“The torpedo seeker frequency — it’s American, accounting for Doppler shift,” he said. “How did you know?”
“Who else would it be?”
“The convoy’s frigates? An air dropped weapon?”
“No, Raja. The only way a Taiwanese platform would have heard Sun is if he had made a mistake. No submarine commander in the Chinese fleet makes mistakes. They have no imagination or intuition because they only train to do the simple things right, but they never make a mistake.”
A short man in a Chinese People’s Liberation Army-Navy captain’s uniform exchanged whispers with a taller man in a similar uniform.
“Commander,” the taller man said with a Mandarin accent, “Captain Shen states that his comrades are in danger. Why do you discuss training philosophy?”
“Because it is relevant,” Hayat said. “Like all your submarine commanders, Sun was trained with discipline but with no creativity. He ascended to periscope depth at a precise time per procedure and received orders to attack the convoy. I know that he is now repositioning his ship exactly per the optimum battery burn rate and that he will die twelve miles from his ambush point.”
The tall man, an interpreter, frowned and nodded.
“I will translate for Captain Shen,” he said.
Hayat listened to somber words exchanged in Mandarin.
“Captain Shen appreciates your insight,” the interpreter said. “He is eager to share your wisdom with the fleet, but he also urges you to take action.”
“It is too late for Sun,” Hayat said. “I will do what I can for the others.”
More words were exchanged in Mandarin.
“Captain Shen understands,” the interpreter said. “He appreciates your courage and assistance.”
“Translate this for Captain Shen,” he said. “You choose the words. I don’t care. I’m sorry his comrades are going to die, but I don’t need him questioning my every move.”
The interpreter gaped. Hayat waved his fingers.
“Go on,” he said. “I have work to do.”
“I will do my best,” the interpreter said and nodded.
Hayat sipped tea and sat.
“Raja,” Hayat said. “Where is Sun’s Romeo?”
The Hamza’s executive officer darted to the plot.
“Twelve miles from his ambush point, sir,” Raja said. “You were right.”
“Of course,” he said. “Now tell me the torpedo bearing rate and frequency.”
“Right away, sir. May I ask what you intend to make of these numbers? We’ve already identified that it’s an American torpedo, and we know its target.”
“Frequency conversion and trigonometry will resolve the weapon’s speed and course. Then I’ll use Sun’s position to anchor the torpedo, and I’ll have its range. That will help localize the submarine that shot it.”
“You mean to attack the American?” Raja asked.
“Such an attack is within our mission parameters,” Hayat said. “And so I shall.”
Hayat swirled his cup, and green leaves traced a whirlpool. He nodded at a young sailor who replaced the cup with a hot one but tripped and spilled tea.
The submarine commander stared at reddened skin, ignored the pain, and inhaled. His mustache tickled his nostrils.
“Get me a towel, you imbecile,” he said.
The sailor ran off.
“Come here, Raja,” Hayat said.
Hayat studied Raja’s face. Steady dark eyes met his stare. Raja’s swarthy skin appeared smooth and made him look younger than his thirty-one years.
“You appear concerned, almost hesitant,” Hayat said.
“I am no coward,” Raja said. “But if we attack the American submarine, we put our mission at risk.”
“If I doubted your courage,” Hayat said, “I would have left you ashore. Your judgment is another matter. Do you not see that the reward outweighs the risk?”
The sailor returned with a towel. Hayat wrapped it around his fingers, and its tepid moisture soothed him. He leaned over the periscope well’s railing, placed a hand on the sailor’s shoulder, and saw fear in the man’s face.
“Mistakes are no longer tolerable,” Hayat said. “We are in battle. The price for lapses in concentration is death, and we would suffer that fate together.”
“Yes, sir,” the man said.
“Back to your station,” Hayat said.
The sailor darted away, and Hayat leaned toward Raja.
“Should we succeed, sir,” Raja said, “I am concerned that the Chinese will receive credit. The Americans must know that it is the submarine Hamza, that defies them.”
Hayat whispered.
“Keep your voice low,” he said. “Allah’s will unfolds according to His desires. Still, your question is insightful.”
Hayat puffed his cigarette. The unfiltered tobacco taste was potent.
“The Chinese provide us weapons for our mission,” he said. “Let them receive credit, or better — let the Americans wonder who kills their sons. Uncertainty creates fear, and that is our ultimate purpose.”
Raja stood straight.
“Forgive me, sir,” he said. “Shall I reset the torpedoes for submerged targets?”
“No, reserve them for the convoy. Backhaul tube one and load a Shkval rocket. I had that tube modified for a reason. Let us test our newest weapon against America.”
Thunder echoed through the La Jolla’s hull. Commander Roth accepted that he had sunk a Chinese Romeo submarine and had killed fifty men.
“Attention in the control room,” he said. “We’ve just hit Romeo One. We heard the hull shatter. We have no indication that it launched a counterfire weapon. We’ll assume that Romeo Two heard the explosion and is alerted. Romeo Two is now our target of interest. I’m beginning my approach on Romeo Two.”
A voice from the sonar room boomed over a loudspeaker.
“High speed cavitation, bearing two-four-four. It’s moving fast.”
“What’s the blade rate?” Roth asked.
“No blade rate. Bad call. It’s high-frequency hissing. We don’t know what the hell it is!”
Roth grabbed his executive officer’s arm.
“The Chinese have tested a Russian Shkval underwater rocket, right?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. But they’re not operational yet.”
“Not supposed to be,” Roth said.
Roth placed his hands on a polished rail and yelled.
“Helm, all ahead flank, cavitate! Diving officer, take us to test depth!”
Roth’s stomach leapt as the ship nosed downward. The deck plates rumbled and the digital display flipped through numbers toward the La Jolla’s top speed.
“There’s no evasion protocol for a Shkval, sir,” the executive officer said. “We can’t outrun a three-hundred knot rocket.”
“We can make it miss,” Roth said.
“Why are we going deep?” the executive officer asked. “We should be shallow in case we need to abandon ship.”
“Deep backpressure stifles the shock wave.”
“I hope to God you’re right, sir.”
“Let’s get a spread of torpedoes off at Romeo Two,” Roth said. “We still have a convoy to protect. After that rocket goes off, we may not be able to fight.”
Commander Hayat studied graphical interface displays.
“The Los Angeles is running,” he said. “We can hear it on the wide aperture sonar array that covers our hull.”
“The bearing is off a bit,” Raja said.
“Because they have accelerated. Look at our hole-in-ocean display. The crude, oblong shape that blocks out the background noise of marine life is their hull.”
Raja bent over and bumped a young sailor who leaned aside to let him study the dual-stacked monitor.