the water just as it was abreast of the sub. Weems followed it as it taxied well ahead of the sub, stopped, and opened its starboard cargo hatch.
Weems turned to his captain. “Looks like they’re getting ready to deploy the ROV, sir.”
Commander Nguyen nodded in acknowledgement, then announced, “Flood tube two.”
A reply came from forward of the conn. “Flood tube two, aye, sir.”
_____________________________________
Commander Pahlavi had been a reservist until shortly before hostilities had commenced. Although he was the highest-ranking officer aboard the aircraft, he still felt out of place. His last tour on active duty was years before at a mobile dive and salvage unit that had experimented with industrial ROVs. This made him one of a select few naval personnel to have operated the modified work-class ROV the Navy had used to pioneer undersea replenishment techniques. While based on an industrial ROV design, the Navy’s resupply ROVs had been fitted with additional thrusters and control surfaces to keep up with submarines making minimum steerage while submerged. Pahlavi looked at the unusual craft with a sense of apprehension.
The Navy had over a decade of experience conducting carrier operations in peacetime before WWII. Now we’re going to resupply a submarine underwater with less than a year under our belt?
Pahlavi shook his head and refocused on the task at hand. After completing the built-in diagnostic process, Pahlavi got on the aircraft’s intercom system. “ROV is ready for deployment.”
Bowman’s voice replied, “OK, sir, commence deployment procedure when ready. Wei, signal the Iowa.”
Aviation’s Mate Third Class Orlov was standing by at the edge of the open cargo hatch. When he heard Bowman’s command on the intercom, he immediately began coordinating with Chief Park, the Marlin’s loadmaster, to lift the ROV and get it over the water next to the fuselage. Pahlavi glanced away from his operator’s display at the twenty-year-old Sailor leaning out of the starboard cargo hatch signaling Park to reel out the winch.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose.
As he watched the rubber padding on the craft’s exterior submerge with the thick umbilical trailing behind it, he turned back to the ROV controls mounted below the touchscreen on his operator’s station. “ROV is away.”
“Aye, sir.”
Alright, everything according to procedure.
Pahlavi started driving the ROV alongside the Marlin’s hull. Orlov was announcing how much length was being spooled out of the umbilical reel. The umbilical served several purposes: it tethered the ROV to the aircraft, fed electrical power and control signals from the aircraft to the ROV, and provided video feed to Pahlavi’s control station. Once the umbilical reel had spooled out two meters, Pahlavi stopped the ROV.
“Bowman, we’re ready to get underway.”
Bowman’s voice replied through Pahlavi’s headset. “Aye, sir. Increasing speed to three knots.” Pahlavi focused intently on the ROV control station to ensure the vehicle didn’t collide with the Marlin’s hull as the aircraft slowly moved forward. Bowman’s voice came back over the intercom a few seconds later. “Speed through water is three knots, sir.”
Alright, here we go.
Park and Orlov were preparing one of many capsules slightly smaller than a Mk-48 heavyweight torpedo to be lowered into the water. Cylindrical in shape, the container was tapered on both ends with fins protruding past the end facing the aft end of the aircraft. It was made of positively buoyant material and retained ten Compact Rapid Attack Weapons—effectively miniature torpedoes. The Iowa had expended several dozen CRAWs in the last few days of fighting, but she still had most of her Mk-48s on board. Pahlavi watched as the Sailors lowered the capsule into the slowly receding ocean just below the open cargo hatch. As it neared the surface, Pahlavi fixed his gaze back on his control station and watched the capsule break the surface from the ROV’s underwater camera.
“Steady…Hold!” At Pahlavi’s command, Park stopped the secondary winch that was still connected to the supply capsule. Pahlavi drove the ROV alongside and watched as one of the ROV’s manipulator arms mimicked his own movements. He grabbed the capsule roughly a third of its length from its front end.
“ROV has positive control! Release the capsule.”
“Release the capsule, aye, sir.” Orlov leaned out of the cargo hatch and pulled a second cable, which released the winch cable from the capsule. Pahlavi carefully watched the ROV’s thruster speeds compensate to keep the capsule steady as the cable disconnected. All were well within the specified tolerances.
Pahlavi switched back to the aircraft’s intercom. “Alright, Bowman. Just like we rehearsed. Bring us to starboard and get us on the same track directly in front of the Iowa.”
“Aye, sir!”
_____________________________________
Weems was watching the large seaplane keep station just off the Iowa’s port bow on the photonics mast display. Then, he saw the aircraft’s tail signal light begin flashing.
“New signal! I-O-W-A… W-E… A-R-E… R-E-A-D-Y… T-O… M-E-R-G-E… T-R-A-C-K… K.”
