Jaroslav Posted June 20 Author Posted June 20 Just now, Jaroslav said: Allied Naval Forces Southern Europe At the end of the Cold War the structure of Allied Naval Forces Southern Europe was as follows: Allied Naval Forces Southern Europe (NAVSOUTH), in Naples, Italy, with the following national commands of Mediterranean NATO members: Commander Gibraltar Mediterranean (COMGIBMED), in Gibraltar, under a Royal Navy Rear Admiral and Flag Officer Gibraltar Commander Western Mediterranean (COMMEDWEST), under a French Navy admiral, until 1962 in Algiers, then Toulon, after France left NATO's integrated command structure in 1966 the command was absorbed by NAVSOUTH Commander Central Mediterranean (COMEDCENT), in Naples, under an Italian Navy admiral Commander Eastern Mediterranean (COMEDEAST), in Athens, under a Greek Navy admiral Commander South-Eastern Mediterranean (COMMEDSOUTHEAST), under a British admiral in Malta, after the disbanding of the Mediterranean Fleet, the command was absorbed by NAVSOUTH Commander North-eastern Mediterranean (COMEDNOREAST), in Ankara, under a Turkish Navy admiral (includes the Black Sea) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Allied_Naval_Forces_Southern_Europe Does anyone have map for NAVSOUTH
Jaroslav Posted June 21 Author Posted June 21 (edited) http://highsea.cz/map/INT310.JPG Sea depth map Edited June 21 by Jaroslav
Stuart Galbraith Posted June 22 Posted June 22 On 6/20/2025 at 6:48 PM, Jaroslav said: Which reminds me, I do have some google earth marker files I made of some of the military districts, based on mid 60s imagery from CIA satellite imagery reports. https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/nffalfv6nacp1mkiqu2sa/Baltic-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=5ldg07utfcgbp9iv1d6lpwwrg&dl=0 https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/sqy9n8zzchb5xg1c4dtsh/Turkestan-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=wo0wdu3spdvqzuz3n3bguh7zh&dl=0 https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/bygatl1k7ktifvpk63htq/Transcaucasian-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=et4fs5cgf7adbmi1bnes2vpt7&dl=0 https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/av3holu6i729oi9lj6chp/North-Caucasus-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=qk0tz6sqtkullazdilkzdif67&dl=0 Doesnt look immediately useful, but you can look around many of the sites on google streetview. Ive another one on Leningrad military district, ill try and look it out.
Jaroslav Posted June 22 Author Posted June 22 10 minutes ago, Stuart Galbraith said: Which reminds me, I do have some google earth marker files I made of some of the military districts, based on mid 60s imagery from CIA satellite imagery reports. https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/nffalfv6nacp1mkiqu2sa/Baltic-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=5ldg07utfcgbp9iv1d6lpwwrg&dl=0 https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/sqy9n8zzchb5xg1c4dtsh/Turkestan-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=wo0wdu3spdvqzuz3n3bguh7zh&dl=0 https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/bygatl1k7ktifvpk63htq/Transcaucasian-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=et4fs5cgf7adbmi1bnes2vpt7&dl=0 https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/av3holu6i729oi9lj6chp/North-Caucasus-Military-District.kmz?rlkey=qk0tz6sqtkullazdilkzdif67&dl=0 Doesnt look immediately useful, but you can look around many of the sites on google streetview. Ive another one on Leningrad military district, ill try and look it out. Thanks 🙂
Jaroslav Posted June 22 Author Posted June 22 (edited) Sea lines of communication Edited June 22 by Jaroslav
Jaroslav Posted June 22 Author Posted June 22 (edited) On 6/20/2025 at 7:48 PM, Jaroslav said: This one is when Volga MD merged with Ural MD Edited June 22 by Jaroslav
Jaroslav Posted June 23 Author Posted June 23 6th Fleet Maneuvers Begin Near Sicily Just a week after U.S. fighter jets downed a pair of Libyan warplanes, the U.S. Navy has gathered an armada of 27 ships and 150 aircraft in the Mediterranean Sea for six days of maneuvers, the Pentagon said Thursday. The exercise, called “National Week,” in which two aircraft carriers and 20,000 sailors are taking part, got under way Thursday and is scheduled to last until next Tuesday, Pentagon officials said. The carrier John F. Kennedy, whose fighter aircraft shot down the two Libyan MIG-23 fighters on Jan. 4, will be joined in the exercise by the carrier Theodore Roosevelt, the Pentagon said. (Jan. 13, 1989.) https://www.latimes.com/archives/la-xpm-1989-01-13-mn-173-story.html
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 Spanish navy Strategy and Operations Initially the Navy’s main task was to protect what remained of the Spanish colonial empire, but today Spain is not even in the top 20 largest EEZ. The Armada was about also to project traditionally power an prestige, and there had been some actions that mobilized the Armada during the cold war: -The Ifni war, an enclave attacked by Moroccan irregulars, in five occasions between 1957 and 1965. At some point, the cruisers Canarias, Cerventaes, Nunez with destroyers and supply ships ended in territorial waters of Morocco and in front of the entrance of the port of Agadir. -There is also the long-standing question of Gibraltar. Standing as a British Bastion since its transfer on 11 April 1713, the “rock” was a point of contention bewteen the two governments since a long time. In 1982 if the British had not sent the fleet and left the Falklands to the Argentines it is likely Spain would have been more willfull to retake Gibraltar by foce if that was not diplomatic skills and the fact the rock was also essentially a large military base, airbase and naval one (and the proximity of Spain to the UK). In 1969-1970 the claims for gibraltar reached boiling point when the freshly acquired aircraft carrier dédalo and escort was sent to the bay of Algeciras, facing Gibraltar. Nevertheless, the carriers Eagle and Hermes had arrived just before and acted as a deterrent. In the 1980s the whole of the Armada was stationed at Ferrol, to the exception of the Descubierta class in Cartagena. Old FRAM I and submarines were moved to the Mediterranean, but Spain always kept the best and more modern assets in the Atlantic, participating in more and more joint exercises with NATO. Recently the fleet’s doctrine is absed around two scenarios: -A localized conflict with Islamists taking over nearby Morocco and attacks on Ceuta and Melilla were planned. Threats to the Canarias and fishing fleets were also taken in account. -A large scale conflict with USSR (or the east after 1990) and according to NATO scenarios, would have cooporeated in the Atlantic for subarine hunting and protect the waters near the Gibraltar strait. In 1987 the main command center was moved to Rota, next to the US naval base. -In 1990’s gulf war, three Santa Maria class frigates were sent to red sea as part of a multinational policing force. -In 1994, some Spanish ships under UN mandated participating of a blockade of former Yugoslavia, to stop arms smugglers. https://naval-encyclopedia.com/cold-war/spanish-navy.php
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 French navy French SSBNs The French submarine program stuck to conventional diesel-electric types through the Creole, Narval, Arethuse and Daphne types, before building in 1963-66 the Gymnote, a ballistic trial submarine equipped with four SLBM tubes. Even two years before her entry into service, the keels of six SSBNs were laid down in succession (1964-1980) at Arsenal de Cherbourg, leading to the construction of the Le Redoutable class. These 8500 tons boats were able to carry 16 ballistic missiles, 18t, two-stage M1 equipped with a single 500 kt warhead, 2500 km range, comparable to the American Poseidon system. The third boat introduced the 3000 km range M2, and in 1976, the M20 with a 1Mt warhead (fourth boat). Apart the Le Redoutable stricken in 1991, the five others were in service by 1995. Being 25 years old, their replacement was studied already from 1985. At last in 1989 was laid down the keel of the first of a new serie of very large oceanic, stealth SSBNs, displacing 14.200 tons, quite a leapfrog in capabilities. The Le Triomphant class has since replaced all 1960-70s boats, all capable to fire sixteen M5 carrying each 12 TN-75 MIRV SLBMs. French SNAs To hunt for enemy submarines able to threaten this dissuasion force, two classes of new generation submarines were delivered. In the 1970s, the Agosta type, last French diesel-electric type, and the Rubis class SNAs in the early 1980s, followed by the two Amethyste class in the early 1990s (the first as laid down in 1984, and the next two were cancelled). They were replaced in the 2000s by a serie of the large Barracuda class, new generation SNAs, comparable to the US Los Angeles of the last series in size, but Seawolf in capabilities. The preliminary design studies went back to the late 1980s as it was though to shorten and adapt the new SSBNs of the Le Triomphant type. Command structure The Marine Nationale is managed through four Maritime zones, all coordinated by the CEC.LANT Headquartered at Brest, Britanny for the Atlantic and CAC.MED at Toulon for the Mediterranean. The C-in-C for the Indian Ocean is named AL.INDIEN and the one for pacific, based in Papeete (Tahiti) is called AL.PACI. French national territory maritime subdivision comprised three Prefecture Maritime. Following the end of the cold war, the area-based division was dropped and forces were separated between organic role instead: The main blue water task force under FAN (Force d’Action Navale), a versatile, global projection force, based in Toulon. It comprised the bulk of the surface fleet, carriers and their escorts and SNAs. The GASM for Grupe d’Action Sous-Marine was the second force comprising 6 ASW Frigates and 10 Avisos dedicated to ASW warfare, and the FOST nominally with four SSBNs based at Brest. In addition, also at Brest was the Force de Guerre des Mines (FGM), the minehunting force. https://naval-encyclopedia.com/cold-war/coldwar-french-navy.php
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 (edited) Italian navy NATO areas of operations The Italian cold war navy had to operate on the two Mediterranean basins (each side of Sicilia) and the narrows of the Adriatic. In particular, their presence in Adriatic was to answer a theoretically neutral Yugoslavian navy, the Albanian Navy (with a Soviet submarine base), the Bulgarian Navy, also part of the Warsaw Pact whereas Turkey showed throughout its independence and had the Bosporus straight potentially closed to the Soviet black sea fleet. In fact the latter did ventured in the Mediterranean on a regular basis during the cold war. The 5th Operational Squadron went on with a collection of operational bases. However, there was never the same kind of “dangerous game” submariners in particular were accustomed for in northern waters, of strategic importance. From 1969 however, Libya became a potential threat was aligning with the Soviet block and subjected to be potentially used as a Soviet base, right at the doorstep of the Italian boot. During the cold war, the Mediterranean was a complex theater of operations, compounded by the presence of massive Soviet airbases, with strategic bombers and naval long-range patrol planes. In 1969, they added a presence both in Libya and Egypt, considerable strategic assets for the control of the Mediterranean. The Marina Militare for air cover in the 1970s still depended on land-based aircraft. All three helicopter cruisers were tailored for ASW warfare and the air group of the Garibaldi, made of Harriers, had from 1986, the only real naval air asset in the region, outside a comparable one by Spain (Principe de Asturias). Yet at the very end and after the cold war, and despite budget cuts, activity did not flinch as control of the EEZ and in particular immigration became the focus of the Italian Navy. The Italian cold war fleet air arm was developed thanks to US help, starting with a single squadron of Curtiss SB2C Helldiver in 1949, PV-2/harpoon bombers, and in 1955 S2F1 Trackers ASW patrol planes, and in the 1970s, Breguet Atlantic from France, with two Sqn in 1973, and later Atlantique Mk.2 planned FY 1975 to replace the Trackers, but it was never to be. There was a prospect to purchase the P-3 Orion, but it never materialized and the Breguet squadrons were modernized to the Mark 2 instead. Later the fleet air arm was completed by four squadrons of Tornados, one of G-91Y and three of AMX. All were capable of carrying anti-ship missiles, the Tornados were given the long-range Kormoran. https://naval-encyclopedia.com/cold-war/marina-militare-italian-cold-war-navy.php Is there any source to back this bolded data for fleet air arm? I didnt find any data that Italian naval aviation was so strong during Cold war. Only that I could find is this: Edited June 28 by Jaroslav
