“Call it five nautical miles and send it to the plot,” Volkov said. “Give it a radius of uncertainty of three nautical miles.”
The sonar operator nodded and obeyed.
“Now, order the dolphins to approach the target.”
Recorded whistles. Mammalian response.
“Andrei has confirmed,” the trainer said. “They’re accelerating towards the target.”
“Excellent,” Volkov said. “I don’t suppose you hear our adversary yet, Anatoly?”
“No, and I won’t if you keep asking.”
“I only asked once. You have a crude bearing and range to guide you. I thought you might want your free vodka.”
“Their data is no less crude than I could have guessed.”
Beside the frustrated Anatoly, the trainer displayed his habitual agitation as his children entered battle.
“Remember that I trained them to announce when they pass a distance boundary,” he said, “either from long range to medium range or medium range to short. They’ll tell us when they’ve closed within a mile.”
The unsolicited chirp arrived.
“They’re within a mile of the target,” the trainer said.
“Prepare them for explosives deployment.” Volkov said.
He envisioned one dolphin sliding its snout into the carrying strap of the bomb attached forward of the dorsal fin of its partner as a chirp announced completion of each animal’s arming.
“They’re ready to lay explosives,” the trainer said.
“Very well, deploy the explosives.”
Six minutes later, a chirp came.
“The explosives are applied to the target,” the trainer said. “And the dolphins have swum to a safe distance for detonation.”
“Detonate.”
The trainer tapped buttons on the console, and recorded shrimp-like sounds rang from the Wraith.
“Nothing,” Anatoly said. “They may be too far away.”
“Nonsense. Increase power to one-half and verify that the acoustic beam is aimed at the target.”
“We may be heard at half power.”
“So what? An abnormally active bed of shrimp is heard by a submarine that’s about to enjoy a flooding casualty in — where, its control room?”
“For submerged targets,” the trainer said, “I trained them to deploy from above and in the middle of the vessel so they avoid sonar and seawater systems.”
“Okay, fine,” Anatoly said. “I’ve increased power to half power, verified aimed at the target.”
“Very well, detonate.”
The two pops reminded Volkov of an assassin’s bullets.
“Those were the detonations,” Anatoly said. “I hear flooding. Now emergency air. Now hull popping. Yes, they are shooting to the surface. They’re going to make it.”
“Of course, they’ll make it,” Volkov said. “Those are small warheads. Just enough to motivate the correct behavior of surfacing and leaving us alone.”
“My babies succeeded.”
“Indeed, they did,” Volkov said. “Now give the order to bring them home.”
“Andrei has confirmed the order,” the trainer said. “They’re coming back.”
He leaned in close to his sonar expert’s ear and pulled back one of his muffs to whisper.
“I believe you owe me a bottle of vodka, Anatoly,” he said. “A ridiculously expensive one.”
CHAPTER 6
In disbelief, Floros listened to his vice admiral’s voice over the secure phone line.
“The prime minister is publicly blaming the Turks for the attacks.”
“All three tankers?” Floros asked. “The two today and the one last week?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible. Perhaps the one north of Crete was within their reach, but no Turkish submarines are in the Arabian Sea, unless one went the long way around Africa. We would have noticed if one passed through the Suez.”
“No Turkish submarines are in the Arabian Sea. Each one has been accounted for in recent weeks, and as you said, none of them went through the Suez Canal or had time to go the long way.”
“Is anyone believing him?” Floros asked.
“Only those that already fear him, which is unfortunately a large enough percentage of the population to matter.”
“Even if the Turks could, why would they? The only recent animosity between us is this oil rig, and they would have had to plan the attacks against the tanker days, if not weeks ago.”
“I know this. Every rational person knows this. But that’s irrelevant to the sentiment I’m seeing here on dry land. You’ve seen the market’s hysteria, have you not?”
“I have, sir,” Floros said. “Even in a national crisis, it’s challenging to serve a man who makes such wild accusations.”
“You don’t serve him. You serve Greece.”
Floros looked out the Hydra’s bridge windows at the setting sun. Then he glanced to the north at the oil rig and its high blinking lights. With his nation’s energy markets in wild fluctuation after the tanker attacks, he knew his need to protect the rig had become vital.
“He’s going to announce this at an upcoming press conference,” the vice admiral said. “But he’s already released a statement. The Turks will be furious.”
“And the easiest target for their frustrations is this oil rig.”
“It’s going to get worse before it gets better. I have a change to your rules of engagement. You may now fire upon any Turkish asset you perceive as a threat to the rig or the task force. You don’t have to wait until you’re fired upon.”
“Dear God, sir, I’m tracking a dozen Turkish assets, and each one is a threat. Any one of them could launch weapons at any time. The distances between us are too small.”
“I know. Use your judgment and contact me if you’re unsure. This is a bad situation, but with the prime minister’s attitude, you’d be best to explain yourself afterwards for being too assertive as opposed to being too cautious. He won’t tolerate anything that could be construed as signs of weakness.”
“This is dangerous,” Floros said. “The prime minister’s igniting a fire.”
“It gets worse. You also need to engage any Turkish combatant that enters our territorial waters or airspace.”
“Then I’ll have no choice but to start a war.”
“Use your weapons wisely and minimize escalations. That’s unfortunately the best advice I can give you.”
After digesting the severity of the order, Floros returned the plastic receiver to its cradle.
“What news, sir?” the Hydra’s commander asked.
“Brace yourself,” Floros said. “It’s about to get nasty. I now have permission to engage Turkish combatants without having to be fired upon first, and I have orders to engage any Turkish combatant that enters our air or water.”
The Hydra’s commander’s face became pale.
“Those are dangerous rules of engagement, sir.”
“And the prime minister just blamed the Turks for the attacks on the three liquefied natural gas tankers that were destroyed,” Floros said.
“That’s impossible. They couldn’t have done it.”
“People are panicked back home and want to believe we know who to retaliate against.”
“Well, who do you think it is, sir?”
Floros reflected about the intelligence he’d learned about a mercenary fleet’s latest escapades in the Black Sea.
“The vice admiral hasn’t told me yet, but I’m sure he would agree it’s that private band of pirates that took on the Russians a few months ago. Someone has hired them to be vandals, or they’re operating against us for their own agenda.”
“We’ll know soon enough, sir. Half the fleet is chasing the submarine that attacked the last tanker.”
“I don’t envy our hunting party against a team that frustrated the Russians, but that’s not our concern. We have our own problems. Take a look at the display. Our helicopters are moving erratically.”