She worked on her chart, pulling up the touch screen calculator. “Three two eight sir, speed twenty knots.”
“Thanks, come to bearing three two eight, speed twenty knots.”
“Let me know when we’re five miles from them.”
USS Stonewall Jackson cruised on beneath the azure South China Sea.
“Sir, we’re five miles from them, under their track,” said Kaminski.
“Slow to six knots, come to bearing one four zero. Flood forward one. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Down bubble fifteen.”
The boat sank deeper and deeper into the depths. Outside was a cold crushing wall of pressure. He looked at the depth gauge; 650 feet, 950 feet, 1,100, 1,450 feet. The steel hull groaned, it seemed to start aft and move forward.
1,500 feet.
“Slowly vent one forward, one third fill.” Nathan was slowing her descent.
At 1,600 feet, the hull protested again with a forbidding low groan.
“Slowly vent one forward, one two third fill.”
1,700 feet. The hull connected with the seabed and came to a stop and the crew hung on as the force pushed them forward as the boat came to a stop. She settled on the seabed at 1,750 feet.
“Keep a good ear out Benson, I want to know when they’re three quarters of a mile from us.”
“Aye sir.”
Benson was one of the few with a job to do during those tense minutes. Nikki revised he possible plot. It checked out, but she started again. The weapons officer hung his head and waited. The room hung thick with tension. In the unlikely event of one of the Destroyers emitting an active sonar ping, the boat would look like a rocky outcrop or a sunken wreck on the Ocean floor.
“Sir they’re coming up on three quarters of a mile.”
“Speed?”
“They’re making 15 knots.”
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft. Up bubble fifteen degrees. Speed 18 knots.”
The boat left her resting place and rose, invisible, in a cloud of billowing silt, heading upwards under the passing ships.
Nathan glanced at the depth gauge, 260 feet.
“Open and trim vents fore and aft. Half fill. Up bubble ten degrees.”
“Aye sir.”
“What’s the heading to the cargo ship?”
“One three seven, range point six miles, sir.”
“Come to one three seven, speed eighteen knots.”
“One three seven, eighteen aye sir.”
“Position of the two Destroyers?”
One port, one point one miles. One starboard point nine miles.”
Over twenty minutes, Stonewall Jackson moved into a position well astern of the ship.
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft two thirds, make your depth 50, come to. What’s the bearing, CPO Benson?”
“One three four sir.”
“One three four degrees.”
“Depth 50, one three four aye sir.”
“Countdown the range, Benson.”
“Point four miles sir.”
USS Stonewall Jackson closed on the cargo ship.
“One point two miles.”
Nathan was tempted to go up and take a snap through the periscope, but he resisted the urge.
“Three hundred yards. Revs dropping, she’s slowed.”
“Open and trim vents fore and aft, down bubble twenty. Speed nine knots.”
Would that be enough? He imagined the ship’s prop smashing into the hull.
It had to be. Nathan waited, gripping the Conn’s rail.
“Increase revs,” there was a wait, “range?”
“Eighty yards.”
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft one, up bubble ten. Ease off on the revs. Range?” asked Nathan.
“Eighteen yards.”
“Make your depth thirty.”
Nathanraised the periscope and looked into the monitor. It was where he wanted it, raised, but still below the surface. He selected live view mode.
“We’re too close sir,” said Benson.
Nathan held his hand up but remained looking at the periscope view on the monitor. Stonewall Jackson moved up close behind the ship’s stern. Long seconds later he said, “There she blows. Ease off on the revs.” There was a pause. “Not so much, increase speed slightly.” He waited for several seconds, “ease off slightly, slowly now. There, that’s it. Ease off the revs a tiny bit. Take a look at this monitor CPO Benson.”
Benson took his headphones off and went around to the Conn. He looked at the image and stared in shock. “Fuck me sideways.”
The spinning prop of the huge ship was just five metres away. USS Stonewall Jackson had under-hulled the cargo vessel. She could ride, undetected, shielded by the noise from the ship’s prop. She had her free pass to Mischief Reef. The crew above would be totally unaware that the very thing they dreaded, 4,000 tons of hostile submarine, was just a few feet below them.
“XO, CAN YOU DO A SPELL at the Conn?”
“Yes sir.”
It was hard work keeping station just behind a spinning prop.
Nathan sneaked a look at her, the ponytail bouncing around her shoulders as she worked. He tried hard not to, but had to look again. Those eyes, wow. Stop it, you damn fool.
“Kaminski, what does the guessing box tell you about our position?”
He referred to the backup inertial navigation system, accurate if recently updated, but the accuracy dropped off over time.
“It has us south east of Mischief Reef, but it’s been a while since an update. We have turned east then north so we must be on the way in. Sir.”
“CPO Benson?”
“Sir, echoes from the ship's props are indicating a shallowing sea. I’d say less than 100, but that’s a wild assed guess.” He’d give it another few minutes.
A few minutes later.
“That’s it, ease back on the revs,” he watched the monitor as the prop disappeared. He kept an eye on the speed; when it was three knots he’d risk it.
The speed bled off. They were still at periscope depth. He set the controls for a pop up and 360 scan. The scope raised its eye above the surface, panned around and slid back beneath the surface. It was visible for just six seconds.
“Take a download of the 360, Kaminski.”
Nikki worked for a minute. The cargo ship and its escorting Destroyers converged. They were heading for an entry channel into the lagoon.
“Ok sir, I’ve a satellite fix and, comparing that with building and radome heights, we’re just about point six of a mile to the entrance to the Reef. Our target is bearing three four eight degrees; range two miles.”
“Steer three four eight, maintain periscope depth, speed seven knots.” Nathan turned to the XO. “Larry, go and tell Innes and Alves to get ready. We’re two hours from Infil.”
Fifteen minutes later he set up the periscope for a sweep from zero to seventy degrees. The scope broke surface did a quick seventy-degree scan and retracted below and out of sight.
He was headed for a narrow channel into the lagoon; this was where the communication cables lay. Surveillance satellite records of the bases had picked up their position during construction.
Nathan would wait for darkness.
“COME TO THIRTY DEGREES, speed three knots.”
“Thirty at three Aye Sir.” After five minutes, Nathan set the periscope up for a sweep from zero to forty five degrees scan. He looked at the monitor, it was now in night vision mode.
“All stop. XO, you have the Conn.”
Nathan walked back to the main companionway. Innes and Alves stood wearing diving suits and full rebreathers, and a bug lay on the deck wrapped in some kind of bag. Two seamen stood ready to assist.
“All set, men?”
“Aye sir,” replied Innes. Alves nodded.
“You’re about one hundred yards from the entrance. The bearing to datum one is six three degrees.” They both set their compass bezels to the bearing.