Hong Kong was a world-class deep-water port, but only for surface vessels. Thirty meters of water was more than enough for the largest supertanker, but Chakra needed eighteen meters just to submerge. Splitting the difference gave her only six meters over her sail and six between her keel and the bottom.
“Lieutenant Kota, report.” Jain tried to speak softly, to project the calmness he wished he felt.
“There are five ships ahead of us in the Lema Channel, three heading northeast ahead of us, the other two approaching on southwest courses. Closing speeds on both approaching vessels are ten knots. All contacts show appropriate bearing drift.”
Lieutenant Harish Kota, the usual navigator, had been assigned the sole task of tracking the heavy merchant traffic in the channel, using passive bearings from Chakra’s hull sonars.
“Drafts?” asked the captain.
“We’ve identified two, both container ships: Xin Ning Bo, nine meters, northeast at ten knots and Wanhai 317, eleven meters, southwest at ten knots. There’s also a small tanker, and two even smaller vessels, all doing about ten knots.”
That was the regulated speed in the channel, which was divided into two lanes, northeast toward the harbor and southwest toward the open sea. While it was theoretically possible to pass another ship in your lane in the channel, the authorities judged it unwise and required all vessels to maintain the same speed, as well as a healthy separation between each ship in the lane.
Jain was taking Chakra, submerged, up the two-thousand-meter-wide buffer between the inbound and outbound channels. Like a bicyclist pedaling on the median between opposing lanes of traffic, drifting too far to either side meant disaster.
But all he had to do was steer straight on course 055 degrees for eighteen and a half miles. At five knots, that would take almost four hours, but he didn’t dare go any faster or Chakra would leave a V-shaped wake on the surface, pointing like an arrow to his exact position. Merchant sailors were not the most observant lot, but Jain was sure that with all the traffic up there, somebody would ask embarrassing questions.
And that would be a problem. From this point on, he was committed to a four-hour run to the northeast, to the firing point in the center of the channel. If he was spotted, he could not maneuver or dive deep to evade pursuit. Speeding up would be pointless.
“First Officer, keep us biased toward the outbound channel. It’s the inbound channel I worry about.”
“Only if they don’t stay in the channel, sir.”
“Exactly my concern. A merchant traveling at ten knots and us at five knots, and blind in our stern arc, with no way to see him coming? Do you trust civilian navigators to stay in the lane?”
“No, sir!”
Jain turned to Kota, working at the next console. “And any time there’s a sizable gap in the outbound traffic, tell the first officer and me so we can slide Chakra over even farther to the left.”
Jain saw the Russian Orlav enter the central post from forward. He waited for the captain to turn away from the chart table before reporting. “Prefiring checks are complete, Captain. The weapon is loaded in tube number one, as ordered.” His navy reflexes had kicked in. He might as well have been one of the crew.
“Very well,” Jain remarked automatically. He turned to look at Rakash, who without prompting reported, “Sixteen and a half miles, three hours and twenty minutes.”
“Very well.” Jain nodded, then asked Orlav, “Where is Kirichenko?” He didn’t bother with the Russian’s title. He might have been an admiral once, but he wasn’t anymore, as far as Jain was concerned.
“In our stateroom,” Orlav answered.
“Poring over maps, no doubt,” Jain said, laughing. Orlav frowned at his tone, but said nothing.
Theoretically, Orlav didn’t need to make any checks, but if there was a problem that prevented the torpedo from working as intended, he wouldn’t get paid. The two Russians had actually finished their assembly work two days ago. In addition to installing the last two torpedo warheads, they had reset the timers on all five weapons to April 23, since they were leaving two weeks earlier than Operation Vajra had originally planned.
Kirichenko had complained nonstop about the lack of proper lighting, the lack of enough tools, and especially the cramped working conditions, but they had to work in the torpedo room. In addition to the five special weapons, Chakra carried thirty-three UGST-type torpedoes — a full load. Dhankhar had made sure that if they had to fight their way in or out, they had the wherewithal to do it.
So, although it had taken longer than expected, they had still finished with time to spare. The moment Jain had inspected their work, and announced that he was satisfied, Kirichenko turned over the code cards and asked for the money Dhankhar had promised them.
“Is there somewhere you plan to spend it?” Jain asked. He was smiling at the man’s foolishness, even while he was repelled by the Russian’s greed. Kirichenko started to protest, but Jain cut him off. “You will get your money as was agreed, once we are away and the weapons have exploded. As promised, we will then put you two off in rubber rafts with your money.”
Knowing that there was nothing else to be done, Kirichenko had asked for a nautical chart and a port directory. Since then, he had appeared only for meals, which he ate silently, brooding.
Orlav had been more cooperative, or maybe Kirichenko wasn’t the best company and he preferred the companionship of the crew. He’d borrowed a pair of coveralls and proceeded to thoroughly check over the firing circuits and all the other modifications that had been made.
“Sonar contact close aboard, starboard side aft!” The urgency of Kota’s report almost made everyone glance over their shoulder. It was only a moment later that they actually heard a thrum-thrum-thrum through the hull.
“Bearing rate!” Jain demanded, which Kota acknowledged with a quick nod as he looked at the Omnibus display.
The navigator-turned-contact-coordinator held out a hand for a moment, then reported “Rapid left,” meaning that the ship which had suddenly emerged from their blind arc aft was passing down their starboard side, as it was supposed to, and was not in danger of ramming into the submerged submarine.
Kota reported, “Contact evaluated as a medium-sized tanker.”
“You could have fooled me,” Jain replied, smiling.
Most of the crewmen in the central post laughed, and Jain with them.
“Let me guess: speed ten knots, headed northwest.”
Kota nodded agreement.
“Tell the sonar operator well done.”
There were five more overtakes in the next three hours, each as sudden as the first, and just as terrifying, until it could be confirmed that their bearing drift showed that they were passing along the sub’s starboard side as they headed into port.
If the bearing had stayed constant, and knowing that the ship was likely five knots faster than his boat, Jain would have ordered a sudden zig out of the way. The problem was that ten-thousand-ton submarines didn’t zig quickly. He’d actually had to consider the size of Chakra’s turning circle at five knots, which was huge, as well as the width of Lema Channel, which was not all that roomy. It would be a desperate, risky maneuver, but better than being ground down into the bottom under a merchant’s keel.
Orlav had gone forward to the torpedo room. There was nothing else for him to do there, but it seemed the best place for him to wait.
“Firing point in six minutes,” the first officer reported.
Jain acknowledged the report. He wouldn’t use the periscope. They didn’t need periscope bearings to launch the torpedo, not unless Stonecutters Bridge had shifted its position. The massive suspension bridge linking Stonecutters Island to southern Hong Kong was his aim point, and they couldn’t see it anyway, not at twenty-plus miles away and with Lamma Island blocking the line of sight. Besides, the surface traffic was insane. He’d be lucky if someone only spotted the scope head, and didn’t run him over.