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 On 6/16/2025 at 1:26 PM, Jaroslav said: Italian air forces units in maritime role: When 36° Stormo received the Tornado in 1984, it was a wing on 2 squadrons and as common at the time the 2 had different roles: 156° Gruppo received the Tornado in the ground attack and antiship role while 12° Gruppo retained the F-104S for air defence duties. https://www.britmodeller.com/forums/index.php?/topic/235091303-italian-air-force-80s-tornado-ids-wingssquadrons/ The 156th Squadron of the 36th Wing at Gioia del Colle was the second unit to receive a Tornado IDS in June 1982 and continued to perform the TASMO (Tactical Support to Maritime Operations) role, previously covered by the Starfighter. https://www.panavia.de/operations/squadrons/italy/ Since 1972, the Italian Air Force has operated at the air bases of the 30th Wing of Elmas and 41st Wing of Sigonella with a mixed crew of the Italian Navy (18 ATL1). https://it.wikipedia.org/wiki/Breguet_Br_1150_Atlantic
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 (edited) Can @RETAC21, @sunday and other Spaniards help with Spanish navy OOB for 1980s and other question that I have or would have regarding Spanish navy during 80s? Any help is welcomed. This is for Italian and French navy to. Greeks and Turks are mainly covered. Edited June 28 by Jaroslav
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 On 5/20/2024 at 3:12 AM, Perun said: Hellenic Navy 20000 personnel including 12000 conscripts 1. Organization a) General Staff and subordinate Commands | ------- Fleet Headquarters (Salamis-CO: Vice Admiral) | ----- Naval Training Command (CO: Rear Admiral-Skaramangas) | ----- Logistics Command (CO: Rear Admiral - Athens ) | ----- Aegean Sea Naval Command ( Piraeus -covering the entire sea border with Turkey ) | ----- Northern Greece Naval Command ( Thessaloniki - coasts and harbors of Thessaly and Northern Greece ) | ----- Ionian Sea Naval Command (Patras - coasts and harbors of Western Greece ) Note, that in contrast to current practice my sources for 1988 indicate that the 3 naval commands were directly subordinate to the General Staff and not to the Fleet Headquarters. These commands were responsible for maritime surveillance and coastal defense in their area using a network of surveillance facilities and coordinating with local Coast Guard units. b) Fleet Headquarters and subordinate Commands Fleet Headquarters | ----- Destroyer Command (CO: Commodore) | | | --- Destroyer and Frigate Flotillas (CO: Captain) | --------- Fast Attack Craft Command (CO: Captain-commands all | missile, torpedo and patrol boats) | -------- Submarine Command | -------- Landing Ship Command | ------- Mine Warfare Command | --------Naval Helicopter Command Note: the 32nd Marine Brigade is an Army formation and the 353rd Naval Aviation Support Squadron was an Air Force unit but with Naval officers and NCOs as observers c) Naval Training Command and subordinate Commands Naval Training Command | -- Naval Officer Cadet School ( Piraeus ) | -- Underwater Demolition Unit (Skaramangas- with several | Underwater Demolition Teams) | --- Palaskas Training Center (Skaramangas) (recruit and | specialties training) | --- Kanelopoulos Training Center (Skaramangas) (recruit and | specialties training) | --- Sakipis Training Center ( Salamis ) (machinery training) | --- Poros Training Center (Poros) (NCO training) d) Logistics Command and subordinate Commands Logistics Command | --- Salamis Naval Base (main base of the Fleet) | --- Crete Naval Base ( Souda Bay - mainly for repairs) Note: There were also two Naval Stations in Crete and Corfu , as local support facilities, both directly subordinate to the General Staff. 2. Equipment (class in italics, country code indicates design origin of ship originally build for Greece or in Greece , "ex-" indicates ships transferred from other navies) Submarines 4 U209/1200 DE ,4 U209/1100 DE, 1 Guppy III Tench ex-US, 1 Guppy IIA Balao ex-US Frigates: 2 Kortanaer NL Destroyers (all ex-US): 6 Gearing FRAM I, 1 Gearing FRAM II, 1 Allen M. Sumner FRAM II, 4 Fletcher (+4 decomissioned Fletcher in reserve) Destroyer Escorts: 4 Cannon ex-US Missile Boats: 6 Combattante IIIA FR, 4 Combattante III FR, 4 Combattante II FR, 2 Esterel FR (as patrol boats) Torpedo Boats: 6 Jaguar/Seeadler (ex-DE), 4 Tjeld/Nasty NO Coastal Patrol Boats: 3 Panagopoulos/Goulandris class GR Landing Ships and Landing Craft: 1 LSD Cabildo ex-US, 2 Terebonne Parish ex-US LSTs, 3 LST-1 ex-US, 2 LST-511 ex-US, 5 LSM-1 ex-US, 70 landing craft including 8 LCU, 2 LCT, 13 LCM, 34 LCVP, 14 LCP, 7 LCA Minelayers: 2 MMC class (ex LSM-1, ex-US) Minesweepers: 9 MSC-294 Falcon, 5 Adjutant (US, ex-BE) Support Ships: 1 Electronic Warfare Ship (Otter ex-DE), 1 Depot ship Rhein (ex-DE), 2 fleet and 4 coastal oilers, 2 Water Tankers, 1 Ammo Ship and several training, hydrographic ships, support craft and tug boats. ASW Helicopters: 10 Agusta Bell AB 212, 4 Allouette III
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 On 5/20/2024 at 3:18 AM, Perun said: Turkish Navy 55000 personnel including 42000 conscripts Note: Since my sources are mainly Greek, the information given here will probably be less accurate and complete 1. Organization a) Subordinate Commands: General Staff ( Ankara ) | |-Fleet Command (Gölcük Naval Base - includes destroyer, | submarine, fast attack craft, mine warfare and helicopter commands) | |-Northern Sea Area Command (Istanbul-probably responsible for the Straits, Black Sea and | fleet repair base) | |- Southern Sea Area Command ( Izmir- probably responsible for Mediterranean ) | |-Naval Training Command ( Istanbul ) b) Naval Bases (list not complete): -Gölcük Naval Base - Mersin naval Base - Iskederun Naval Base - Erekli Naval base Note: In Turkey Marines belong to Navy and at that time there was a Marine Regiment of 3 Btlns and a Amphibious Support Btln Turkish Navy has an air arm; at that time it included two squadrons, see below under "equipment" 2. Equipment (class in italics, country code indicates design origin of ship originally build for Turkey or in Turkey , "ex-" indicates ships transferred from other navies) Submarines 6 U209 DE , 2 Guppy III Balao ex-US, 5 Guppy IIA Balao ex-US, 2 Guppy IIA Tench ex-US, 2 Tang ex-US Frigates: 2 Berk TU, 2 Köln ex-DE, 4 MEKO 200 DE (commissioned 1 mid July 87, 1 early February 88, 1 end July 88, 1 end July 89) Destroyers (all ex-US): 6 Gearing FRAM I, 2 Gearing FRAM II, 2 Carpenter FRAM I, 1 Allen M. Sumner FRAM II, 1 Robert H. Smith, 2 Fletcher (both decommissioned 1987) Missile Boats: 6 Dogan (Lürssen FPB-57, DE), 9 Kartal (modified Jaguar, DE) Torpedo Boats: 5 Jaguar (ex-DE) 7 Coastal Patrol Boats: 2 Asheville ex-US, 6 PC 1638 ex-US, 4 PGM 71 ex-US, 1 Girne (Lazaga ES), 18 various types (incl 11 ex USCG 83-footer cutters) Landing Ships and Landing Craft: 2 Terebonne Parish ex-US LSTs, 2 LST-1 ex-US, 1 LST Cakabey TU, 2 LST Sarukabey TU, 29 LCT, 13 LCU, 20 LCM Minelayers: 1 Falster ex-DK, 6 coastal minelayers (ex LSM-1) Minesweepers: 12 Adjutant MSC-268 and MSC-294 Falcon (9 ex-US, 2 ex-FR, 1 ex-BE) 6 Vegesack ex-DE, 4 Gaspe/Bay ex-CA, 8 YMP ex-US, 4 MCB -MSI Cape ex-US Support Ships: 1 Depot ship Rhein (ex-DE), 6 coastal oilers, 3 Ammo Ships and over 90 training, hydrographic ships, support craft and tug boats. Aircraft: 351 Squadron (Helicopters): 6 Agusta Bell AB 212, 3 AB-204AS, 14 UH-1H (other source indicates 18 AB212 and 3 AB204) 301 Squadron (fixed-wing): 2 S-2A Tracker, 2 TS-2A Tracker, 18 S-2E Tracker
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 Recapture Wide-Area Antisubmarine Warfare In a new age of ultra-quiet undersea acoustics, it’s high time for the U.S. Navy to revitalize a signature Cold War capability. By Lieutenant Commander Ryan Lilley, U.S. Navy In early 1981, a ready-alert P-3C Orion launched from Naval Air Station Bermuda with a crew of 12 officers and enlisted men. An hour earlier the crew had been comfortably asleep as their 24-hour-alert shift was winding down. Now they pulled themselves together as their Orion clawed for altitude, arcing northeast toward the vastness of the North Atlantic Ocean. During the scramble to get airborne there had only been time for a hasty briefing, but they understood the sudden urgency: A Soviet submarine was nearby. The mission commander, Lieutenant Frederick “Buzz” Lineburg, faced a challenging task. He knew the submarine was transiting from the north, and he knew its last estimated position. As Buzz studied his chart, he realized that his quarry could be hiding anywhere within several thousand square miles of ocean. An area of that size was too large for “direct-path” search tactics, which exploit one of several acoustic-ray paths that sound can follow through water. Instead, by capitalizing on the target’s relatively loud acoustic signature, Buzz elected to employ search tactics optimized for “convergence-zone” (CZ) ray paths, which can propagate much farther through water. Thus, with only 1 aircraft and 16 passive sonobuoys, Buzz and his crew were able to search several thousand square miles of ocean with an acceptable probability of detection—a capability known in the air antisubmarine warfare (ASW) community as wide-area ASW search. Wide-area ASW search is a critical warfighting capability.1 During the Cold War, NATO forces leveraged their technological edge to develop sensors, operators, and tactics, techniques, and procedures (TTPs) capable of detecting and tracking Soviet submarines. Many of these sensors, contained in towed arrays and sonobuoys, were passive systems that listened for the telltale sounds of a submarine without betraying the presence of their host platforms. NATO’s ASW forces effectively parlayed these sensors and TTPs into an ability to find Soviet submarines at sea, providing their commanders with important situational knowledge during the heightened military tensions between East and West. For over a quarter century, however, the sharp decline in submarine acoustic-source levels has been well documented (see Figure 1). When combined with a shift in focus away from ASW, the Navy’s ability to effectively search a large area of ocean for a submarine has eroded. Make no mistake: The U.S. Navy leads the world in undersea warfare. But its ASW forces have not kept pace with the threat and are facing a potential warfighting gap just as the nation turns its attention to the challenging Asia-Pacific region. Links in the ASW Kill Chain The Soviet submarine threat may be gone, but a wide-area ASW search capability remains a requirement.2 Into the void left by the Soviets steps China, with an increasing number of diesel-electric and air-independent-propulsion submarines; North Korea, whose midget-submarine program claimed the South Korean corvette Cheonan as a victim in 2010; Iran, whose fledgling submarine force enjoys home-field advantage in the Strait of Hormuz; and Russia, recommitted to a first-rate submarine fleet to patrol the Arctic Ocean and occasionally visit the western Atlantic. The time has come to restore the U.S. Navy’s wide-area ASW search capability to the levels achieved during the Cold War. Fortunately, P-3 and P-8 maritime-patrol aircraft (MPA) are poised to employ a new sensor that can provide exactly that. To do so, warfare commanders and the air ASW community must be willing to approach the “search” phase of ASW differently. For the uninitiated, understanding why a wide-area search capability is important first requires knowledge of the ASW kill chain. Kill chains may be defined differently; a generic ASW kill chain consists of four separate links: “search,” “localize,” “track,” and “attack”: • Search: Employ ASW sensors in an area derived from cueing information • Localize: Initial detection and determination of submarine position, course, and speed • Track: Maintain constant knowledge of position, course, and speed • Attack: Deliver an ASW weapon. Of these four links, or phases, “search” is generally considered the most difficult. An ASW asset like an MPA aircrew often starts its search without any of its sensors in contact, knowing only that a submarine is out there somewhere. The longer the submarine remains undetected, the larger the size of that somewhere becomes. This translates to a broad swath of ocean that the submarine may hide in, ranging from a few dozen to several thousand square miles, and drives the need for a wide-area search capability. The optimum wide-area ASW search platform should combine speed and range (limiting the amount of time a submarine remains undetected) with a capable acoustic sensor that maximizes submarine-detection range. Buzz and his Cold War peers took advantage of “noisy” Soviet nuclear submarines. They didn’t always succeed, but when tactical factors like oceanographic conditions and target source levels were favorable, they were able to search a broad area of ocean using passive sonobuoys deployed in widely spaced rows