“What the hell?” he asked. “Are those aircraft or missiles?”
“No idea yet, but they’re at low altitude.”
“No matter,” Cahill said. “Let’s just dive under this mess and be done with it. Let me check with Jake, since it’s technically his mission.”
Slate’s electrified voice filled the bridge.
“I concur,” he said. “I’ve been listening. Get us underwater.”
A familiar French accent crackled over the loudspeaker.
“I recommend an alternate course of action,” Renard said.
“Great to hear from you, Pierre,” Cahill said. “I didn’t know you always listened so closely to our conversations.”
“Whenever I can spare the time.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but we need to keep this short.”
“Perhaps not,” Renard said. “The initial analysis is that those missiles to the east were launched by a submarine. There is no other possible launch asset. The ocean and air are empty to the east.”
“So the North Koreans are getting skilled at launching missiles from submarines, or they’re getting help from a friend,” Cahill said.
“Based upon the analysis of the weapons’ speeds, altitudes, and heat signatures, they appear to be Chinese CY-2 missiles.”
“Chinese? Exported to the North Koreans or launched by a Chinese submarine working against us?”
“I have no idea, but I assure you there’s a beehive of activity behind me trying to figure it out. But that’s not important now. What is important is that those CY-2 missiles might be carrying anti-submarine torpedoes as warheads.”
The realization struck Cahill like nails through his flesh.
“Damned if we submerge. Damned if we stay on the surface.”
“Right,” Renard said. “Our adversary has found the Goliath’s weakness and has exploited it. Mediocrity in air defense. Mediocrity in sustaining an underwater torpedo evasion sprint.”
Cahill’s mind raced for an ad hoc answer to the undesired problem but found nothing. The silence from the brilliant minds in the conversation confirmed his fear. Nobody knew what to do.
His situation had flip-flopped from dominating to dire.
CHAPTER 12
Inspiration struck Cahill.
“We turn towards the CY-2s and engage with our laser. We could knock them out of the sky before they drop their torpedoes. Then submerge under the Kh-35s.”
“It could work,” Jake said. “If you can pull off that gnat’s ass tight timing. But can you dump me off first? It would improve your maneuverability.”
“Negative. There’s too much friction on the support bed for me to just dump you. You’d be stuck if I tried to shake you or slide you off, and it would take too long to submerge and release you. I’m afraid you’re coming along for the ride.”
“I figured,” Jake said. “Fair enough. But don’t forget to use your cannons against the incoming CY-2s, too.”
“That’s like shooting a bullet with buckshot, mate.”
“He’s right, Terry,” Walker said. “There’s a chance of hitting, and we’ve nothing to lose except cheap rounds.”
The familiar French accent crackled over the loudspeaker.
“Agreed,” Renard said. “You have my permission to expend rounds as liberally as needed. I apologize for not having equipped you with simple point-defense missiles. I gravely miscalculated the odds of your ever needing them.”
“I’ll have to trust me laser and me cannons, then,” Cahill said. “Shift propulsion to the gas turbines.”
“Propulsion is shifted to the gas turbines,” Walker said. “Ready to answer all bells.”
“I’m securing automated anti-submarine legs and taking control of the ship. Coming to all ahead flank.”
He tapped his screen, and a pop-up warning confirmed his manual control. Aiming towards the east, he sought to close the distance between the Goliath and the submarine-launched CY-2 missiles. As the deck rolled, a tenor of fear entered his executive officer’s voice.
“What if this coordinated missile attack is a ruse to make us do exactly what we’re doing?” Walker asked. “What if this takes us right over a submarine waiting to ambush us?”
A pit formed in Cahill’s stomach. He had considered the risk but rejected it for mental self-preservation. If he gave the idea merit, it would consume him from inside.
“Look mate, if they’re that coordinated against us and with that much foresight, they deserve to win the day. Let’s stay focused on the crisis we know about.”
“Don’t you even want to consider anti-submarine evasion legs?”
“I can’t risk the extra time for engaging the CY-2s with the laser. We need to knock them out of the sky and then submerge before the Kh-35s reach us.”
“Let’s get started, then. I’m targeting both cannons on the nearest CY-2.”
“Very well, mate. Use maximum rate of fire. Target the nearest CY-2 and use continuous fire until the target is destroyed or until I say otherwise. Fire when ready.”
The guns cracked, and airborne icons appeared on Cahill’s screen. Forty-five nautical miles separated the Goliath from the salvo of four CY-2 missiles that a mystery submarine had launched. With the weapons closing at six hundred miles an hour and his projectiles intercepting them at seven times that speed, a Mach 8 net closure required thirty seconds to reach a conclusion.
Nobody spoke while the first cannon’s round approached its target, shattered into buckshot, and failed to inflict damage.
“First round missed,” Walker said. “Second round missed.”
Five seconds later, the second pair of rounds missed. Then the next pair. Then the fourth.
“This doesn’t look promising,” Cahill said.
“The rain is making this more complex. But keep trying, Terry.”
Cahill noticed the tapping of the drizzle on the windows.
“I’m wasting ordnance,” he said. “I should wait until I can guide the rounds better when we’re tracking the missiles on the phased array.”
“You’re thinking like a submarine officer. You have plenty of rounds, and they’re cheap.”
“Very well. Thanks for the reminder. Keep shooting.”
Cahill questioned his decision as each round missed. But when the CY-2 salvo and the Goliath closed within twenty-five miles, Walker shared promising news.
“I’m tracking the closest CY-2 on our phased array.”
“Good,” Cahill said. “Shift guidance of cannon rounds from GPS to the phased array.”
“Control of cannon rounds is shifted to the phased array. I’m hot-swapping terminal guidance of round twenty-five and all subsequent rounds to our phased array radar.”
“Even with tighter lock on the missile positions, guiding rounds at Mach 7 is an inexact science.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Walker glared at his monitor, compelling Cahill to do the same. The symbol of the nearest CY-2 veered to the northwest.
“Is that a hit?” he asked.
“I’m unsure,” Walker said.
“Could it be some sort of evasive maneuver by the missile?”
“In theory, yes. But unlikely. If someone were guiding it or if it had its own evasion protocols, it would be dodging our every round.”
“Then what just happened?”
Cahill watched the icon of the CY-2 missile recover its original course. His next eight rounds missed it by hundreds of yards as their tiny guidance fins proved incapable of chasing the displaced vampire.
“I conclude that round twenty-five was a hit,” Walker said.
“Then why is that missile still coming at us?”
“I think we grazed it, and now it’s wounded. Look. Its speed has dropped by ten knots. I think it’s compensating for added drag caused by a cut to its skin.”