“Tube one at action state,” Rakash reported, now wearing his first officer hat. “Two thousand meters to firing point.”
“Very well.” Jain was watching the time and distance carefully, but launching the weapon was only the next step in a continuing process. Actually, he was already thinking about the turn, which would be just a little to the right. That would take them toward the northern exit from the channel, another five miles ahead.
“Confirm the settings,” Jain ordered.
Kirit, the combat system officer, reported, “Turn to zero zero zero degrees, due north, for seventeen nautical miles, one waypoint with a turn to zero three two, then five point two miles. Constant depth of fifteen meters until the dive at the end.”
Jain followed along on the chart as the combat system officer read off the torpedo’s ordered course. It was all correct. The weapon could actually swim as far as twenty-seven nautical miles, and could turn more than once, but once was enough for this port. Not only did the torpedo’s long range shorten the time he had to spend in a hostile location, but the harbor shallowed rapidly to the north, with depths of much less than thirty meters. Twenty meters was average, in some spots less than that. The torpedo could operate freely at fifteen meters, but Chakra would need wheels to stay submerged in water that shallow, if she could do it at all.
Jain walked over to the torpedo control console. Kirit had selected “Arming Code” on his display, and the cursor hovered over an empty box. A new keypad, part of Chakra’s modifications, sat on the upper left corner of the console, and Jain looked at the card he’d taken out of his shirt pocket. He slowly punched in the eight-digit code on the keypad, checking each number as he entered it, and as he typed the last digit, the numbers changed from white to red, and were then replaced with “Armed.”
“Firing point in one minute.”
Jain ordered, “Open bow cap on tube one.” Operating the mechanism that opened the outer tube door would make some noise for a short time, called a “transient.” In open water he might worry about a hostile sub hearing it, but in the bedlam of a harbor it was just one more hammer in a boiler factory.
“Bow cap open on tube number one,” Kirit reported. “Standing by.”
Jain watched Rakash, and Rakash watched the clock and the chart display. Jain could see him counting down, and the first officer said, “Fifteen seconds,” and then, “Firing point.”
“Firing sequence, tube one.”
“Firing sequence tube one, aye,” Kirit responded, then announced, “Torpedo is away.”
Jain was ready. “Close bow cap on tube one, starboard fifteen, steady on new course zero three seven.” He watched Rakash as he gave the order. The first officer nodded, confirming that the preplanned course was still good.
Five miles to the exit. He was tempted to increase speed, like a thief leaving the scene of a crime, but a wise thief would know to walk, and not run, lest he draw attention to himself.
Once they were steadied on their new course, and clear of any traffic using the northern part of the channel, Jain picked up the microphone for the general announcing system. “Attention, all hands, this is the Captain. You have all performed your different duties extremely well, without asking questions. That doesn’t mean you don’t have questions, and I can now tell you that our mission is to strike deep at the heart of Pakistan’s patron and supplier, China. We have just launched a single torpedo which, about twenty minutes from now, will reach the heart of Hong Kong’s Victoria Harbor and dive down, burying itself in the mud at the base of Stonecutters Bridge. In eight days, at exactly noon, the nuclear warhead the torpedo carries will detonate, destroying the heart of one of China’s largest ports.
“We have four more such weapons, and will visit four more ports before we leave Chinese waters. We will be well out to sea by April twenty-third, when all five torpedoes explode at the same moment, crippling our old enemy and signaling the start of a new surprise offensive by our ground and air forces in Pakistan. Without the Chinese to prop them up, the Paks will turn tail and their lines will crumble. By the time we return home, China will be in ruins and the war will be over, with the Pakistanis in front of us on their knees!”
He hadn’t intended to put that much emotion into the speech, but the thought of an end to not just the current war, but the decades-long struggle with Pakistan, had fired his mind since Vice Admiral Dhankhar had given him his orders. He’d do his utmost to knock out the supports that had kept Pakistan fighting long after she should have given up.
Besides, he must have struck the right tone, because while the crewmen in the central post were quiet, he could hear cheering coming from the fore and aft passageways.
Although reaching the firing point and launching the weapon was a major accomplishment, the reality was anticlimactic. There was no explosion, and would not be for several days, thank goodness. For all the excitement, they could have just as easily delivered a gallon of milk. He took some comfort in the fact that there were now only four nuclear weapons aboard his boat, instead of five.
Although the northern part of the Lema Channel was also divided into two lanes, there was considerably less traffic here, and it was a much shorter run, just five and a half miles to the turn point past Dangan Island on the southeast side. The greatest hazard was still navigational, and while they’d had to be careful around several submerged wrecks in the channel on the way in, the northern passage was littered with them, which might explain the lighter traffic. The biggest problem were three wrecks spaced like the posts of a picket fence, roughly one mile apart across the six-mile-wide exit. They were too deep for a merchant ship to worry about, but they lay square in his path.
Forty-five minutes after they had turned, and in accordance with the plan they’d worked out long before entering the harbor, Jain said, “Energize the Arfa sonar.”
The Arfa was the exact opposite of Chakra’s main Skat-3 search sonar, which was a big, low-frequency set that lined the sub’s flanks and filled the bow. Arfa was much smaller, and fit on the front of the sub’s sail. It also operated at a much higher frequency, well above human hearing. While it couldn’t see more than a couple of miles or so out in front of the sub, it gave a clear image on the display, not quite an underwater camera but good enough to make out what was in front of them. Its earliest ancestors had guided submarines through minefields in World War II, and it could locate mines or obstructions, like wrecks, in a sub’s path.
Although it sent out an active high-frequency ping, high-frequency sound didn’t go as far as lower frequencies. An active pulse from the Skat-3 sonar transducer would carry dozens of miles. The Arfa’s signal would weaken quickly. Besides, he wasn’t going to leave it on all the time.
“No sign of obstructions,” Rakash reported, or rather confirmed. Jain could see for himself that the Arfa’s display was clear. “Recommend cease transmissions, next transmission in ten minutes.”
“Very well,” Jain acknowledged. They’d be fifteen hundred meters farther along, with a good chance of spotting the wrecks. He was beginning to feel impatient. His mind was already out past Dangan Island, wondering again if there was any way to shave more time off the trip to the next port.