The pilot breathed out, a little more shakily than he would have liked. That had been too close. He looked into the mirror. Now far behind him, the two surviving North Korean boats were curving away, heading southeast.
“Tell the O’Brien that she’s gonna have company in a few minutes. Those NKs look like they plan to go head-to-head.” Then he clicked the intercom to speak to the whole crew. “Okay, guys, that was fun. But now let’s get back to doing what they pay us for — killing subs.”
A faint cheer echoed his words. Submarines didn’t shoot back.
Levi wheeled toward his tactical action officer. “Light ’em up. Signal Duncan weapons free!”
The response was immediate. “Two small surface contacts! Bearing three five one. Range eighteen point four miles!”
At the same time, Levi could hear one of this ratings yelling, “ESM report! Strong Square Tie radar emissions, bearing three five one!”
“Fire four Harpoons! Two at each contact.”
Four missiles roared away from one of the ship’s two Mark 141 launchers.
“Five radar contacts, Comrade Captain. Two medium-sized, bearing one seven one, range twenty-nine point five kilometers. Two large and one medium-sized, bearing one six nine, range thirty-five kilometers.”
Sohn smiled. He’d been right. He’d found the American convoy. “Inform all units of the position, course, and speed of the enemy.”
“Missile alert! Four missiles fired at us from the lead group of enemy vessels!”
Sohn slapped a hand on the bridge railing, making his officers jump. “Very well! Those must be the enemy escorts. If we sink them, our submariner comrades will find it easy to deal with the merchant tubs left afloat.” He looked at the chubby weapons officer. The man’s face was wet — though whether from salt spray or fear-induced perspiration was beyond Sohn’s ability to guess. “Fire our own missiles at the lead enemy vessel. Avenger will fire at the other.”
The man turned to obey, and Sohn and all the rest ducked away as the Revolution’s four SS-N-2C Styx missiles thundered out of their enclosed launchers and sped toward the as-yet-unseen American ships, trailing tongues of fire and choking thick white clouds of missile exhaust.
The radar operator’s voice squeaked into a falsetto that would have been comical under other circumstances. “Missiles inbound! I count… seven, eight small, high-speed contacts!”
Levi stayed calm. He’d already calculated the odds. “Warn Duncan. We’ll engage when the inbounds are within range.”
The situation he and his ships confronted showed the need for close teamwork. As a Perry-class frigate, the Duncan didn’t carry the destroyer’s big five-inch guns or an ASROC launcher. On the other hand, its Standard SAM missiles far outranged the Sea Sparrows on the O’Brien. Essentially, Levi knew, his destroyer was the escort’s sword. And Duncan was his shield.
He stood watching the CIC’s display screens, listening to the chatter from the men around him as the opposing missiles sped toward their respective targets. For the moment he was as much a bystander as if he’d never taken a Navy commission. This battle was in the hands of the computers and the men who served them.
He watched as six Standards raced out from the Duncan toward the first group of four North Korean missiles. The rival groups merged in just thirty seconds, and three of the Styx missiles disappeared — blown out of the sky. The fourth kept coming. Two more Standards reached out and intercepted it while it was still more than ten miles from the O’Brien. Four others met the second wave of Styx missiles and drowned two of them. The two survivors made it to within seven miles before they were shot down by the destroyer’s own Sea Sparrows.
At the same time, O’Brien’s four Harpoons skimmed the waves on their way toward the NK Osas. Aware of the threat, the two North Korean boats turned and fled north, jinking wildly from side to side in a vain attempt to shake off the pair of American missiles pursuing each of them. Their close defense weapons missed, and Levi kept his eyes on the radar plot as the Harpoons struck, annihilating their targets in a series of blinding explosions. All the screen showed was a sudden absence of any blips. But sixty North Korean sailors were dead.
Levi heard the collective sigh of relief from his CIC crew and felt the tension draining away from all around him. Some of that was good, but too much relaxation on their part would be bad. He brought them back on guard with a rapid series of orders. “Signal the convoy to resume normal steaming positions, course, and speed. Mr. Keegan?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Slow to twelve knots and take us back to the front of the convoy.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Satisfied that his men were back in hand and paying attention to their duties, Levi allowed himself his own slight smile of relief.
The action had taken just over two minutes.
“Sonar reports multiple explosions bearing three four three, Comrade Captain.”
The North Korean captain’s pockmarked face looked up at the interruption. He’d been jotting down notes for his next political lecture. The captain had never been a particularly agile public orator, and he found it difficult to speak coherently, especially when using the standard Party jargon. As a result, he often found himself trying to cram additional preparation time in whenever he could — even while his submarine was busy hunting an enemy convoy.
“Explosions? Any other noise — propellers, sonars, that sort of thing?”
“No, Comrade Captain. Just the explosions.”
The captain grunted, unsurprised that his sonar operators hadn’t heard anything more. In these confined waters the Romeo-class submarine’s Feniks passive sonar was lucky to pick up any kind of sound within five kilometers.
“Very well. I’ll come forward.”
With a stifled groan he stood up from his narrow writing desk and waddled forward to the Control Room. His chief officers were all there waiting for him. He fixed his eyes on the senior lieutenant. “Anything more to report?”
“No, Comrade Captain. There have been no further explosions or other sonar contacts.”
“I see. Well, let’s take a look at what’s going on. Raise the periscope.”
The captain waited for the scope to come all the way up out of its housing before stooping to stare through the eyepieces. Something in Admiral Yi’s plain fare had given him a severe case of indigestion — indigestion that made sharp movement painful. “Nothing there.”
He started to spin the scope through a full circle. After all, he might as well check the whole horizon while he was at it.…
“So I said, ‘Sorry, babe, I’m fresh out of quarters.’ Man, you should have seen the look in that bimbo’s eyes. Talk about pissed off…” Hotel Three’s pilot broke off as he saw something strange off the helicopter’s port side. “Holy God! That’s a mothafuckin’ periscope!”
The SH-2F Sea Sprite dipped and spun round to face the long, thin cylindrical object sticking six inches above the sea. Sunlight sparkled off the lens. There couldn’t be any doubt that it was a periscope.