known as a sonobuoy field. As Soviet submarines became quieter, Buzz and his crew adapted by deploying more narrowly spaced sonobuoy fields to provide sufficient probability of detection, but at the cost of area coverage. Eventually, some adversary submarines became so quiet that search areas became a fraction of the size of the areas that were covered against earlier-generation submarines. The passive sonobuoy fields could no longer adequately search a large area of ocean against modern targets. Active vs. Passive Viewers of World War II movies are familiar with active sonar. They probably remember tense scenes where the German or American submarine crews nervously glance upward upon hearing the distinctive sonar “pings” of an approaching enemy warship. Those submariners had every right to be apprehensive: It can be difficult to avoid detection from an active sonar system. There is one downside to active sonar, however: It alerts the quarry that a hunter is near while also revealing the hunter’s position. Passive sonar provides an opportunity to hunt a submarine without necessarily alerting it. During the Cold War, NATO navies often used passive acoustic systems for ASW. They took advantage of both superior technology and “noisy” first- and second-generation Soviet nuclear submarines. By only listening passively, NATO ships, submarines, and aircraft were often able to find and track unalerted Soviet submarines. When the acoustic environment was conducive to convergence-zone ray paths, as it often was in the northern Atlantic and Pacific oceans, a single ASW asset was able to passively search thousands of square miles of ocean. Passive ASW TTPs became the norm, and even today they remain the primary search method for P-3 and P-8 aircraft. There are (and will continue to be) situations where passive-search TTPs are appropriate. But soon they should be the exception, not the norm. With respect to submarine stealth, a modern, quiet submarine holds most of the advantages. As Figure 1 shows, foreign nations have invested resources into submarine-quieting technology with effective results. The high source levels that NATO navies used to exploit are simply not there anymore. ASW assets like the P-3 have seen their effectiveness decline as they are forced to reduce their search-area size in order to have a reasonable probability of detection. Modern submarines are ultra-quiet and make detection difficult for ASW forces, yet the MPA community still predominantly employs passive TTPs. The moment has come to break this paradigm. Sound energy allows for submarine detection. If submarines are no longer putting enough sound energy into the ocean environment, then submarine hunters must adapt and induce the required sound energy themselves. For a wide-area search, multistatic active sonar is the best option for MPA. Enter Multistatic Active Technology In the late 1980s, the dramatic decline in Soviet-submarine source levels was apparent. Resources were committed to establish a program of record for multistatic active-sensor technology to be employed by ASW aircraft. Active sonobuoys employed by MPA were useful, but only at the relatively short ranges that are effective for submarine localization and tracking. A multistatic active system would provide the needed capability to search large areas of ocean for submarines. Multistatic active sonar is different from other active sonars used by ships, submarines, helicopters, and MPA. Most active sonar systems are monostatic, meaning that transmitter and receiver are co-located. With monostatic active sonar, sound energy travels from the transmitter to the target and is reflected back to the co-located receiver. Multistatic active sonar has a single transmitter but multiple receivers that are dispersed in a manner that maximizes probability of detection (see Figure 2). In general terms, when compared to monostatic sonar, a multistatic active sonar system increases probability of detection because more receivers are employed, and if proper oceanographic conditions exist, it greatly enlarges the amount of ocean area that is searched effectively. While both sides experimented with multistatic acoustics during the Cold War, in the mid-1990s the United States introduced a multistatic active capability called the Extended Echo Ranging (EER) sonobuoy system. This first-generation multistatic sensor used two types of sonobuoys, a source sonobuoy (to provide a non-coherent, broadband acoustic pulse) and a receiver sonobuoy (to listen for the return echoes). The SSQ-110 source sonobuoy used an explosive to generate an acoustic pulse at a sufficient source level that the pulse could propagate the appropriate distance necessary for a wide-area search. The introduction of EER into the P-3 fleet should have been the catalyst to force a change in MPA search TTPs. For EER, however, the end of the Cold War meant that it was already obsolete, five years before its introduction. As a first-generation system, EER was intended for use in deep water. Regardless of performance, with the Soviet threat diminished, there was little reason to persist with EER. The next-generation multistatic active sensor, Improved EER (IEER), arrived in 2008. New source and receiver sonobuoys, combined with refined processing algorithms and digital radio-frequency links, initially showed promise. IEER continued the use of a non-coherent source buoy, but unlike its predecessor, was intended for employment in shallow-water regions against smaller, diesel-electric submarines.3 Commander, Operational Test and Evaluation Force (COMOPTEVFOR) rated IEER as “operationally suitable and operationally effective” in its initial operational test and evaluation (IOT&E) report, yet passive acoustic-search tactics, not multistatic tactics, remained the norm for the P-3 community.4 Despite the conclusions of the IOT&E report, there was a lack of confidence in IEER among Fleet stakeholders. While IEER performed satisfactorily during operational testing, Fleet aircrews encountered training difficulties. The explosive charges used by the source buoys were largely to blame: The marine-mammal mitigation procedures required during IEER exercises precluded many operational areas, especially during whale-calving and migration seasons. Additionally, submarine officers were understandably wary about operating in close proximity to underwater explosives and therefore levied stringent safety procedures during IEER exercises (if they agreed to participate in them at all). IEER is a manual system that dictates the operator be able to discern a positive contact from a false one, a difficult task when using a non-coherent acoustic source that can generate confusing acoustic-clutter returns. Reliable target-recognition ability requires intensive training and proficiency. Therefore, the lack of Fleet aircrew proficiency in IEER resulted in skepticism about a capable system, both inside and outside the MPA community. To date, the multistatic active-sensor family has not enabled the MPA community to abandon its reliance on outdated passive acoustic-search TTPs. Fortunately, the corporate knowledge gained during the development, testing, and use of the first two generations of multistatic active systems has been retained and advanced. Combined with improvements in processing power and battery technology, the third-generation system, known as “MAC,” is about to debut.5 Third Time’s a Charm: Multistatic Active Coherent Multistatic active coherent (MAC) is an ASW search sensor whose improvements have overcome IEER’s deficiencies and yielded a more operationally usable system. Advancements in processing power, algorithms, battery capacity, automation, and operator/machine-interface technology are incorporated into MAC. A significant difference between MAC and its older siblings is the SSQ-125 source buoy. The SSQ-125 source is electronic, not explosive, and emits a coherent, narrowband pulse that will reduce acoustic clutter for easier target recognition while largely removing the restrictions related to the use of non-coherent sources (explosives) in the ocean.6 MAC provides a compelling cost-benefit to the Navy and, together with MPA, fits well into the payload-centric model called for in Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Jonathan Greenert’s “Payloads over Platforms” approach.7 Currently, only MPA employ MAC because the radio-frequency line-of-sight coverage required for a MAC field impedes integration on ships, submarines, and low-flying helicopters. However, potential concepts of operations (CONOPS) with ships, helicopters, and unmanned air systems are being evaluated. MAC is an Acquisition Category IV (Navy and Marine Corps only) program that cost $183 million to reach initial operating capability. In the world of defense acquisition, MAC is a relatively affordable program that enables the primary mission of MPA by providing a core warfighting capability. COMOPTEVFOR recently determined that MAC is “operationally suitable and operationally effective;” P-3 squadrons have already begun to train with MAC and new P-8 crews will follow suit in mid-2014. During operational testing MAC met its threshold requirements for search-area size and probability of detection. The search-area size is classified, but is sufficient for current operational requirements.8 Furthermore, MAC is an evolutionary acquisition program with planned follow-on increments to improve its capabilities. Successive versions will double the search area by increasing source level and providing that robust CZ detection capability that Buzz so adeptly exploited. Should MAC continue to meet its performance gates, it has the potential to revolutionize how the MPA community prosecutes submarines. It’s understandable that some ASW stakeholders will initially greet MAC with skepticism. The first two generations of multistatic sensors, EER and IEER, never matured into the “go-to” acoustic search systems envisioned by the Navy. MAC is a large step forward from its predecessors. The MPA community is looking to MAC as the catalyst to drive a change in wide-area search TTPs. Overcoming the Barriers A submarine is stealthy because it is shielded from non-acoustic sensors by the ocean surface that it hides under. Unfortunately for ASW forces, modern technology allows a submarine to remain completely submerged for long periods of time. Non-acoustic sensors like radar and electronic-surveillance measures will always play a role in ASW, but an acoustic sensor capable of extended detection ranges is the appropriate solution to search for submarines over a large area. The return of a wide-area ASW search capability to MPA should hopefully generate interest and perhaps even excitement. During the Cold War, commanders looked to aircraft like the P-3 as a rapid-reaction, cue-to-kill asset that could quickly transit to an area and find a submarine underneath a broad swath of ocean. MAC is the sensor to restore this capability; operational commanders should be looking forward to the opportunity to employ it. The Navy must take steps to understand and embrace MAC. Experiences with both EER and IEER may make the noses of some operational-planning staff members wrinkle. This lingering bias threatens the introduction of MAC, a capability solution that is too important to languish. Such a bias is one of two significant barriers to the successful incorporation of MAC into wide-area-search CONOPS and TTPs. The other is resistance among some professionals to the idea of consistently using active sonar as a search sensor. First, to overcome the bias barrier, the Fleet obviously needs to see MAC succeed. Education and training are necessary. For starters, the submarine force should understand that MAC uses an electronic source, not an explosive source, and agree to participate as much as possible in MAC training events. Operational commanders should know that MPA would not be surrounding submarines with explosives. Next, all stakeholders, especially operational staffs and exercise planners, must grasp the capabilities and limitations of the system, and look for opportunities to employ MPA in a wide-area ASW search role. Of particular importance is understanding that MAC is a scalable system, meaning that it can be deployed in a small area for unit-level training as well as a broad area for joint exercises or operational use. Second, all ASW stakeholders must be willing to consider using MPA-deployed MAC sonobuoys, instead of passive sonobuoys, on both U.S. and foreign submarines. There will be times, due to electronic silence or other restrictions, that active sensors should not be used. Therefore, the Navy should invest in air-deployed passive acoustic-sensor technology in order to comply with these situational requirements. The Office of Naval Research is seeking to develop such a capability, known as the Next-Generation Airborne Passive System (NGAPS), which could provide a passive wide-area ASW search capability. Planners must consider prevention of mutual interference. They can mitigate the risk with TTPs. Similar TTPs accommodate other coherent signal sensors, such as the airborne low-frequency sonar, SQS-53C hull-mounted sonar, TB-37/U multifunction towed array, and compact low-frequency active. Like all military weapon systems, MAC is a sensor designed for wartime use. It is unreasonable to expect MPA aircrews to “break glass” on D-Day and be able to effectively fight with MAC if they are not practicing with it in peacetime. It would be wise to include MAC in Phase 0 ASW operations in overseas environments as well as back home in training environments. Besides, sonobuoys (including MAC sonobuoys) have a shelf life of five years; the Navy might as well use them. Wide-area ASW search was a core capability of the MPA force during the Cold War. MPA crews, like the one led by Buzz Lineburg, held Soviet submarines at risk and played an important role in the Navy’s ASW efforts. Since then, the submarine threat has incorporated advanced quieting technology, creating a capability gap whose solution has remained elusive. The MAC system is a significant improvement in the multistatic active family of sensors and provides an opportunity to recapture a capability not enjoyed since the Cold War. The Navy should embrace MAC and seize this chance to restore its ASW search capabilities. 