“Coming to six two feet,” said the diving officer of the watch.
The periscope cleared the water. The running lights on the coastal patrol craft made it easy for Jewell to find the small boat. He pushed the button under his right hand, switching the periscope to infrared.
The Algerian coastal patrol craft became instantly visible to the American submarine, the heat from its engine overpowering the coastal heat sources. On the bow several Algerian sailors were hand-loading the single shot cannon.
“Captain, we have a firing solution,” the XO announced from his battle station as the fire control coordinator.
“XO, the shore bombardment by this vessel is being directed against our Navy SEAL team. I see what I strongly believe to be them on the hillside,” the captain said, knowing the infrared system was ineffective with a heat source like the patrol craft between Albany and the beach.
“XO, take a look and give me your assessment,” Jewell continued, in a loud voice so everyone could hear.
The XO put his sound-powered phones down, and worked his way through the press of flesh jammed into the control room until he reached the periscope.
They exchanged a wink. Bending down, the husky executive officer viewed the craft through the periscope for nearly two seconds.
The XO looked up. Their eyes met. “Captain, I concur. I count a minimum of eight heat sources on the hill,” the XO said in a loud voice.
Everyone in the control room would remember this exchange between the captain and his executive officer and, later, report it nearly verbatim to the investigating board.
“Captain, I recommend we take defensive actions to protect our forces ashore.”
“Sir, he just fired again!” the sonar operator reported.
“Officer of the deck, note the XO’s concurrence in the log. XO, return to your battle station.” He touched the XO’s shoulder as their eyes locked for a moment. Then the taller man wormed his way back through the mass of humanity.
“Make tubes one and two ready in all respects. Shallow draft target, minimum enable. Tube one is the primary tube. Tube two is the backup,” Jewell ordered.
“Roger. Captain,” the weapons officer replied.
Across from the XO’s battle station the weapons officer leaned over the firing panel operator. While the captain and XO had gone through their transparent charade, he’d used the time to confirm the torpedo room was ready.
“Firing point procedures,” Jewell announced as his impatience grew to get a torpedo in the water.
“Ship ready, Captain,” the officer of the deck reported.
“Weapons ready!” followed the weapons officer.
“Solution ready!” the XO reported, wrapping up the checkoff sequence.
Jewell took a deep breath and let it out. “Final bearing and shoot. Up scope.”
Jewell looked into the periscope. “Bearing … Mark.” he said as he pressed the button on the periscope, electronically correcting the firing solution.
“Set,” replied the XO.
“Shoot!” shouted the weapons officer into his mouthpiece.
The sailor on the weapons control panel turned the firing key. “Tube one fired electrically! Tube two ready!”
The submarine shuddered slightly as the torpedo exited the boat.
“Down scope,” ordered Jewel!.
Jewell shut his eyes and counted. This would be the first time since World War II that an American submarine had used a torpedo to sink a surface ship in an act of war.
“Weapon has enabled,” said the weapons control coordinator.
“Conn, sonar, weapon speeding up!” announced the sonar operator. The torpedo had locked on target and was speeding for the kill.
Silence descended in the control room as every man willed the torpedo onto its target.
“He’s just fired again. Captain.” the sonar operator said, breaking the tense silence. Jewell watched. The sonar operator took off his headset as the display from the torpedo and the target merged.
Two seconds later the submarine shook as the torpedo blew up beneath the keel of the Algerian patrol craft. The explosion split the small boat into two halves. A shower of splinters and flesh skyrocketed into the air.
“Up periscope,” Jewell commanded. He grabbed the eyepiece and handles before they were waist high. Directly ahead, the flaming remains of a bow and stern touched each other like a man bent backward until his spine cracks and his heels touch the back of his head. The small patrol boat sunk in seconds as Jewell watched.
A cheer erupted in the control room. Several looked away to hide wet eyes.
“That’s enough,” Jewell said. “We still have the SEALs out there. Down scope.”
Jewell stepped away from the instrument as it slid belowdecks. “EW, keep a good lookout. Sonar, you, too. OOD, you have the conn, come to course zero one zero and keep her pointing that way in case we have to make a quick exit.”
The XO left his position and joined the captain near the center of the control room. “What now. Captain?”
Jewell looked at his watch. “It’s three ten. We’ll wait thirty minutes and if they’re not here, then we go to plan B.”
“Plan B?”
“Yeah, we go look for Kilos until tomorrow midnight when we’ll return. That is, if the entire Algerian Navy isn’t overrunning this area by then.” “Sir,” the XO said. “Good shooting.”
“Yeah,” Jewell replied. “Now comes the best part.”
“What’s that?”
“The second-guessing by Washington.”
Jewel picked up the microphone for the ship’s announcing system. “This is the captain. We have just sunk an unidentified ship that was firing on the SEALs we sent ashore earlier. Well done to all of you. We are going to remain at battle stations while we wait in this area to recover the returning SEAL team. Once again, well done.”
He hung up the microphone. “XO, we need to let Sixth Fleet know what’s happened. The rest of you keep a keen eye on your sensors.
“Up scope. Stand by with the infrared signal light on the scope.” He wiped his sweaty palms on his khakis. There was an overriding urge to head for deeper water. His stomach felt queasy. He knew Duncan and his team wouldn’t be waiting. By now, they had probably gone to ground. Regardless, in the fog of combat the SEALs’ only alternative was for the Albany to follow the plan as closely as possible. Jewell had no way of knowing that his passengers were ten kilometers inland and heading deeper into Algeria as the Albany waited.
CHAPTER 7
The periscope of the Algerian Kilo submarine Ai Nasser slid into the well beneath the control room. Hydraulic fluid leakage around the mast dripped onto the deck, the sweet smell clashing with the unwashed scent of 120 sailors. Captain Ibn Al Jamal stared blankly at several sailors, who turned away, refusing to acknowledge his gaze. Eight thousand meters away the Nassau battle group steamed, as it had for the past twenty-four hours. Throughout that time the Algerian Kilo-class hunter-killer submarine had shadowed the Americans without even a tiny hint that they knew it was there — a credit to the Algerian crew’s training.
His last futile attempt, two hours ago, to reach Algiers Naval Headquarters remained unanswered. He navigated at the edge of the American forces with no clear-cut orders, other than the ones issued seven days ago.
He wiped his palms. Out here, two American attack submarines patrolled. Submarines much more capable than the diesel he commanded.
Despite his efforts, the two nuclear submarines remained unlocated. At least one of them had to be here. It would be a tactical failure to leave the American battle group undefended. But the captain was wrong.
Neither of the American submarines was with the bailie group. The USS Miami was enroute to rescue the survivors of the USS Gearing, and the USS Albany loitered near the Algerian coast waiting for the second rendezvous attempt with the SEALs.