“Not this time,” Henri said. “Renard’s agreement with the Taiwanese Navy was to train their people how to operate the shipboard systems. Their officers can learn tactics in a simulator.”
“Makes sense. A newbie would probably distract me with too many questions anyway.”
“Agreed.”
“Who is the best drone operator?”
“You just met him.”
Jake glanced at the pimple-faced Taiwanese sailor seated beside Remy. He looked twelve years old, and that suited Jake, who considered drone operations more like a video game than warfare.
“Pimple face?”
“Yes, Jake. Otherwise known as Petty Officer Kang. He is the best in the Taiwanese fleet at drone operations.”
“The best available they could spare, you mean?”
“No, Jake. Drone operators are the one area in which they are developing ample talent. He is the best — period — based upon simulators, of course. But the simulators are dreadfully accurate.”
“So his backup is good, too, just in case we need him?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I assume you have verified all systems?” he asked.
“I rechecked all of them twice.”
“You know I’m still going to walk the ship.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Henri said. “And I expect that you will be impressed, as usual.”
Jake passed through the aft battery compartment and rear auxiliary machinery room, reaching the hull section where his memory expected to see the air-independent ethanol and liquid oxygen MESMA plant. He looked upward at a high-pressure tank of compressed explosive gas. His fingers tapped cool, dormant piping as he moved by.
He ducked through another watertight door and underneath the wide air ducts leading to the quad diesels. He saw the main motor further aft, hidden intermittently by a man pointing to gauges on a control panel. Four sailors — all wearing dungarees of the engineering crew — stood behind their instructor, who nodded at Jake.
Jake respected Claude LaFontaine, a former engineer officer on the French nuclear-powered Rubis submarine who had become an expert on diesel power plants after deployments aboard Agosta and Scorpène-class boats.
“Claude,” Jake said. “You look as edgy and wiry as ever.”
“Some things never change, even with age.”
“We’re all getting older,” Jake said. “And hopefully wiser.”
“Wiser,” LaFontaine said. “And better for our experiences. I trust that your wisdom is growing? You’re approaching the age of a standard navy’s submarine commander.”
“True,” he said.
“We’re taking on the greatest adversary we’ve ever faced,” LaFontaine said. “Everyone needs to be in top condition, especially you.”
“I’m fine, Claude.”
“Good, Jake. I’m ready for this, as is the crew. Make sure you are ready to stick this out from start to finish.”
“You can be angry, but you’re either going to have to get over it or fight through it. Take your pick.”
“I will do my duty, Jake. As always.”
“I know. I’d kick you off this ship if I didn’t believe you. Introduce me to the new men on the engineering team.”
Jake studied LaFontaine for signs of doubt. Nothing. He concluded that the Frenchman showed teeth and spine to express his anger but that he still trusted him.
“Yes, Jake. Like last time, they are the best from Taiwan.”
Jake shook hands with Taiwanese mechanics. One had a thick accent, but Jake judged the English skills sufficient.
“How is the propulsion system?” Jake asked.
“It still runs like clockwork,” LaFontaine said. “Predictable. Reliable. Not a hint of protest at depth, speed, or maneuvers.”
“The MESMA system?”
“I gave it a second shakedown and pushed its endurance as we were towed across the Pacific. I knew that we could refuel oxygen here in Argentina.”
“You made a good decision,” Jake said. “After we spring our trap, we may not get a chance to snorkel and run the diesels. This may be our first time where we need to put the MESMA system through its paces for submerged endurance.”
“It should give us four to five knots plus electronics and life support for three weeks.”
“Good. The battery will need to be strong, too. Have you exercised it recently from full charge to full discharge?”
“Yes, Jake. It holds ninety-nine-point-seven percent of its full charge when this ship was brand new.”
“The engineering spaces are ready,” Jake said. “Now I’ve got one last item to check.”
Ten minutes later, Jake stood at the frontal compartment of the submarine. Two sailors operated hydraulic valves, and a torpedo glided on rails through the breach door of its tube. Spare electric-propelled Black Shark heavyweight torpedoes filled the room, along with Exocet anti-ship missiles, a pair of super-cavitating torpedoes, and mines stretching under the shadows to the hull’s insulation.
Henri stood by his side.
“The loadout is a balanced mix of torpedoes, Exocets, and mines,” the Frenchman said.
“Why the mines and Exocets?” Jake asked. “I don’t intend to mine any harbors, and I sure as shit don’t plan on attacking any British surface combatants.”
“Pierre wanted us ready for all missions.”
“Let’s focus on the weapons I care about.”
“Yes, Jake. The Argentine torpedoes we had modified in Taiwan.”
“Right. Those are the only ones I give a damn about at the moment.”
“I triple-inspected the weapon loadout. The proper weapons are aboard.”
“You know I trust you one hundred percent on this, right?”
Henri nodded.
“You also know why one hundred percent trust isn’t good enough and that I need to see this for myself?”
“Of course,” Henri said. “I had this team study the tube backhauling procedure, knowing that you would want to inspect them.”
As the propeller and stabilizers of the cylindrical weapon slid by, Jake read the words imprinted on its plastic green shell. They were in Spanish, and they told him the right Argentine torpedo had been loaded.
Henri gave the order, and a sailor applied a battery-powered tool to screws that secured a plastic cover. With the cover removed, Jake aimed a flashlight into the torpedo’s warhead compartment and studied its contents. He approved what he saw.
“How was this tested?” he asked.
“During an exercise scenario against a Taiwanese submarine,” Henri said.
“A Taiwanese Scorpène-class submarine?”
“Yes, Jake. It was a very simple training scenario. The Taiwanese submarine raced by us at a high bearing rate, we shot the training torpedo at them, and it performed perfectly.”
“How fast was the target submarine going?”
“Flank speed.”
“Twenty-five knots for a Scorpène submarine on its best day,” Jake said. “A British nuke will hit thirty-three knots easy, maybe more.”
“The weapons are smartly modified, and each one will work, Jake. You trust Taiwanese design and quality, do you not? They even sealed them with Argentine markings so that they appear Argentine if they were to land in the wrong hands.”
“Good points. Close it up.”
The team reloaded the tube and repeated the backhaul process on the other modified weapons. After Jake inspected all weapons to his satisfaction, he led Henri up a ladder to the control room.
He leaned over the central table and slid a stylus across a chart showing water to the north of the Falkland Islands.
“We’ve got some ground to cover.”
“Agreed.”
“But we’re going to start slow.”