The reply came back…
“Two Ferran & Cardini tech officers and one CIA station officer will be with us in approximately three and a half hours from Bergen in Sweden. They’re being flown up by helicopter; we are to deploy one of our mini-predator jet boats to meet them on the Finnish coast. They recommend that we sit tight and do nothing — merely to report any change in our status.”
Taylor nodded, deep in thought — and then he started to pace across the bridge.
The ship’s perimeter scanners and monitors remained dark, still and without life; this was not helping when you had started to believe the enemy to be invisible.
The Sea Predator received the Mini Predator jet boat back into its huge labyrinthine hull. Winches whirred, and within a few seconds the outer doors were watertight, ramps engaged and one uniformed woman and two civilian-suited men walked down the ramp towards Commander John Taylor.
“I believe you have a problem, Commander, said the tall, blondhaired female. She had cold blue eyes and high cheekbones that highlighted her incredible beauty. She looked at Taylor, assessing the legend that stood before her, as they shook hands. “Major Deborah Armstrong at your disposal, Commander. I have a master’s degree in marine engineering and my expertise is covert marine surveillance and tracking systems. I was part of the design team that invented the stealth torpedoes and I’m currently working with the CIA.”
Taylor nodded. “Your reputation precedes you, Major Armstrong.”
“Thank you, Commander. But in these emergency situations
— my reputation is of little consequence. Let me introduce to you, from Ferran & Cardini, Simon St Vincent, weapon’s expert, and Tim Greenwood, who has an incredibly detailed working knowledge of warships utilised by most world governments.”
Formalities were speedily dispensed with, and Taylor led the trio straight to the bridge.
“We have all the data from the ship’s computer system for the last twelve hours, as sent via the upload link at Langley. This shows that no malfunction occurred, at any time, with any of the torpedoe’s systems. It also confirms that no data survived — at all, about any ships or other craft within one-hundred miles of them. At the time of their termination, not one scanner showed anything out of the ordinary?”
Taylor nodded.
Deborah Armstrong seated herself in front of one of the monitor screens, and began to type; she merged with the ship’s computers and for a few moments all was silent as data flashed across the main screen located at the centre of the bridge. Eventually, she clasped her hands together, as if she were about to prey, eyes distant. “Gentlemen. I think we are in extreme danger.”
“You’ve found something, Major?”
Armstrong nodded. “It was hidden within the data flow; you did receive the reports back from the torpedoes, but they were scrambled so that the Sea Predator’s computers would not recognise the codes.”
“What destroyed the torpedoes?” Asked Taylor slowly.
“I don’t know. But they were tracking an extremely large ship, is that correct? Much larger than your run-of-the-mill container ship.”
“Yes.”
“But now it’s tracking you, Commander. And it is closing fast.”
“That’s nonsense. How is it possible to track a stealth ship?”
“I think it’s obvious, Commander. You are up against a much superior vessel with far superior systems.”
“Weapons?” Asked Taylor.
“Oh yes. You’re going to need every weapon you’ve got, Commander.”
The Sea Predator’s twin hulls cut through the dark waters of the Barents Sea with ease. Turbines roared, all need for stealth thrown off as the sleek craft surged forward towards the protection of the nearest Finnish naval base. A distance of three hundred and sixty-seven nautical miles.
As the stealth ship increased its speed, so it increased the heat signature in its stern; nose raised, it powered through the water, cloaked only by darkness. Something thumped against the starboard side hull and then another a moment later. On Deborah Armstrong’s instruction they slowed their speed and she analysed the boat’s perimeter scanners, calling for Greenwood’s assistance in quickly disassembling the data. She looked up at Taylor, who was standing off to her left, and said, “The hull sensors are confirming that we haven’t hit anything sinister, like a mine. That it was much more likely to be some sort of floating debris.”
Suddenly, a siren sounded and a constant flow of data started flashing across all the screens on the bridge simultaneously; Taylor moved forward to the main control console as his second in command looked round and informed him that they were being tracked. A moment later the radar operator shouted in a panicked voice, “They’ve locked on to us, Commander.”
Taylor snapped; “That’s impossible.” And then immediately gave his crew a string of commands. The Sea Predator was fitted with the latest anti-detection systems, and a state-of-the-art predictive combat analysis programme. The Sea Predator was supposed to be completely hidden from its enemy — the enemy was not supposed to be able to see the stealth boat — at all.
“Arm and lock-on the Venom IV missiles!” snapped Armstrong as the bridge exploded with activity. Every man and woman present knew their jobs and knew them well; this was what they had been trained for — and now they all knew what they had to do and were doing it well. “There it is,” snapped Taylor.
Suddenly the ship uncloaked itself from out of nowhere, it was directly in their path and had them firmly locked in its sights; it had caught them by surprise in its trap with every exit covered.
The stealth ship rocked with the explosion, a scream of steel and a rumbling like distant thunder. The whole boat started to judder, vibrating, and Taylor looked helplessly across the bridge at Deborah Armstrong as it dawned on them that there was a strong possibility that they were going to sink.
“The missile hit us amidships.” Taylor’s face was ashen white as he met the stare of the crew present on the bridge. Armstrong was screaming orders at the seamen, who were carrying out her directives without question or hesitation. They knew what she wanted and understood the urgency required of them. The implications of ending up in open water and being gunned down was plainly written across their faces, which were bleached with shock and horror, at this terrible thought.
Every man and woman on the bridge stared at the monitors in disbelief and horror as some form of advanced self-drilling missile had penetrated the supposedly unsinkable multi-compartment hull, and then had started to gouge its way through inch thick plating, wreaking havoc and allowing ice cold water to flood in to the starboard hull. The stealth boat, as yet, had not launched its own lethal payload of missiles. Armstrong consulted the data stream on the monitor, assessed the best possible course of action and then told Taylor. “I suggest you access and authorise every missile we have on board to launch immediately, Commander. We do not have the luxury of time on our side — but — we do now know where the enemy ship is. I have already loaded the command sequence.”
“Thank you, Major.”
“Arm all of the missiles, and then sound the alarm to abandon ship Lieutenant.” Taylor picked up the mike to address the crew, “Attention. This is Commander Taylor. In a moment you will hear the alarm to abandon ship. I want every member of crew to make sure they are armed before leaving Sea Predator. Good luck and may God be with you.”