“I don’t. I must warn you that two torpedoes were launched at you before my team retook the ship. I have shut one down, but one is beyond our control and headed for your wake. I recommend that you make your best speed and steer course zero-five-five.”
Stephenson released his speaking button and called to his watch officer.
“Inbound wake-homing torpedo. Conduct a torpedo evasion. Have the engine room give us top speed.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Stephenson pressed the button and continued his radio conversation.
“If it’s a wake-homing weapon, what difference does my course make? I need freedom for evasive maneuvers.”
“This may take a while to explain, but I have a plan. Or I at least see one unfolding. I beg for your sake that you trust me.”
Stephenson released the button to put his radio conversation on hold. He called again to his officer.
“Is our helo up yet?”
“Just launched, sir.”
“What about the ballistic hostiles?”
“Intercept to the first in three minutes, late in boost phase. The solitary vertical hostile missile is still climbing, about half way through boost phase.”
The phone chirped.
“XO,” he said.
“Sir, it’s Wilson again. I told fleet command about our surfaced submarine. They said they’re on a legit joint navy operation. There’s an Ohio-class SSGN — the Georgia—out there overseeing it. I’ve set you up on a secure satellite communication with their captain.
“Patch me through.”
“This is Lieutenant Commander Robert Stephenson, Executive Officer, USS Bainbridge. Come in, Georgia. Over.”
“Roger, Bainbridge. This is Commander Michael Davis, USS Georgia. I’m at periscope depth commanding an operation to retake the Israeli submarine that just launched weapons. I assume you’ve been hit. Over.”
“Georgia, Bainbridge, affirmative. We took two Harpoons. Starboard side of engine room is out. Bridge is out. Captain is dead. Best speed is twenty-two knots. Evading a torpedo on recommendation of new commander of Leviathan. Over.”
“Bainbridge, Georgia, I confirm the torpedo. It’s in your wake. If best speed is twenty-two knots, recommend you prepare to abandon ship. We can monitor the torpedo and give you warning before impact. Over.”
Stephenson took a breath and realized that a nightmare unfolded around him.
“Georgia, Bainbridge, the Leviathan’s commander gave me a course. Says he has a plan. Over.”
“Bainbridge, Georgia, he’s a brilliant commander. Trust him, but be ready to abandon ship. I’ll listen on HF voice, and if I hear bad advice, I’ll contact you. Over.”
“Georgia, Bainbridge, I’ll keep the line open. Out.”
Stephenson hung up, ordered his watch officer to steer the recommended course, and then spoke into his microphone.
“Leviathan, I’ve confirmed who you are,” he said. “What’s your name?”
“Renard.”
“Renard, I appreciate your assistance. We’re on a non-secure channel. I won’t give you my name.”
“May I call you Captain?”
“Yes.”
“I noticed that you’re turning, Captain. I thank you for trusting me.”
“What about my torpedo decoy?”
“Useless against a wake homer.”
“I thought so,” Stephenson said. “Tell me why I’ve changed course.”
“Gladly,” Renard said. “It’s quite an impressive reason. I’m afraid that I’ve trained my protégé too well.
CHAPTER 22
“We’re broached. Speed is falling off,” Henri said.
“Raising the periscope,” Jake said. “Come help me line up for HF voice.”
Jake placed his orbital socket to the Mercer’s rising eyepiece and felt Henri’s presence on the elevated conning platform. Through the optics, he saw plumes of smoke. Letting his eye settle on the horizon, dozens of dissipating whitish contrails provided evidence of a destroyer’s furious self-defense.
“Lined up,” Henri said.
Jake took the microphone from him.
“Damaged naval unit, this is broached French submarine to your southeast. Over.”
“Mercer, this is damaged naval unit. Renard explained your identity and intent with me. Please verify intent.”
“I’m sprinting to you and ask that you sprint to me. There’s a torpedo in your wake that I intend to absorb.”
“Renard assured me that any tactic you might try to fool the weapon would fail. It will follow my wake until it finds a keel. One of our ships will be sunk.”
“I know,” Jake said.
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because you have twenty times as many lives aboard.”
“I’m also guiding anti-ballistic missiles against nuclear weapons that were shot at America. You’re doing this for possibly millions of people.”
“Good to know, but I really have no intention of dying,” Jake said. “Sprint to me, maneuver around me before we collide, and toss me some life rafts as I pass. When I pass, I’ll shut down my engines and drift in your wake until the torpedo hits. Nobody needs to be aboard when it happens.”
“Done. We have the torpedo’s data in our system from Renard’s estimate. If you can sustain sixteen knots, this will work.”
“We’re making eighteen knots on the surface,” Jake said. “We’re still rising and slowing, but we can sustain at least seventeen.”
“Good enough. I’ll maneuver around you, drop rafts, and thank you when it’s over.”
Jake returned the microphone to its cradle.
“Have everyone put on life jackets,” he said. “And blow our ballast tanks dry.”
Henri nodded, walked to his control station, and flipped switches that unleashed high-pressure air into the Mercer’s ballast tanks. The imperceptible rising of the deck under Jake’s feet extended his visual horizon. His eye followed billows of black from the sky to the masts of the Bainbridge. As a cresting swell lifted the Mercer, he caught a glimpse of the bridge.
“They took one in the bridge,” he said. “It’s gone. Just flames, smoke, and bent metal.”
“How do you intend for us to evacuate?” Henri asked.
“Right after we pass them. We’ll secure our screw as we pass. If we jump any sooner, we risk getting chopped by our screw or run over by the Bainbridge. Any later, and, well, you know the rest.”
Renard never foresaw himself threatening a U.S. Navy SEAL, but he considered Gomez’ present failure worth challenging.
“If you cannot line us up for secure communications with the Georgia, I will have no choice but to hail them on an open frequency.”
Gomez responded while gazing at the keys he tapped on a satellite communications console.
“Don’t blame me,” he said. “You broke the communication wire to the Georgia when you surfaced us.”
“Indeed I did,” Renard said. “I did not foresee this scenario or consider that the wire would snap from the minisub when removed from its neutral buoyancy in water.”
Gomez ignored Renard and spoke into a microphone.
“Georgia, this is Leviathan. Over.”
Renard heard footsteps. He turned and saw two SEALs escorting men with hands on their heads into the rear of the operations room. Smith exchanged brief words with one of his companions and moved beside Gomez.