“Alright, Mr. Weems, get them on station,” Commander Nguyen replied.
“Aye, sir.”
_____________________________________
Rather than relying on GPS, which, for all she knew, was being spoofed, Bowman was shifting the Marlin’s position based on the commands of the Iowa. Wei was relaying the distances being signaled via morse code from the Iowa’s photonics mast.
“Three meters.”
“Three meters,” she replied.
“Two meters, change course to zero-one-six.”
“Two meters, changing course to zero-one-six.”
“One meter, change course to zero-one-five.”
“One meter, changing course to zero-one-five.”
“Iowa’s signaling again. M-A-I-N-T-A-I-N… P-O-S-I-T-I-O-N… T-U-B-E… 2… O-U-T-E-R… D-O-O-R… O-P-E-N… C-O-M-M-E-N-C-E… R-E-L-O-A-D… K.” Wei turned to his pilot. “Are you ready to make history, ma’am?”
Bowman allowed herself a smile. “Easy, Wei. We still gotta do the hard part. Signal the Iowa that we’re sending the ROV.”
_____________________________________
Park was spooling out the ROV’s umbilical reel, allowing Pahlavi to drive the ROV directly astern of the Marlin. As the distance between the ROV and the Iowa closed, Pahlavi could see the sub’s bow emerge from the sea.
Visibility is great out here. That should help.
He guided the ROV along the submarine’s starboard side. As the ROV got closer, he could clearly see white numbers painted on the side of her hull.
There’s the draft marks. Torpedo tube should be right behind the 20… There she is!
As the ROV approached the sub, Pahlavi could see the fairing over the second torpedo tube was in the retracted position, revealing the open torpedo tube illuminated by the ROV’s underwater searchlight.
Easy does it.
Pahlavi commanded the ROV to slowly move toward the open torpedo tube using the station-keeping mode. He was intently focusing on lining up the resupply capsule with the open tube. At this point, the ROV’s control software was doing most of the work, but Pahlavi could still feel himself sweating. After what seemed like an agonizingly long approach, the finned end of the capsule disappeared into the open torpedo tube.
Gotcha!
As the ROV’s forward manipulator got close to the open tube, Pahlavi walked the capsule hand over hand—or manipulator over manipulator—into the tube until it was fully seated.
“I have visual confirmation of clearance on the outer edge of the torpedo tube! Moving the ROV away.” Pahlavi was already driving the ROV away from the Iowa as he spoke.
_____________________________________
Weems watched as the signal light on the Marlin’s tail lit up again.
“New message: P-O-S-I-T-I-V-E… V-I-S-U-A-L…T-U-B-E…2…C-L-E-A-R…K…”
Commander Nguyen nodded affirmingly. “Close tube two.”
“Close tube two, aye, sir.” In the torpedo room, torpedomen were preparing to onload the capsule and ready tube four for the capsule that would follow.
_____________________________________
After nearly two hours ferrying CRAW capsules from the Marlin to the Iowa, Pahlavi was mentally spent. In all, the Marlin crew had resupplied the Iowa with 110 CRAWs. Park was reeling the ROV back from the eleventh resupply run when Pahlavi saw the Iowa turn to port and dive while he felt the Marlin turn to starboard. It was surreal watching the submarine disappear out of view. He wondered if he would see his former plebe again.
Godspeed, Mr. Nguyen.
A tear made its way down Pahlavi’s face as the Iowa faded into the depths. Once the sub was no longer visible, he buried his face in his hands and wept silently. As he wept, he felt a hand gently grasp his shoulder.
“Sir, is everything alright? We need to retrieve the ROV,” Chief Park said softly. He had noticed Pahlavi wasn’t paying attention to the ROV control station and realized what was happening. Pahlavi did his best to wipe away his tears and nodded to Park, then looked back at his controls.
“All good, chief. Let’s proceed.”
_____________________________________
After Park and Orlov had finished retrieving and securing the ROV, it had taken Bowman just twenty minutes to reach cruising altitude. The Marlin was significantly lighter than at the start of the mission largely thanks to the lack of CRAWs aboard as well as having expended a significant amount of fuel.
Hm…We burned more fuel than we were supposed to during the resupply.
As though he had read her thoughts, Wei turned to her and said, “I don’t think we’re gonna have enough fuel to make it back, ma’am. Even if we did make it, it’d be way too close for comfort.”
Bowman continued studying the fuel levels and checked the engine’s burn rates. They were flying at cruising speed, but the unexpected headwind was causing the four turboprops to go through fuel faster than was anticipated.
“Yup, sure looks like it.”
I hope there’s a tanker in the air. I really don’t feel like sitting on the water again.