1. Frederick “Buzz” Lineburg, November 2013 interview with author. Task Force ASW, Anti-Submarine Warfare Concept of Operations for the 21st Century (Washington, DC: Department of the Navy, 2004), 5. 2. Ibid., 5. 3. COMOPTEVFOR, Improved Extended Echo Ranging (IEER) Operational Test Agency Evaluation Report, (Washington, DC: Department of the Navy, 2008), 1. 4. Ibid., 4. 5. CDR Brian Toner, USN, Capability Production Document for (U) Multi-static Active Coherent (MAC) System Upgrades for Navy Maritime Patrol and Reconnaissance Aircraft (Washington, DC: Department of the Navy, 2012), 1. 6. LT James Evans, USN, et al., Developmental Test and Evaluation Phase B of the Multistatic Active Coherent System of Systems for the P-3C Aircraft (Patuxent River, MD: Naval Air Warfare Center Aircraft Division Patuxent River, 2012), 5. Toner, Capability Production Document, 2. 7. ADM Jonathan Greenert, USN, “Payloads over Platforms: Charting a New Course,” U.S. Naval Institute Proceedings, vol. 138, no. 7 (July 2012), 16–23. 8. COMOPTEVFOR, Multistatic Active Coherent (MAC) Operational Test Agency Evaluation Report (Washington, DC: Department of the Navy, 2014), 3. Toner, Capability Production Document, 2. https://www.usni.org/magazines/proceedings/2014/june/recapture-wide-area-antisubmarine-warfare
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 The Evolution of the Sonobuoy from World War II to the Cold War DTIC ADA 597432 https://apps.dtic.mil/sti/tr/pdf/ADA597432.pdf
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 THE UNRAVELING AND REVITALIZATION OF U.S. NAVY ANTISUBMARINE WARFARE John R. Benedict https://www.jstor.org/stable/26394184?seq=6
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 Cat-and-Mouse in the Mediterranean A Dutch journalist with rare access to Cold War submarine veterans in the Netherlands tells a tale of high-stakes subsurface spying on Soviet warships during the early 1980s. By Menno Steketee The surface of the Gulf of Hammamet, Tunisia, was dead calm as the Dutch submarine Tijgerhaai slowly cruised at periscope depth. A short distance from the lurking sub lay a Soviet Mirka-class corvette. While the Tijgerhaai's Periviz camera zoomed in on the corvette's superstructure, inside the boat's control room Lieutenant Robin Snouck Hurgronje studied the camera's video screen. Not much was happening. After noticing some rusty spots on the ship's hull, he saw some sailors leaning on her railing, smoking cigarettes. Then it happened. One of the Soviet sailors slowly pointed directly at the periscope camera. At him! The year, Snouck Hurgronje recalls, was 1982. He is now a retired captain living in Wieringerwaard, the Netherlands, not far from Den Helder, the home base of the Royal Netherlands Navy. "You understand," he explains, "that we had to make an emergency dive. We didn't know how those Russians would react, you see. If they had attacked us they could easily have reported it as an exercise. They could have said that we shouldn't have been cruising around there secretly." In the early 1980s, one of the frostiest periods of the Cold War, Snouck Hurgronje served in the Tijgerhaai and went on to command the submarine Zwaardvis. Despite arms-limitation conferences and hotlines between the White House and the Kremlin, East and West distrusted each other deeply. Spying seemed the only way to prevent a surprise attack. The work was done by satellites, airplanes, and secret agents—and by submarines like the Tijgerhaai and Zwaardvis. Submariners Open Up Nearly 20 years have passed since the Berlin Wall fell, and the Dutch Submarine Service, the Onderzeedienst, has opened its archives, but only slightly. Operational details that could reveal anything about present-day missions in the Persian Gulf or the Indian Ocean are still strictly classified. Fortunately, the Dutch Ministry of Defense seems to have relaxed its strict ban on submarine crew members discussing their work. "In those days we weren't even allowed to tell our wives what we did," says Berrie Monster, a retired commander of the submarine Potvis. "The crew members themselves were usually not even told where they were going," adds Snouck Hurgronje. Will Falkmann, an electrician on many submarines during the Cold War, says he knew they were sailing north if it got colder, and he knew they were sailing south if got warmer. But being allowed to talk is not the same as wanting to talk. The practice of keeping silent about Cold War missions with names such as Faceless Fable, Candid Carnival, and Giddy Golfer is equally strong in most of the retired submariners. Snouck Hurgronje, however, is willing to share his experiences. He served in the Onderzeedienst for almost 20 years and often spent three consecutive months at sea and beneath its surface. His life is still dominated by the ocean. After his retirement, he skippered the three-masted clipper Stad Amsterdam for several years, and he still enjoys sailing. Spying in the Mediterranean If you say submarines and Cold War one immediately conjures images of cat-and-mouse chases in ice-cold enemy waters, thanks to books like Tom Clancy's The Hunt for Red October. That image, however, is not entirely correct—at least as far as the cold waters go. Dutch submarines worked mainly in the Mediterranean Sea with a half-dozen diesel-electric boats. Although most people would not know it, the Mediterranean was of great strategic importance to Eastern Europe. "We assumed that Soviet ships would try to get to the Atlantic Ocean in the case of a third world war in order to attack transatlantic routes," says Snouck Hurgronje. "They would have done that via the northern Atlantic Ocean and the Baltic Sea but also via the Strait of Gibraltar." The strait would have been hard to transit. Moreover, the SOVMEDRON, as the Soviet Union's Mediterranean fleet was known in NATO jargon, had few naval bases in the region. "The Arab nations were not very sympathetic towards the Soviet Union," Snouck Hurgronje points out. "However, they did allow the Russians to have anchorages on the edges of their territorial waters." These improvised anchorages were located all over the Mediterranean—in the Tunisian Gulf of Hammamet; off Salum, Egypt; and even near the Greek island Kathira. "The Russians just parked loads of [ships] there: technical workshops, tankers, supply vessels, hospital ships," Snouck Hurgronje recalls. "And the operational units would drop in there every now and again. It was our job to spy on them there." The reason Dutch submarines were used in the Mediterranean was the same reason they patrol these days in the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf. The 217- to 260-foot diesel boats are much better equipped to move secretively in the shallow waters there than the large nuclear-powered submarines of their NATO partners. It was crucial that the Soviets did not know the locations of the Dutch submarines. All friendly sub movements were therefore coordinated by the commander of Task Force 69, an American officer at NATO's Allied Forces Southern Europe headquarters in Naples, Italy. "We didn't want NATO ships or helicopters chasing our own submarines by mistake," Snouck Hurgronje adds. If that happened, "the Russians would find out that there was a submarine in the vicinity that didn't belong to them. Our position would have been compromised." Ultra Quiet On some days there would be 70 Soviet vessels, including surface warships and submarines, at any one anchorage. On board one of the submerged subs, "the first task would be to identify these ships," the former Dutch skipper says. The boat would go to ultra quiet state; all but essential machinery would be turned off and anything else capable of making noise would be secured. The submarine would glide along underwater in the direction of the anchorage using passive sonar to navigate toward the noise of moving chains, engines, screw turns, or any other sounds emanating from the target ship. On display screens inside the boat, the commander could see when she had neared the Soviet vessel. The periscope would then quickly be elevated, and the cameras would start rolling. At the same time, Dutch crewmen would use the passive sonar to make acoustic fingerprints of the Soviet vessels—especially the submarines. That way they could even learn to recognize the sound of a particular sub opening her torpedo hatches. By listening in, they could learn how long it took a torpedo to leave its tube and what a "fish" sounded like as it pinged away, looking for an enemy target. The Dutch also listened on underwater telephone to communications between Soviet ships. Falkmann recalls that the early Dutch sub missions, conducted before the boats had been equipped with appropriate surveillance electronics, were "quite amateurish. . . . We would just buy a simple scanner at a dumpshop [surplus store] and adapt it so that we could intercept Russian radio communication. We only needed a single antenna. It received all frequencies: VHF, UHF, etc." Taking photographs and filming was not that easy, according to Falkmann. "We borrowed cameras from the Americans," he says. "Periviz, they were called, and they had to be fixed onto our periscope. At first, the camera would turn left if you pressed the 'right' button." Apart from the quality of the technical gear, the quality of the crew members was very important. "We commanders would fight over the best sonar men," Snouck Hurgronje asserts. Anything they traced, however trivial it may have seemed, could be of importance. Visual sightings were also extremely valuable. "Once, we saw a Soviet commander leave his submarine, Tango-class, and with all his decorations be delivered by sloop to a Krivak-class cruiser," the captain recalls. Possible conclusion: The Tango would be around for a while and the Krivak was an important ship. In case of war, the Krivak would be the first ship attacked. There was always the chance of being spotted, and while the Soviets would not immediately open fire, accidents could happen. Snouck Hurgronje recalls: Once we were chasing an Echo-class sub for hours. It was preparing to dive. Suddenly she went down, and we immediately lost track. We really had no idea where she had gone or what she was planning to do. That was a dangerous situation. We went into ultra quiet state; we turned off all equipment except for the sonar. We sent most of the crew to bed so as to save oxygen. We stayed there, motionless, for 32 hours. We never spotted or heard the Echo again. Under Water, Looking Up One of the hardest and most dangerous ways for the submariners to find out more about the Cold War foe's fleet was the so-called underwater look-viewing the underhull of Soviet ships through periscopes. Invisibly roaming around under a ship can only be done during the day and in clear waters, and anchor chains can pose problems. Taking an underwater look was, however, routine for the Dutch submariners. The Soviet hulls were of interest to intelligence services because they were the ideal location for hatches from which minisubmarines or frogmen could exit. Vice Admiral Nico Buis, who later rose to be director of the Dutch domestic intelligence service, became well known within the submarine service because he once discovered such a hatch. The number of propeller blades could also reveal a lot about the capacities of the enemy submarines. When he commanded the Potvis, Monster tried to take an underwater look at a Soviet AGI (intelligence-gathering ship) disguised as a fishing trawler off Northern Ireland. "The AGI usually lay in shallow water," he recalls. "That had a reason: Those guys just didn't want anyone spying on them from underneath. Now and again the AGI would sail off to watch a passing American 'boomer' on her way from the Scottish base of Faslane to her patrol station in the Atlantic. It was my job to creep under the AGI at that point. We succeeded once, but the water was so murky that we couldn't see anything on the pictures later." The water in the Mediterranean, on the other hand, was usually clear. When taking an underwater look there, Captain Snouck Hurgronje recalls, "You had to know beforehand precisely where the ship that you were looking for lay. Keeping at the right depth was essential, and the periscope had to be low enough under the hold to actually see something." In 1991, two years after the Berlin Wall came down, the Warsaw Pact was annulled and the Soviet Union collapsed, effectively ending the Cold War. A military attaché in Turkey at the time, Snouck Hurgronje was able to get an up-close look at his former prey. "I remember seeing a Russian Kilo-class submarine from the inside," he says. "I thought: Was this really what we were afraid of all that time?" Of course, at the time he could not talk much about his spy missions. He did, however, make one exception. "As attache, I discovered that my Russian colleague-attache had been commander of a supply ship that we had followed for days," the captain recalls. "We talked about it and realized that he hadn't been aware of our presence at all. So we drank a glass of vodka to that." https://www.usni.org/magazines/naval-history-magazine/2009/april/cat-and-mouse-mediterranean
