“Standby to haul in the master messenger once they strike free the spanwire or it’ll foul the screws.” he kept his voice level as he called down to their own men but then noticed the leading seaman whose job it was to watch the spanwire was instead lending a hand hauling in the fuelling hose, obviously as desperate as any of them to get below the surface and away from danger. Wei looked in alarm at the spanwire to see it was rock steady.
With a report like a gunshot the cable parted where it was clamped into the Tuan’s kingpost, whiplashing across the gap between the vessels, cutting in two the Strela operator as he was about to fire and decapitating Lieutenant Wuhan who was still leaning over the side.
With the supporting spanwire gone the hose and probe dropped into the churning water between both vessels where the wake swept it back into the Typhoons port propeller which tore the hose and messenger lines away. The fuelling hose was shredded and dispersing harmlessly in their wake but the messenger line was sucked in and wrapped itself around the spinning screw, a later job for the Typhoons diver, if they survived.
With nothing left to impede the two submarines they steered sharply diverging courses. FAS parties on both submarines casings hung desperately onto safety lines and clawed their way towards the hatches as the boats heeled over and diving alarms sounded.
The bodies of both Wei Wuhan and the Strela operator were abandoned as the bridge of the Admiral Potemkin was cleared. Both men were obviously very dead, no physician was required to tell the bridge party that.
The Strela launcher carried an armed and primed missile and was dumped over the side out of expediency and safety by the captain.
He slipped after he threw it, losing his footing in the blood to land heavily with an oath but gaining the hatch and pulling himself through despite a dislocated elbow, adrenaline providing the necessary anaesthetic.
The Orion lost height dangerously during its turn but as the wings came level the warbling tone in their headsets told them that despite being in relatively close proximity to their targets the Harpoons seeker head had acquired a radar lock-on to the largest vessel.
Both pilots closed one eye as the missile left its pylon to preserve their night vision.
They were now closing fast on the submarines and inside the minimum engagement range for the second Harpoon so two MK50s dropped from the Orion’s bomb bay with small drogue chutes deploying to give them controlled entry into the water. They were designed to destroy fast, deep diving submarines using a small shaped charge normally associated with anti-armour rounds, the sea water entering small apertures in the casings turned to fast expanding steam by a chemical reaction that produced a 40 knot speed which no conventionally powered torpedo could match at great depth.
The two submarines were less than a football field apart and still on the surface when the Harpoon released by Albatross Three penetrated the f casing of Admiral Potemkin and exploded in the diesel fuel bunkers. The Typhoon still carried 150,000 litres of diesel plus her entire inventory of reloads of 21 inch torpedoes and YJ-8 anti-shipping missiles.
Admiral Potemkin detonated like a grenade.
Titanium and steel burst apart, shards flying in all directions to pierce the Tuan’s pressure hull, starboard ballast tank and also the special forces submersible sat on the after casing. Her conning tower was peppered with shrapnel, seriously wounding the captain who was still half in and half out of the hatch being the last one to clear the bridge.
Roiling, angry reds and oranges of the fireball rose over three hundred feet, dumping blazing fuel over an equal area of the ocean surrounding it, engulfing the Tuan in fire.
Even had her hatches been shut, which they were not, she was mortally wounded and the arrival of both high speed MK 50 torpedoes merely accelerated her demise.
At only two hundred feet above the surface of the Atlantic Albatross Three bucked as it was lifted and buffeted violently by the blast of the Admiral Potemkin’s violent end. A heartbeat later both pilots ducked instinctively as the airframe was struck hard by more than one piece of shrapnel.
The port wing rose as the aircraft commander banked right as much as he judged it safe to do, avoiding the fireball but the airframe was now trembling, a harsh vibration shaking it spastically.
The master fire alarm sounded as the fire warning light for the port outer engine glowed an urgent crimson.
That engines misfires were clearly audible to all the crew, the loud reports sounding like random spaced gunshots, and it was coughing like a sixty a day nicotine slave.
There first appeared black, oily smoke, a precursor to the flickering tongues of flame which seconds later escaped from joints between inspection panels in the engine housing of a clearly damaged Allison turbo prop.
The pilots and flight engineer engaged the engines fire extinguisher, dumping a flame retardant compound onto the engine, shutting off the fuel supply and following the engine feathering procedure.
It was standard fuel management to patrol with one engine feathered anyway so the aircraft was not in danger of falling from the sky with the other three engines operating normally.
Just a single pass for damage assessment took place but no more flares were required as the burning fuel provided ample illumination.
With footage of the destruction for analysis Albatross Three reported both submarines sunk with no trace of survivors and turned west for Tierra del Fuego, trailing smoke as it headed home.
After three days awaiting the arrival of the Tuan, to rejoin with Dai and the Bao, the Juliett class missile submarine Dai sent a millisecond’s worth of burst transmission to Fleet and then her captain retired to his tiny cabin to give the impression of confidence and calm.
Captain Aiguo Li was the second senior officer of the small flotilla, commissioned a month and a day behind his long-term friend Chen Xinhua who commanded the Tuan, but it now seemed likely that some mishap, some accident, or incident was preventing Tuan from taking part in this operation.
He sat upon his bunk and raised his feet to rest up on the small folding writing table that acted as his ‘office’, before leaning back against the bulkhead, contemplating on the difficulties of fulfilling their mission with only two thirds of the necessary resources.
His musing was disturbed by a sharp rap on his door.
Lounging with his feet up was no way for an officer to be seen and he straightened up before barking a stern.
“Come!”
It was the Shui Bing, the ordinary sailor assigned as his steward, announcing a visitor.
“With respect Captain, Major Huaiqing awaits you.”
The ‘Major’ was actually a captain but a ship or submarine can have but one captain and for that reason Captain Huaiqing was given a ‘promotion’ for appearances sake and addressed as Major.
No salutes were exchanged below decks as the vessel was far too cramped for such martial niceties and Captain Li merely nodded an assent for the soldier to be admitted.
Their supercargo slept in tiered hammocks in the forward torpedo room where they managed to keep out of the way of his sailors going about their duties but those men represented eighteen pairs of lung and eighteen more stomachs than the boat had been built for.
A workable number in ideal situations, as the cooks just had an extra few mouths to feed, one hundred instead of eighty two. However, the air scrubbers had to work harder and that was just running close to the surface with the snorkel extended to run the diesels and keep the batteries fully charged.