Nathan picked up the intercom and spoke quietly. “All hands. Hot datum on the Kilo. God rest our foes. Captain out.”
“Benson range to Tango four?”
“Two miles Sir.”
“Weps, recompute the solution on Tango four and launch tube six.”
“Sir” Long seconds later. “Solution laid in. Launch tube six. Good launch, fish running and hungry. Time to impact, two minutes fifteen seconds.”
Over a minute passed. “Sir, Tango four is diving. Fish running in, close now, close.” Nathan knew as a Littoral or coastal submarine, optimised for anti-shipping operations, the Ghadir class wouldn’t be a deep diving boat. Its countermeasures would be limited, if indeed there were any.
“Impact. Hot datum on Tango four.” The boat didn’t cheer. The USS Stonewall Jackson had a job to do, it intended to do it ruthlessly and efficiently.
Nathan took no pleasure in sinking the boats he faced. He knew it was all unnecessary, if the high command had the balls to give the order to sink the two Roll on Roll off vessels out at sea, then… Nathan shook his head.
“Nikki give us a course to follow the cargo ships into Bandar. Benson get your ears cleaned, we’ll get plenty of company in the Strait. Make for periscope depth Planesman. Get the mast up Comms. I’ve a message for the Pentagon.”
Chapter 16
“What’s our position Lieutenant?”
“Sir, we are twenty miles south of Qeshm Island, thirty miles from Bandar Abbas,” said Kaminski.
“Ahead two thirds.”
“Sir.” Benson raised his arms and placed his hands on his head. “Holy Mother… Sir, we have multiple subsurface contacts ahead and to starboard, they’re heading south.”
“Where are they? How many?”
“Where are they? They’re everywhere. How many? A Goddamn shoal of them. There’s no obvious direction, they look to be searching. I’d say they’re…hold…the library is now confirming it. They’re Ghadir class, with a few others mixed in. Range from twelve to eight miles. It’s submarine city out there Sir.”
Lemineux raised his hand. “We have a communication in Sir, can we stream the buoy?”
“Yes, stream the buoy and pull down what you’ve got.”
Benson turned to him with a furrowed brow and concern in his eyes.
“We have a surface contact south of Qeshm Island, twelve miles away. Sir, it’s a Sahand class frigate, too far for his torpedoes, but he carries Agusta 212 Helicopters.
Nathan knew that the Iranians were pulling out the stops, there were just too many for him to handle. Only one thing for it.
“Weaps, Benson. Listen, I want you to work together and sink as many Iranian boats as you can. It’s your call, work together. I’ll get involved if needs be. Benson will line em up, Weaps you will sink em. I want a Qeshm Turkey shoot.”
Nathan stood his fists on Weap’s console.
“Before you do that Weaps, I have something I need you to do. Designate the Frigate as Tango one. Flood tube five and open outer doors. Compute a firing solution for a Harpoon missile. Fire when ready.”
“Sir.” Weaps got to work. “Harpoon ready in tube five, firing solution laid in on Tango one. Launch tube five.” The canister rose to the surface and its cap blew off. The missile was blown clear, its motor ignited, and the missile rose then dropped to twenty feet from the waves. The Harpoon raced in at five hundred and forty MPH and active radar homing led the missile to its target.
THE FRIGATE DETECTED the incoming missile and ejected chaff, thin metal strips to deflect it.
Too late, the missile dipped lower on final approach, four hundred and eighty eight pounds of high explosive and motor propellant slammed into the Sahand. Lieutenant Plazar, weapons officer aboard the Agusta 212 helicopter saw his ship struck. He knew two minutes earlier and it could have been him down there. It was time to hunt out the submarine who did this. Time for vengeance.
ABOARD THE JACKSON, Nathan heard the reports of the Harpoon’s launch.
“Weaps, go and sink some boats. Make General Jackson proud of you. Give them the Bayonet.”
“SIR,” SAID LIEUTENANT Commander Lemineux, “I’ve sent the communication to your console.”
“Thanks Comms.”
He sat back and listened to Benson and Weaps working down their target list.
“Tango three.”
“Launching tube two.”
“Hot datum.”
“Contact eight miles.”
“Launch tube four. Fish running.”
“Running in pinging.”
“Hot Datum. Tango five.”
“Designate contact as Tango three.”
The two of them methodically worked on their contacts, it wasn’t pretty he knew.
Nathan had to break off and read the communication, he shook his head and smiled.
“XO, come and take a look.”
PRIORITY RED
R 285655Z JUL 88 ZY10
DOD-OPS// ID D22953G22F//
TO STONEWALL JACKSON
PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//
NAVAL INTEL OPS/07
MSGID/DOD 447/7E62//
MSG BEGINS://
TARGET AUTHORISATION AG64N710NK. YOU ARE GO FOR TARGETING TWO ROLL-ON ROLL-OFF SHIPS YOU HAVE FOLLOWED. GOOD HUNTING, CNO N KAMOV USN.
MSG END//
“Benson. Where are the two cargo ships?” The sonar operator played with his console, the display changed.
“Sir, bearing four zero degrees, range six miles.”
“XO, we need to make sure, we’ll use fish, as many as it takes. I intend to get close. How are we with battery power?”
“We’ve enough for what you’re planning but we’ll need to top up in five or so hours.”
“Right rudder. Set course thirty degrees, all ahead full.”
It wasn’t long before the boat was within a mile of her quarry. “Make for periscope depth.”
“At periscope depth.” Nathan raised the photonic mast and viewed the scene on his monitor.
“Come left ten degrees.” He lowered the mast.
“Ten left Sir.”
He raised the mast again. “Weaps give me two MK 48 tubes.”
“Tubes five and six Sir.”
“Flood tube five, open outer doors.”
“You need a firing solution Sir.” Nathan smiled at him.
“No, I’m going to do a world war two visual engagement.”
ABOARD THE AGUSTA HELICOPTER the operator got a return. The sonabuoys had picked up a speeding submarine. He knew it wasn’t Iranian. That would be it. It was heading for the two cargo ships heading for Bandar Abbas. He armed the Chinese air dropped anti-submarine torpedo the Yu-7.
“Contact, submarine bearing four eight range three miles. Set intercept course. Let’s get him.”
IN THE CONTROL ROOM of USS Mason an Air warfare officer dressed in a white anti-flash hood looked into a radar screen and spoke into her microphone.
“Pussycat two, Mason Air. We have trade, one point seven miles west of Qeshm Island. Altitude five hundred feet, heading East.
Your vector is five degrees, weapon release in the green.”
Over the Gulf, an F/A18 Hornet broke right and dived to six thousand feet. It’s radar picked up a return.
“Mason Air. I have the contact. The weapons officer in the rear seat engaged an AMRAAM missile. Launch, launch go.” The missile dropped from its hardpoint and sped off into the blue.