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 Cold War Duty in the Black Sea Fleet A conscript naval officer looks back on his service in a bygone era—a revealing portrait of everyday life in a Soviet destroyer. By Vladimir Mandel The author, a lieutenant in the Soviet navy, on the deck of his ship, the Komsomolets Ukrainy, as she cruises alongside the USS W. S. Sims (DE-1059) in the Mediterranean Sea in 1972. So-called "battle duty" for ships of the Black Sea Fleet at the time mostly entailed attempts to detect U.S. Navy submarines and tracking the activity of U.S. carriers in the region. Courtesy of the Author My service in the Soviet navy came about neither by choice nor chance, for during the Cold War, conscription was a rite of passage, of sorts, for every able-bodied male in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. At age 19 all were required to register for—and eventually undergo—some form of military training. It started while one yet was in school; active-duty service came later. There were variations in the service programs, but in general one could expect to serve two to three years in the military. Thus there were no enlistees among the navy’s seamen; everyone was a conscript. After completing his service as a conscript—what Americans would call a draftee—a young man could, if deemed qualified, sign a contract to remain in the navy as a (noncommissioned) petty officer or as a midshipman, the equivalent of an ensign in the U.S. Navy. Thereafter he would move up the promotion ladder based on growth in professional competence. The standard career for such individuals was 25 years. In that era the Soviet navy had two types of officers. One group was the contract careerists, those who chose to make the naval service their life’s work. The other was made up of reservists. The majority in the latter group were young men with some level of higher education. After military training and usually some advanced coursework they’d be demobilized—with the caveat that as reservists they would be recalled to active duty as their talents were required. I fell into the second category. In my adolescence and young adulthood—the 1960s—the Cold War came in waves. I was caught up in one of those waves in 1966, when, after university graduation, I started my navy service as a conscript in the Black Sea Fleet. It was but a 12-month tour, which included some specialized training. Then I was designated a reserve officer and demobilized. A civilian again, I went to work in a research institute, but I was recalled to active duty in August 1969. I was 28. I served as a lieutenant (junior grade), and then lieutenant, until August 1972. Divergent Paths for Officers The life of a career Soviet naval officer often was tough—all the more so when he was stationed at a remote base. The normal shortcomings of shipboard life were made worse through so-called “organizing” or “disciplinary” periods—special drills ordered by senior officers. It was the considered opinion of most that the only purpose such exercises served was exhausting everyone, including the upper echelon. Shore leave was limited, part of a general policy of keeping young officers on board as much as possible. It commenced at 2200 hours and expired at 0800 the next day, in time for the flag-raising ceremony. Factoring in travel time and the hope for a decent night’s sleep, very little time was left to spend with family or friends. Additionally, at many bases living conditions ashore were very difficult because of a chronic shortage of apartments. Of course, there also were the normal problems of shipboard life. Some crewmen were not of high caliber—undisciplined, recalcitrant, or otherwise unfit for military service. The real-life conditions in a ship were quite a contrast with the romantic dreams that many young men had had about the illustrious, glorious life of a naval officer. Young careerist officers, realizing that there was no way out, and that this would be their life for the next 25 years, became apprehensive about the future, and often depressed. The only way to be discharged—aside from medical reasons—was to do something truly infamous, a course of action that most found morally unacceptable. All such troubles could be multiplied of course, if a ship’s first lieutenant (executive officer) was draconian in his leadership. In short, the atmosphere and conditions were not good—in some cases leading to alcoholism among officers. For reservists the situation was different. After three years of service, generally, we could return to civilian life and pursue civilian careers. We felt that essentially we were civilians, not military men. “Three-years-and-out” was not a guarantee, however. It was not unheard of for a reservist to be kept on active duty for 25 years, just like a careerist. Indeed, while I was on active duty rumors surfaced that my year-group of reservists would be ordered to serve for 25 years. So I remember particularly well the moment in 1972, when Admiral Nikolay Nikolayevich Amelko—on board and participating in an informal wardroom conversation—remarked, “Well, this year we will say goodbye to Lieutenant Mandel, as his service term ends soon.” I had learned straight from the admiral himself that the rumors were not true; my reservist group would be allowed to leave the service on schedule! Rebuilding the Soviet Navy Regardless of our status, regular or reservist, the Cold War decades of the 1960s and 1970s kept us busy. Previous reductions in the force levels throughout the Soviet military had been made in an atmosphere of political turmoil—not well thought out and frequently in an unreasonable manner. A large number of distinguished and experienced personnel had been thrown out of military life. Many aircraft and ships were decommissioned and destroyed. Military training institutions were closed, their young graduates discharged from active duty. Many military cadets became students in civil institutions. Following Premier Nikita Khrushchev’s “ballistic missile bluff” during the Cuban Missile Crisis in 1962, the Soviet leadership became determined to establish more realistic requirements for the armed forces in preparation for a new phase of the Cold War. The time had come to turn over a new leaf. The need for corrective measures was understood. A national effort to upgrade the armed forces was launched. That was not the first large-scale buildup in the history of the Soviet navy. In the late 1930s many new ships were built and commissioned in a short period preceding World War II. The navy recruited skippers from the merchant fleet. My father, in fact, was drafted from the merchant service for military duty in 1941 and commanded a minesweeper during the siege of Sevastopol in 1941-42. The heroes of that era included Alexander Ivanovich Marinesko, the submariner who torpedoed the Wilhelm Gustloff, and Nikolai Alexandrovich Lunin, who attacked the Tirpitz. They are still well remembered, along with the likes of Aleksey Mikhailovich Matayasevich, a captain renowned for his polar exploits, later the commander of the submarine Lembit. But the effort to upgrade the armed services in the 1960s was complicated by a lack of manpower, a demographic legacy of World War II. Additionally, there was an acute shortage of noncommissioned and middle-rank commissioned officers, a direct result of Marshal Georgy Zhukov’s mid-1950s cancellation of benefits for sergeants and petty officers who had signed on for contract service. The personnel shortages forced a lowering of standards. Thus it was not uncommon for personnel in the lower ranks to have criminal histories or be ill-educated. Incidents of maltreatment and extreme hazing in the ranks rose. The image of the armed forces suffered. More tangible evidence of the problem manifested itself in incidents such as the loss of the destroyer Otvajny. She burned and sank in 1974 in an accident attributed to crew incompetence. Life in a Black Sea Fleet Destroyer The government had begun taking remedial steps prior to the Otvajny disaster, however. One was the organization of schools for petty officers—the “chief technicians.” The schools produced high-quality personnel in almost all the military specialties. The second significant step of the government was the calling up of reserve officers. The maximum age for those call-ups was 28, and so by a matter of months I was still eligible in 1969. I was assigned to the Komsomolets Ukrainy. She was the first ship of the new Kashin-class destroyers, serving with the Black Sea Fleet. The Kashins were equipped with artillery, missiles, torpedoes, sonar, and ASW weapons that were excellent. The gas-turbine engines provided reliable performance and maneuverability. The ship was very seaworthy, ascending waves well and having smooth and moderate pitching, controlled by retractable stabilizers. In a violent storm in the North Atlantic the inclination never exceeded 46 degrees. Living conditions, however, were another story. She was somewhat cramped and vibrated noticeably. A high level of noise from gas turbines was constant. The mess area was able to serve only about two-thirds of the crew simultaneously. That area doubled as a meeting room and theater. Commissioned officers and warrant officers had separate messes. The officers’ wardroom was ruled by the first lieutenant, while the warrant officers’ wardroom was led by the chief boatswain of the ship. Medical care, however, was of high quality and under the direction of Lieutenant Eugeny Chikin. He was a very talented surgeon and on numerous occasions conducted serious surgeries while at sea, using the wardroom as an operating room. Chikin later became a chief surgeon of the Black Sea Fleet and in the 1990s he performed a sensational surgery, successfully saving the life of an officer whose head had nearly been severed in an auto accident. A great deal of attention on board was given to physical fitness and sports. No special day or holiday passed without a traditional naval competition—usually a tug-of-war, with the winning team traditionally being awarded a huge pie. There also were fleet sailing contests. The crewmen of the Komsomolets Ukrainy’s boat—a six-oared yawl—kept it in perfect order. For a considerable period they held the Grand Prize of the Fleet. Not all the Black Sea Fleet ships were “brand new” like ours. Some were veterans of World War II, with impressive records. Most had been modernized in the 1950s and 1960s. One such ship was the gun cruiser Slava (formerly the Molotov) commissioned in 1941. She was one of six “semi-heavy” gun cruisers of the Soviet navy, armed with a battery of nine 7.1-inch (180-mm) guns. Those ships should have been designated heavy cruisers because the gun bores exceeded six inches. However, in the Soviet navy they were considered light cruisers. The Slava had her own special story. She was torpedoed in 1942 by German He-111 torpedo-bombers or possibly Italian torpedo boats—it was never determined definitively. In the engagement, she lost her stern, which was hastily replaced with a stern from an incomplete Chapayev-class cruiser, the Frunze. The Frunze, of course, had different hull lines. Attaching the new stern to the damaged ship created some visible “steps,” both on the deck and in the hull-plating of the Slava. It was quite obvious where the transplanted foreign stern section met the hull of the damaged cruiser, and a matter of