Jake slid into a seat and tapped keys at the Subtics station with speed and competency that impressed Renard.
“Done.”
Henri stood by his preferred seat at the ship’s control station.
“You’re happy with course and speed?” he asked. “Do we not want to distance ourselves?”
“No,” Jake said. “If they know we’re here and intend to shoot us, we’re too close to flee. Any change in course or speed could produce noise that alerts or provokes them.”
“Wait,” Renard said. “That’s a sound analysis except for one factor.”
“Oh yeah,” Jake said. “What’s that?”
Renard saw the flush color in Jake’s face and neck.
“The possibility that the present crew of the Leviathan are such incompetent submarine operators that they are attempting to launch a weapon but are proving themselves incapable.”
“If that’s the case, then it doesn’t matter what we do,” Jake said.
“Unless, of course,” Renard said, “they are fast learners, learning from their mistakes as they go. If they are indeed trying to launch a weapon at us but failing in their attempt, I see the prudent course of action being to slow down and let the Zafar take them away from us.”
“Cut our engines and drift?”
“Exactly.”
Salem stood in the torpedo room with Asad, Hamdan, and a translator between the six spare reload weapons.
“You’re certain this is necessary?” he asked.
“We are certain of it, Hana,” Asad said. “There is no other way. Or if there is another way, we are unable to identify it in the manuals, but the torpedo hydraulic system seems incapable of supporting any other option.”
“And it is safe?”
“No,” Asad said. “No such operation is perfectly safe. But we have mitigated risks. It is you who must decide.”
“And decide carefully,” Hamdan said.
Salem noted that a perpetual cloud of doubt blanketed the Hamas soldier and that he was destined to dislike any choice he would make.
“I have told you my choice,” Salem said. “The Harpoon missiles are to be the primary weapons.”
“You understand the consequences?” Asad asked.
“Yes, and I’m willing to make the sacrifice, if it’s indeed a sacrifice at all. If we can learn to manage the reloading of weapons, we may end up having more weapons available when we need them. It could be a net gain in armament during the critical time of battle.”
“Okay, Hana,” Asad said. “I understand.”
“What are the risks?” Salem asked.
“That the weapon comes to life and considers us a target or otherwise accidentally detonates.”
“And how likely is this?”
“Highly unlikely. Torpedo designers have been mitigating this risk for decades.”
“Any other risks?” Salem asked.
“There will be seawater pressure in the torpedo tube,” Asad said, “which means that we will be testing the watertight integrity of the breech door for the first time. We have no choice but to trust the design and be thankful that we are testing the breech at a shallow depth if the design should fail.”
“It will hold,” Salem said. “The Germans make excellent submarines.”
“Another concern is that we will have to cut the guidance wire. If we fail, then the wire will prevent us from closing the muzzle and outer doors, but this is a simple mechanism.”
“So jettisoning a weapon is nontrivial, and it is an important learning experience for launching a weapon.”
“That’s correct, Hana.”
“Then let’s prove to ourselves we know how.”
“Are you ready?”
Asad glanced at a speed gauge showing the Leviathan’s speed at nine point seven knots.
“The Zafar has slowed us to less than ten knots,” he said. “We are ready.”
Minutes later, Hamdan was reaching for and twisting valves with the linguist on his tiptoes verifying each valve’s label behind him. Asad sat with Salem comparing the valves against a drawing in the manual of the torpedo tube system. They were beginning to recognize numbering systems in their ship’s foreign language.
Asad stood and studied the room’s monitor and control station that included sensors for torpedo tube status.
“The tube is flooded,” he said.
Asad twisted hydraulic valves that opened the muzzle door, indicated with a circular amber light, and then he slipped a sound-powered phone set over his ears. The unit’s cord caught Salem in the throat, and he lifted it over his head.
“Yousif is in the operations room and ready to jettison the weapon,” Asad said.
“We could do it from here if we so choose, right?”
“Yes, Hana. Is that what you wish?”
“No,” Salem said. “Let’s prove we can do it from our tactical center over the phone. Have him do it now.”
Salem heard a loud whine as high-pressure air pushed a slug of water from the impulse tank into the tube, thrusting the torpedo into the Atlantic Ocean.
“That’s it?” Salem asked.
“If Yousif programmed the weapon correctly, that’s all it takes, other than cutting the wire.”
“Should we do that now, or should we wait?”
“We should wait.”
“For what?”
“I’m not entirely sure, but I know that I would feel much better knowing that time has passed and we have gone a long distance from this spot. If we hear no high-speed screws on our sonar system for twenty minutes, perhaps then I will relax. Until then, I would like the cord connected in case we need to ask the torpedo to shut down.”
Salem walked to the operations room.
“Is it safe?” he asked.
“Yes, Hana,” Yousif said. “It was safe the moment it left the tube. The torpedo accepted the command that it was to remain dormant, flood its ballast compartments, and sink to the bottom.”
“We just can’t prove this other than trusting the torpedo itself from the information it gave you?”
“That’s correct. But it’s also a good sign that we don’t hear its screws. Without its screws, it cannot propel itself, and we are being pulled away from it.”
“The wire cannot drag it?”
“I imagine that’s possible but unlikely. Perhaps we should cut the wire to be sure.”
“Asad says to retain the wire to be sure. You say cut it to be sure. Such is my dilemma.”
On his return to the torpedo room, Salem stopped at the forward hatch and reached for his communication link to the Zafar.
“Hello, Zafar,” he said.
“Zafar here.”
Salem recognized the voice as that of the captain.
“We’re done. Please return to normal speed.”
“The weapon is gone then?”
“Yes.”
“I am accelerating to fourteen knots.”
Salem stepped forward and descended a ladder into the torpedo room.
“It’s been long enough,” he said. “Cut the wire.”
“Yes, Hana,” Asad said.
Asad pressed a button near the muzzle door.
“That’s it?” Salem asked.
“Yes, the wire is cut.”
Asad twisted small hydraulic valves, and a green light illuminated, indicating that the muzzle door had shut. He then repeated a similar sequence of twisting to open valves that drained the tube of its seawater.
“I’m ready to open the breech door,” he said.
“Do it,” Salem said.
The door opened, Salem snatched a flashlight from a bulkhead storage cradle and pointed it into the empty tube. Streams of moisture glistened within the metal cylinder, and the flat, round muzzle at the far end held the ocean at bay. He shut off the light and stepped back.