No sooner had she spoken those words when the Marlin was buffeted by an even stronger headwind. Wei spoke up again. “Ma’am, we’re definitely not going to make it.”
“Concur. Good thing is we’re out of the EMCON zone. See if you can find a tanker available for tasking.”
“One step ahead of you, ma’am. There’s no tankers available, and I can’t imagine any will free up any time soon with Enterprise’s air group providing CAP clear out here. Good thing is if we divert south by a bit we can reach a USV towing a dracone that’s only a few miles away. Looks like it was supposed to stage it for an EAB, but that mission got scrapped. Now it’s up for grabs, so we might as well refuel—not like the F-35 can land on water.”
Bowman sighed heavily, resigned to bobbing on the water’s surface while refueling from a drone boat. “Alright. Can you plot a course to rendezvous with that USV?”
“Yes, ma’am, at 159 we should have a visual in about…actually, we should be able to spot it now!”
“Copy, coming to 159.” As she banked the Marlin to turn south, she switched her intercom setting to address the entire aircraft. “All crew, prepare for water landing. We don’t have the fuel to make it back in a straight shot, so we’re going to put down to get fuel from a cargo USV.”
Shortly after the crew acknowledged the landing notice, Chief Park informed Bowman over the intercom that he had acquired the USV with the aircraft’s powerful optical suite. Bowman pulled up the feed on one of the screens in the cockpit, clearly showing the USV slowly plodding along. Since the USV’s course and speed were readily evident to Bowman, she brought the aircraft around behind the USV and set the plane down in the water offset from its track, just like she had done with the Iowa. As she taxied alongside the USV, she said, “OK, Chief, prepare for waterborne refueling.”
“Aye, ma’am!” Once the Marlin was close enough, Commander Pahlavi was able to establish a local datalink with the USV and take control of it. He signaled Park and Orlov to open the cargo hatch and simultaneously got on the intercom to talk to Bowman. “OK, I’m controlling the USV. It’s got plenty of fuel for us, just need to get the refueling boom over here.”
Bowman replied, “OK, sir, I’m coming to a halt. Let’s get ready to refuel.”
“Copy, bringing the USV alongside now.” Once he had driven the USV behind the Marlin’s number three engine, Pahlavi switched settings to have the USV keep itself at the same relative position to the Marlin. He then started to deploy the USV’s refueling boom. He could see himself hunched over the common operating station inside the Marlin’s cargo bay from the refueling boom’s camera.
“Count down the distance, Orlov!”
“Aye, sir!”
As the refueling boom extended toward the Marlin, Orlov dutifully called out the closing distance.
“Five meters!”
“Five meters.”
“Four!”
“Four.”
“Three!”
“Three.”
“Two, alignment is good!”
“Two.”
“One! Steady, sir. You’re lined up.”
Pahlavi carefully brought the refueling boom into contact with the aircraft’s starboard refueling receptacle. Orlov immediately secured the fuel line to the fitting next to the open cargo hatch. “Boom is secure, ready to begin fueling, chief!”
“OK, Orlov—ma’am, did you catch that?”
“Sure did, Chief. Aircraft is ready for fuel transfer.”
“Aye, ma’am! Commencing fuel transfer.” Chief Park opened the fill valves, then Pahlavi switched on the USV’s fuel transfer pump. Both settled back and watched its fuel level slowly fall as it pumped fuel into the Marlin’s depleted tanks.
_____________________________________
Bowman was glad to be back on land. After spending another hour sitting on the water taking on fuel from the USV, she was eager to sleep on a bed that didn’t move. After post-flighting the Marlin, she briefly conferred with her crew before walking back to her cot. She flopped down without taking off any of her gear.
Her sound sleep was interrupted by another pilot walking to another bunk. Bowman recognized Lieutenant Schmidt, another pilot in her squadron.
“Hey, Allie. How was your mission? I heard you got tasked with resupplying the Delaware.”
Schmidt stopped dead in her tracks and looked at the ground. She replied without raising her eyes. “We did…She didn’t show.”
Bowman couldn’t believe what she’d heard. Oh, God. Allie’s husband was on the Delaware…
“I’m so sorry, Allie. Maybe they’re still out there. Maybe they—”
Before she could continue, Lieutenant Schmidt collapsed to the floor in tears. Bowman rushed over to her. The other officers in the female berthing, awakened by the commotion, looked over. Most tried to go back to sleep. They had become numb to the sight; many had already lost husbands, friends, brothers, and sisters. And none of them knew when it would stop.
Captain Karl Flynn, USMC, is a rifle company commander in 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marines.
Featured Image: Artwork created with Midjourney AI.