“I’m flattered,” he said.
“No need to be. You’re well qualified to offer advice. Terry is facing some hostilities that I failed to completely foresee, and it helps me to assess possible reactions with my commanders.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to help. My ship, your ship, rather, is far away from the action, but you have me and my crew at your disposal.”
“I don’t think I’ll need anything except your genius.”
“Tell me what’s going on.”
The Frenchman’s voice sounded like he wrestled with despair and hope.
“I’ve lost communications with Terry while he’s under duress. He’s evading a heavyweight torpedo, avoiding several Harpoons from a frigate, and avoiding detection by helicopters.”
“That sounds terrible. I thought he’d face less danger than this on his way out of the Aegean.”
“As did I. Nonetheless, he’s in the midst of it.”
“Would you like me to get to the Wraith and evaluate the tactical feed?”
His boss’ voice became pensive.
“No, I think not. Nothing so detailed. I just want to talk through generalities. If nothing else, I’d like to verify the advice and orders I’ve been giving and am planning to give while I have no choice but to wait for Terry to communicate again.”
“I see. Waiting in silence is agony.”
“Exactly.”
Volkov felt less desired than he wished, but he played along as if he filled a vital need. Perhaps, he reckoned, such a simple chat held true value with the Frenchman.
“You’ve got him diving below the Harpoons, I assume?”
“Of course. Unfortunately, though, that slows him against the torpedo.”
“But when he’s surfaced, he’s exposed to the Harpoons and the helicopters.”
“Right. You see my dilemma — his dilemma.”
“How’s the Phalanx system faring?”
“It can safely handle one inbound Harpoon, two Harpoons when they circle back and expose broadsides to him after he dives under them and resurfaces. He’s having some luck with his cannons against the Harpoons, too.”
“That sounds logical to me, using the railguns against the Harpoons as a first defense, then the Phalanx as the last effort, for the times when he must be exposed.”
After Volkov heard Renard’s translator assist with elucidating the concepts, the Frenchman sounded unimpressed.
“We agree upon that. I appreciate your feedback.”
“What about a hybrid state?” Volkov asked. “Can he put the Goliath on a downward angle with its head valves exposed to run gas turbines and keep enough evasion speed from the torpedo?”
“An excellent idea,” Renard said. “He developed that tactic on his own to combat the Harpoons at distance, but with the exactness of the targeting against him, the missiles came back and appeared to have locked onto his exposed sterns. So that’s a useful tactic, but imperfect.”
A sick feeling of helplessness crept up Volkov’s spine, compelling him to find a way to assist his teammates.
“I have a feeling Terry and Jake will need my help, but there’s nothing I can do from this side of the Suez Canal.”
“I don’t fault you for being where you are,” Renard said. “I put you there, and that burden is mine. Don’t take it as yours.”
“There must be something I can do.”
“You did. I appreciate your tactical advice.”
An epiphany hit Volkov, and he gasped as he hesitated to share it.
“Go on, man,” Renard said. “You sound like you have an idea.”
“No, I can’t. It’s silly. It’s almost childish.”
“Children are capable of great visions. I promise not to laugh if it’s indeed silly.”
Volkov mustered the courage to share his thought, and he felt lighter than air with the joy of having helped his colleagues when Renard dismissed him immediately to set it into motion.
CHAPTER 13
Jake watched the toad-head shake.
“It’s too far away for even me to hear,” Remy said.
“Nothing, Pierre,” Jake said. “We can’t hear from here.”
The Frenchman’s face froze with its gaze angled away from the screen, and then his features fell into an ashen facade.
“Dear God,” Renard said.
“What’s wrong?”
“An undersea explosion on satellite infrared. The air-dropped torpedo just exploded.”
The news punched Jake’s stomach.
“Shit. Terry.”
The anger Jake had hoped he’d imprisoned in his past escaped its bonds and flamed within him, and critical thoughts of his boss’ hubris and selfishness swirled in his head. He clenched his jaw to silence his mouth while his mind screamed slurs at Renard. As he sensed the cauldron of insults bubbling beyond his control, he aimed his nose at the screen and drew breath to launch a tirade at the Frenchman for condemning the Goliath and its crew.
“Jake?” Henri said.
Jake turned and saw the mechanic beside him.
“What?”
“Perhaps a prayer?”
“Come on. Seriously?”
“For Terry, Liam, and everyone.”
“Do you always do this when people die?”
“Yes, though usually silently. I assumed you could benefit from joining me this time, given your new belief.”
“What would I pray for? A miracle to bring Terry back from the dead?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll pray for whatever you want.”
“Well, I want a miracle, but they’re called miracles because God doesn’t dish them out to every dumbass who begs for one. We screwed up, and our friends are dead.”
“It’s not your fault.”
Jake turned, muted the console, and raised his voice.
“It sure as shit is my fault. It’s your fault, and it’s everyone’s fault for being in Pierre’s mercenary fleet. And most of all, it’s Pierre’s fault, but damn us all for buying into his sales pitch.”
“Don’t do this, Jake.”
Sensing his voice had reached every ear in the Specter’s control room, Jake lowered his volume.
“Do what? Speak the truth? We pushed too far in this mission, just like we did in Crimea. But this time our friends are dead. We play this stupid change-the-world game, and we think we’re untouchable, but we’re not.”
“You still have a submarine to command.”
“Command for what? We’re skulking away to Israel, and then the game’s over. Pierre’s getting old, and he won’t keep the fleet together after losing the Goliath. Especially not after losing Terry. I don’t think he could take it. I’m not sure I can take it.”
Jake noticed his hands shaking.
“Maybe you should retire to your stateroom,” Henri said. “Like you said, we’re just driving to Israel, and all the surface combatants that were chasing us have already reversed course. I can guide us from here.”
“Yeah,” Jake said. “Good idea.”
He walked to his stateroom and sealed himself within it. Emotions stabbed him, and he flopped into his chair.
Reflecting upon pride as the worst sin, he judged himself guilty of arrogance in believing that he and Renard’s small fleet could defeat Greece. Perhaps the mission had succeeded, but the cost weighed upon him — the loss of their capital ship and his friend, Terry Cahill.
Scanning the tiny room for a distraction, he saw his Bible. Lacking anything else to reach for, he grabbed it but then put it back on his table.
No passage could help, he decided.
He reached for it again and opened it to a random page, but he found dullness in the words of First Chronicles. Giving up on finding wisdom, he closed the book and returned it to his desk.