“Query them for all contacts. If for some reason I get distracted while they’re reporting on number nine, send them to number nine.”
“I’ll have them swimming for target nine in five minutes.”
The loudspeakers broadcasted chirps and whistles as the dolphins started their report with the first submerged contact on their Specter-centric clock, target one. Jake trusted his sonar expert to guide the cetaceans where he wanted.
“Weapon one is on top of target ten,” Remy said. “No return.”
“I declare target ten to be a drone. Mark it as such in the system and steer weapon one towards target eight.”
“You believe target eight to be a submarine?” Henri asked.
“I’ll assume the center of each group of three submerged contacts to be a submarine until proven wrong. They didn’t expect us to have our advantage with the dolphins, and they’re not thinking in terms of complex drone geometries. They’re just covering as much water as they can, as simply as they can.”
“I’ve steered weapon one towards target eight,” Remy said. “The weapon’s battery reserve is only three percent.”
“Three percent is fine.”
“The range is still suspect, Jake,” Remy said. “And on this angle of approach with our weapon already out there, it could be off a lot on the bearing. It could be a complete miss.”
“Irrelevant. It’s a free weapon, and it’ll do nothing worse than confuse our enemy.”
The shoulders under the toad-head shrugged and then turned as the technician beside Remy offered an update, which he relayed.
“Weapon three is on top of target twelve,” he said. “No return.”
“I declare target twelve to be a drone. Mark it as such in the system and steer weapon three on course two-six-zero.”
“Two-six-zero?” Remy asked. “No target given?”
“No target given,” Jake said. “Let weapons one and three bracket target eight, and let our weapons also serve as de facto drones. Let them push back our enemy, or, with a little luck, acquire a submarine.”
“I’ve steered weapon three to course two-six-zero,” Remy said. “The seeker from weapon three has gone active. Target eight has just accelerated and is making turns for twenty-two knots based upon blade rate for a Greek Type-209.”
Jake looked at his display.
“Our weapon is two miles away,” he said. “We’ve got target eight. It’s ours.”
“Weapon two has acquired target eleven and is accelerating to attack speed. Range is confirmed as fourteen miles from us.”
“Very well,” Jake said. “No way it’s getting away.”
With the Greek submarine trying to sprint away from being dead in the water, Jake expected most of the twenty-four undersea limpet bombs of his slow-kill weapon to attach.
“Target eleven is accelerating and turning, but it’s no use,” Remy said. “Impact is in ninety seconds.”
“Is anything else out there accelerating?” Jake asked. “There’s a complex dance about to start, and I just kicked it off.”
“Nothing yet,” Remy said. “But I’ll hand off monitoring of our weapons to our other technicians and listen.”
“Very well,” Jake said.
A junior sailor announced the detonation of weapon three underneath the fleeing Greek submarine. Although unaccustomed to listening to submunitions breaking from the Specter’s custom warhead and attaching to a submarine’s hull, the youngster thought he heard most of them find their mark.
“We’ll know soon enough, lad,” Jake said.
Unsure if six or seven of the first third of bomblets detonated, the young sailor gave his enthusiastic report. The Hellenic submarine was flooding and fighting its way to the surface. When the next third of minor detonations pierced the target’s skin, it was already rising like a cork.
“That’s enough for target eleven,” Jake said. “Henri, backhaul tube two and reload it with a drone.”
“A drone? Do you really think it’s necessary with the abilities you’ve seen the dolphins demonstrate?”
“That’s a good point. It depends if I’m playing offense or defense in the next few hours, which depends on what Terry does. So I’ll take your advice and change my mind. Load tube two with a slow-kill weapon.”
Jake suspected the explosion of the final third of the bomblets compelled the flooding vessel’s commander to feel gratitude for being alive and to excuse himself from the battle while fighting the sea’s inrush into his ship.
“Target eight is now accelerating,” Remy said. “You were right, Jake. It’s also a Type-209 submarine. It’s making turns for eight knots and heading east to investigate what we just did to its colleague.”
“And it just turned into weapon one, didn’t it?”
“Yes. I’m using the bearings to target eight to confirm the range. We were off by three miles, but since it turned towards our torpedo, it will hit with a small steer. I recommend a steer to the right of ten degrees.”
“Steer weapon three ten degrees to the right.”
Remy spoke to a junior technician seated next to him and shot periodic glances over his shoulder to verify the sailor’s work.
“Weapon three has accepted a ten-degree steer to the right,” Remy said. “Battery remaining is now nine percent with the increased rate of closure.”
“Turn off weapon three’s seeker,” Jake said.
“Weapon three’s seeker is off,” Remy said.
“Turn the seeker back on when the weapon’s a mile from target eight. Hopefully target eight’s crew didn’t hear our torpedo while they were outside its search cone, and I don’t want to announce that it’s coming until it’s too late.”
Jake stepped down to the central plotting chart and studied the chaos. He’d forced one submarine out of the battle, and he expected to banish a second from the fray. He’d identified two targets as drones, both now severed from their host as it had tried to sprint and then emergency blow to the surface.
He had broken the wall, inserted himself within it, and taken control of a corridor to freedom he hoped Cahill could reach.
CHAPTER 19
Floros stared at his chart and squinted against the sun’s glare.
“Two submarines forced to surface,” he said. “They’d all be dead if it weren’t for this mercenary navy’s self-righteous indulgence in less-than-lethal torpedoes. This is disgusting.”
“I can’t fault the undersea warfare team,” the Hydra’s commander said. “The ambush was set up well.”
Floros agreed but hesitated to admit it.
“Well enough that a lone Scorpène-class submarine defeated two of our best submarines that had prime waiting positions in their home waters.”
“I can’t explain it, sir.”
Grunting, Floros looked at the important icons to guide his thoughts towards action. He blocked out the submarines as a distraction beyond his influence and retained his clarity on the surface combatants and aircraft.
“Neither can I,” he said. “But it’s irrelevant. The mercenary submarine is beyond our reach and vice versa, if we move quickly against the Goliath. I’m putting that ship on the bottom before its rescue submarine can interfere.”
“We have its last known position, and it’s been submerged since shooting down our helicopter. The area of water in which it could be hiding has grown small, and we know it’s damaged.”
As he watched the line of his task force’s combatants curl around the Goliath, Floros lamented the loss of the latest aircrew, having met their leader and respected his dedication.
“Damaged, but deadly against a pilot who thought he could confront it.”