“True. But you and Terry were also both trapped in the Black Sea. In this case, there are multiple ways out of the Aegean.”
Jake chewed on Renard’s input and found a counterpoint.
“So that makes the Greeks more desperate to attack. They’re angry, their pride’s at stake, and Terry has a chance to slip away. And they have assets tied up in multiple places — the oil rig, around Terry, and standing guard against me. The clock is ticking for them, which can make them more aggressive than they want.”
“Indeed,” Renard said. “In fact, as the Greeks regroup, I would give Terry only twelve hours before they go after him. The Greeks want to be cool and sucker you in, but I doubt their patience will last. You need to do something drastic to catch their attention.”
“Drastic, like me showing up and sinking something?”
“Yes. Sinking, or at least crippling with a slow-kill weapon.”
“It would take me almost twelve hours at my best sustained speed to reach Terry, and that would include the exposure of snorkeling. Did you forget that I have at least two submarines between me and Terry on any path I could take? That’s going to cut my speed in half.”
“I did not forget. But you must attack. By defeating a Hellenic submarine, you’ll be disrupting the Greek’s plans, giving Terry hope, and signaling to Terry his direction to run.”
“That would take me hours of prosecution to take down a submarine that’s waiting in ambush. They may be older submarines, but they have electronics upgrades and drones just like I do. They’re dug in, and I can’t just stampede through them like an idiot. You know damned well that beating them will take a slow, methodical approach.”
“Indeed, I do know.”
Jake eyed the Frenchman for signs of dismay.
“Then why do you look so smug?”
“Because I have a plan.”
“Who could’ve imagined it? Pierre Renard has a plan. But you almost look ashamed of it. What’s wrong?”
“There’s nothing wrong with the plan itself. The only problem is that I didn’t think of it. Dmitry did.”
“Dmitry? Isn’t he sipping vodka somewhere on a beach in Pakistan, or Burma, or wherever you stashed him?”
“Indeed he is on the beach, so to speak, but he’s devised a way to help you help Terry nonetheless.”
“This predicament’s only an hour old. He didn’t have much time to think about it.”
“He didn’t need much time. His idea was brilliant and nearly instantaneous.”
“Let’s hear it, then,” Jake said.
“Get ready for a lengthy download to your Subtics system,” Renard said. “And you may want to get me piped through to your main speakers so that I may explain matters. You’ve got a lot to learn, along with a few choice members of your crew.”
“Okay. Can you at least give me a hint?”
“I’m delivering you a gift in six hours,” Renard said. “I’ll tell you the rest when you’ve gathered your tactical team.”
CHAPTER 14
Cahill heard the third starboard MESMA plant hiss to life.
“How are they doing on the port side?”
“Plant six is up,” Walker said. “Plant four is still being restarted. They’re waiting for your permission to enter plant two.”
“Are you sure you’re up for this?”
Walker placed his hand over the bruise on his forehead that had knocked him out.
“Just a bump. I was lucky to be unconscious when the helicopter’s torpedo hit us. I can’t imagine how scary that was.”
“I don’t care to live through that again,” Cahill said. “As for MESMA plants, four are enough for now. When we’re ready, we’ll continue south at four knots while we get our bearings.”
“I’ll head to the port hull to manage the damage control.”
“No,” Cahill said. “Normally, I’d agree, but the Greeks are coming at us with surface and air assets. Our cannons are our best defense, and I trust you with those things by yourself.”
“Are you sure you’re not taking it easy on me just because I took a bump on the head?”
“Just follow me to the tactical control room and run things from there, and don’t shoot any torpedoes without talking to me.”
Cahill opened the watertight door to the berthing area and then continued to the tactical control room. Consoles showed the Goliath adapting to its recent amputation.
The torpedo had struck the port bow, and the heaviness of the lost buoyancy forced the ship to pump water from its port trim tanks.
“It’s holding for now,” Cahill said. “Stable on depth.”
“The damage must be limited forward of port berthing,” Walker said.
“Hopefully. I’ll check on that soon enough. First, let’s see who’s watching us.”
He studied the sonar display and exhaled when he noticed silence in the surrounding water. Then a glance at Renard’s low-frequency feed verified the Frenchman had received his distress call. Greek warships approached to encircle him, but the closest, the Hydra, kept its distance.
“If you were the Greeks, would you consider us dead and move on?” he asked.
“That would be wishful thinking,” Walker said.
“True. But what’s their next move? Come in guns blazing to finish us off? That would just force us to fight back out of desperation, if we’re still alive. Come in quietly and see if we’re still here? That leaves the risk that they miss us and declare us dead by accident while we sneak away. It’s not as easy for them as you might think.”
“I never said it was easy for them. But it’s no laughing matter for us either.”
“Let’s see what we can see,” Cahill said.
Switching between exterior cameras, he tried to examine the damage, but darkness enshrouded the depths. He then energized external lighting to illuminate the port hull.
“Bloody hell, it’s gone,” he said. “The bow section is completely missing.”
“No kidding,” Walker said. “At least it was a clean break.”
“It may look clean, but I guarantee you there’s jagged edges. We’ll be noisy, mate. But I grant you we got lucky that there won’t be large chunks of metal hanging around to resist our propulsion.”
“I think we’re solid up to the port tactical control room,” Walker said. “The question is how long can we hold together and would we break apart if we have to sprint.”
“Right. There might be invisible structural damage. But let’s risk four knots and a turn to point our way out of here.”
Cahill’s tapping of a few icons set the Goliath crawling towards the south.
“Stay up here and get the normal watch sections going,” he said. “I’m going to inspect the damage.”
He walked sternward to the rear starboard MESMA plant and turned athwartships towards the tunnel. Reaching through the circular doorway, he hoisted his torso into the cramped space and crawled. The stale air bothered him as he speculated upon possible invisible damage to the confining connection between the hulls.
Bowing his head under the air-intake cross-connect, he looked to the bilge and noted condensing water, free of leakage. Continuing on all fours, he followed hydraulic lines to the stern plane controller, scrunched his shoulders to his ears, and slipped past the oversized block of metal.
At the tunnel’s end, he appreciated the access his prior order of relocating the spare railgun projectiles granted him. He opened the crawlspace’s port hatch, performed his acrobatics, and set his sneakers on the deck.
His senior sailor on the port side entered the MESMA compartment.