“New launch transients!” Remy said.
“A weapon?”
“No. Something smaller. I think it’s a three-inch launcher.”
“Damn,” Jake said. “That’s a cool captain. He’s sending a doomsday message to let the Royal Navy know the details of his death before he goes down.”
Jake flexed every muscle in his torso to stifle any rising emotions that would betray his mission.
“Torpedo is range gating!” Kang said.
“We’ve got them,” Jake said. “The trap was perfect!”
“Impact in twenty seconds!” Kang said.
“Launch transients!” Remy said. “It’s a third weapon from the Ambush.”
“To the east?”
“Yes, vaguely. It’s so hard to tell, Jake.”
“I know. I assume this one’s a vengeance shot against the Santa Cruz. I hope its captain is paying attention.”
“Not a concern,” Remy said. “Santa Cruz is accelerating. With its distance, it should be safe.”
“Which way is the Ambush running?”
“Southeast. They think they’re trying to evade two torpedoes. That’s the best way for them to run.”
“Detonation imminent!” Kang said.
Jake braced himself for the fury of roaring ocean that he had been trained to anticipate but knew wouldn’t occur today. Today’s detonation would be miniscule. As he held his breath, the report from Remy rendered his solitary comprehension that his weapon’s warhead had exploded.
“Detonation has taken place,” Remy said. “Limpets deploying.”
“Count how many attach to its hull.”
“I’ll do my best, Jake. There will be a lot.”
“You’re recording this, right?”
“Yes,” Remy said. “Limpets are attaching.”
Jake pictured twenty-five buoyant limpets rising into the hull of the Ambush and attaching themselves with magnetic force.
“Limpets are going active,” Remy said. “At least half of them have attached. Maybe more.”
“Play it out loud in the compartment,” Jake said.
Remy flipped a switch, and the ocean’s haunting reverberations filled the control room. Amidst the natural sounds, clamping thuds and their ensuing electronic tweets rose in a chorus of ensnarement.
With the underbelly of the Ambush riddled with chirping parasites, the magnetic limpets announced the submarine’s presence to any nearby undersea warfare system.
If forced to stave off the Ambush, the Dragon would have an easy time of it, as would any Argentine warship, submarine, or anti-submarine aircraft.
Jake considered his mission complete and decided to evade before the commander of the Ambush attempted a desperate or bold retaliation.
“All ahead one-third,” he said. “Make turns for three knots.”
As a speed gauge revealed the Specter’s imperceptible crawl, stress drained from his shoulders. He stepped backwards and slumped into his captain’s chair.
“Cut the wires to drones one and two,” Jake said. “Keep the outer doors open.”
Henri acknowledged the order, and a glance at a monitor showing the tactical information of the Specter’s Subtics computer system confirmed his hope that the Ambush continued its retreat.
“Increase speed to five knots,” he said.
“Making turns for five knots, Jake,” Henri said. “Do you wish to close the outer doors yet?”
“No. I’ll risk the flow noise versus creating a mechanical sound of closing the doors. We’re far enough away that they won’t hear the flow noise, especially since they’re still cleaning the shit out of their pants. Don’t you agree, Antoine?”
A sideways glance to Remy, who crouched in attentive listening, alerted him to a new danger. The control room’s staff had been watching Jake for guidance on celebrating, but necks turned in unison and became a spectacle of a dozen muted men gawking at the frozen Frenchman.
Jake tiptoed to the senior Taiwanese sonar operator beside Remy, tapped his shoulder, and whispered.
“Do you hear anything?”
The man shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, and Jake resisted the urge to interrupt him. Then, after restricting himself to a series of shallow breaths, he heard the surprising news.
“Torpedo in the water,” Remy said. “Bearing one-two-eight. Minimal bearing rate, but it’s far enough away that I would expect the bearing rate to be small.”
“Shot at the Ambush?” Jake asked.
“Probably. It’s so far away I can only guess.”
“Guess, then,” Jake said. “If there’s nobody else out here, who else could it be?”
“It’s not the Santa Cruz. It has run safely to the northeast and evaded the Ambush’s third torpedo. But I agree, Jake. It must be targeted at the Ambush.”
Jake opened his mouth to ask a following question, but Remy raised a finger to hush him.
“The Ambush has zigged to the southwest,” Remy said. “That confirms my belief that the weapon did not come from the Santa Cruz. It’s running in a different direction, as if the weapon came from the east.”
The realization of possible foul play and clandestine objectives overcame Jake in a tide of tingling numbness. He crouched before Remy.
“Shit, Antoine.”
“What, Jake?” Remy asked.
“Are you getting any identifying features from that torpedo? Blade rate, number of blades, active search frequencies?”
“I’m getting it all, but it will be useless information until I can reconstruct the path of the torpedo. Torpedoes have multiple search frequencies, and the Doppler shift based upon its speed and direction will take time for me to narrow it down to what type of torpedo it might be. Perhaps hours.”
Jake stood and turned to the room’s central navigation plot.
“Henri, get a relief at your control station and join me here.”
Within seconds, the Frenchman leaned over the hard-coated liquid crystal display plotting table with concern in his face.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Watch,” Jake said.
He manipulated the course and speed of a symbol, turning it as if the captain of the vessel it represented had omniscient advanced knowledge of the attack that had just unfolded. When he finished, the symbol appeared at a distance from the Ambush equal to the edge of its torpedo range.
“Dear God,” Henri said.
“Hostile torpedo fuel is exhausted,” Remy said. “The Ambush has evaded.”
“How close was it, Antoine?” Jake asked. “I know you don’t know for sure yet, but give me your gut feel.”
“I think the crew of the Ambush will need to clean their underwear again, Jake.”
“That’s what I figured. Asshole!”
“Agreed,” Henri said. “Treachery. We must warn Renard.”
“Right,” Jake said. “Prepare a written message for his personal encrypted text letting him know what the hell just happened. Obviously, we’re not playing a fair game with our Argentine friends.”
“Shall we maintain five knots speed?”
“Yes,” Jake said.
“I assumed so,” Henri said.
Jake reduced his voice to a whisper.
“And no faster,” he said. “We now need to assume that we’re in the middle of something out of control and need to maintain our stealth. For all we know, someone has orders to find us and sink us.”