“You’ve trusted me in all situations, and, except for the one time I deferred to you, my plans have always brought us out alive, even if we had to let one of our ships blow up to get it done.”
“I guess you’re right. I know you’re right. I just needed to express my concern.”
“It’s fine. You needed to speak your mind.”
“As usual, the burden of decision rests with you. I don’t envy the isolation of leadership, but while it’s your burden to bear, you have my support.”
As the Frenchman returned to his station, Jake noticed that the Wraith was positioned to coast to its loiter point.
“All stop!” he said.
The submarine drifted, reducing the mild but noticeable vibration of fluid flowing over its hull. The lessened self-noise and continuous closing in of the task force created an effect Jake hoped to witness.
“The noise floor has fallen,” Remy said. “I can hear to greater distances. I’m now tracking high-speed cavitating screws. Cleanly cut blades. Precision machinery for warships.”
“Multiple contacts?” Jake asked.
“At least two. I need bearing separation to be sure, but I think a third ship is within hearing range but being masked by the others.”
“I’m about to give you the luxury of a radar-fed tactical data link. Get ready for spoon feeding.”
The speed gauge showed two knots and slowing.
“Henri, raise the communication buoy.”
“It’s raised,” Henri said. “But I’m not getting anything.”
“Antoine, give me a bearing to our communications ship.”
“Bearing zero-eight-one, but its signal strength has weakened as we drove away from it.”
“Henri, aim our radio to zero-eight-one, narrowest beam.”
“I’ve got the link,” Henri said. “Update is complete.”
As icons vanished and reappeared at their updated positions, Jake felt relief that the two remaining helicopters had moved behind the combatants.
He credited the Chinese task force commander with realizing that his airborne submarine hunters could approach no closer to the module without becoming railgun fodder each time they repositioned their dipping sonar systems. They could, however, protect his flanks while the surface vessels looked forward, continuing to blast their sonar energy into the water.
He slid on his headphone.
“Pierre?” he asked.
“I’m here, Jake. What’s going on?”
“It’s quiet from my end. You have my coordinates?”
“Yes.”
“What’s happening up there?”
“The Pilar took two Eagle Strikes in its port side, one in the engine room, one amidships in the berthing areas. Fires are out of control, but teams are fighting them. The Alcatraz has sustained no further damage since we last spoke, but the fires have spread beyond control, and it has been declared a lost cause. It is being abandoned.”
“Shit.”
“Our gunboats are challenging the task force, but they’ve been held off. The only good news is that I’ve kept the helicopters away from you, even with just one railgun.”
“I owe you a beer for getting one off my back.”
“My pleasure keeping you alive.”
“The second gun is still down? You said the damage to the module had dislodged an electrical connection.”
“Apparently the field repairs are more challenging than anticipated. Nevertheless, I will hope for the second gun to come back online soon. We may need it. The Chinese have just developed a tactic that concerns me.”
Jake noticed the tightening in the grouping of the incoming warships. The destroyer had slowed, allowing its escorts to form a square around it.
“What are they doing?” he asked.
“They’re taking station on the destroyer,” Renard said. “I’ve also noticed them experimenting with close-in weapon systems, shooting down railgun shells as they dodge them.”
“They’re going to form a grouping so that they can protect themselves together. They’ll be close enough so that every ship’s close-in weapon system will get a crack at every incoming round. That multiplies their defenses by five against each round, in addition to the jamming.”
“That’s my concern.”
“It also means that my torpedoes are going to hit random targets, unless I get gnat’s ass accurate guidance.”
“You would be wise to allow the torpedoes to do as they will, as opposed to exposing your communications buoy to their radar searches.”
“No kidding. That’s how it’s going down. I’ll take care of it now. Hold on, Pierre.”
He checked the display and drew his conclusion.
“Lieutenant Santos,” he said. “If I shoot a torpedo now at minimal speed, will it have enough endurance to reach the ships of the task force on their present course and speed?”
Where Jake would have used dividers, the younger man impressed him with his dexterity manipulating the capacitive touch screen. A green line sprang from the crosshairs of the Wraith, the proximity of its timed tick marks tightening where the proposed torpedo’s trot would accelerate into a terminal sprint.
“It would reach, Jake. It would have approximately twelve percent fuel remaining to allow a little extra in case the targets change course or if they hear it coming and try to evade.”
“It’s going to be a silent run until the last minute,” Jake said. “So they won’t hear it. More specifically, they won’t hear them. I’m firing all my loaded torpedoes.”
“All?” Santos asked. “Including the heavyweight?”
“My humanitarian sentiment is wearing thin.”
“Should I get all tubes ready to launch against the destroyer?”
“Five of the six,” Jake said. “Which one will I hold back?”
“The Exocet in tube four.”
“Correct, make all other tubes ready against the destroyer, slowest search speed. Inform me when I can launch.”
Santos crouched at a control panel beside Durand, and the duo’s fingers flew across touchscreens as they readied the weapons.
“Tubes one, two, three, five, and six are ready,” Santos said. “All are targeted at the destroyer.”
“Are you ready to shoot, Henri?”
“Ready!”
“Shoot tube one!” Jake said.
His ears popped, and he awaited verification that the weapon cleared the Wraith’s bow under his control.
“Tube one, normal launch,” Henri said. “Wire guidance engaged.”
“Cut the wire to tube one. Backhaul tube one and reload with a heavyweight torpedo.”
“The wire is cut, the tube is draining in preparation for loading with a heavyweight torpedo,” Henri said.
“Shoot tube two!” Jake said.
Four more times the pneumatic system whined, and four more time his ears popped. A salvo marched from his ship towards his intended victim and its protective posse.
“Backhaul tube four and reload with a slow-kill weapon.”
Henri gave the disapproving glare.
“The slow-kill is in case I feel nice again. Five heavyweights in the other tubes should be enough for all destructive purposes.”
“The loading system is backlogged while catching up with the other tubes. I expect to have tube four backhauled of the Exocet and loaded with your last slow-kill weapon in twelve minutes.”
“Very well, Henri. Lieutenant Santos, approach the conn.”
“Yes, Jake?”
“Quiz time for the future submarine commander. Why didn’t I shoot the Exocet?”
“It would be a wasted weapon.”
“So what? It would do more good flying at the destroyer than sitting in my torpedo room. It would force the task force to expend an anti-air missile on it, since they’d be crazy to let it test their point defenses. So why did I hold it back? Remember that you’re on a submarine and not a surface ship.”