“About what?”
“I was thinking that your hydraulic support rams could sustain loads in both directions, but that’s not a logical conclusion. Your drag forces are always in the same direction despite whatever way your cargo’s facing.”
The Australian’s eyes glanced at some display off screen, returned to the laptop, and narrowed. “I’m getting ready to surface and kick off a battle. If you’ve got a brilliant suggestion, now’s the time. And yeah, the rams are mounted to handle drag in both directions. Pierre wanted this ship to handle reverse bells with cargo.”
“Then why don’t I power us out of here at high speed, still submerged? You keep making your best speed of thirteen, and the net stress on your rams shouldn’t be any worse than it is now. It’ll just be in the other direction while I pull you along faster than you can go on your own.”
Cahill’s eyes grew big. “God forgive me for being too stupid to think of that meself. Do it. Do it now. Accelerate slowly and let me watch the stresses. We’ll go as fast as we can based upon whatever limit we hit first.”
Causey yelled to his phone-talker. “To maneuvering… No. Never mind. They won’t believe you.” He pulled a handset from its cradle. “Maneuvering, this is the captain.”
The engineer officer responded. “Captain, this is maneuvering.”
“How long do you need to answer a forward bell?”
“I kept the propulsion train warn, just in case you needed it. That includes forward bells. I’m ready.”
“Great work. Now, trust me. I’ll explain later. Make turns, and I mean forward turns, for eighteen knots.”
“Make turns for eighteen knots, aye, sir.”
A vibrant hum rose behind Causey, and the world trembled. “How are you doing, Mister Cahill?”
“So far, so good. We’re making fifteen and a half knots. The stresses are small. Give us a big push, will you?”
Causey clicked his handset. “Maneuvering, captain. Make turns for twenty-five knots.”
“Make turns for twenty-five knots, aye, sir.”
The hum’s pitch rose, and the trembling increased.
Cahill seemed calm. “We’re making twenty-one and a quarter knots. The worst ram’s still only at seventy percent of its redline. Nothing else on the ship’s breaking yet. Push it a bit harder.”
“Maneuvering, captain. Increase your rated turns throttle setting one knot every five seconds to thirty knots or until I say ‘stop’.”
“I’m increasing my rated turns throttle setting one knot per five seconds to thirty knots or until you say ‘stop’. Making turns for twenty-six knots… twenty-seven knots… twenty-eight knots.”
Cahill interrupted the acceleration. “That’s it!”
The Indiana’s commander shouted. “Stop!”
“I’ve ceased my acceleration, sir. We’re making turns for twenty-eight point four knots.”
Causey saw the Goliath’s commander glancing off screen. “How’s it look, Mister Cahill?”
“Not bad. We’re making twenty-three knots. Shit, it’s been forever since I’ve gone this fast underwater, and never under a glass dome. If we hold this speed, we’re going to get away from… shit.”
“What’s wrong?
“From Pierre, the Iranian shooter’s steered the torpedo to an updated intercept course.”
“How does he know? Mister Slate’s sprinting too fast to hear it.”
Cahill scoffed. “He didn’t say, but it’s got to be either the California or the Wraith listening for us.”
“What’s the verdict?”
The Australian aimed his eyes off screen. “Tight. Tighter than a gnat’s ass, but the torpedo should run out of gas seven hundred yards behind us.”
Causey’s stomach churned acid. “That’s tight.”
The Goliath’s commander faced the screen. “If it comes within half a mile, I’ll take us to the surface and make sure we get away.”
“And face the helo swarm?”
“Yeah. I’d rather do that than have Jake eat a torpedo.”
“Shit! You need to let him know about our new speed. He has no idea. He still thinks he has to sacrifice himself.”
“Bloody hell. Liam, get a communications buoy ready.”
While the Australians hurried to broadcast the new plan, Causey reviewed the updated scenario. Factoring in thirty seconds to get the news to the Specter, he feared the sacrifice’s fate.
The redirected torpedo would strike Jake Slate in two minutes.
CHAPTER 20
Crouched beside Henri, Jake lowered his voice. “I need to share an idea with you.”
Apparently disliking his commander’s tone, the Frenchman grunted. “Go ahead.”
“We need to switch places. You, the captain. Me, the French mechanic who’s going to keep his mouth shut after the Iranians take us into custody.”
Henri raised his eyebrows. “You’re certain we’ll be taken? Even with the United States Navy only five miles away?”
“We’re a warship in Iranian waters. So, don’t count on the cavalry. Shit, we are the cavalry, and we’re taking one for the team.”
“I think you just mixed metaphors, but I understand.”
Though Jake hoped the Persians would show restraint, a nagging inner voice told him he’d find incarceration with torturers and killers. “Commander Martin and I need to hide our links to the United States — me especially. If the Iranians have intelligence on me, they’d figure out…” Flashbacks played through his mind of sinking a Trident missile submarine and being declared a dead hero despite being an escaped traitor. “They might turn me into a political bargaining chip.”
A shadow cut across the Frenchman’s face. “They’ll interview every man, captain or not. I’m sure they’ll be thorough.”
“But if I’m just a mechanic… shit, no offense.”
A forgiving smile spread across Henri’s face. “None taken.”
“If I’m just a mechanic, I’ll get a fraction of the grilling.”
“Your pronunciation will still be poor.”
Jake had predicted the protest. “Not if I stick to small phrases and act scared. Listen.” He switched to French and rattled off rapid expressions. “I’m scared. Don’t hurt me. I don’t know. It’s just a job. I work for the money. I want to go home.”
Henri raised his eyebrows. “Not bad. A non-native speaker may be fooled. Your ploy may work, but I don’t suppose anyone else could handle the job of pretending to be you. Perhaps Claude?”
Knowing the commanding officer bore the greatest burden of a captive crew, Jake pursed his lips to hide his shame. “Are you trying to help me decide, or are you trying to wiggle out of it?”
“Wiggle out of it.”
“Can you picture Claude explaining our tactical decisions? Whoever’s pretending to be our captain will have to tell them something about our mission, or else he’ll just piss them off. Claude’s blind and deaf about anything forward of the engine room, and he’d beg for mercy if they deprive him of cigarettes for twenty minutes.”
Henri straightened his back. “I’ll do it, but only because nobody else can. You’ll stay by my side, though? I would welcome your advice.”
“Yeah. Of course. And Commander Martin will be a sonar technician. I already talked to Antoine about it.”
“If I survive this, remind me to berate Antoine for going along with your ploy to put a target on my back.”
The torpedo alarm chimed, and Jake sprang to the nearest free console. The frequency of the active seeker matched his expectations of the Iranian inventory, and the bearing equaled that of the weapon he sought to intercept. He silenced the alarm. “That’s the hostile torpedo, right where it should be. Antoine, watch for it to switch to range-gating.”