“Unfortunate,” Cahill said.
“GPS accuracy is measured in fractions of meters but not in inches. There’s nothing we can do about it, unless you want to expend more rounds and trust the law of averages.”
“No, I don’t. I consider our cannons to be defensive weapons, and for good reason.”
“What reason?”
He walked athwartships, stopped beside his executive officer, and aimed his index finger at his monitor.
“Because of this ship, this ship, this ship, that one, that one, that one, and possibly that one. They appear to be racing towards us.”
“They already were racing towards us at flank speeds. We knew we were going to face a welcoming party unless we submerged before they intercepted us.”
“But every ship within our operational area is taking evasive maneuvers in response to our cannons, except the welcoming party, so to speak.”
“They’re daring us to shoot them.”
“Right,” Cahill said. “So we shoot them. In defense, which means I need more information about them. What sort of ships are they? What sort of weapons are they carrying? What propulsion systems do they have? I need to know exactly where to lay down the cannon rounds to neutralize them.”
The deck rolled as the Goliath turned thirty degrees to the right on a pre-programmed random submarine evasion course. Cahill appreciated the automation, knowing he would have forgotten the maneuver while studying the North Korean surface ships. A constant course would have offered a simple targeting solution for the torpedo of any lurking Romeo, Sango, or Yono submarine.
“I’m sending the tracking numbers of the so called welcoming party ships to Pierre for further evaluation,” Walker said. “I’ve requested input from every available sensor.”
“Very well.”
“By the way, sixteen out of our last twenty cannon rounds were hits.”
“Very well.”
Cahill returned to his command console and observed the hornets’ nest that his guns had stirred. Dozens of ships scrambled in haphazard directions at flank speeds, hitting evasive turns to avoid the kinetic energy weapons.
Per plan, his cannon rounds gave the Gwansun a reprieve from its hunters while hardening the enemy’s focus farther from the stranded Kim. The only oddity that caught his attention was the undaunted trek of the seven-ship welcoming party that sped towards him with apparent disregard for their safety.
“The lead ship of the welcoming party is ten miles from South Korean-controlled airspace,” he said. “Has Pierre acknowledged that our clients have a plan to engage them?”
“Four additional Fighting Eagle fighter aircraft have taken off to join the four already on patrol,” Walker said. “That’s more than enough to fend off the two pairs of North Korean MiGs and launch anti-ship missiles at the welcoming party.”
“Then what are these mongrels doing?” Cahill asked. “They’re on a suicide mission if they try to get within cannon or torpedo range of us.”
“They could be attempting to launch anti-ship missiles.”
“So what? That would be a waste of ordnance. They know that we could just submerge below their attack.”
“Data coming in from Pierre identifies the welcoming party as two Nampo-class frigates, two Sariwan-class corvettes, and three Taechong-class gunboats. The frigates carry eight Kh-35 anti-ship missiles each. Those are Russian design with ranges up to seventy nautical miles. We’re already within their strike range.”
“Then they could have fired already,” Cahill said. “The Kh-35 missiles are unguided, right?”
“Correct. That’s exactly why they haven’t fired yet, I assume. They want to get as close as we’ll allow to reduce the time and distance we could flee before their missiles would arrive.”
Cahill heard the boom of his railgun, followed by an extended silence. He looked to his screen and noticed that his guns had completed their fifty-round salvo. None of the twenty-five targets had fallen dead in the water, but Walker tagged nine of the ships as having been slowed by a partial loss of propulsion.
“You mentioned using our cannons against them in defense. Are you intending to fire?” Walker asked.
“Yes,” Cahill said. “But it’s going to take more than two rounds per ship to make a difference. For the welcoming party of seven ships, send six rounds at each ship’s engine room. Aim three rounds at each ship’s port and starboard main engine. Target the gunboats first.”
“Not the frigates?” Walker asked. “They carry the only long-range weapons.”
“You’re thinking like a surface warrior. We’re going to submerge before their missiles could hit. It’s the anti-submarine ships with the most maneuverability that concern me. Gunboats first, then corvettes, then frigates. Six-round salvos per target.”
“Setting solutions into the system,” Walker said. “Track thirty-one, the nearest gunboat, is targeted. Ready to engage track thirty-one.”
“Target track thirty-one with six rounds. Fire.”
The guns rallied to life.
“Engaging track thirty-one,” Walker said. “All remaining ships of the welcoming party are targeted, forty-two total rounds at seven ships in six-round salvos.”
“Continue firing the forty-two-round salvo.”
As his cannon rounds became supersonic images on his display, Cahill noticed icons appearing in front of the North Korean frigates.
“Vampires!” Walker said.
Cahill’s heart raced.
“Which sensors see them?”
“The patrolling Fighting Eagles. Separation is taking place now. I see ten distinct missiles, but I suspect we’ll see more as they separate from each other in flight.”
“They’ve called our bluff,” Cahill said. “How long until their missiles could impact us?”
“Analyzing.”
Assuming subsonic missiles flying at six hundred miles an hour, Cahill calculated that the farthest ones would cover their fifty-mile trek in five minutes. He expected the closer weapons, launched from the frigate forty miles away, to veer off before turning towards him, extending their flight distance to fifty miles and allowing the salvos to overwhelm his defenses with simultaneous arrival.
“Arrival of the farthest group will take place in four minutes, thirty-eight seconds,” Walker said. “The closer group is heading to the east but will likely turn towards us at a waypoint. They’ll attempt to saturate us with all missiles arriving at the same time. All missiles have separated. They’ve launched half salvos of four and four from each frigate.”
“Keep firing the cannons,” Cahill said. “We’ll have a full three minutes to submerge after our salvo is launched.”
“You’ve got big brass ones, Terry. This doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t feel right without having point-defense missiles to fight back with.”
“Trust me. I’m slowing us to eight knots. Shift propulsion to the MESMA systems.”
“Propulsion is shifted to the MESMA systems.”
“Secure the gas turbines.”
“Both gas turbines are secured,” he said. “All six MESMA systems are running normally, bearing the electric strain. Propulsion is running on air-independent power. Maintaining eight knots.”
“Shut the head valves and recirculate internal air.”
“Head valves are shut. Recirculating.”
His cannons fired their final rounds and fell silent.
“Lower the weapons,” Cahill said. “Prepare to dive.”
“Lowering the weapons. Wait!”
Cahill glared at his screen and noticed four new icons rising from the east and flying at high subsonic speeds.