“I think you’re oversimplifying this a bit.”
“Maybe I am, but not my next point. When you start pitting aircraft against aircraft, people get scared. They can see the battle. It’s not out there on the distant ocean anymore. It’s over their heads, Someone will videotape it. And they’re right to be afraid. An aircraft can be over their houses in a matter of minutes, dropping bombs, launching missiles, or strafing.”
“We can launch missiles from ships and submarines, too.” As Jake launched his counterpoint, the thought of the Goliath’s destruction weighed upon him. A moment of introspection revealed a desire forming within him — an excuse to quit Renard’s fleet. If the heavyweight warhead destroyed the cargo ship, his French boss would have to end it all — evidenced by his tenacity to retrieve the flagship when militants had stolen it three months earlier. He hated himself for the selfish thought while his brethren faced their possible deaths.
“I agree, Mister Slate, because you’re a hundred percent right, but civilians don’t think that way. While this remains an undersea battle, it’s safe from their perspective. If we involve surface ships, shooting guns and missiles, we let merchant ships and a few beach dwellers see it. But aircraft? No way. We can’t invade their air. It would be too scary and too real for the Iranian people and for our politicians. I’m afraid that our friends aren’t getting any help from above.”
Jake glanced again at the chart and noticed a Burke-class destroyer racing towards the Goliath-Indiana tandem. “What about the Laboon? Shouldn’t control of the sky be academic at this point with a Burke out there? Doesn’t that get us around the argument of killer jets in the sky scaring the masses?”
The rider shook his head. “Check your radar horizon.”
Obliging, Jake studied the distance between the destroyer and his colleagues. “Shit. I see your point. It’s close enough to matter but too far away to light up the helicopters.”
“My assumption’s that the Laboon’s keeping the helicopters below fifty feet. The Sea Cobras don’t care about that, but it makes it hard for the Sea Kings to raise and lower their sonars, which slows them down to winch operations. It explains why the Sea Kings aren’t able to get good enough targeting for dropping weapons.”
Jake recalled similar limitations having helped Cahill in prior missions. Each commander in his mercenary fleet appreciated air cover against anti-submarine helicopters. “So, it’s just a matter of time. A destroyer at flank speed… eventually the helos won’t be able to hide at any altitude.”
The commander shrugged. “Hide from the Laboon’s radar, agreed. They’ll be painted bright like a Christmas tree. But that doesn’t mean they’ll back down. I expect you’ll see some increased military activity from the Iranians’ army and air forces when the Laboon gets close enough to press the issue.”
“Seriously? Who in their right mind would take on a Burke?”
“Don’t kid yourself, Mister Slate. The Iranians have enough anti-ship missiles, attack aircraft, and shore-based launchers to give us fits. They know our strength, and they know how to counter it. If the Laboon gets aggressive, so will the Iranians, and even a Burke can be overwhelmed if its missile launchers are emptied. There’s a lot to be said about homefield advantage.”
Again, Jake checked the chart. “Shit. It doesn’t matter anyway. The Laboon’s not getting close enough before the torpedo hits.”
“If Mister Cahill stays submerged, agreed. Unfortunately, like we just discussed, he can’t surface.”
“No. Not without changing the rules of engagement.” Jake wondered if the Americans would really sacrifice a submarine and its crew to avoid unbounded military escalation.
“I know Mister Cahill’s ship can fight an air battle on its own, but it’d take only two Sea Cobras to overwhelm him, and Renard said ‘gunships’, meaning at least two. Even without the Laboon, he’d be in trouble. I’m sure the Iranians did their homework, and if it came down to Mister Cahill on his own against them, they’d stay out of his Phalanx range and take their chances dodging his railguns. That’d give them plenty of chances to unload their magazines.”
“I get it. He’s screwed. They’re all screwed.”
“Can I talk to you in private?”
Jake followed the rider to his captain’s console on the elevated conning platform. “What’s going on?”
The Texas drawl turned ominous. “If Mister Cahill can’t evade this torpedo, Mister Renard will order him to dump the Indiana back onto the seafloor and sacrifice the Goliath to the torpedo.”
Wanting to be surprised, the Specter’s commander found himself digesting the news as a foregone conclusion. He expected Cahill would obey the order and withdraw his crew to one hull while showing the torpedo his other hull. But against a heavyweight warhead, Jake worried. “And then what? We’d be back to square one with the Indiana stranded, except that the Iranians would know exactly where it is this time.”
“At that point, we shift gears and negotiate.”
Frustrated, Jake snorted. “Seems like you guys could’ve done that from the start without sacrificing Terry. You could’ve done that without making me and Dmitry risk our lives and our crews, too.”
The drawl became placating. “Look, I’m just the messenger. These calls are made at levels so high it’d make your nose bleed.”
“I’m sick of…” Jake’s mind wandered towards the tactical geometry, and he glanced at the nearest display.
“I understand, Mister Slate. I don’t like it either, but hindsight’s twenty-twenty. We had to make the effort to pull out the Indiana.”
“Yeah… we did.” As Jake’s mind drifted from the conversation to tactics, he tasted a new idea, chewed on it, and spat it out for its bitterness.
“Mister Slate?”
“I’m thinking.” Regaining momentum, the idea returned into Jake’s mind with tenacity, and after a brief resistance, he accepted it. He trotted to the central table and planned it. “Henri, all ahead flank, come left to course two-two-five.”
“Jake?”
“You heard me.”
“Indeed, I did. Coming to all ahead flank, course two-two-five.”
The deck rumbled and rolled with the turn.
“Get a communications buoy to Pierre with our new course and speed and with instructions for Terry to come to course one-zero-zero. Zero delay.”
Hesitating, Henri seemed to digest the meaning before responding in a solemn tone. “I’m entering our course and speed and a recommendation for Terry to come to course one-zero-zero. Zero delay.” He raced his fingers across keys. “The buoy’s ready.”
“Launch it.”
The French mechanic tapped a key. “The communications buoy is launched with zero delay.”
Anxious, the rider masked his drawl with the rapid speech of worry. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Jake beckoned him to the chart. “Come here.”
The American obeyed but complained as he reached the table. “You can’t have the Goliath change course that much. That’s making it too easy for the torpedo to catch it.”
“The torpedo’s not catching the Goliath, and it’s not catching the Indiana. It’s catching us.”