“Still seven minutes,” Remy said. “It was a very long shot.”
“But the tanker’s running into it face-first?”
“Yes,” Remy said. “The geometry’s trivial with Pierre’s data, but perfect geometry doesn’t guarantee perfect targeting if another ship gets in the way.”
Jake took the subconscious hint and glared at the chart.
A subtle gift appeared.
Where updates had been arriving every five minutes for all ships in his vicinity, the data now came every thirty seconds for assets of highest interest — helicopters and ships near the tanker.
“Pierre gets it,” he said. “He always gets it. He remembers how to command a submarine.”
“What do you mean?” Henri asked.
“He’s figured out that we’re at the critical point. He knows we have a weapon close to hitting, and he knows we have helicopters hounding us. He filtered out the ships that aren’t an immediate danger, and he’s sending data every thirty seconds for the helicopters and ships around the tanker.”
At the control station, the silver-haired Henri shrugged.
“What’s that mean? Tactically?”
“It means I can see the helicopters with enough detail to know if they’re a threat, at least while they’re stopped and pinging. And it means I can see the ships around the tanker well enough to see if they’re a risk of distracting our torpedo.”
“And?”
“Hold on,” Jake said. “Let it update again.”
He tapped the screen to zoom in on the tanker. A cruise ship was passing it going the other way, en route to Cyprus.
“How many lives are on that ship? A hundred? A thousand?”
“What’s wrong Jake?” Henri asked.
“A cruise ship, according to Pierre. He highlighted it.”
A silent prayer to his new god entered Jake’s mind. He feared murdering droves of innocents, and his heart sought solace in avoiding the weighty guilt.
“How close is it to our weapon?” Henri asked.
“Close enough that our weapon just acquired it,” Remy said. “I’m steering our weapon ten degrees to the left to avoid it.”
“Five degrees,” Jake said. “Not ten. Five.”
“Five degrees to the left,” Remy said. “That’s still very close to keeping the cruise ship in our weapon’s seeker field. If the wire breaks after the steer—”
“It will still miss the cruise ship. Barely. But it will miss. Hand off control of the weapon and keep listening for helicopters.”
Remy tapped his screen, and the technician beside him did the same to take control of the torpedo. Jake burned his eyes dry watching the icon of his weapon skirt the stern of the passenger vessel.
“Good enough,” he said. “Steer the weapon back to the right five degrees.”
“Helicopter,” Remy said. “Fifty percent risk of detection. Bearing two-two-one.”
“Damn it,” Jake said. “We need to run.”
“Do you want to cut the wire?” Henri asked.
“No. We’ll keep it until it breaks. Come right to course zero-six-five. Make turns for ten knots.”
The deck tilted into the turn.
“How about shooting down the helicopter?” Henri asked.
Jake shook his head while watching the torpedo’s icon pass behind the cruise ship.
“We’ll slip away the old fashioned way.”
On the display, the tanker’s icon moved into the area in which its keel fell prey to the seeker’s acoustic acquisition. Jake held his breath as the torpedo’s feed evaporated, leaving its fate in the hands of its automated systems and physics.
The technician beside Remy announced the loss of the guidance wire.
The final minutes passed in slow, anxious moments as Jake awaited a distant explosion while praying for the airborne threats above him to disappear.
“Loud explosion, bearing three-five-two,” Remy said. “That’s the bearing of the tanker.”
“We’ll wait for Pierre to confirm,” Jake said.
A minute later, Renard’s data feed confirmed the destruction of the correct target. Jake exhaled and offered silent thanks to his new god for the success of his attack.
“Any sign of the helicopters?” he asked.
“I hear one far away,” Remy said. “The sea’s large size is finally working in our favor.”
“Good,” Jake said. “We’ll head towards Haifa. Our sanctuary is Israeli waters, and God willing, we’ll make it there alive.”
CHAPTER 9
Cahill watched moonlight glimmer in the shallow waves.
“Verify through visual inspection that rounds one through ten in each cannon are explosive rounds,” he said.
“I’m verifying with both gunners,” Walker said.
Cahill glanced at a chart showing him the distance to his target equaling ninety percent of his railguns’ ability. The explosive shells contained guidance programming to spread them across lengths of a pipeline feeding compressed natural gas to Greece’s people.
“The visual verification is complete,” Walker said. “Rounds one through ten in each cannon are explosive rounds. The rounds are loaded in the proper sequence to land from west to east across the pipeline in their firing order.”
“Very well, Liam,” Cahill said. “I’m bringing us to minimum cannon depth.”
He tapped a key that set the Goliath into its routine of pumping water from trim tanks to the sea. A depth gauge counted the ship’s imperceptible rise while the deck tilted downward to raise the stern-mounted weapons bays above the waves.
“The weapons bays report being clear to raise the cannons,” Walker said.
“Very well,” Cahill said. “Raising the cannons.”
He tapped two icons on his screen, ordering hydraulic fluid to lift the railguns above the waterline.
“Cannons are raised,” Walker said.
“Prepare to shoot ten rounds from each cannon at the Interconnector Pipeline.”
Walker touched keys at his console.
“Each cannon is aimed at the Interconnector Pipeline, ready to fire with pre-programmed target coordinates.”
“Fire.”
The boom from the starboard railgun preceded the port weapon’s supersonic crack that echoed throughout the hull and reverberated in the water above the domed bridge.
“Raise the radio mast but maintain emissions control,” Cahill said.
“Raising the radio mast.”
A screen before Cahill turned from darkness to the image of his weary boss. Renard’s face angled downward while the Frenchman examined a screen at his desk.
Steel blue eyes then turned and faced Cahill.
“I see your rounds on radar now,” Renard said.
The Frenchman waited.
“Can you hear me, Terry?” Renard asked. “Rather, will you respond?”
His boss waited again while Cahill stayed in listening mode.
“No need to contact me if you wish to maintain emissions control,” Renard said. “I know you’ve risked your position with your attack, but no need to simplify life for the Greeks by risking a radio broadcast. I’ll make sure your rounds have GPS augmentation for targeting.”
“Thanks, mate,” Cahill said.
“He can’t hear you unless you transmit,” Walker said.
“I know, but it’s comforting to talk to him.”
Five seconds separated each round, and as the minute passed, Cahill waited for his tactical team to announce a hostile helicopter’s presence above him. But silence from his crew and Renard’s farewell quieted his paranoia and suggested his desired isolation.
“I’ll keep you updated with the low-rate updates in case you aren’t listening to my video feed,” Renard said. “But the information I have is favorable in that no Greek assets are within twenty minutes of you. Jake succeeded in pulling them away.”
“The final round is away,” Walker said.