The one contact that remained conspicuously absent from their sensors was the Chinese arc-class submarine. SEAL Team Two’s SDV was still scheduled for launch in a little more than two hours. Bodzin couldn’t forget the recent visit by Captain Kram, and the unprecedented manner in which he practically implored them to tag the Han before the SEALs were deployed topside.
Patience and perseverance were key ingredients to any successful sonar search. It was usually the slightest sonic deviation, a mere flutter on the waterfall display or muted hiss from the headphones that signaled the presence of an unwanted underwater trespasser in the area.
That was the subtle manner in which Bodzin was expecting the Han to eventually reveal itself. And that’s why he was caught completely off guard when a deafening, freight-train-like roar erupted from his headphones. His eyes instantly went to the flickering repeater screen of the BQ-21 display, as Jaffers verbally revealed the nature of the contact that he too had picked up on his headphones.
“It’s another submarine, Sup! It looks to be churning up the water at flank speed beneath the Queen’s bow, headed with a bone in its teeth on bearing one-two-seven.”
This heading would take the bogey right through the slot of water lying between the Baikal and the Casablanca. This was the same channel reserved for the QE2’s use, and Bodzin was unable to figure out the significance of this unorthodox tactical display. He grabbed for the overhead intercom handset. “Conn, sonar. We have a new underwater contact, traveling on a bearing of one-two-seven, at a relative rough range of twenty thousand yards. Classify Sierra Six, possible hostile Wan-class submarine!”
Of no immediate threat to the Polk, Bodzin nevertheless intently monitored Sierra Six’s progress. It was continuing to make good its sprint for the waters separating the formation’s point vessels. This channel was roughly eight thousand-yards wide, and Bodzin wondered if either the Baikal or the Casablanca had yet picked up this underwater interloper approaching from their rear.
It was as Sierra Six broke the thirty-knot threshold that the Folk’s captain returned to the sonar room. Benjamin Kram arrived in time to hear Jaffers excitedly reveal a verbal picture of the latest sonar data.
“It appears that both Sierra Two and Three have tagged Sierra Six. The Baikal is turning to starboard, with the Casablanca in the process of making a turn to port. Both submarines appear to be preparing to engage Sierra Six!”
“What in the hell is that Han trying to pull off?” asked Bodzin, his eyes locked on the collection of thick white lines now visible on the waterfall displays.
As Benjamin Kram grabbed for a set of headphones, his XO also entered the compartment. Lt. Comdr. Dan Calhoun settled in behind the vacant BQS-4 console, as Jaffers’s voice loudly cried out, “Torpedoes in the water! I show various high-pitched tonal aspects, indicating a launch by both the Baikal and the Casablanca.”
“And Sierra Six?” queried Kram, who was unable to sort out the sonic mess being conveyed through his headphones.
“They appear to have disappeared right off the screen, sir!” informed the Folk’s perplexed senior sonar technician. “All we’re showing is the signature of four torpedoes, and increased screw counts on both the Baikal and the Casablanca.”
“Damn!” cursed the XO. “We’ve got us a fucking turkey shoot out there.”
Benjamin Kram traded the briefest of concerned glances with his second in command, as he removed his headphones and passionately expressed himself. “I told Admiral Buchanan that assigning four submarines for this mission would only confuse matters. And now someone out there’s about to pay the ultimate price for a tactical decision made by a bunch of damn politicians!”
Kram’s fears were seemingly confirmed by Jaffers’s next update. “Oh, sweet Jesus! Those fish appear to be crossing in midchannel. Shit, the Russians and the French are going to end up taking each other out!”
A feeling of powerlessness and frustration possessed Benjamin Kram, as he watched the manner in which the Baikal and the Casablanca were reacting to this unwarranted attack on each other. Both submarines were pouring on the speed, with a full spread of decoys already launched, all in a desperate attempt to escape the onrushing torpedoes.
It proved to be the slower of the two warships that was the first to succumb to this tragic friendly fire incident. Almost simultaneously, both Bodzin and Jaffers tore off their headphones, as a deafening series of booming blasts was projected into the surrounding waters. Bodzin alertly switched on the compartment’s overhead speakers in time to hear yet another pair of sharp, resonant explosions sound outside their hull.
This was followed by a distinctive crackling noise that sounded much like popping popcorn.
“Damn, they’re imploding!” revealed Bodzin, who had once heard this same sickening signature on a tape back in sonar school. “The Baikal and the Casablanca are gone!”
The shocking reality of this astounding revelation only sank in as the crackling faded and was replaced by the single, all-encompassing roar of the QE2’s engines. Completely oblivious to the underwater battle that had just taken place in the depths below, the ocean liner transited the seas directly above the accident site, its progress unimpeded.
“Where the hell are the bastards responsible for this tragedy?” questioned the XO.
“I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” muttered Bodzin.
There was an air of finality to his movements. He tore off a piece of paper towel and reached out to erase Sierra Two and Three off the sonar update board. Bodzin’s hand was shaking slightly as he penciled in Sierra Six, and followed it with a large question mark.
“What scares the hell out of me,” he added, his voice strained. “Is not only that they went and disappeared right off our sonar screens like they did, but that Sierra Six actually seems to have planned this whole attack all along.”
“I hear you loud and clear, Mr. Bodzin,” returned Benjamin Kram. “And now we’re going to be even more vigilant, to make sure that the same outcome doesn’t befall the Polk. Whatever it takes, you’ve got to track down that Han by 2400 hours, or SEAL Team Two is never going to get a chance to equal the score.”
38
Vince Kellogg matched as the situation inside the Queens Grill continued to deteriorate. Only minutes after the bodies of the two recently killed Russians were dragged out, the next confrontation took place. This one appeared to have been triggered by an insulting remark that one of the Japanese agents mouthed as Monica Chang passed by their table. Whatever was said caused the actress to go ballistic, and she stormed over to the table, her submachine gun raised and ready for action.
“Stand up, you Japanese dog!” she screamed at the offending agent.
The two tuxedo-clad Japanese security agents who had been seated there rose in unison, defiant smirks on their smooth-shaven faces.
This challenge to her authority only served to aggravate Monica even further, and she let loose yet another volley of submachine-gun fire up into the bullet-ridden ceiling. The Japanese agents reacted to this noisy show of force with barely a flinch. As two armed sentries arrived at the table, Monica confronted the senior member of the Japanese contingent.
Vince knew this individual personally. A former member of Japanese Special Forces, Yushio Tanaka, or Tiger as he was better known, was a decorated veteran, not the type of man who could be easily intimidated.