Roll, settle, and booms to the right side of the ship.
“Rudder amidships!”
The sonic cracking continued but seemed to walk closer to the bridge. A sailor extended soft ear plugs and hardened hearing protection muffs that Floros donned.
The world became muted auditory chaos.
Before the next shots arrived, the Hydra’s Phalanx close-in weapon offered its chainsaw protest of staccato hellfire. Then came the twin cracking booms.
He looked to a display that showed the readiness of aircraft to fly towards the Goliath. Lifting a phone, he barked.
“Send helicopters one through four to sink the Goliath!”
The order acknowledged, Floros hung up and watched icons fly towards the vigilante abomination.
Chainsaw protest. Cracking boom. Cracking boom.
“Left full rudder!”
The lieutenant’s order kept the howling metal hail off the Hydra’s starboard side — for twenty seconds.
Then flying steel found its mark.
The Hydra screeched like a banshee with a blood-curdling wail, forcing Floros to cringe. When he recovered his senses, he forced himself courageous.
“Keep it up, lieutenant,” he said. “You won’t dodge them all, but you’re doing well.”
Beside Floros, the frigate’s commander held a phone to his ear and then lowered it to its cradle. He lifted a microphone to transmit his news and orders throughout the Hydra.
“We’ve taken one round in the port engine room,” he said. “The Phalanx was able to bring down one round in the salvo, but not both. This is consistent with our adversary’s expected tactics. They missed vital equipment, but they’ll continue to target our propulsion. All non-essential personnel are ordered to leave the engine rooms.”
He then moved close to Floros.
“Sir, we’re not going to remain so lucky for twenty minutes. I want to use anti-ship missiles.”
“I’ve been considering it,” Floros said. “But how? A saturation attack would allow the Goliath’s crew a single dive to escape all our weapons. A series of one-off missiles would give them the choice of using their point defense system as opposed to diving and slowing.”
“Agreed, sir. I’m considering either approach.”
“Contact the Pipinos to find out the torpedo’s position.”
The Hydra’s commander nodded and grabbed a phone. After a ten-second conversation, he hung up.
“I spoke to the Pipinos. Its torpedo is four miles from the Goliath, predicted to run out of fuel one mile from the target.”
Floros assumed he could slow the Goliath by twenty knots by forcing it to dive below the Hydra’s anti-ship missiles. To cost the targeted ship a mile of transit, he needed to keep it underwater for three minutes.
“Let’s test their courage with a single Harpoon.”
The Hydra’s commander locked eyes with Floros to verify his sincerity as the conning officer dodged another salvo.
“Right full rudder!”
The deck tilted and settled as Phalanx machineguns’ staccato protests preceded sonic cracks.
“Rudder amidships!”
“I understand I have permission to launch one Harpoon missile at the Goliath,” the Hydra’s commander said.
“Correct,” Floros said.
The commander slid a key into a lock and turned it, causing a pulsating red light. Then, reaching to press a button, he yelled.
“Launching one missile!”
A distant hiss echoed through the frigate, and a streak of reddish orange sliced the darkness as the missile’s exhaust howled.
Metal screeched, and Floros cringed. He looked to the frigate’s commander, who absorbed news through a phone receiver and then lifted a microphone.
“We’ve taken one hit in the port auxiliary machinery room. The port main refrigeration unit is offline.”
The Hydra’s deck shifted and supersonic salvos shrieked as Floros watched the icon of the Harpoon streak towards the Goliath. Five minutes and two puncture wounds later, the frigate maintained full propulsion, and a missile merged with the mercenary on his tactical display.
“Our Harpoon is destroyed,” the Hydra’s commander said. “They used their point defense system.”
“I don’t think they’ll be so brave against three missiles,” Floros said. “Unload your first quad canister.”
As three streaks painted the sky, Floros expected a trio of flying warheads to quiet the mercenary menace.
CHAPTER 11
Cahill glared at his display.
“We survived one,” he said. “But we can’t take down three.”
“Time to impact, three and a half minutes,” Walker said.
“That gives me time to think.”
“You’re not going to trust the Phalanx system to take down three, are you?”
Submerging and slowing with a torpedo three miles behind him worried him, but a close-in weapon system against three simultaneous missiles offered poor odds.
Through his domed bridge, he watched moonlight transform the Vulcan Phalanx system on the Goliath’s port bow into a cylindrical silhouette. He pictured its radar system targeting the nosecone of each incoming Harpoon and likened the task to shooting down dinner plates a mile away.
One, yes. Two, maybe. Three, unlikely.
The seconds required to shoot, track, and adjust the Phalanx’ sabots were precious, and Cahill refused to risk his ship on a blend of perfect performance and luck.
“We’re going to crash dive,” he said. “But not too soon, or we’ll give up too much ground on the torpedo.”
“You know how to turn this ship into a porpoise.”
“Indeed I do, mate,” Cahill said. “But I don’t like the looks of those helicopters, and those mongrels on the Hydra still have four Harpoons left onboard. We’re sprinting into a bind.”
“You’ll target the helicopters next, when they’re in range of our phased array?”
“Of course, but not before I have to dive us. They’re flying low below our horizon.”
The Frenchman’s voice issued from the console.
“I wish I could present you targeting information,” Renard said. “But I have nothing available that can overpower the jamming of that Hellenic early warning and control aircraft.”
“Helicopters aren’t me biggest problem yet, Pierre. I’m getting ready to crash dive below the Harpoons, unless you have a better idea.”
“I do not. You have no choice.”
“Liam, prepare to crash dive.”
Walker tapped keys, and Cahill watched multiple graphics pop up and coalesce into a group of systems to be lowered and secured upon the touch of a single key.
The induction mast, the turbines, the phased array radar system, and the railguns. All mounted toward the rear of the ship. All ready to submit to the undersea world.
“One minute to missile arrival, Terry.”
“Very well. Flooding the forward trim tank and securing the Phalanx close-in weapon system.”
Cahill tapped an image that ordered huge centrifugal pumps to inhale the sea and drive water towards the forward-most internal tanks. He then repeated the motion and watched the cylindrical silhouette recede into its stowage compartment within the port bow.
“Placing full rise on the stern planes.”
He tapped another graphic that drove the sterns downward to counterbalance the heaviness of the bows. The added weight increased drag on the Goliath’s hulls and sapped three knots of speed. He pressed a button to send his voice throughout the ship.