some curiosity for those encountering those strange steps for the first time. Manning a Man-of-War The call-up of reserve officers for fleet service filled the vacancies of navigators, communication officers, specialists in electronics, and weapon systems—mostly artillery. Typically a young officer coming on board had a month to learn the ship. During that time he would thoroughly study all compartments, systems, and equipment. He had to learn the tactical and technical data relating to the operation of the ship. He had to examine all systems, rules, and manuals associated with damage control. He had to become familiar with the ship’s service schedules as well as the duties of a watch-stander. Only then, after passing all the prescribed tests—a tough procedure—was he assigned to watch-standing duties. The ship’s officers generally were keenly interested in successful and timely examinations for a young officer. They supported and helped him; his success meant an addition of another man to the duty roster. Personnel were assigned positions according to their abilities, health, and education. The best men—whether officers or noncommissioned—were routinely sent to the communication, navigation, or radio divisions. Weapons systems relied on the services of career technicians—contract warrant officers and chief petty officers. (Our missile-systems expert was Midshipman Tikhon Bagryantsev, whose son was, at the time, a student at Sevastopol Higher Naval School. The son eventually rose to the rank of captain. Sadly, he was the senior officer in the submarine Kursk when she sank in the Barents Sea in 2000. In the Soviet navy as elsewhere, sons often followed in the steps of their fathers.) Great attention was paid to the tactical training of the officers. It was directly supervised by the commanding officer and included exercises in navigation as well as the study of operations and characteristics of U.S. and NATO ships. In 1969-71 our ship was commanded by Valery Grishanov, the eldest son of a very high-ranking admiral, the head of the Main Political Administration of the Soviet navy. Despite his father’s status, Captain Grishanov never received special benefits or privileges. He endured all the “hardships and deprivations of military service” as the Soviet military oath required. He knew the needs and interests of all of the sailors and officers in his ship and was very dedicated and helpful as members of the crew prepared for exams. But he ran a tight ship in every respect. He subsequently rose to admiral and served as deputy commander of the Soviet navy. He died too young in 1996. Relations between the officers on the ship were healthy, and in general a spirit of friendship, humor, and goodwill prevailed. At meetings and “debriefings,” which usually took place before dinner, those guilty of some dereliction or mishap received their fair share of proper admonishment from the commanding officer or first lieutenant. Then, relieved and cheerfully enthusiastic, all joined the common dinner. In the wardroom there was a piano and we often watched movies. Dominoes, chess, and backgammon also were popular in our spare time, but card games met with disapproval and could be played only in secret. The crew was essentially international, in a way, coming from all the corners of the Soviet Union. I had under my supervision Sailors from Lithuania to Vladivostok and from Severodvinsk to Yerevan. Only men possessing a secondary education could serve in my division (Connection and Observation). Being conscripts, they had spent almost a year in a special training unit before stepping aboard the ship. Their crewmates jokingly called them “the sailors’ aristocracy.” Overall the ship embarked 27 officers and approximately 250 crew, making a total of 275-280 souls on board. Battle Duty: Tracking the Enemy In the 1960s the Soviet navy initiated a series of extended, long-range deployments—generally called “Battle Duty.” The purpose was to show the flag and “ensure the state interests of the USSR” around the globe. The Fifth Operational Squadron was formed in the Mediterranean comprising ships from the Black Sea, Baltic, and Northern Soviet fleets, exchanging places as required to maintain constant battle duty in the Mediterranean. For ships’ crews, those deployment periods were the best periods of service, despite being quite lengthy. In 1972, for example, our ship once went without a port call for four months, creating some uncomfortable conditions. However, it was always a pleasure to leave the main base in Sevastopol with its senior officers and traditionally stern commandant. We did not miss the tedious duties and formalities associated with shore stations. Service at sea with the watch–break–watch routine went much faster. Everybody was kept occupied with something real and necessary. U.S. ships fared better than we did. They could use the ports in Greece, Italy, and other NATO countries while we were quite limited in that aspect. Our ships were always on the move or anchored in the open sea, close to land. Consequently, there were limited opportunities for necessary repairs and routine maintenance. The crews became tired. Shortages of fresh water occurred because of the lack of power for desalinization plants. Crews could bathe only when their ships rendezvoused with a large tanker for refueling and receiving fresh water. Weapon systems, on the other hand, always were kept ready and properly maintained. Every ship, while on deployment and cruising alone, also maintained around-the-clock contact with headquarters in Moscow. For although showing the Soviet flag ostensibly was our mission, in actuality we were, of course, attempting to detect and track America’s nuclear-powered ballistic-missile submarines. They were considered the top strategic menace. The aircraft carrier groups of the U.S. Navy and its NATO allies were likewise regarded as serious threats, and tracking them was a high priority as well. We knew that their aircraft could carry and deliver nuclear weapons. An important part of tracking a carrier, then, was to count all aircraft launched and returned to her flight deck. If there was a discrepancy in the number of those launched vs. those that returned, we had a problem. Once, when we were tracking the USS Forrestal (CVA-59) I believe, we “lost” two A-4s that had launched, but by our count did not return. That caused much concern. We later learned that the A-4s had landed at a NATO airbase in Italy. Even so, some in our crew received reprimands. Foes, but Not Unfriendly Naturally, as mariners any ship held strong interest for us, particularly American vessels. When Soviet and U.S. ships met at sea and cruised side by side, the commanders of the U.S. ships often attempted to establish some form of communication with our commanding officers. Usually, however, the latter would cautiously retreat into the conning tower and remain silent. Meanwhile, the crews in the two ships enjoyed exchanging greetings and photographing each other. In those spontaneous efforts at friendly contact, the U.S. Sailors behaved in a much more free and relaxed manner than ours—who would be tense, looking over their shoulders to be sure they were not earning the disapproval of the political officers. That wariness was perhaps warranted. After all, those fellows on the other ship were the enemy. Despite that, I am comfortable in saying that our officers and crew never expressed hate or hostility. Yes, we followed orders in a professional manner, but did so without animosity—in part, I think, because of the era. That was a time when many people remembered their experiences in World War II, when the United States and the Soviet Union were allies against Germany and Japan. The cordial inter-navy relations at the time are best illustrated anecdotally. Two amusing incidents occurred while we were tracking the aircraft carrier USS Franklin D. Roosevelt (CVA-42). One came on the first day of May—the official Labor Day holiday in the Soviet Union. We were at anchor near the Roosevelt in Italy when unexpectedly she weighed anchor and headed out of the harbor. Naturally, we had no choice but to follow. As we did, we received a signal from the Roosevelt: “Congratulations for the holiday. We apologize for having to interrupt your vacation!” On another occasion the big carrier sent us this signal: “Today at 2200, your duty will be changed and you will be ordered to proceed home. We have been pleased to cruise together with you. Happy sailing!” A change in duty came as news to us, but it was rather cheerfully welcomed. We then contacted our headquarters seeking confirmation. In response we got only silence. But then, precisely at 2200, we received new orders from headquarters: We were to hand off our surveillance of the Roosevelt to another ship and return home! I also recall fondly how we met the flagship of the U.S. Sixth Fleet—the cruiser USS Springfield (CLG-7) carrying the flag of Vice Admiral Gerald Miller. As our ships cruised side by side, we rendered a flag greeting, our crew lining the railing on the upper deck. Our bugler played a signal and our commanding officer and the other officers gave a hand salute. The Springfield responded with a semaphore message from Admiral Miller: “Thank you for the greeting! It is always nice to see a sailor who is serving well!” Two political developments also were at work at the time and no doubt facilitated that atmosphere of friendly rivalry. For one, it was the era of détente in Soviet-U.S. relations. President Richard Nixon had visited Moscow and tensions had eased considerably. On the other hand, in roughly the same span of time Moscow’s relationship with China had become increasingly strained. Starting as early as 1968, in fact, political officers had been ordered to focus their political propaganda on the Chinese. And in turn we had then begun seeing a decline in anti-American propaganda. Pervasive Propaganda and Politics Incredible as it may seem to some Westerners, the time and effort the Soviet navy devoted to ensuring maritime security was nearly matched by its emphasis on political indoctrination of ships’ crews. Marxist-Leninist “priest-craft”—particularly the mindless task of note-taking on Lenin’s works—often prevailed over professional military training. The former was conducted by political officers from different agencies who sometimes viewed each other jealously and consequently did not work well together. Three such officers were in our ship. They represented three distinct levels of the Navy’s political structure: the Main Political Administration, the Political Department of the Fleet, and the Political Department of the Division of Ships. Each of the officers carried an important-sounding title, but essentially their shared task was conducting political and ideological indoctrination of the crew. A fourth political officer on board—from a special department called Osobiy Otdel—was taken more seriously. He was a senior operative from the navy’s branch of the KGB—the Soviet Union’s state security apparatus. For some reason those of us in the navy—especially ship crews—were subjected to less ideological indoctrination than most Soviet military personnel. Even so, the political officers were unpopular, for they produced unnecessary paperwork and harassed the crew with boring, time-wasting activities: political discussions, the study of Lenin, and perhaps most annoying, specially prepared propaganda from the media—rudimentary Marxist ideology that generally was poorly written and intellectually insulting to any reasonably educated man. In the eyes of officers and crew those political fellows had little authority, and merited an equal amount of respect. The KGB officer, on the other hand, concerned himself mainly with treason. That elicited some ironic and suspicious attitudes among the crew, but interestingly, in his general qualities as an officer he differed favorably from his political-indoctrination comrades. The main task of the political officers was to reveal and debunk the evil nature of imperialism and its “atrocious fangs.” Almost all world events were reviewed and presented in that light, especially the contemporary war in Vietnam. However, the “yakking parrots” were not only recognized exactly for what they were by a generally well-educated and aware crew, the political officers at times clumsily undermined their own efforts. One such instance occurred as our ship transited the Black Sea Strait. No one was allowed on the weather decks. The Deputy Commander for Political Affairs then stationed himself on the quarterdeck, armed with a pistol and a grenade—in case some crewman tried to escape to the West by jumping overboard! * * * * * * * * * *Looking back I realize more than ever the one key difference between my service—that of a reserve—and that of the career officers. For me and other reservists there were hardships, yes, but there were special events that forged fond memories of military service in a great ship. For the career officers, however, such events became almost part of a routine. They faced a long term of service, with all of its attendant difficulties, problems, decisions, concerns, and repetitive events. They served under arduous conditions for extended periods. As my former first lieutenant frequently comments today, it is difficult to persuade most retired career officers to talk about their years of service, for now they are simply tired. They prefer to forget the past, which is understandable. They served the Soviet Union honorably, and in most cases it just wore them out. Many years have passed since the day my comrades and I left the deck of the Komsomolets Ukrainy. Time has dimmed many of the unpleasant memories of my naval service—things that created irritation, frustration, and disapproval. But the good memories and fond recollections—camaraderie, being involved in something important, and making a contribution to society—are brighter and more vivid than ever. Such is the remarkable power of the human mind and spirit. https://www.usni.org/magazines/naval-history-magazine/2011/march/cold-war-duty-black-sea-fleet
