“Of course, sir.” His demeanor negating his words, the bulldog remained a stone edifice.
“I’ve known you too long to expect blind obedience. What’s bothering you?”
“I’m only the messenger, but I need to share what I’ve heard. It’s not pretty.”
“Out with it.”
“The team isn’t just afraid. They’re afraid the mission is lost. The doubt is building the more they talk.”
“Doubt is normal. I’m concerned only if it’s excessive fear.”
The bulldog stepped forward and lowered his voice. “It is fear, sir. And futility. It’s the combination.”
The colonel’s ire rose. “The warriors I recruited are not cowards.”
“A man can be brave and afraid, sir. A coward shirks from duty while a warrior fights on. The problem is, your bravest men can do nothing to improve their lots, while the geeks who keep the ship running are the most likely to crack.”
Exhaling through his nostrils, the colonel sought serenity. “Are you still strong?”
“Of course, sir. You needn’t ask.”
“But I did ask because you raised the concern, which means you believe there’s a measure of truth to it.”
“It doesn’t mean I’m afraid or frustrated.”
“But are you?”
Bright lighting highlighted the cracks and scars on the bulldog’s worn face as he weighed his response. “Of course. I’d be a fool to claim otherwise. This is dangerous work, and I’m dependent on strangers to succeed.”
“Strangers? You’ve known everyone for at least a year. You’ve known our fighting men much longer. We’ve taken bullets for each other.”
“I meant the Iranians.”
Another realization billowed into the colonel’s lucid mind. Everything had hinged on escaping before the submarines had scrambled to trail him. He’d expected to fend off any helicopters with Stinger missiles, manual use of railguns, or hiding below the surface.
But Renard’s rapid response had rallied the submarines and had forced him to flee surfaced, exposing him to the helicopter attack. Flooding damage and dragging nets had slowed his submerged speed below that which his submerged hunters could sustain, and a steady cycle of armed helicopters hovered above him.
Though he possessed his prize, everything beyond the act of taking it had gone wrong.
Respecting the adage that no plan survives contact with the enemy, he’d prepared contingency plans with his Iranian clients, who awaited far to the north.
But now, after Renard’s inspired retaliation, he considered his contingency plans to now be his best option to escape — and he remembered that his allies thought he was somewhere else. “You may be right. We may need to rely upon the Iranians. But they didn’t expect us to turn north so soon to hasten our arrival to their waters. We need to tell them where we are.”
“You could patch your phone into the Subtics system and reach your contact through one of the radio masts.”
“If a helicopter doesn’t pelt us with bullets while trying it.”
“Ask the expert, sir.”
The colonel stepped to a console, tapped a screen, and aimed his voice upward. “Control room, this is the bridge. Over.”
The commander’s voice filled the dome. “Bridge, this is the control room. Over.”
“Can you use the radio mast to inform the Iranians of our location, course, and speed without giving the helicopters a clean shot at us?”
“It should work, sir. A radio mast presents a small target for bullets.”
“Is the Farsi translator with you?”
“Both translators are with me. As long as we’re raising a mast, I’ll listen for whatever unencrypted communications I can sniff and translate. Merchant vessels may be saying that’s useful.”
“Good idea, but minimize your exposure of the antenna.”
The pause suggested he’d ordered the obvious to an expert, like reminding a surgeon to scrub in before an operation, but the commander kept his response’s tone respectful. “Of course. I’ll lower the mast once the Iranians confirm they have all they need.”
“Also, is there anything of tactical value about the Specter and the Wraith you can send them?”
“I’ve got notes written down, but it’s limited to what can be said during a phone call. We can’t send a data link from Subtics without a password.”
“Send them what you can.”
“We’ll mention the primary frequencies we hear, but they’re just standard Scorpène-class tones. The most useful data is their constant use of active sonar. That’s something the Iranians can exploit, as long as the Specter and Wraith keep using it.”
“Let’s hope they do. They’ll be vulnerable, I assume?”
“They will be. Any submarine that blares its active sonar is vulnerable. In fact, if they keep it up…”
The colonel coaxed the idea her sensed forming in his submarine commander’s mind. “You’ve got an idea. Perhaps something we or the Iranians can exploit while the Specter and the Wraith keep their active sonar systems energized?”
“It’s dangerous for the Iranians, but I’d like to give them the opportunity to test their mettle.”
In a flash, the colonel understood, and he simultaneously derided himself for failing to conceive the idea and praised himself for recruiting a submarine commander who did. “You want them to be the aggressors. Instead of waiting for the Specter and the Wraith to enter their waters, you want them to move forward, use their active sonar against them, and surprise them in international waters.”
“Yes, I do. But only a couple submarines, because that’s all it should take. And it should work.”
“Very well. Make that recommendation in your update. Take control of the ship, take us shallow, and call our Iranian contact.”
“I’ll see to it.”
For quiet minutes, the deck rolled harder under the waves while the depth gauge revealed a shallow depth. Expecting the staccato chirp of helicopter rounds, the colonel realized the wise aircrew conserved its ammunition for choicer targets.
As he made a mental note to be liberal with future radio communications if needed, the commander announced success. “We’ve got confirmation from the Iranians. They’ll adjust their plans for our new course and speed, and they’ll consider the aggression opportunity beyond their waters we suggested.”
“Very well. Take us back down.” The deck’s rocking weakened. “That’s good news, but then again, we’re not completely incapable of fighting back ourselves.”
The sergeant looked to him. “You don’t mean to challenge the helicopters again?”
“Per our sonar expert, there’s only one harassing us now.”
“Okay, then. Do you mean to challenge the one helicopter?”
“Perhaps I do.”
“Given the last result, you’ll need to come at it with more than a single Stinger launcher.”
Shooting down an aircraft would be a bonus, but the colonel believed he needed only to break the Omani airmen’s courage to stop their harassment. “Then I need to know when the railgun will be ready. I’d like to test the Omanis’ resolution against hypersonic metal.”
“My last update is ten minutes old, but the technicians were still wiring their way around the capacitor charging circuit.”
“Was there a timing estimate?”
“They said two to three hours.”
“That’s too long. Get them on the phone.”
At the console, the bulldog tapped an icon selecting the populated weapons bay and aimed his voice upward. “Port railgun, this is the bridge. Over.”
A technician’s voice filled the dome. “We’re here at the port railgun.”