CHAPTER 15
The colonel stood behind the lean submarine commander. “How bad is it?”
“Unnoticeable. Our men managed to close the doors on both ends. The tunnel’s our only centerline compartment, and it’s also our smallest. So the ship adjusted easily and automatically.”
“But we’ve lost our passageway between the hulls. From now on, our port crew is the port crew, and we’re the starboard crew.”
“That may not matter. Did you get a headcount?”
“He’s handling it.” The colonel pointed at his bulldog.
The sergeant scribbled notes into a pad while pinching a phone receiver between his ear and shoulder. “I’m done. The only damage is to the tunnel. Our men are evenly split, seven starboard and seven port, counting our casualty.”
“How is our injured teammate?”
“Still stable, but the medic says he’ll need surgery within twenty-four hours.”
“He’ll get it, if we can keep working as a team.”
Including the sonar operator and a translator who tried to glean secret insights from the Goliath’s English-language technical manuals, the colonel counted five men in the control room.
The sixth and seventh starboard occupants were a commando and translator who patrolled the MESMA plants in search of new leaks, noises, and blunt signs of obvious problems.
The colonel’s technical experts had migrated to the Goliath’s inaccessible port side. Instantly, they seemed distant, his team severed and his ship compromised.
And after the near miss with the divers, he felt vulnerable.
His new perspective provoked a decision to share with his submarine commander. “Helicopters have denied us the surface long enough. Let’s bring them down.”
“There’s only one over us now. The farther we are from Oman, the longer they have to travel, and the more taxing their fuel management.”
“Removing one from the rotation may clear us of this problem until we reach our Iranian support.”
“It might.”
“I want two Stinger teams topside, fore and aft on the port hull, and I want riflemen topside as well. Most importantly, I want to test the railgun against them. Can you optimize the ship’s maneuvering for such an attack?”
The commander scoffed. “I’ve been considering this. If you want to use every weapon you have, the best way is the simplest way — straight up with a level deck.”
“Very well. I’ll brief the team. Let’s get it done.”
Twenty minutes later, the deck rocked under the surface swells. Trusting his submarine commander, he let him drive the ship from the relative safety of the control room.
In contrast, the colonel volunteered a showing of courage.
Daring the helicopters to shoot him, he stood with his bulldog under the dome, offering himself as a tactical distraction.
With his teams staged and the circuit open throughout the ship, the colonel aimed his voice to the microphone. “We’ve faced a great deal of adversity since we first stormed this ship. I must credit our adversaries for the speed of their response. It made an otherwise flawless plan challenging.”
He looked at his bulldog for immediate feedback. The sergeant’s expression indicated approval, and the colonel continued. “You’ve all been with me for two years, some of you longer. You know why our cause is just. This mercenary fleet was born in a cauldron of greed and arrogance, and its founders have caused undo suffering to our countrymen and to hundreds, even thousands, of families around the world. Now, we’ll cast away the airborne menace and retake our right to flee on the water’s surface.”
Again, he looked to the bulldog, and this time, the sergeant whispered. “Keep going. What’s the reward for success?”
The colonel continued to his crew. “After we succeed in this anti-air defense, we’ll quickly reach the submarine support we need to turn back the Specter and the Wraith. We’ve coordinated with our Iranian contacts, and all is ready. We hear the helicopter off the port quarter. Get ready to shoot straight, overwhelm it, and fulfill the greatest mission of your lives.”
The bulldog nodded his final approval.
“That’s all. Stand by.”
“Well done, sir.”
“This is going to happen quickly. You should get downstairs before it starts.”
“I’m on my way, sir.” The bulldog headed towards the stairs.
“Aren’t you going to argue? I know I ordered you the lead the group if I fall, but it’s not like you to leave me standing alone in danger without a protest.”
The sergeant stopped. “Sir, I…”
“Don’t bother explaining. I saw the rifle staged under the forward hatch. I know you’re heading topside.”
“I meant no offense by disobeying you, but you know I can’t avoid a good fight.”
“Shoot straight, and come back in one piece.”
“I will, sir.” The sergeant left the bridge.
The colonel waited thirty seconds for him to grab his weapon, and then he queried his crew. “All stations report in order, starting aft at the railgun and moving forward, starting port then to starboard.”
The loudspeaker issued a sequence of voices.
“Railgun ready.”
“Aft Stinger team and rifle ready.”
“Forward Stinger team and rifle ready.”
“Aft starboard rifle ready.”
The sergeant’s voice carried the final report. “Forward starboard rifle ready.”
The colonel gave his multifaceted order to his submarine commander and his shooters. “Surface the ship. Shoot all weapons.”
The black hemisphere around him receded, and as opaque sheets pooled over the dome, he pressed night optics to his face.
Scanning the low sky behind the Goliath, he saw the hovering helicopter.
Then he heard the port railgun’s crack and celebrated aloud. “Excellent! It works!” Though poised to strike the exposed port engine room, the helicopter swerved. “It must be a hit.”
A technician from the weapons bay confirmed his leader’s hopes. “It’s a hit! At least we think it is. There’s no smoke or visible signs of damage.”
“You’re too close to miss. Keep firing.”
Before the railgun spat its errant second round, the helicopter veered behind the Goliath. With its rapid cut across the water, the aircraft challenged the riflemen to adapt. Then a strong wave pitched the ship, delaying the Stingers.
When the missiles flew, they both followed flairs into the void behind the helicopter and splashed.
Scanning the port hull, the colonel saw his forward Stinger soldier on his stomach, half in the ship and half out, reaching for his dropped launcher. The fully exposed rifleman who stood beside him helped grab the missile.
His aft missile man faced a similar challenge recovering from his shifting perch on the ladder leading to his hatch.
When the Stingers and railgun recommenced their attacks, the seas shook the ship again, and their target was a shrinking spec in a dark sky.
The colonel looked to his display and tapped an icon sending his voice to external loudspeakers. “Excellent job, men! The helicopter’s still flying, but it’s going in the right direction. All riflemen head below. Stinger teams remain on your ladders with your missiles ready.”
A technician spoke over the loudspeaker. “Ready to start the port gas turbine, sir.”
“Start the port gas turbine.”
The colonel heard the accelerating and loud whine reach the bridge.
“The port gas turbine is ready, sir.”
“Make flank speed on the port propeller.”
As the dome heaved, the colonel looked aft to verify his men had returned inside the starboard hull, but his bulldog appeared far away, bent over the flooded engine room. “I believe I ordered everyone back inside.”