“A lot of it, yes. Most of it, actually, until he got too busy trying to prevent Christians from being slaughtered. I can’t say that I blame him for putting his attentions where a bishop should.”
Like a ghost, Henri appeared beside Jake, a step below him and separated from him by the elevated conning platform’s railing. The Frenchman glared.
“You need to watch Pierre’s message.”
Jake moved to his display, invoked Renard’s face on the video, and raised the volume.
“It’s unfortunate that I cannot speak to you directly, but the jamming interference is strong,” Renard said. “I hope you get this download. If not, the relevant information is in the tactical data feed, but I wanted to explain things myself.”
As Jake glanced at the tactical chart beside the screen displaying his mentor’s face, he noticed the grave danger he had missed. The icons of a massive sonobuoy field awaiting him were no longer a sonobuoy field.
His heart sank in rhythm with the Frenchman’s annunciation of the news.
“As you’ve probably noticed, there’s been a wrinkle in our plans. I underestimated the audacity of the Russians. The aircraft that we thought would lay sonobuoys are instead laying a minefield. The Kremlin has announced it and has justified it in retaliation for the act of terror against their sovereign state.”
“Shit,” Jake said.
“This is indeed a serious matter,” Renard said. “But it is not insurmountable. In fact, it has unintended benefits. For example, you’ll notice that your hunters have relaxed or soon will relax their chase for you. They see no need to barrel through the minefield I declared when you’re trapped behind one of theirs.”
Jake hit the pause icon.
“Antoine, are any of the ships zigging away from us?
“I was just going to mention that a few of them were breaking away to the southeast, but I was staying focused on our targeted Grisha. Wait, it’s turning towards the west now.”
Jake saw Remy whispering with his apprentice.
“Julien says the ships behind the Grisha are turning west as well,” Remy said. “It appears that they respect our minefield’s declared borders as Pierre announced them.”
On the display, Jake saw the arrows representing the Russian ships’ directions turn from the rhombus that outlined the claimed boundary of doom. He touched the play icon.
“The minefield also explains why Russian air assets have been timid after Terry shot down the first wave of helicopters,” Renard said. “I feared that with only one cannon, Terry would struggle to defend the sky, but the Russian minefield appears to have reduced the need for heroism from Russian pilots.”
“So what the hell do I do?” Jake asked. “We’re trapped.”
As if hearing the question, Renard’s image answered.
“Your escape now hinges on continued hiding as negotiations take place. I am seeking safe harbor for you with several nations in the Black Sea, but unfortunately, that may take days to achieve.”
“You’d think someone would make a stink about having the Bosporus shut,” Jake said.
Again, Renard’s image answered as if listening.
“In parallel, Turkey is leading a protest to have the minefield removed. It’s a strain on their commerce and on that of all nations of the Black Sea. The Russians can’t hold that minefield forever. They’re gambling that they can hold it long enough to find you and Terry. I’m betting that you and Terry can outwit them.”
Jake tapped the pause icon.
“What does this mean to us?”
“I don’t know,” Henri said. “I haven’t watched the video this far yet. He’s almost done, though.”
Jake noticed the timing bar resting near the end of the track as he tapped the play icon.
“I’ve communicated with Terry and have tasked him with neutralizing the remaining submarines,” Renard said. “He’s on the surface and outrunning all torpedoes that were shot at him.”
“Terry’s on the surface,” Jake said. “Not for long, I hope.”
“Until I can negotiate a safer harbor for you, your best option is still to hide in Turkish national waters. But instead of our planned coordinates, you and Terry will instead head for waters ten miles west of the minefield. I also recommend radio silence until you’re in cluttered waters and can blend in with local radio traffic. Listen for me when you can, and good luck my friend.”
“This changes things significantly,” Henri said.
Jake verified on the display that the surface ships avoided the rhombus that his minefield carved in the center of the Black Sea.
“Yeah, it does. First, we stop laying mines. There’s no need to create a minefield for deterrence when our hunters have already honored it.”
“I agree.”
“Second, I stop killing what I don’t need to kill.”
“The Grisha?” Henri asked.
“Yes.”
“If you shut down the weapon, you’ll be allowing one more ship to hunt us. They won’t show us the same mercy if they find us.”
“Isn’t this odd? Me wanting to show mercy, and you trying to talk me out of it.”
“I’m not trying to talk you out of it.”
He looked at the Frenchman. Knowing the difference between Henri’s passionate pleas and his neutral advice, he agreed.
“No, you’re not. You’re just making me think it through. Let’s first see if it’s possible. Antoine?”
“Yes, Jake, I still have wire control of the torpedo. What do you want me to do?”
Jake forced himself to avoid looking to the priest for guidance and tried to listen to his moral voice. The answer seemed murky or nonexistent, but he forced himself to decide.
“Shut it down,” he said. “Spare the Grisha.”
CHAPTER 13
Cahill watched a gust force Walker’s eyes shut, making his colleague appear like a bug under his hearing protection muffs. The tiny camera on his executive officer’s bridge-to-bridge radio caught sharp shadows shaped by halogen lights. Wave crests foamed behind the ship’s stern as the transport ship churned water at flank speed.
“Say that again, Liam.”
“The last bolt is removed. No more stanchions and no more temporary weapons. I’m sending the work team below.”
“Very well. How’s the port weapons bay?”
The starboard cannon fired.
“Dear God, Terry,” Walker said. “You don’t realize how loud that is from the inside.”
“Try to stay focused.”
“The port induction mast is beyond repair.”
“Very well. We’ll continue without it and rely on the starboard mast in a cross-connected feed.”
“We’ve deployed and stowed the port cannon in manual mode as a test. It works. We’ve got fifty-two rounds staged in the bay for manual loading. It looks like we can salvage about forty more from the damaged magazine. Any other rounds for the port cannon will have to come from the backup stores.”
“Stay up there and load the rest from the magazine.”
The cannon erupted again.
“How are you doing against the Kilos?” Walker asked.
“The first rounds should land soon. I’ll let you know.”
Cahill looked at the display that showed the trajectories of his railgun’s rounds. The speed leaders on the projectiles showed them slowing to six times the speed of sound from their faster muzzle velocities, yielding a travel time of fifty seconds to reach targets fifty miles away.
Green halos around the rounds indicated that Global Positioning Satellites guided them toward their targets — three surfaced Kilo submarines scrambling from their base at Novorossiysk to reach safe submergence depths.