“You do Savita. But space is limited in there.”
Savita gave him her best sultry smile and what she hoped was a dirty laugh. She stepped inside, turned the water on, stripped off and let the warm jets play over her. She grinned. He had been flirting. There I was in my underwear showing myself off, inches away from him. “You hussy Savita.” Did she really have a chance? Was he interested? She knew it couldn’t really happen, there’s no privacy in a submarine. It would be all around the boat in hours.
THE GHOST RACED ON south towards Cape Town. They’d slowed up briefly and floated a satellite communications buoy. The Kilos had left Yagelnaya Bay several hours earlier. After his watch, Luke bedded down for a sleep in his cabin. He lay there and ran his mind back to when he was talking with Savita outside the shower. That body of hers and her looks. Wow, she was a stunner. She seemed to have an interest in him, but he could be wrong. He was the Captain, she might just be doing what she thought she had to do.
“Be careful MacArthur, you could make a fool of yourself.” Or it could be worse than that. She was a junior officer under his command, he could be accused of harassment. Luke knew he was on thin ice and realised for the first time how very lonely command could be. In the darkness, he put his hands up over his face. “Oh Savita, I wish you were here.”
HMS HOLY GHOST WAS one hundred kilometres off the coast of Somalia. Luke looked around his control room and all were at their stations, screens glowed green. Sonar had his scope painting a scan of the area, Luke looked over his shoulder at the scope. They’d done a fast dash around the cape and were nearing their destination. Luke looked to Mark Davis his Exec and nodded. Davis loaded a tape into the console by his side and pressed the start button.
On sonar was Ratty. Ratty was Petty officer Peter Southworth’s nickname, it was said that Southworth had ears like a shit house rat. Luke knew that the expression normally applied to the eyes. But the crew had picked it, so who was he to differ? He announced loudly.
“Conn sonar. Contact bearing nine five degrees, range nine kilometres, depth one thirty, refining.” Officers and ratings in the control room looked to Ratty expectantly, brows furrowed. All fell deathly silent.
“Initial analysis,” said Ratty, “is suspected Oscar class boat.”
That wasn’t good. Oscar class was a large Soviet SSN.
“As soon as you can, Ratty.” Luke picked up the handheld microphone and pressed the red button next to his conn station twice. Whoop, Whoop. “Action stations, action stations. Submarine warning red.” Whoop, Whoop. “Action stations, action stations. Submarine warning red.” All around the boat, men and women dashed to their action stations, donning white anti-flash hoods. Hatches were all quickly closed and sealed.
“Weps, warshot status?”
“Tubes one and two, Spearfish. Three and four, Harpoon. Five and six are clear Sir.” Savita replied.
“Come to nine five degrees.”
“Nine five aye Sir.” The boat leant over to the right, the crew held onto whatever they could to stay upright.
“Flood tubes one and two.”
“Sir, Sonar, contact screw count and audio profile match Oscar class,” Ratty felt a flush of fear course through him mixed with adrenalin, “Warsaw pact library indicates that it’s the Murmansk. She’s flooding one tube. Opening outer doors.”
“Mark contact as Tango one. Weps open outer doors.”
“Outer doors open, tube one and two.” said Savita, “I have a firing solution on Tango one.”
“Range to target? Ratty.”
“Eight kilometres.”
“Warshot red, tube one launch, stand by.” Savita looked at him briefly with a wide-eyed look of surprise. Then looked back at her screen.
“Range Ratty?”
“Seven point six kilometres Sir.”
“Warshot red. Warshot red. Launch tube one, launch tube one.” Savita closed her eyes for a second and pressed the launch button.
“Fish is running and hungry,” she said in disbelief. “Fish has acquired the target, time to impact, four minutes three seconds.” She’d actually fired on the enemy.
“Conn sonar, Tango one has a fish in the water. Confirmed, fish is type fifty three.” Impact in three minutes forty seconds.” Savita and Cartwright looked nervously around. Ratty Southworth crossed himself.
Chapter 3
LUKE TURNED TO HIS Exec and nodded. He switched off the tape. Ratty and Savita looked at their now normal screens in surprise. Luke picked up the microphone.
“End of the drill. This has been a drill. Stand down, boats company stand down. Well done everyone, if this had been real, you’d have done the Ghost proud.”
“Come to depth forty, deploy a communications buoy. Let’s get the news from Northwood.”
Several minutes later the communications officer Daniel Cartwright handed him a printout.
Home FLT Holy Ghost. ID 8337fj5c3
RN FLT Command Northwood. Commander Task force 311. ID 795y6d43
14.07 Zulu. MSG START:
Kilo class boats Nahang and Siyah Bambak, on surface, Mediterranean, North of Port Said. Fifteen kilometres from Suez entrance. Heading south. Good hunting.
MSG END:
“They’re about to enter the canal Mark. It’ll be a slow transit, depending on the shipping traffic. But they’ll probably be through tonight some time or more likely early tomorrow. We’ll not make it to the exit from the canal in time to meet them. But I didn’t favour that option anyway. We’ll wait for them here.” He pointed to the chart and the straits at the southern end of the Red Sea. “The Gate of Grief.” What a bloody name thought Luke.
“Planesman, come to four zero degrees, speed twelve knots.”
“Down angle fifteen, make your depth one twenty.” The deck tilted forward and all in the control room leant backwards to maintain their balance. The Ghost slid deeper into the blackness of the Indian Ocean, to her rendezvous with dark fate.
“HERE ARE YOUR ORDERS Captain,” Admiral Sayyari handed over the papers, “do us proud.”
“Yes Sir,” Captain Hijazi saluted, turned and left the office. He walked to the front entrance, down the steps and into the bright sunlight. A warm breeze rustled through the trees and the Persian Gulf shimmered. He walked down the road off to the quay, a few sailors saluted as he passed by. At the quayside, he turned left and walked by a Corvette, sailors carried stores up the ramp. He reached the stern of his ship the Frigate Arvand, the gold curved crest on the blue naval jack flew from her stern. Captain Hijazi walked past her stern mounted three-barrel Limbo ASW mortar and twin three-hundred and twenty four millimetre torpedo tubes, he headed amidships to the ramp. As he walked up the ramp two sailors came to attention and piped him aboard.
“Tell Mister Paria I’d like to see him on the bridge.”
“Sir.”
He took his place on the bridge and soon his second officer joined him.
“Is all well with the ship Commander Paria?”
“Yes Sir, all stores are now loaded.”
“I take it the Sahand is at sea?”
“Yes Sir, she’s off Hormuz Island waiting.”
“Very well, I have our orders. Cast off Commander, let’s join her.” He gave his second officer a smirk, “we’ve a job to do.”
Arvand slipped her birth and set out to sea, she headed for the channel between Qeshm and Hormuz Islands.
“Commander, make to Sahand. We have our orders and an important task to carry out. Take up line astern and follow. Captain out.”
He looked out at the shimmering sea and wondered. It must go well out there, his navy depended on it.