The bulldog straightened his back, turned around, and extended his arms for balance while walking. Then he disappeared into the open hatch and closed it behind him. Moments later, the sergeant’s voice crackled through the dome’s speakers. “Bridge, this is MESMA plant five. Over.”
“MESMA plant five, bridge. Go ahead. Over.”
“We can weld a patch over the damage above the engine room. Nothing pretty, mind you, but it’s mostly a big clean hole. Except for some scattered rounds, it’s a tight grouping.”
“We can’t recover the engine room. Not with salt water damage throughout it.”
“I know, sir. But we can recover the starboard gun at the very least. And who knows, maybe we can recover the starboard propeller. These motors look watertight to me.”
“What about manpower and equipment?”
“I can do it with one man helping, and there’s a welding kit in the engine room. You’ll have to pump the engine room dry for me to get to it, though.”
Envisioning the danger, the colonel hesitated to let his bulldog enter a deathtrap. “If I do that, you’ll be vulnerable to God knows how many electric shorts.”
“I’ll lay rubber mats and wear rubber boots and gloves.”
“I’m getting a second opinion.”
He brought the submarine commander into the conversation. “Control room, bridge. Over.”
“Bridge, control room. Over.”
“Is it possible to enable safe entry into the starboard engine room if I pump it dry?”
“I don’t like it. Even with the space isolated from the ship’s main battery, it’s dangerous. There’s enough stored energy in the backup batteries to kill several men.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I wouldn’t call it safe, but a man can survive with proper precautions and deliberate movement.”
The colonel looked to a new screen and worked through menus to the drain system. He opened a suction line to the engine room’s bilge and energized a centrifugal pump towards the sea. “I’m draining the engine room.”
The commander argued. “I’ll advise you on the safety precautions, but you have to consider the need to submerge again. There’s nothing I can do to assure the safety of men in a space that would be flooded upon diving.”
“Of course not. But now we can shoot back at whatever might attempt to drive us under.”
“Except the submarines, which we can no longer hear while we’re at twenty-four knots.”
“You could hear a torpedo coming though, could you not?”
“Not until active homing, which is too late.”
“Too late for what? We’re already running at maximum speed.”
“I would like options to maneuver, but I admit there aren’t many. Handling this hybrid destroyer-submarine still seems bizarre.”
“Bizarre, but turning back towards our favor.”
Before allowing a silent celebration, the colonel examined the rules of engagement from his adversary’s perspective.
Renard would still expect to regain his property, but his oozing arrogance would erode as the Goliath approached Iranian waters, fifty miles away, and his tolerance for risking attacks on the ship would grow.
The colonel wondered if the Frenchman would chance an Exocet anti-ship missile from the Specter or the Wraith if he outran the reach of the submarines’ less-than-lethal torpedoes.
Doing quick math, he calculated that he’d force Renard into that decision within an hour.
The commander’s voice returned his focus to shorter-term thoughts. “May I share our update with the Iranians?”
“Of course. Tell them everything.” Through night vision, the colonel watched the radio mast rise from the starboard stern.
“The translator’s talking now. May I also raise our navigation radar? It’s not locked out since it’s not tied to any weapon system.”
“What can it do for us?”
“It will tell us where nearby surface vessels are located.”
“I know that. I mean, what’s the value in that?”
“It gives us knowledge that creates options.”
The colonel grew weary of the generalities. “What options? Out with it.”
“If it comes to it, we may need to try to use a merchant vessel as a sacrificial anode for a hostile torpedo.”
“I see.”
“Or possibly we could temporarily hide among a group of ships. I won’t know all the possibilities until I examine the data.”
“Very well, use the radar.” Through the optics, he watched another pole rise from the Goliath’s starboard stern. At its top, a thin horizontal plate began rotating.
“The translator’s finished with the Iranians. They’re ready for us at any speed as long we hold our course.”
“Very well. What about radar?”
“I’m gathering data now.”
A tingle crept up the colonel’s spine as the silence endured. “What do you see?”
“Damn. Two combatants are chasing us.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re making thirty-eight knots and coming right for us.”
“How far away?”
“Ten and half miles. You might be able to see them on the horizon, but they’ll be small.”
From his low height, the colonel sought the intruder at his short horizon, but his eyes and mind struggled with the distance. “I can’t see them. Maybe. I’m not sure. Just tell me what this means to us tactically.”
“Given the speed, I’m assuming they’re Omani Province-class patrol boats. They hold a fourteen-knot speed advantage over us and will catch us in forty-five minutes.”
“Damn Renard and his abuse of wealth. How much did he promise to whom to rally these boats?”
“We’ve shot at Omani helicopters. We’re giving the Omanis enough intrinsic motivation against us.”
“But those patrol boats were sent after us hours ago. Can we shoot them with the railgun?”
“Unguided rounds with fractional muzzle velocity? Against ships that small and nimble? I doubt we’ll hit, but we might slow them by forcing them to dodge rounds.”
The railgun operator interjected. “I can see them, sir. I’m higher up than you. I may need a few shots to walk my rounds in, but I can aim at them.”
For their meddling, the colonel wanted to send away the Omanis. “Go ahead. Take your shots at the patrol craft. Fire the railgun at will.”
A plasma fireball lit the sky, and then another erupted ten seconds later. Lacking its locked-out charging circuit, the railgun worked at half speed.
Thinking himself immune to a counterstrike, the colonel cringed when the sea exploded one hundred meters in front of the dome. At the limit of their cannon’s range, the Omanis were showing confidence in their marksmanship. He moved to the forward consoles and yelled. “They’re shooting back!”
The commander sounded tense. “I know. It’s just a warning shot.”
“Are you willing to bet your life on that?”
“You said Renard doesn’t want to sink us.”
“This isn’t Renard. It’s the Omanis. Get us under!”
Assuming the Omanis were willing to send a crippling seventy-six-millimeter cannon round into his ship, the colonel sought submerged safety. With a quick tap of an icon and the barking of a command, he sent his commands inside and outside the hulls to bring the Stinger teams inside and close the hatches.
As opacity crept up the windows, he lamented his short-lived burst of surfaced speed, the new thirty-eight knot threats, and the abandoned hope of salvaging the second railgun.
CHAPTER 16
Jake looked over the Specter’s control room and singled out his sonar ace. “What’s the range now?”