“…That concludes the latest situation,” finished the captain, grim-faced. “In simple terms the coolant pump has begun to deteriorate much faster than was first anticipated, which means now we are faced with the very real prospect of not reaching the launch point.”
Silence filled the small room as the other three men absorbed what the captain had said. Rashid and Moradi were visibly shocked.
Rashid broke the silence. “The question then, Captain: are we to take a chance and continue on to the original launch area or do we select another target much closer?”
“It is another 1,000 miles to the coordinates; I am concerned we will struggle to make it, not to mention the 500-mile return journey to the rendezvous. If the pump fails completely, we are doomed.”
“Then a new target it must be,” said the al-Qaeda negotiator firmly. “Placing the warhead anywhere on the mainland will have to serve.”
“To hit Washington would have been perfect, but not necessary. Anywhere on land and the virus will spread like wildfire. The infidel does not have an antidote; within six months, Western culture will be on its knees and no longer a threat to Islamic world power,” answered Kamani strongly. This was his destiny and he would not fail. Allah would reward him handsomely for his part in making this victory over the infidel happen.
“A pity many of our people will die too as the virus will inevitably spread to other continents,” said Moradi.
“It is a necessary sacrifice,” replied Rashid. “We cannot vaccinate the entire Muslim world, but we already have stock piles and will eventually have enough to cover at least fifty percent in the populated areas – even more, depending on how fast the Koreans can keep on supplying the vaccine.”
“Which is the closest city?” Moradi asked.
“Miami, about 750 miles west of our current position,” answered Zaha.
“Not the same as hitting the infidel’s capital – the seat of power and evil,” Moradi came back.
“We will have to live with that,” Rashid replied. “What is the size of the population?”
“Around half a million,” Kamani replied. “Miami would make an excellent alternative. I propose we release the missile near the rendezvous point west of Great Abaco, then scuttle the sub and board the Libyan freighter.”
“Will the freighter be there?” asked Moradi anxiously.
“She will be by the time we reach Abaco,” Kamani answered.
“Abaco is 500 miles away; we may not even reach it,” said Zaha.
“We have no choice; we must not fail,” shot Rashid, looking a little angrily at the XO. He glanced at the map spread out over the table. “Miami is only 200 miles from Abaco, at that distance the missile is unlikely to be intercepted, and once the warhead releases the pods over the city, we will have, at the very least, successfully completed our mission for Allah. I agree with Captain Kamani’s proposal.”
Zaha and Moradi nodded in agreement too.
“Good, then that is settled,” said Kamani. “Lieutenant, recalibrate the missile-tracking coordinates for an Abaco shot at Miami and keep them progressively updated. We may have to release at any time.”
The XO acknowledged and stood to leave just as the intercom buzzed. He answered and turned to the others.
“Captain, sonar reports hostile contact bearing zero-nine-zero, range fifteen miles, waiting translation.”
The three men sitting at the table glanced urgently at one another before Captain Kamani stood up and quickly left the wardroom with his XO.
By the time they reached K449’s control centre, the translation came through.
“Akula II-class, K267, nuclear,” repeated Kamani calmly, careful to hide his fear and disbelief.
“This far down in the Atlantic and so close? How did they know we were here?”
“Send a Russian to catch a Russian,” replied the captain with a tense half-smile. “She’s here to stop us, remove the guilt for selling this boat to the Koreans and possibly to placate the Americans.”
“But we are not Russians.”
“They don’t know that. To them this is a Delta III with a Russian crew. What they do know is everything about this boat and what she’s capable of.”
“Captain – sonar. Contact range now twelve miles. Bearing zero-nine-five.”
The captain turned to the helm, adrenaline rising. “Reduce speed to seven. Maintain zig-zag course.”
He now regretted and cursed himself, for ordering an increase in speed initially. The Russian may well have heard them. He prayed not, but if they had, he could expect an attack at any moment. His worries increased ten-fold, too; where was the British sub? Could any American submarines and surface ships in the area have also heard them? In which case, an onslaught of attacks could soon be on the way. Seven knots and a zig-zag course, however, would make it difficult for passive sonar to lock on, but he feared the infidels. If they were close, they would go active to pinpoint his position. In that event, only the effective use of countermeasures, or Allah himself, would save them.
“Lieutenant, inform weapons NOW to prepare for attack. Recalibrate the target and have the missile ready for imminent launch.”
46
Captain Curtis and his XO looked intently at the tracking screens in Ambush’s control room. They were now sixteen miles astern of K449, just 400 feet below the surface.
“Captain – sonar. Sierra Ten, speed change to seven knots. Course unchanged.”
“Captain, aye.”
“You think she’s heard us?” Talbot asked.
“Maybe; in fact more than likely,” Curtis replied, voice giving away the tension he felt. “If she reduces any further, we could lose her.” He paused, seemingly deep in thought, then, “We’ll take her now. Prepare for snap shot. Ready tubes one and two in all respects,” he ordered.
“Captain – sonar. Sierra Nine contact. Bearing three-one-five. Range ten miles. Analyzing.”
Both men glanced at one another, eyebrows raised.
“Captain, aye.” Then to WPO, “Stand down snap shot,” Curtis barked.
“The Akula!” exclaimed the XO, unable to hide his astonishment.
A strained smile creased the captain’s features. “We’ll get her this time.” He scanned the surrounding monitor screens for several seconds, then turned back to Talbot. “I intend to take them both at once, within twenty seconds of one another. The less warning the better. Captain – sonar, I have assumed this is a direct-path contact.”
“Captain – sonar, confirmed.”
“Reduce speed to ten knots, maintain course,” he shot. Then to the weapons officer, “Spearfish – prepare all tubes in all respects. Take Sierra Nine with tubes one and two and Sierra Ten with three and four. Adopt a slow speed passive approach; go active on both at 1,500 yards.”
“Weapons, aye.”
The weapons officer prepared to launch the torpedoes around 12 degrees off the intercept course towards the targets to cover a 180-degree search sector in front of Ambush. The torpedo seeker head would see and lock onto a target within this sector range. As the Spearfish closed in on the targets, their electronic guidance system would determine the optimum moment for detonation of the warheads on or near the hulls of the Russian submarines if countermeasure tactics were ineffective. Once the torpedoes were on their way, Ambush would run for cover as fast as possible in the case that one, or both, of the Russians managed to launch torpedoes in response.
Tension notably mounted as the crew prepared to attack the two submarines converging up ahead. The captain and his XO remained cool despite this being the first attempt by a British submarine to take out two enemy submarines simultaneously since World War II.