“Huh. Pierre didn’t tell me about those.”
“Does he always tell you everything?”
“Good point. He’s a sneaky bastard, and I think he snuck a couple laser weapons onto this thing without telling me.”
“Makes sense,” Cahill said, “especially if you consider that this module’s purpose is to turn electricity into cheap weaponry.”
Jake glanced at the Philippine lieutenant to see if he could confirm his assumptions, but Sanchez shrugged and added what he could.
“I don’t know the full testing history of all the systems on this module, but I can confirm that those are Ground-Based Air-Defense laser weapons designed to attack air threats as fast as supersonic missiles. They use targeting information from the Phalanx close-in weapons systems, and they use energy from the railgun capacitors.”
“Awesome,” Jake said. “Keep going.”
The lieutenant appeared chuffed with Jake’s appreciation of his knowledge, and his voice climbed half and octave.
“The lasers and the Phalanx close-in weapon systems can extend beyond the module’s armor when deployed,” he said. “They can rotate and extend to either side of the module, depending on the axis of the incoming threats. Unlike the guns, they can remain extended outside the armor when the weapon subsection is lowered so they provide defense while the armor protects the module.”
Jake noticed the flexed robotic arms holding the lasers and the coiled power lines feeding them. A quick visual confirmed that each weapon could reach outside the pre-stressed concrete armor during combat.
“What about chaff?” he asked. “I thought I saw a couple canisters around the base of the RAMs.”
“You did, sir. And since the module obviously cannot maneuver to hide under it, the chaff can be launched into incoming winds, to allow the metal shards to float over the module and create a confusing cloud for terminal-homing radar systems.”
“Clever,” Jake said. “It’s a pretty solid air defense.”
“Solid, but not impregnable. No defense system is. For example, a squadron of bombing aircraft could saturate the defenses, but that’s where deterrence applies. It would be a suicide mission for many of the aviators.”
“And you also have no way to oppose submarines. Granted, the shoals would make it a tough torpedo shot, but submarines could get close and launch missiles, right? Submarines are the one thing the guns can’t attack.”
“Yes, sir,” Sanchez said. “A future phase of defense may include hydrophone fields in the shallow waters around the shoal. Then the anti-submarine rockets may be installed to deter submarines. But this is speculative at this point.”
After he led Jake down a ladder, the lieutenant rotated a handle, unlatched a lock, and pulled open the hatch. As air-conditioned coolness wafted over him, he looked down and saw a scene that reminded him of a submarine control room. Artificial lighting, stale air, and the whir of fans seemed familiar.
So too, did the silvery hair of the Frenchman who looked up at his arrival.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Renard said. “Enter and close the hatch above you.”
Within the command center, Jake discovered more elbow room than anticipated, although the compartment carved a small square within the outer armor’s larger rectangle.
Two enlisted Philippine sailors sat before consoles on one end, and their counterparts sat in front of similar electronics at the other end. A lone operations officer patrolled the space between the operators, looking over their shoulders and stopping to toggle views and glance at screens dedicated to his supervisory view.
Jake felt the ancient but poignant discomfort of being a newbie on a submarine — of being useless but consuming valuable square footage with his body mass.
“Gentlemen,” Renard said. “Over here.”
The Frenchman backed into a wall of consoles and gestured for his fellow observers to join him. As Sanchez, Cahill, and Jake crammed against the screens, Jake appreciated the room’s spaciousness. Then the hatch opened, and three senior uniformed Philippine officers descended into the compartment.
A naval captain nodded at the visitors with a grim, weathered face and then uttered a command to the module’s operations officer. The three evaluators then moved in front of Jake, limiting his view.
“Final inspection team?” Jake asked.
“Correct,” Renard said.
A cruel look from an inspector compelled Jake to lower his voice to a whisper.
“If this fails?” he asked. “Then everything has been in vain?”
“True,” Renard said. “But there’s no need for concern. I’ve witnessed the pretests. This final inspection is a mere formality.”
The test commenced without ceremony as the quiet click of a servo-valve resonated through Jakes shoes. He recognized the pneumatic-hydraulic system handling its load.
“They’re lowering the weapons subsection,” Renard said. “The test starts from the module’s non-alert state.”
“Hunkered down like an armadillo,” Jake said.
“Correct,” Renard said. “Except that contrary to common belief, most armadillos don’t retract their heads.”
A clunk announced the sealing of the armored boundary.
“The weaponry’s impressive,” Cahill said. “But where’s all the power coming from, and what’s the manning?”
Jake realized the Australian lacked access to the system diagrams that Renard had shown him. Given that electric power served as the heart of everything, he rendered a thorough answer.
“The whole module runs on direct current electricity.”
“Right. You need that for the railguns.”
“You need it for everything. This is a tightly knit weapons system. On the deck below us are the ammunition stores, then below that is the living quarters. One more deck below are two Rolls Royce gas turbines. They only run when they’re either charging the railgun capacitors during combat or recharging the batteries.”
As he finished speaking, he noticed most of the module’s crew curving around a bank of monitors, and then he heard their clanking footsteps as they descended stairs. He realized that the test he was observing evaluated both the equipment and the readiness of the people supporting it. The off-duty men had to simulate being rousted from their living area.
He surveyed the room and saw the senior enlisted sailor standing in the center and a sole junior enlisted man seated at a console, establishing what he concluded was the standard two-person watch section.
“Yeah, I noticed there weren’t any capacitors above — just a bunch of electric cables. They’re below as well?”
“Yes,” Jake said. “The capacitors are on the same level as the turbines. Then there’s what I’d call a half-deck, about six feet high, that houses the battery cells. It’s about what you’d see on a submarine.”
“I get it,” Cahill said. “Not nearly as much load as a submarine, but you need it all to run on battery power most of the time. Air conditioning, electronics, cooling water, radar systems.”
“It’s supposed to get early warning radar support from high-flying aircraft,” Jake said. “That’s the only way it can use its long-range gunning advantage. But when needed, it’s got its own radar, running on the battery.”
“What about fuel?”
“Everything below the battery cells is one big jet fuel tank.”
A red pulsating light spurred the two-man watch section into action. The senior enlisted man stepped forward to a supervisory console and tapped a button. Jake heard the servo-valve click that signaled the rise of the weapons subsection.