Jake frowned. He blamed combat fatigue for having assumed that Cahill attacked random Russians. His mentor’s report revealed deeper tactical considerations.
“The Nanuchka’s Vympel worked at the expense of forty bullets per incoming round. But when Terry sent two rounds simultaneously, the Vympel missed the second round more often than it hit. So he has a counter-tactic to their counter-tactic. But the remaining Russian ships have converged to synergize their Vympels, along with employing chaff and smoke screens to blind our infrared satellite, effectively nullifying Terry’s long-range attack.”
Jake rested his forehead in his hand, awaiting whatever good news he dared to hope to hear.
“The Russian fleet is now together and moving around your declared minefield,” Renard said. “They’re shuttling helicopters from shore to replenish Vympel rounds, chaff canisters, and even sand bags, which I believe they’ll use as armor around their propulsion systems and Vympels. Terry didn’t attack the Vympel itself, but that’s a tactic they need to defend against.”
Looking to the tactical display, Jake saw two dozen Russian ships to the west of his minefield. They approached the imaginary line extending from the border between Romania and Bulgaria.
“You’ll notice that the Russian fleet is moving slowly,” Renard said. “I assume they’re using the time to erect sand bag defenses, verify their plans, and let the Kilo you damaged approach you. Unfortunately, that Kilo is still behaving like a warship and is coming for you. Terry has found it and is trailing it.”
Feeling trapped, Jake felt an urge to lash out at his closest potential victim and destroy the Kilo.
“I have little to report on the removal of the minefield,” Renard said. “The Russians are standing firm. And though the Turks are mobilizing their mine clearing units, the duration of their work will be too long to help you. You remain trapped, and your present location is your best hiding place. I received your quick burst transmission of your coordinates. I’ve sent Terry instructions to join you there.”
“So where’s the good news?” Jake asked.
The Frenchman’s image responded as if it heard him.
“The upside is that the surface fleet is the least of your worries,” Renard said. “They appear to be in stasis, awaiting the outcome of something, and I believe that something is the Kilo, which I know you can handle. However, once you defeat the Kilo, I believe the Russians will strike from the air. I estimate that you have six hours until a strike could be organized with enough ordnance to overrun Terry’s defenses.”
“That’s the good news?”
“I’ve also leaked a story to the international news agencies that a renegade band of human rights activists is responsible for the attack on the Russians,” Renard said. “With a little luck, this Robin Hood story will add pressure to the Russians to remove the minefield.”
“If that’s all you’ve got, we’re screwed.”
The Frenchman’s face darkened.
“There’s one thing I want to make perfectly clear,” Renard said. “This is an order. If I can’t get through to you again, and if you’re overwhelmed, you and Terry will save yourselves and your crews. Abandon your ships, make for shore, and turn yourselves over to the Turkish Navy. I’ve spoken to my admiral on the inside. He’s stationing a security detachment near your present location.”
Jake examined the icon on the nearby coast that represented ground troops, and he noticed the annotation identifying it as a Turkish Naval detachment.
“If you’re thinking about scuttling the ships, don’t,” Renard said. “Leave them intact in Turkish waters. Since they’re valuable assets, they have bargaining value. That’s all for now. Good luck my friend, and listen for me when you can.”
The screen went dark, and Jake committed several minutes to brooding in silence. Trying to force himself to accept a probable defeat sent him into a downward spiral of negativity, and he slammed his fist into the console.
He glanced to Henri, who looked away, deferring to Jake’s new therapist. The priest appeared by his side.
“May I join you, Jake?” Andrew asked.
Jake kept his voice low.
“Yeah.”
“Whatever burden you feel, you might want to share.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to talk?”
He sensed himself shutting down. His anger swelled, and the surging dark energy became a volcano suppressed under cracking rock. His vocal chords tightened, and the words choked behind them rose and stirred the cauldron of his mind. He had to squeeze out his one-word answer.
“Yeah.”
“Did Pierre give you bad news?” Andrew asked.
“Yeah.”
“Are we about to die?”
The innocent bluntness circumvented Jake’s anger.
“No, it’s not that bad. Not yet, anyway.”
“Well, what was the worst of it?”
“An air strike. He thinks that’s how they’ll come for us. Terry can hold off small reactionary forces but not coordinated air strikes.”
“I see,” Andrew said. “So we’re in danger of being defeated by superior numbers from the sky.”
“That’s pretty much it. The surface fleet is slowing down since they’re probably becoming a backup plan to the air forces, and that Kilo is limping after us. I can handle that Kilo, but it’s the crap that I can’t fight that’s pissing me off.”
“Nobody likes feeling helpless.”
The statement triggered Jake’s pessimism.
“Helpless. Arrogant. Stupid. Who was I to think I could beat the Russians? I’ve always won with Pierre, and I thought I’d never lose. But we missed the play where they mined the strait. It’s so obvious in retrospect. I’m an idiot.”
“This is tough for you because you’re used to success. When success comes easily to someone, it’s actually a sort of curse. It makes the simple, normal, human failures seem bigger.”
“This isn’t a normal failure.”
“Of course, it isn’t. The result could be catastrophic, but I mean the analysis and planning behind this is a simple miscalculation. You made a mistake, and you weren’t alone. In fact, this is Pierre’s mistake. You just bought into it.”
The priest’s words were placating his temper, and he nodded while reflecting upon the insights.
“This is almost funny,” he said. “We’re all at risk of getting blown up, and it took you about two minutes to figure out that I’m having a meltdown because of my pride.”
“For what it’s worth, it happens a lot. It’s easy for the ego to drive us in the wrong direction.”
Jake let the holy man’s final words swim in his mind. Something about them piqued his thoughts.
“Are you feeling better?” Andrew asked.
“Hold on. I’m thinking.”
“Of course.”
“Okay. I’ve got a question. You said the ego can drive men in wrong directions. When I go into battle, I usually ignore my enemy’s emotional flaws. I have to think that I’m fighting against a rational actor that’s going against me on his best day.”
“That’s a good conservative estimate.”
“Especially with the Russians. They like to plan to win and to be disciplined enough to make their plans work.”
“I understand why that could stress you out, given that they’re likely planning an air strike against us.”
“You’re right, but that’s not what I mean, specifically. I mean that Kilo that’s coming after us. It doesn’t seem right. In fact, it seems terribly wrong. Why would a limping submarine come after me, when the air attack is gearing up to crush us?”
“I didn’t know enough about combat to think of it.”