“It’s fine. Better now than when I’m launching weapons. So get your questions out now.”
“I have no more to add.”
“Good.”
Jake aimed the stylus at the plot again.
“We took over this submarine with the Malaysians in transit towards this Philippine reef,” he said. “The deck log confirms they were making a straight shot for Commodore Reef, right?”
Cradling a handful of notebooks, binders, and manuals on his arms and the edge of the plotting table, the linguist nodded.
“That is correct,” he said. “I also now have access to the former captain’s safe.”
“It’s been cracked?”
“Sorry, Jake,” Henri said as he leaned closer into the table. “I forgot to mention that. There was nothing surprising.”
“What did you find?” Jake asked.
“Mission orders and captain’s log,” the linguist said. “The mission orders were to maneuver within visual range of landmasses to monitor for adversarial activity. They had inspected their own Malaysian-claimed holdings and had just passed within two miles of their Investigator Shoal before we intercepted them en route to the Commodore Reef.”
“Did it say where they were going after Commodore Reef?”
“Yes. They were going to turn west and pass by a line of several Vietnamese-claimed holdings.”
Jake studied the electronic chart.
“Interesting,” he said. “That course is more or less the course we’re going to take to intercept the Chinese task force. Are you sure there’s nothing in there about engaging the Chinese?”
“Nothing,” the linguist said.
“That doesn’t rule out the possibility of a verbal order to the Malaysian captain,” Henri said.
“I know,” Jake said. “If there was an order to attack, it probably would come that way — given to their captain in person in a secure setting. But it also would require advanced knowledge of the Chinese task force’s movements.”
Jake let his imagination consider that Olivia McDonald’s hand had extended to the Malaysians. He wondered if she had baited them into maneuvering their submarine within harassing range of the Chinese task force.
Had she promised them monitoring of Chinese naval movements in exchange for their patrolling of the seas around the Spratlys? Had she negotiated an oil-for-intelligence trade? If so, then she had orchestrated a scenario of manipulative elegance beyond his expectations by poising the Malaysians to fall into a pit of their own doubts about their innocence in the upcoming exchange.
“Whoever is pulling the strings on our intel,” he said, “is working way over our heads. No need to speculate about it. Our orders remain clear.”
“How soon until we are in range of Exocet missiles?” Flores asked.
“Good question,” Jake said. “The irony is that you’re as well prepared to answer it as anyone. Other than restrictions on our speed and depth when launching, the attack will be the same as if you were firing it from your patrol boat.”
“I’ve studied long-range ship-to-ship missiles, but I’ve never used them in reality or in training. My vessels were all armed with short-range missiles.”
“That’s fine,” Jake said. “The only difference is the time delay it takes for the Exocet to reach its target at long range. That creates a couple of challenges and opportunities. The challenges are that your target will cover more ground during missile flight, meaning that the missile seeker has a larger area to search when it gets near the target.”
“And you could hit the wrong target?” Flores asked.
“Yes. And there’s also more time for the targeted vessels to shoot down your incoming missiles, although that’s offset in part by the fact that the missiles fly so low to the water, keeping them below the horizon of the targets as long as possible.”
“What’s the advantage, then?”
Jake tapped his stylus between two Vietnamese-held reefs.
“Waypoints,” he said. “We’ll send the missiles to the west and have them make a tight turn in front of Cornwallis Reef. That’ll make the missiles seem to have come from a Vietnamese reef or from a vessel or aircraft in that area. It’ll mess with their heads, and the last thing they’ll expect is the truth.”
“If we pull it off,” Henri said. “Which we won’t unless you charge the battery. We’re at twenty-four percent. Remember there’s no MESMA system. We have to reach our launch point and then slip away after shooting without air-independent propulsion.”
Three hours later, Jake sat in the foldout captain’s chair, feeling the diesel engines rumbling through the submarine’s ribs and in his bones. The Wraith bobbed and rolled under the surface waves.
“Battery level?” he asked.
“Ninety-six percent,” Henri said.
“Raise the radio mast and get me a communications download.”
Above Jake’s head, servomotors whirred to life, shifting high-pressure hydraulic valves.
“Radio mast is raised,” Henri said.
Jake glanced at a display showing the strengths of radar signals that the Wraith’s electronic sensory measures suite discerned from background electromagnetic energy.
“Nothing on ESM,” he said. “Just a few civilian navigation radars from the shipping lanes to the southwest.”
“Radio is synched,” Henri said. “Download in progress. Scanning the message headers now. I see tactical data.”
“Send it to the navigation chart,” Jake said.
He stepped down and bellied up to the table. As Henri funneled the tactical intelligence into the Subtics system, the red Chinese squares time-warped to their updated positions on the chart.
“That’s good enough,” Jake said. “I’m shooting.”
“Pierre agreed,” Henri said. “I’m getting his narrative now. He recommends that you attack as soon as possible.”
“Attention everyone!” Jake said. “I intend to launch missiles in five minutes. Henri, warm up the weapons in tubes five and six. Update them with the latest tactical data from Subtics. Make your depth thirty meters.”
Henri acknowledged Jake’s orders and set them in motion with a series of phone calls and taps on his control station screen.
“Do you want to man battle stations?” he asked.
“No,” Jake said. “I don’t expect any retaliation.”
The deck angled downward and then leveled.
“Steady on depth thirty meters,” Henri said.
“Very well, Henri. Come left, steer course two-seven-zero. Slow to three knots.”
As the ship rolled through the turn, Jake heard inner demons condemning him for the pending slaughter of faceless men.
“Steady on course two-seven-zero,” Henri said. “And we are at three knots.”
“Very well, Henri. Weapon status?”
“Ready to launch the first weapon in ninety seconds. The second weapon needs another five seconds to warm up.”
“That’s good separation,” Jake said. “I don’t want them interfering with each other, but I want them arriving on target as close as possible. I will launch each weapon as it becomes ready.”
Jake watched the targeted ship move closer to his trap.
“Ten seconds,” Henri said.
“Silent countdown,” Jake said.
His pulse racing, he watched Henri in breathless anticipation.
“Tube five is ready!”
“Shoot tube five!” Jake said.
The flushing whine of the launch system pushed the encapsulated missile from its tube for an airtight ascent to the wave tops and booster ignition.
“Tube five, normal launch,” Henri said.
“Do you hear the booster, Antoine?” Jake asked.
His sonar expert nodded his confirmation that the missile had begun its self-powered flight.