The North PacificBoard

Aboard M113, 240052 T
Southern Lapjeskat Sea

Standard operating procedures for hunter-killer packs in the Royal Alunyan Navy calls for one submarine to stand a passive listening sonar watch whilst the other diesel-electric raises her snorkeling mast to replenish her batteries. As a consequence, it was boat M355 that was all ears beneath the waves, her sonar techs listening to the growling clash of small ice, various biologics, and the faint thrum of her sister sub’s diesels recharging those banks of batteries. The vigilant sentinel remained oblivious to the disaster that had unfolded beyond the western confines of Area Whiskey.

It was the snorkeling M113 that heard the radio call.

"This is Vice Admiral Vickers Anderson, captain of the YNS Karlos. I am calling to anyone in the area for rescue. I am the only survivor of the 49th Yugobatanian Amphibious Carrier Group. I am meeting at these coordinates."

Anderson states the coordinates to the original rendezvous point.

"Please, send help. Anderson, out."

The comms tech frowned at the faint signal. It was on the international aviation distress frequency of 243 MHz, and while it wasn’t a properly formatted distress call, it had sounded like a plea for assistance. She pressed the replay button on the ESM mast recorder, and listened again. It was a distress call. She keyed the MC-43 and spoke softly into her headset mike.

“Conn, Radio. Aviation distress call received, bearing approximately two zero zero, range unknown.”

“Radio, Captain. Be right there.”

She just finished logging the incident on her screen when Captain Thurapaya stuck his head into her space. “Whatcha got, Bruneschelli?”

“Distress call on international frequency two four three point zero.” She took off her headset and handed it to the Captain. When he nodded, she pressed replay.

He frowned. She couldn’t tell if it was the shocking news of the loss of an entire task force, or the lack of proper radio procedure, that was so unsettling. The Captain glanced at her bearing display. Wordlessly, she pointed to the bearing west southwest of their present position, then to a point nearby southeast on the Plemboiya coast. The Captain nodded.

“That’s got to be a few hundred kilometers...”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aviation frequency?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yugobatania Naval Ship Karlos is their helo carrier if I recall. Gonna be marginal making that distance if they’re airborne. Any further?”

“No sir. Just the one transmission received.”

“Okay. Log it.” Captain Thurapaya reached over and switched the headset selector to the MC-43. “Sonar, Captain. Two pings on the BQM-305.”

“Captain, Sonar. Two pings on the BQM-305, aye.”

The high frequency mine hunting sonar reverberated throughout the boat. The XO appeared at the comms room and peered over the Captain’s epaulettes. “What’s up, sir?”

“Likely a rescue mission.” Thurapaya took off the headset and handed it to his executive officer. Lieutenant Stefan Sbariglia listened intently, eyes widening as he absorbed the meaning of the distress call.

“Holy Mother Merri,” Sbariglia exclaimed. He handed the headset back to the captain, who passed it on to Bruneschelli.

Captain Thurapaya faced the XO. “We’re going topside to confer with Petrini on M355. Then we’ll proceed together due south on the surface until the ice gets too thick. At that point we’ll submerge and continue south to find a suitable polynya. We’ll surface there to effect any rescue.”

Thurapaya turned back to the comm tech. “Transmit in the blind on two four three point zero and one two one point five: Rescue expected available off Plemboiya coast on longitude one four five west in six hours, zero four zero zero zulu. Then get a hold of LapSubCom in the Hexagon on satcom and send them a report.”

“We’re not heading to the scene?” queried Sbariglia.

“Negative, XO,” explained the captain. “Even on diesel, we’re too slow to be of much use. And if you haven’t noticed, with 24 crew and four officers, our little boat is mighty cramped. We couldn’t take on casualties even if we wanted to.”

“No, our best bet is to position ourselves to rescue that aircrew, if necessary.”

And with that, Thurapaya returned to the conn, XO in tow.