His thin frame crouched and leaning against a bulkhead, Senior Chief Spencer spoke into a headset connected to the rightmost laptop. “Sorry, sir? What was that?”
The burly lieutenant repeated himself. “Has the external team reported in since we were loaded?”
“Hold on, guys. I need to brief the lieutenant and the captain.” Standing, the tall diver flipped his boom microphone to his ear. “They said the air line to the aftermost ballast tank of the forward group is pinched by the Goliath’s cargo bed. The other one’s fine, though, still filling the middle tank.”
Causey interrupted the divers. “So, that’s it for the aftermost tank of the forward group?”
The senior chief shrugged. “Yes, sir. We got all the air into it we could before getting aboard the Goliath.”
“Understood. We were up against a time limit on that tank, but we can stuff all the garbage bags we want into the forward compartment to help make up for it.”
“As long as you don’t mind sitting here waiting to be found, sir. I could speed things up and send the external team inside to help the guys with the garbage bags, but then you’d have no idea when the middle tank fills up.”
Causey liked the idea of gaining buoyancy faster, but he hated the possibility of bubbles shooting from the ballast tank if it became dry while unwatched. “You’re right, senior chief. That would speed things up, but keep it the way it is. We need to be patient. Which reminds me, Lieutenant Hansen and I just realized that we didn’t account for the expanding gas in the bags when we go shallow. They could pop.”
With a twinkle in his eye, the senior chief gave a wry smile. “We did, me and the dive team. It’s already accounted for. They’re eyeballing them to about one-third full. That should be good enough if we go shallow. Some of them may pop if we surface, but heck, we’d be surfaced, and so what?”
Causey grunted. “Good thinking. At least it wasn’t a collective brain fart.”
“And they’re still pressing up against the overhead, but anchored so they don’t drift aft.”
“Great work, senior chief.”
The Australian’s enthusiastic voice rose from the central laptop. “Gents, no need to discuss it further. I’ve got you right where I want you.”
As silence stifled the discussion, the Indiana’s commander stared at his savior. “How do you know?”
A smile spread across Cahill’s face. “I felt optimistic and gave it a go. The presses are holding you, and I’ve rotated you backwards half a degree. Are you blokes ready to go for broke?”
The Indiana’s commander knew his ship was as ready as time had allowed. “Let’s do it. Get us to a level deck and get us out of here.”
“Here we go.”
From the rover’s overhead perspective, Causey watched the cargo ship rotate his submarine backwards with graceful control. As the deck leveled below his feet, a warm optimism filled him.
Then the world shook.
Cahill scowled. “Bloody hell.”
As Causey staggered, he heard metal groaning and wailing. He regained his footing and met the stare of the senior chief. Both men shared a moment of despair.
They’d somehow become unstable and had announced their location to the known universe.
Causey yelled into the laptop. “What’s going on?”
While righting the ships, the Australian ignored him.
“Talk to me, Mister Cahill.”
“Sorry, mate. I almost lost you there, but I’ve still got you. The presses held. Barely.”
“Did the mud crumble or something?”
“Or something. Liam’s checking on it now, but I think part of that ravine’s edge caved under the weight.” A chagrined look consumed the Australian’s face. “Was that as loud as I fear?”
Causey’s stomach sank. “Yeah. It was bad.”
The Australian narrowed his eyes. “Cut the air hose to your ballast tank and get your divers back in there. I’m putting you on an up angle to hold you while we move, and I’m getting you out of here. Now.”
CHAPTER 17
Jazani dreamt.
A rumor of an attempt by the Revolutionary Guards’ Navy, the maritime guerilla force defending the Persian Gulf, to procure a mercenary vessel with long-range railguns stirred his subconscious mind.
Was it true?
His dreaming brain rendered faceless shapes holding a debate within a black void, questioning if his countrymen had recently attempted to steal the Goliath.
If so, was the intent to intimidate the Americans, to threaten their fleet across the narrow strait?
Or was it part of something incursive — a plan of attack against chosen targets in the Fifth Fleet’s home in Bahrain?
A shadowy voice of reason answered. No, not even the gutsy maritime guerilla force would strike the United States without provocation. Hadn’t they returned the captured American boat crews in 2016, quickly and unharmed? Wasn’t their leadership astute in the game of diplomacy?
But they had the moxie to attempt a grand theft, and a faceless voice said they had paid thieves to procure the Goliath as a muscle to be flexed for American awe.
However, the thieves had failed.
Within his dream, Jazani wondered if he himself had enabled sufficient intimidation by supporting the trap that had placed a lightweight torpedo on an American submarine.
Had the torpedo succeeded, or was he hunting a ghost?
A ghost ship. A spectral submarine.
Was he hunting pure hope?
An image of a Virginia-class vessel appeared but mocked him with its blurry blackness. In a waterless sea, it dodged an incoming lightweight weapon and then grew a humanoid mouth, which broke into a sardonic grin.
The American submarine spoke to him in English, but he understood. “How many times do you expect David to defeat Goliath? Once in human history is enough. You can’t beat the United States of America.”
The frightened dreamer responded. “We found your robot.”
Maintaining its moving lips, the submarine mocked him. “You did not. Dolphins did. Lucky. You can’t control your waters based upon luck.”
“But I—”
“But nothing. You have delusions of grandeur while your reality is failure. Failure to damage me, failure of your fellow Ghadir-class commanders to escape mercenary torpedoes, failure of your guerilla forces to capture the Goliath.”
The Goliath. The mercenary catamaran with a cargo bed and railguns. A machine of far-reaching power menacing the waters of his homeland and his mind.
In his sleeping visions, the American submarine melted, and the deadly mercenary catamaran sped towards him. Impossibly sucking air into its powerful turbine engines while immersed in invisible water, it rotated vertically and aimed the leading edge of its cargo bed towards him like a sword.
Floating above himself, Jazani rose over Ghadir-957 as the Goliath bisected his vessel and left its severed halves tumbling to the seafloor.
Falling towards his doomed submarine, he sensed himself drowning as his awareness returned to his cramped quarters.
“Captain!”
Jazani blinked as the passageway’s light flowed over his executive officer’s back through the opened door.
“Sir?”
“What?”
“We found the Goliath.”
Wondering if he lingered within a dream, the Ghadir’s commander inhaled a deep breath and rubbed his eyes.
“Sir, I said that we found the Goliath.”
“Really? How?”