Jaroslav Posted June 28 Author Posted June 28 Reflections And Wisdom From A Cold War Submarine Hunter From overcoming his fears and personal roadblocks in order to master the complex art of submarine hunting to heading out on his first carrier cruise and working to fit into the Navy’s unique squadron culture to chasing-down Soviet submarines in the Mediterranean during the twilight of the Cold War, Kevin Noonan has strapped us into an S-3 Viking right beside him and has taken us on a thrilling ride. Now, in this fourth and final installment in our Confessions Of An Ancient Sub Hunter series, Noonan reflects on what was and what could have been for the enigmatic S-3, as well as the challenges looming on the horizon for the U.S. Navy’s shrunken anti-submarine warfare community and for the service overall. We talk everything from secretive ES-3A Shadows, short-lived US-3A ‘Miss Piggies,’ how the Viking and her crews fought to make a name for themselves within the carrier air wing, the relevancy of the aircraft carrier in modern warfare, and what it is really like being the ‘guy in the back’ of a combat jet. So, strap back in, spool-up the turbofans, and prepare to launch! The Viking’s Place In The Carrier Air Wing Pecking Order ‘Harpooning’ the Viking will meet another criticism of the aircraft made by traditional carrier aviators, who feel that the embarkation of fixed-wing ASW aircraft has compromised the concept of the attack carrier, and reduced its striking power. – An Illustrated Guide to Modern Naval Aviation and Aircraft Carriers With the decommissioning of the Essex class anti-submarine warfare (ASW) carriers and the introduction of the S-3 to the supercarriers, deck space that was already at a premium was now jealously coveted. Fighter and attack guys, as well as carrier skippers and air wing commanders (CAGs), wanted as many F-4s, F-14s, A-4s, A-6s, and A-7s as possible to carry out the mission of the attack carrier. The presence of a handful of E-2s, EA-6Bs, and helicopters was tolerated since they served their masters well. The Viking, however, really did nothing to enhance their concept of the warfare they were charged with conducting. So, can you imagine what these gentlemen were thinking in the early to mid-1970s when a squadron of ten S-3 Vikings suddenly invaded their sacred deck-space? Just to give you an idea of how much space, here are the S-3’s sexy measurements: Her wingspan was 68 feet with the wings spread or 29 feet with them folded. Her length was 53 feet. She stood tall at almost 23 feet, or 15 feet with her tail folded. By the way, at the apex of wings’ spreading or folding, the height of the Viking was 31 feet! Among the punishments doled out for our excessive presence on the sovereign four and a half acres of fighter-attack territory, administered to all VS squadrons upon entering the Med [the Mediterranean Sea], was the banishment of two or three of our birds to the purgatory of Naval Air Station Sigonella, Sicily. What they assumed was punishment was actually a two to three-week vacation from the boat. We would change-out aircraft and crews and maintenance personnel in order to give everyone a chance to ‘suffer.’ Ya know? I never did thank CAG and the fighter-attack guys for this! If there was a submarine in the general vicinity of Sicily, we would go out for a hunt. Otherwise, tasking while at ‘Sig’ tended to focus on recon of the Soviet anchorage just off of Tunisia or tracking the various ships the Soviets sent into the Med that steamed past Sicily. Unfortunately, far worse for our reputation than the obesity of our presence on the carrier was that perennial problem plaguing the “A” model of the S-3, the one I touched on above. Give me a moment to shed a little more light on the subject: Since the technology placed in the Viking by Univac and Texas Instruments was cutting-edge for a carrier-based aircraft, our computer took a long time getting used to the standard-issue violence any aircraft endured during a catapult launch or arrested landing. Industry, engineers and NAVAIR evaluators at Pax River [Naval Air Station Patuxent River in Maryland] worked hard to eliminate the software and hardware problems that came to light as flight hours mounted through the 1970s. However, they never were able to completely cure a painfully regular problem associated with our Tape Transport Cartridge (TTC). Basically, the TTC was a “floppy” disk that booted up the aircraft computer and had relevant software that could be loaded by the ASMOD [Anti-Submarine Modules, an intelligence element that coordinates ASW operations] for the pending mission (ESM [electronic support measures] emitters, target data, Link 11 info, fly-to-points, etc.). If we had any problems with the load while on deck, we’d shut down the #2 engine and one of our amazing AXs or ATs would come in and troubleshoot. The AX rating was an electronics technician that focused on our ASW black boxes. The ATs were electronics technicians that focused on aircraft electronics other than ASW gear. As the Cold War came to an end, the AX rating was retired and absorbed into the AT rating. Keep in mind, we normally flew with a regular Air Wing cycle, which meant we launched with the E-2 ahead of perhaps four Tomcats, five A-6s, and four A-7s. If our troubleshooting took too long, the fighters and attack birds would launch ahead of us. When a problem didn’t get resolved, we were now affecting deck spotting for the previous cycle that had been waiting in the overhead stack to recover. Once we did launch, then everyone kept their fingers crossed that the computer’s load would hold. Many times it didn’t. The utter shock the aircraft suffers at the end of the cat stroke makes every airplane tremble. Can you imagine, then, how it is for any sensitive electronics on board? This is what occurred with each launch for the GPDC [general purpose digital computer] in the S-3A. As late as 1987, we were required to inform the Air Boss or Alpha X-ray of the status of our load once we were airborne: Alpha – fully working system. Bravo or Charlie – computer working in degraded state with only some sensors working. Delta – no computer load. When we reluctantly reported a Delta load, you could hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth in the voice of the Air Boss or Alpha X-ray. Essentially, we were just a hunk of aluminum boring holes in CAG’s sky. If he was having a really bad day, he’d tell the Air Boss to send us to “Delta overhead and await the next recovery,” which meant we had to fly a purgatorial pattern above the ship and burn precious Air Wing fuel until we could land again. Our lack of a system meant no ESM, no radar except in an analog mode that couldn’t provide the battle group with any Link 11 surface plot data since the computer wasn’t working, no acoustics, nothing. It took a long time for the S-3 to earn the respect she deserved. I’ve since discovered that there was a move in NAVAIR during the late ‘70s to early ‘80s to remove the S-3 from the carrier deck altogether and modify the airframes to be permanent tankers, CODs [Carrier Onboard Delivery], and a design to replace the Whale [the A-3 Skywarrior], all things that would actually come to pass. Thankfully, the complete removal didn’t happen. Someone somewhere was fighting for us—at least they were back then. As the prominence of Vietnam-era dogfights and airstrikes faded with the close of the ‘70s and the increasing Soviet threat to the carrier battleground (CVBG) invaded the minds of senior officers, attitudes toward the Viking did begin to change. Then, as the decade of the ‘80s came to a close, significant changes were made to the S-3. Each of these changes, such as an exciting new radar, supplying the fighter-attack guys with the sweet nectar of JP-5 jet fuel from our own loins, and the Harpooning of the Viking, would contribute to the removal of the chip on the shoulder of the Air Wing and carrier toward the S-3, for the most part, anyway. Aboard some carriers, the Viking community would actually experience genuine respectful admiration, and dare I say…love? Most importantly, damning computer loading problems would vanish. Vikings Onboard It took time for the ship’s company and air wing crews to get used to the presence of the S-3 Viking squadrons. We adapted, and by the time I walked aboard the USS Nimitz at the end of 1986 and headed off for my first Med cruise, the Viking community was just another squadron in the sea of 5000-6000 sailors aboard. They certainly didn’t love us — nonetheless, we were family. Onboard Nimitz, we were well established with our ready room, our maintenance spaces, and our berthing. Most importantly, to the AWs (Aviation Warfare Systems Operators) of VS-24, we had our own aircrew shop where we held shop meetings, did our various collateral duties, got our asses chewed out by the Chief, “smoked and Coked,” and played computer games on the shop’s Commodore 64…Yes, you read that right. As aircrew, we didn’t suffer the 12 hours on, 12 hours off schedule that our squadron mates and ship’s company had to endure every day we were at sea. We lived according to our flight schedule. During a Med cruise, an AW Shop tended to have between 14 and 17 Naval aircrewman. With 10 aircraft, we could man the birds, day and night, and still have three SENSOs [sensor operators] to stand Assistant Squadron Duty Officer watch in the ready room. When we weren’t briefing and flying, we were sleeping, training, and studying Soviet naval vessel recognition and tactics or doing our collateral duties such as filling out all the squadron aircrew log books, calculating crew/aircraft flight time and mission statistics, updating classified publications and NATOPS manuals. My berthing aboard the Nimitz was particularly amazing. It was a 20 man-berth that was curtained off. It was our own sanctuary that was essentially off-limits to everyone. We could sleep day or night without interruption. I was grateful that I had a top rack (what the Navy calls a bed) that lay longitudinally along the ship’s axis. It takes heavy weather to make a 100,000-ton ship move and when we were sailing through a storm, my bunk would rock me into a magnificent slumber. On a particular set of nights in the Western Mediterranean in early 1987, I was able to listen to a lullaby of our escorts’ bow-mounted SQS-26 sonars pinging through the water and the steel of our hull while we passed through a winter storm. It was pure heaven! As I described above, all of this would change when we joined the brand new Theodore Roosevelt. I would never again enjoy the steel sanctuary and sense of a familiar old friend that the Nimitz was. I miss her. Surprisingly, during the two cumulative years I spent at sea over a four-year period, my carrier only went to General Quarters (GQ)—or battle stations—one time. Aboard the Theodore Roosevelt, we had a fire erupt in the auxiliary diesel engine room. The fire was quickly contained and put out by the outstanding Damage Control (DC) teams. Our blackshoe brethren were, for the most part, despised by the brownshoes—or aviation Navy—and vice versa. We rarely appreciated how often they saved our asses. All of our other GQs were only exercise or training events. We used to have a standard joke: “When the carrier goes to battle stations, the air wing goes to bed”—or hides in our respective ready rooms. It was a pain in the ass to move around the ship since everywhere you went you technically had to get Damage Control (DC) Central’s permission to move and all the hundreds of water-tight doors were dogged down. If you did venture out of the ready room on your way to the flight deck to fly a mission, you had to step over members of the DC teams that were spread across the carrier on every deck. Now, years later, and in light of what the USS Stark, Samuel