Twenty seconds alter, the sonar room reported a large contact two miles beyond the destroyer.
“What is it?” asked Captain Varja.
“Unknown,” was the answer. “Large, very large.”
“Direct our course for it,” Balin told Varja.
“The destroyer is changing course. They’re heading for us.”
“Target the largest contact,” said Balin.
“It is a good day,” said Varja.
“Yes,” said Balin.
Aboard Dreamland Osprey
1616
“We have a destroyer bearing down on the marker,” Iowa copilot told Danny over the Dreamland circuit.
“Yeah, we got him on long-distance radar,” Danny replied. “We’re still a good five minutes away.”
“I have the raft,” said Zen. “Somebody’s in it. One person.”
“Understood,” replied Danny. “How close is the destroyer?”
“Two hundred yards. Shit,” yelled Zen. “They’re firing at them!”
Aboard Shiva in the South China Sea
1620
The first depth charge exploded well off the port side. The second and third were even farther. As the sub shook ever so slightly form the fourth, the sonar room reported the large contact was slowing, probably to turn. It was now less than two and a half miles away.
“Is it the carrier,” answered Varja.
“Prepare to fire.”
The submarine rocked with a fresh explosion. The lights blinked off; it took a second for the systems and the crew to recover.
“We have severe damage—we’ve lost control of the diving planes,” said Varja as the reports came in. “Ballast tanks blown—we’re surfacing.”
“Keep us down.”
“We’re trying, Admiral.”
Varja said nothing else, but it was obvious what he meant to tell the admiral—they were no longer in position to fire. The ASW weapons had jammed the hydroplanes upward and mangled the controls on the ballast tanks, robbing them of their ability to maneuver below the water. “Surface,” said Balin, accepting the inevitable. “Then we will fire.”
Aboard the Dreamland Osprey
1622
“Hey, Captain! Navy’s found something south of us,” reported the Osprey crew chief as Danny and Bison hunkered by the door. “The helo that was coming north for this raft, backing us up—they just spotted some wreckage. They think they may have a body.”
“A body or a person?” asked Danny.
“They said body, sir. They’re checking it out. They want to know if we need them, or if they can concentrate on that.”
“Yeah, release ’em,” shouted Danny. “What about the Hornets?”
“Inbound.”
“Chinese answer the hails?”
“No, don’t worry. The F/A-18’s’ll nail the bastards.”
Danny didn’t answer. They were still a good two minutes off; he couldn’t see the Chinese ships from where he was standing.
Bastards—he’d strangle each one of them personally.
Bison looked at him across the doorway. If the Chinese were shooting at unarmed men in a raft, they’d sure as hell fire at the Osprey. But there was no way he was stopping now.
Bastards!
Aboard Iowa
1624
If the Hornets didn’t take out the destroyers, Zen decided, he’d crash the stinking UMB into it. Let them court-martial him—shit, he’d willingly spend the rest of his life in Leavenworth or wherever the hell they sent him.
Might just as well now. Breanna didn’t love him.
God, Bree.
Picture, new picture.
The gun on the side of the destroyer fired again. As it did, the sea exploded beyond it.
Bastards couldn’t hit the side of a barn, thank God.
The fact that they were terrible shots wasn’t going to get them off. Bastards. What the hell kind of people were they?
Picture, new picture.
A ridge erupted in the sea at the far end of his screen, behind the destroyer.