“Not so bad?” Jake asked.
“I would appreciate if you stay with me,” Henri said.
“The vest will keep you afloat. But yes, I’ll stay.”
Stephenson returned the phone to its cradle and hailed his watch officer.
“The chief engineer has enough volunteers to maintain propulsion and steerage,” he said. “Do we have an officer stationed for conning the ship?”
“Yes, sir. The operations officer is on the weather decks with a visual on the submarine.”
“Deck Division and life rafts for the submarine’s survivors?”
“Stationed port side on the fantail.”
“What about the evacuation?”
“All hands are stationed to abandon ship on the sound of the ship’s whistle.”
Stephenson doubted he could get the full crew off if he gave the order to evacuate, but he wanted the option to give them a chance. He surveyed the Bainbridge’s emptying combat information center and spoke to his watch officer.
“Get everyone who’s remaining into seats, including yourself,” he said. “Tear the cushions off vacant seats, double up on seating cushions, and strap in. If we take a torpedo, that should help with the shock wave.”
The watch officer had two sailors carry out the seating orders.
“Where are our anti-ballistic birds?” Stephenson asked.
“Ninety seconds from first kill. Our birds will catch the hostiles before they exit the atmosphere.”
“If we’re still here to guide them. Torpedo impact time?”
“Fifty-five seconds, sir. We have visual on it now.”
“The torpedo’s hump on the surface?” Stephenson asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Who?”
“The weapons officer, sir. He’s on the fantail with Deck Division.”
Stephenson raised his phone.
“Silence on the line. This is the executive officer. Weapons officer, come in.”
“Weapons officer here, sir.”
“Do you see the torpedo?”
“Yes, sir. Riding our wake.”
“When the submarine passes us, inform me immediately if you see the torpedo pass by the submarine.”
“Yes, sir. Inform you immediately if the torpedo passes by the submarine. Aye, sir.”
The deck heeled as the Bainbridge turned.
“Submarine passing close aboard to starboard, sir,” the watch officer said.
“Very well. Get ready for the longest twenty seconds of your life.”
Stephenson glared at a display that showed the interplay of the Bainbridge, the French submarine, and the torpedo.
“Third stage rocket motor ignition, first bird,” the watch officer said, slicing a heavy haze of silence that enveloped the room.
The chair nudged Stephenson forward as he heard the deep and pulsating explosion. He wondered if the torpedo had cracked the Bainbridge in half but the relief in the watch officer’s face revealed the truth.
“From the weapons officer,” he said. “The torpedo hit the French submarine.”
“Very well.”
“We’ll celebrate later. We still have the hostiles.”
“The first bird engages the first hostile in ten seconds.”
Stephenson released the death grip on his chair and walked with the watch officer to a vacant monitor.
One by one, he watched a radar-fed update of the Bainbridge’s anti-ballistic missiles employing their kinetic warheads into the bodies of weapons that were arcing toward the outer reaches of the earth’s atmosphere en route to American soil. One by one, Bainbridge birds intercepted and destroyed their targets.
“I underestimated Raytheon,” he said. “They built us twelve missiles that just batted a thousand.”
“There’s still three flying, sir.”
“Then I hope that the Army Patriots can handle them.”
Jake kicked, dragging Henri toward the direction in which he saw a life raft roll off the destroyer. He mistimed a swell, swallowed a mouthful of salty water, and coughed.
“You’re sure you can’t swim?”
“Yes, and I feel bad enough about it without you having to question it.”
“Don’t worry,” Jake said. “The worst of it is over. I’ll have us to a life raft, soon.”
“Perhaps there’s no need,” Henri said. “I see their helicopter approaching.”
Jake released Henri to his bobbing, turned, and rested his arms while watching the helicopter. He thought he noticed the pilot maneuvering sideways but then grew concerned as the aircraft continued through a slow circle and seemed to be losing altitude.
The helicopter rotor decelerated and bent upwards as the craft fell from view.
“Dear God,” Henri said.
“Shit, Henri. Did he just lose power?”
“I fear so.”
“Many men have died today,” Jake said. “And there’s nothing we can do about it but survive. Let’s keep swimming.”
Renard exchanged handshakes with Marom and Gomez in celebration of saving the Bainbridge.
“Let’s coordinate with the Bainbridge for picking up the survivors,” Gomez said.
“An excellent idea,” Renard said.
He walked to the high-frequency voice transceiver unit and grabbed its microphone.
“Destroyer this is Leviathan, do you need assistance in rescuing survivors?”
Renard heard no response.
“Destroyer, Leviathan, come in please.”
“I don’t hear even a static hiss,” Gomez said.
“It’s at full power,” Marom said. “Something is wrong with our equipment.”
“Well then, let us speak with the Georgia and have them contact the Bainbridge on our behalf.”
Gomez nodded.
“Georgia, Leviathan, come in. Over.”
The hard glare overtook the SEAL’s face.
“Georgia, Leviathan, come in. Over.”
“Perhaps there’s a platform jamming our communications,” Renard said.
“Not our secure satellite linkup with the Georgia,” Gomez said. “It’s possible, but not likely.”
“Then what are we up against?” Renard asked.
“I don’t know,” Gomez said. “Head to the bridge and see what you can see.”
Binoculars hanging from his neck, Renard climbed up the inner ladder of the Leviathan’s conning tower and pushed open a grate. Lifting himself, he wiggled through the opening and straddled it.
He scanned his horizon and saw the Bainbridge, still burning, sliding through the water near the Mercer’s survivors. Two life rafts were open. Raising his scan to the sky, he saw the arcs of missile contrails billowing into unrecognizable wisps.
Content that no new visible intruders approached, he looked to the Bainbridge for possible clues for the Leviathan’s communication woes. He saw men in life jackets marching from the weather decks into the ship while others reached with pole arm hooks for life rafts.
Then, as he scanned the masts, he noticed a curiosity. None of the Bainbridge’s surface or navigation radars were rotating. He slid through the opening and descended the ladder. As he moved within the conning tower, he realized another omission. The Bainbridge’s helicopter was gone.
In the operations room, he huddled with his companions.
“The Bainbridge is picking up survivors,” he said. “However, it’s not rotating any of its surface search or navigation radars, and its helicopter is missing.”
“Maybe some sort of electronic attack?” Marom asked.