“I’ve trained them to work against surfaced vessels below the water line, and they can plant their explosives on any ship.”
The confidence made Volkov question if he had misjudged the man earlier.
“That would hardly damage a ship of that size,” he said. “And I must admit I expected resistance from you on this.”
“Not after seeing the faces of your crew last time. They were elated to be a part of our last deployment’s success. And so were Mikhail and Andrei. They know when they’re part of something important. They can tell.”
“And you would have them help now, even when there’s little they can do?”
“They need to do something to make this crew feel useful. I can’t take any more of this negativity. We all need to believe that we’re doing something important, and if pictures and possibly explosive detonations from Andrei and Mikhail can help, then I want to help.”
“They’ll be in camera range in fifteen minutes. They’ll be able to plant explosives in sixteen, which beats the arrival of the Muromets by almost five minutes.”
“What’s your angle on this, sir?”
“Can they place explosives on the shafts?”
“Impossible. That’s too dangerous. In fact, I’ve trained them to avoid the propellers.”
“Understandable. Can they surface and get photos of the deck?”
“That they can do. What are they looking for?”
“Guns. Torpedoes. Missile launchers. Before the dolphins get there, the torpedoes will have run their courses. Depending what sort of fate those weapons meet, the intensity factor may skyrocket. It will be worth knowing if that ship is trying to hide weapons.”
“Time will tell a lot. My babies can help.”
Fourteen minutes later, the sonar operator’s face became ashen.
“Multiple heavyweight explosions. I can hear concrete hitting the water. The caisson is crumbling. The bridge is coming down.”
“Mother of God,” Volkov said.
He contacted the fleet headquarters senior watch officer, who confirmed the explosions and the loss of the bridge.
Somberness engulfed the room, except for the trainer, who tapped his screen to send recorded whistles from the Krasnodar. Moments later, Volkov heard a dolphin’s high-pitched response.
“They’ve echolocated the contact,” the trainer said.
“A surfaced contact? The Marie Lucille?”
“Yes. I trained them for it, since it’s necessary for harbor attacks. So I can command it.”
“Very well, order the approach”
Recorded whistles. Mammalian response.
“They’ve confirmed,” the trainer said. “They’re accelerating towards the target.”
“Very well. I want a surfaced but dark photograph first, without a flash to alert the target.”
“They’re within a quarter mile of the target,” the trainer said. “I’m ordering the dark photograph.”
Volkov recognized the new sound of crackling shrimp, the camera’s signal, pulsing through the loudspeakers. Given the low baud rate, he expected five minutes to render the full image.
“Order the dolphins in closer,” he said.
The trainer complied, and the dolphins acknowledged as one’s camera sent its synthetic shrimp symphony to form a grainy picture on Volkov’s display. He noticed the trainer glaring at the same image forming at his console.
“It’s hard to tell with the weak backlighting of the stars,” Volkov said. “But nothing looks like weapons. There should be something mounted on the deck to allow it to shoot torpedoes.”
“I see nothing unusual either,” the trainer said. “But what about that dark spot near the water line?”
“That’s interesting and suspicious. I am curious to get a closer look at this ship.”
Chirps.
“The dolphins are within lighting range of the ship.”
“Have them take a picture of the bow from underwater,” Volkov said. “Perhaps these torpedoes issued from phantom tubes below the waterline. Have them use the flash this time.”
A chirp announced completion of each animal’s positioning.
“They’re ready for the picture,” the trainer said.
“Very well, take the picture.”
After the trainer relayed the order, more incoming shrimp crackling filled the room. The image formed, and acid began eating away at Volkov’s stomach. As the trainer watched the same picture come to life, he requested the dolphins to arm their explosives. Volkov shouted his permission.
“Prepare the dolphins to lay their explosives.”
He reached for the handset.
“Wolf Den, Wolf One. It’s a trap! Get the Muromets out of there! Over.”
“Wolf One, Wolf Den, the Muromets is tying up to the Marie Lucille right now. What sort of trap? Over.”
“I’ll send you the picture as it forms, but suffice it to say that the rumors of an armed submarine transport ship are true.”
CHAPTER 9
Cahill’s trembling finger hovered over the icon to detonate the scaffolding. He had blown the temporary tubes overboard after taking down his targets, and he wanted to remove his ship of all its facades and burdens.
“Not yet,” Jake said.
“How much longer? Liam and I both saw the flash. There’s something out there dead ahead.”
He watched a night vision camera’s view of a Grisha class corvette slowing in preparation to tie to his fake ship’s port side.
“I know our cover’s blown,” Jake said. “I know there’s something out there under the surface. Antoine says there’s a surge in dolphin and shrimp noise, which means something is spooking the fish. But we have a few seconds to agree upon the order of things before we start shooting.”
“I need to take out the main cannon on the Grisha with me cannons.”
“Before or after you blow the scaffolding?”
“After. Me gunners can’t see with this blasted exoskeleton in the way.”
“But you could hit the engine room through the exoskeleton, right? Their propulsion equipment is a big enough target at this range shooting semi-blind. Take a few free shots.”
Cahill looked to the display that showed the innards of the Grisha-class corvette. Comparing the return of the warship from the Specter’s Furuno radar to the angle of his raised railguns’ barrels, he believed he could aim the rounds into the twin diesel engines and the solitary gas turbine.
“I can do that,” he said. “Take out the engine room, then drop the scaffolding, then take out the main cannon.”
“Then the thirty-millimeter gun, then the Gecko surface-to-air launcher. Then torpedoes. Ignore the depth charges.”
“We’ll need to take out both torpedo nests. I can’t get a clear shot to the port side nest from here.”
“We’ll go around and deal with it on the other side.”
“Understood. May I begin now, mate?”
“Shoot straight,” Jake said. “Commence fire.”
“Aim both cannons at the engine room,” Cahill said. “Set the rounds to splinter. Target the diesels and the gas turbine.”
“They’re aimed, Terry. The splintering may not reach the full effect damage radius at this range.”
“I know, but we’ll do the damage we need. You have control of the cannons, Liam. When you think you’ve disabled propulsion, shift fire to the main cannon, then the thirty-millimeter gun. I’ll be dropping the scaffolding for you soon.”
“I’m ready,” Walker said.
“Fire.”
The boom from the starboard railgun preceded the supersonic crack from the port hull’s weapon. Infrared imagery showed the supersonic rounds slicing hot puncture wounds in the rear quarter of the corvette.