“Indeed they do, mate. This forces us to think in ways that submarine officers don’t normally think. Let me see what Liam says. That’s what he’s here for. Hold on a second.”
Jake waited while Cahill consulted his surface warrior executive officer.
“Liam says to attack broadsides. It gives us a better chance of damaging propulsion plants. Given flight times of the projectiles, the targets may maneuver, but that’s a chance we’ll have to take.”
“Makes sense,” Jake said. “What’s needed to get started? I’ve never operated a railgun.”
“I’ve got it covered, mate. With their muzzle speeds, I’m already in range. I can use GPS satellites for guidance. Just give me a minute to warm up the cannons while you inform Pierre.”
As the mission commander, Jake remembered that he needed to handle the communications with Renard.
“Good point. Can you patch me through?”
“Too lazy to raise your radio mast?”
“Why bother, since you’re already connected?”
“Right. I was just kidding. I really like the equipment on this here cargo ship. Hold on. Okay, you’re connected to Pierre.”
The French accent came through the loudspeaker with digital clarity.
“Pierre, here. What’s going on?” Renard asked.
“Terry and I want to try something.”
He explained the tactic for attacking one hundred ships.
“Very well,” Renard said. “I’ll make sure you get updated targeting data from our supporting radar systems. I need a minute to verify it with our clients, but I see no reason they should disagree.”
“I was concerned you may be against this for the cost,” Jake said.
“Not to worry,” Renard said. “The costs of each round are pass-through. Per contract, the South Korean Navy will pay for all consumables. But one beautiful factor about railgun rounds is their cost. They are quite cheap. I see no protest in expending two hundred of them to protect the Gwansun and give you a better chance of rescuing the Kim.”
“Given the rate of fire, one round every five seconds for each cannon, we need almost nine minutes of continuous fire to get this done,” Jake said.
“Get your cannons warmed up,” Renard said. “Wait while I speak with our clients.”
Renard’s offline conversation took longer than Jake had hoped.
“What’s keeping him, you think?” he asked.
“Fear, mate.” Cahill said. “Koreans don’t like to deviate from plans. Give Pierre time, though. He’s a master negotiator.”
“Well the way I see it, we were weapons free when we set sail. As far as I’m concerned, this is merely a courtesy.”
“Right, mate. But remember who you’re dealing with. It’s a new client for Pierre, and they are the very definition of conservative.”
“I’m back,” Renard said.
“Well?” Jake asked.
“As a gesture of good faith, I had to agree to share the cost of the consumed rounds in your upcoming tactic.”
“That’s peanuts,” Jake said. “Why did they even bother?”
“I still have much to teach you in the art of negotiation,” Renard said. “Terry, you may fire when ready.”
“I’m ready.”
“Happy hunting,” Renard said. “Show me what the Goliath can do.”
CHAPTER 11
Terry Cahill wrestled with internal conflict. His targets served a narcissistic ruler and deserved to feel his wrath, but the railguns gave him an unfair advantage. He appreciated Liam Walker helping him retain his focus.
“The first fifty rounds are programmed into the system in splintering mode,” Walker said. “I expect that targets will begin to scatter after the first fifty, and we’ll need to adjust targets as their aspects change.”
“Right,” Cahill said.
It seemed cruel and unusual to kill from a distance ten times that of an adversary’s counterpunch, and he felt uneasy, as if he teased karma.
“Terry?”
“Yes?”
“I await your order.”
“Right,” Cahill said. “Engaging targets pre-loaded into the tactical system, fire twenty-five rounds from each cannon. Set the rounds to splinter before impact.”
Cahill felt confident that his decision to use the rounds’ small internal detonators to break them into buckshot would inflict more damage to his prey’s propulsion systems than would the deeper but singular puncture wounds of intact projectiles.
“Engaging targets pre-loaded into the tactical system, fire twenty-five splintering rounds from each cannon, aye.” Walker said. “Firing each cannon.”
The crack from the starboard railgun preceded that from the port hull’s weapon. Flying at seven times the speed of sound, the rounds sought their victims.
Having aimed his first rounds at the farthest ships, Cahill hoped to synchronize the impacts. But with the first Mach 7 projectile requiring a minute to reach its target and with five seconds separating each shot, the initial impacts would provide warning to his later targets. He expected satellite tracking and targeting updates from South Korean aircraft to place his rounds on his alerted and fleeing prey.
“How are the cannons’ parameters?” he asked.
“Barrel temperatures are normal for repeated firing,” Walker said. “Recoil force is normal. Lube oil temperature is normal for repeated firing. Capacitors are cycling through the normal coulomb range for charge and discharge. Charge voltages and currents are normal. Wait.”
“What?”
“Port cannon cooling water temperature is below the alarm threshold but high and rising.”
Walker tapped his screen and barked into it.
“Port weapons bay, report cooling water pump speed!”
The voice squawking back seemed panicked and meek.
“Sorry, sir. It was on slow speed. I just shifted the pump to high speed.”
“Very well,” Walker said. “There’s an obvious flaw in our software. Keep an eye on it.”
“The system should have automatically shifted the pump,” Cahill said.
“Agreed,” Walker said.
“This is what happens when you press a ship into service too fast. You can’t test everything. I just pray this is the worst glitch.”
“We can only hope to be so lucky.”
Cahill made a mental note to schedule a continuous fire training session with the weapons team, covering all weapon systems, prior to the next mission.
“First round time to impact, five seconds,” Walker said.
Cahill lowered his gaze to his screen where he enjoyed the luxury of an American satellite’s infrared overhead view of dozens of North Korean vessels. Like the leading edge of a heated hailstorm, his rounds trickled down on his adversaries.
“Rounds one and two have hit target one,” Walker said.
“How do you know?” Cahill asked.
“I’m looking at the satellite imagery. You can see the heat cutting through the ship’s engineering space.”
“Really? It just looks like shades of blue to me.”
“Rounds three and four have hit target two,” Walker said. “You learn to interpret the visual data early in gunnery training as a surface warrior.”
“I’ll have to trust your judgment.”
As hellish hail punctured his enemy, small plumes of azure grew in the after sections of targeted combatants. Cahill also noticed billows of soft turquoise as diesel engines began churning out maximum power.
“They’re starting to accelerate,” he said.
“Rounds five and six have hit target three,” Walker said. “GPS guidance should still bring the rounds home, even as they attempt to evade.”
“We shall see.”
“Round seven — hit,” Walker said. “Round eight has missed target four. Round eight splashed just wide.”