B. Roberts, Cole, Fitzgerald, and McCain have suffered, I deeply regret not participating in these evolutions with the DC Teams. Had we collided with another ship, or received actual combat damage aboard my two carriers, we in the air wing would not have been prepared to help save our boat—just as the major carrier fires aboard USS Forrestal, Oriskany, and Enterprise had confirmed. Overall, life aboard an aircraft carrier was incredibly generous and, despite our bitchin’ while at sea, it was a truly fortunate experience for those of us who were aircrew. The Viking’s Shadow I left the Navy before I had a chance to see one of the two most successful variants of the S-3, the ES-3A Shadow. It was my understanding that, at the time, you had to have a Top Secret (TS) clearance to simply climb up inside her cockpit. The vast majority of AWs only had a secret clearance until a TS became mandatory in the early ‘90s. My one connection with this mysterious aircraft came when I was an instructor. Since no Shadow airframes were available at the time, the first class of enlisted backseaters needed to be trained in emergency egress procedures, inflight safety, and the operation of two of the sensors that the ES-3A would retain from her first life as a Viking – the APS-137 radar and the ESM suite. After classroom training, we took each of them on a single familiarization hop in the backseat of one of our S-3Bs. Because of my lack of experience with this beautiful mutation of the Viking family—I’m a sucker for airplanes with all kinds of tumorous growths on them—I have to rely on the always-excellent work done by Squadron Signal Publications in their book S-3 Viking In Action by Brad Elward. His section on the Shadow is probably the best available. I highly recommend this particular text for its collection of magnificent pictures and outstanding info contained within a very short 80 pages. Actually, I just missed seeing the ES-3A by a few months since the USN chose to do field conversions at NAS Cecil Field instead of at the Lockheed plant. Sixteen Viking airframes were chosen to morph into the Shadow. While the basic bones remained, it was quite obvious that she was nothing like her old ASW/ASuW [Anti-Submarine Warfare/Anti-Surface Warfare] self. The Navy decided in the late ‘80s to end the long career of its only carrier-based signals intelligence (SIGINT) aircraft, the EA-3B “Whale.” They didn’t have an immediate replacement but Lockheed offered their concept of the ES-3 to replace the ongoing need for the gathering of electronic intelligence (ELINT) and communications intelligence (COMINT) for the battlegroup. The USN accepted the concept and awarded the contract. The Navy, which loved to tinker with aircraft already in its inventory, was wooed by Lockheed’s major selling point: the Viking’s airframe had proven itself inherently stable and reliable over the previous decade and a half. That foundation allowed for non-disruptive modifications, such as the removal of the sonobuoy chutes and the MAD [magnetic anomaly detector] boom. Of course, the nature of the Shadow’s missions required significant additions of displays, devices, and the black boxes that ran them. Space inside the aircraft was carved out for these critical boxes with the removal of the acoustic processing equipment, which took up most of the left side of the avionics tunnel. However, it wasn’t near enough room. More carving took place in the weapons bay, where a full suite of electronics replaced the space normally reserved for torpedoes and bombs. This exponential increase in electrons and heat would require an even better cooling source than what the original Viking design offered, so a vapor cycle system “was installed to provide air conditioning for the new electronics in the bay and to sanitize moisture and salt from the aircraft to reduce corrosion,” writes Elward. Her ESM was upgraded as were her communications and navigation capabilities. The old GPDC was replaced with not one, not two, but with three computers. Elward continues: “Finally, the Shadow incorporated the Multi-Static Processor (MPS), which gave the ES-3A a passive airborne exploitation capability in the same league as the larger EP-3E and RC-135 Rivet Joint.” The crew changed as well. Instead of the Viking’s three officers and one enlisted aircrew, the Shadow had a pilot who was the Electronic Warfare (EW) mission commander and an NFO (Naval Flight Officer) who was the EW [Electronic Warfare] Combat Coordinator (EWCC) upfront. Behind the front seaters, two enlisted aircrewmen occupied the rear cockpit. If the mission was primarily COMINT, a Naval Aircrewman qualified as a cryptologist technician (CTI) would fly. If it was primarily ELINT, an EW Operator (EWOPS) would occupy one or both of the rear seats. The addition of all the bells and whistles came at the cost of 4,000 additional pounds, making the aircraft considerably more sluggish. Regardless, the ES-3A performed her SIGINT missions for the CSG commander and was called upon to execute additional tasks, such as Overland Battle Damage Assessment (OBDA) and Over-The-Horizon Targeting (OTH-T), all-the-while keeping the air wing in the gas by retaining her much-needed tanker capability. Another critical mission that the Shadow performed for the CSG was assessing combat electronic order of battle (EOB), in which threat emitters and other enemy RF [radio frequency] sources would be categorized, mapped, and potentially exploited by the CVBG. Elward describes just such a mission: Typically, Shadows flew missions at high altitudes at long standoff range gathering information about enemy air defense networks, listening to communications, and helping identify and classify potential targets. Shadows often worked together with S-3Bs to create an overall EOB. Due to the limited number of ES-3As in the detachment, Shadows would often fly a mission along a designated route, followed by an S-3B Viking using its ESM suite and then compare data obtained from the two flights before making a second Shadow flight where the ES-3A would fine-tune the observations. The Shadow joined the fleet in 1992, with the birds going to one of two squadrons on each coast of the US. Fleet Air Reconnaissance Squadron (VQ-5), the Sea Shadows, was established initially at Guam and later was transferred to NAS North Island in 1994. In April of 1993, VQ-5 made the first operational deployment of the ES-3A aboard USS Independence. The east coast stood up VQ-6, the Black Ravens, at NAS Cecil Field with the first deployment aboard USS Saratoga in January of 1994. The ES-3A Shadow flew operationally, including working with NATO operations in Bosnia, until 1999 when “costs and budgetary constraints” ended what should have been a remarkable aircraft’s long career. With its loss, CSG commanders would have to rely on land-based EP-3E assets and USAF aircraft to meet their ever-increasing SIGINT needs. The Shadow airframes, now joined by their Viking kin, rest on a plot of desert Bone Yard in a world no longer at peace. Once again, one has to question the USN’s decision-making process and lack of foresight. Of course, budgetary myopia seems always to trump common sense, simple wisdom, and the unheeded lessons history keeps trying to teach us. Miss Piggy Obviously, with the transition from the propeller-driven S-2 to the jet-powered S-3 Viking, the C-1A Trader variant of the Tracker that served as the primary Carrier Onboard Delivery (COD) aircraft would have to be replaced, as well. Lockheed, seeing a chance to take a chunk out of Grumman’s dominance of carrier deck space which included the C-2A Greyhound, offered a variation of the S-3 airframe. Surprisingly, the USN awarded the contract in 1975 for six US-3A CODs. Lockheed decided to make use of the seventh YS-3A airframe, stripping out all mission electronics. Since no passenger-now-prisoner of a crashing airplane would be pleased with having their flight crew leave them behind via pyrotechnics, the Viking’s four ejection seats were removed. In their place, a pilot, co-pilot, a loadmaster, and up to six rear-facing passenger seats were installed. Cargo space was carved out of the weapons bay and two big cargo-carrying blivets could be slung under each wing station in place of fuel tanks. In lieu of passengers, additional cargo could be carried internally for a total capacity of 7,400 pounds. However, the addition of the blivets reduced her range from 2,700 nautical miles to just over 1,900 nautical miles, which was still very substantial. Was Miss Piggy, as her crews and the fleet affectionately called her, a worthy replacement of the Trader? While the C-1A could carry up to nine passengers, it could only carry 3,500 pounds of cargo. As I mentioned above, the USN already had a COD aircraft, a variant of the E-2 Hawkeye. The C-2 Greyhound became operational in 1965, a full decade before the Viking variant contract was awarded. Its two Allison T-56 turboprops could haul 10,000 pounds of cargo, including outsized aircraft engines, personnel, and most importantly to the CVBG sailor, mail. Clearly, the Greyhound could do the job better. So, why did the USN choose to utilize Miss Piggy? I really don’t have a clue. Add to the mystery that the US-3s were limited to the west coast Navy and flew only in the 7th Fleet area of operations out of Subic Bay in the Philippines or Diego Garcia in the Indian Ocean. Also, the only squadron that flew the six aircraft was the Foo Dogs of VRC-50—“VRC” being the designation for Fleet Logistics Support Squadron. When I find an answer as to what the Navy was thinking with the US-3A, I’ll let you know. A Premature Demise? A couple of times a month I’m asked if the decision by the U.S. Navy to retire the S-3 Viking in 2009 was a mistake. One conclusion I have drawn, while mulling over this critical question, is that there is a far more important consideration that is essentially ignored: “Was the resolution to remove the SENSO and the ASW mission equipment for which the Viking was originally designed, a fateful miscalculation?” This move, made nine years prior to the aircraft’s retirement, was symptomatic of the utter failure of the Navy to stay the course after the end of the Cold War on what arguably was and is its most important mission—anti-submarine warfare. Okay, so I got that small measure of bitching off my chest. Now, onto the larger issue of retiring the aircraft altogether. Was it a mistake for the Navy to do so? Should it bring the S-3 back to be a tanker and perform other missions? Are current ASW measures enough to protect the Carrier Strike Group (CSG) and Expeditionary Strike Group (ESG) while performing the other ASW missions necessary to meet the “new” threat posed by the Russians, not to mention the Chinese—a threat that is relatively new but not unexpected? First, let me acknowledge just how ignorant the empowered minds had to be not to have seen how many hats the Viking had worn, and how many variants were theorized and produced from one, single, brilliant airframe. Of course, the ignorant aren’t completely to blame. The VS [air anti-submarine and sea control squadron] community had decades to develop a reputation, as the VP [patrol squadron] community did, and lobby for the life of the S-3. Our subordination in the air wing didn’t have to be an accepted limitation. Now, in a world filled with contradiction, allow me to add one of the many I own: It was a mistake to retire the S-3…and…it wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t, because at the time it did make fiscal sense – that is if you subscribe to the group who were quite certain that the end of history was upon us and we would all live happily ever after. However, Desert Storm, Bosnia, Somalia, and the planet changing effect of September 11th made it quite obvious that happily ever after is found only in naïve minds and fairy tales. Yet, less than a decade after the same euphoric thinking that pulled the SENSO out of the Viking reared its ugly head and made the myopic choice to remove the aircraft from fleet inventories altogether. That thinking failed to consider, with one eye in a history book, what was really going on in the world and how removing a critical in-flight refueling asset would affect the only strike mission aircraft left on the carrier’s deck. The Navy bought into the concept that there would always be a USAF tanker ready for the air wing to plug into, no matter where the carriers were in the world. This is the same thoughtless argument that believes a P-8 will always be overhead to protect every CSG and ESG while still having plenty of airframes to perform open ocean search and tracking of subsurface threats that, in the 21st Century, have slipped away from our convenient assumptions of how they’re supposed to behave. That’s not to mention the numerous other missions expected of the Poseidon. ... https://www.twz.com/38483/reflections-and-wisdom-from-a-cold-war-submarine-hunter
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