“Right, then. Turn the port cannon back towards the helicopters. Make them work to chase Jake. Keep the starboard cannon on the strike aircraft to call their bluffs.”
The Frenchman’s image became animated.
“Jake launched a communications buoy,” he said. “He acknowledges the order to sprint to you. I’ll send you his coordinates for your verification, but I recommend you come right to zero-two-two.”
Cahill made the adjustment in the Goliath’s course and saw the icon of Jake’s position appear on his display.
“Forty-five miles away,” he said. “We’d take station on each other in forty-four minutes if Jake held his maximum speed, but he can’t hold his speed that long.”
“No, he can’t,” Renard said. “Let me have the numbers run.”
Again he turned and issued orders in his native tongue to a French naval officer who sat beyond his camera’s field of view.
“Eighteen knots,” Renard said. “You’ll intercept each other in fifty-two minutes. He has enough charge per his report to sustain that speed.”
“Okay,” Cahill said. “But I hope to scare away those helicopters long before then. They should turn back when I have them on the phased array. Do you know what altitude they’re operating at?”
“Quite low,” Renard said. “They’ll rise up to two hundred meters when they reposition, though.”
“I can use that against them,” Cahill said.
He did a quick mental horizon calculation and then tapped a stylus onto a display to analyze the possible movements.
“Then they’ll be vulnerable to me phased array at thirty-four miles when they reposition. And at that range me rounds get there in half a minute.”
“Then you could begin to provide Jake a stronger safety net after eleven miles of closure,” Renard said. “Less than thirteen minutes.”
Cahill reviewed the larger scene.
“The strike aircraft are keeping their distance,” he said. “They’re not suicidal, and we’ve called their bluff. Liam, use both cannons against the helicopters.”
For slow minutes, time dripped like molasses.
Then good news arrived when one of Dahan’s Aman soldiers shared a report over the loudspeaker.
“I’m able to hear the orders to the helicopters,” he said. “It’s encrypted, but it’s a common military channel we can decrypt with our listening equipment.”
Cahill cast his voice towards a microphone.
“Is there any useful data?”
“Yes,” the soldier said. “They understand the threat of our phased array radar. They have orders to turn back when we’re able to track them with it.”
“Good,” Cahill said. “Liam, have our own translator draft a manuscript of the communications and have the tactical team review it as he scribes it.”
He caught Dahan sighing through her nose with disapproval.
“It’s not that I don’t want to trust your team, major,” he said. “It’s that I can’t afford the luxury of blind trust.”
“I didn’t say anything,” she said.
“But I could tell me order to verify your man’s report bothered you.”
“Wouldn’t it bother you if the roles were reversed?”
“Yes. Probably. So let’s move past it. If the information is correct, I believe it changes the tide of this battle. Time now favors us, but let’s see if we can hasten things.”
“What more could you do?” she asked.
Cahill checked his new idea against the display to verify its plausibility.
“The helicopter crews are starting to fear us,” he said. “And given how long they’ve been in the air, their fuel is becoming a limit. They’re too far away to reach the nearest coast.”
“I don’t see your point,” Dahan said. “They can land on any of four ships in that task force.”
An Aman soldier within the tactical control room overheard and corrected her assumption over the loudspeaker.
“Make that three ships, Major Dahan. I just overheard a report that the Arrow has been declared a loss. They have no crew aboard to perform damage control, and it’s sinking.”
“That’s still three ships that can support flight operations,” she said. “They thought out this task force well.”
“Then we’ll just have to bring that down to zero,” Cahill said. “Liam, turn the starboard cannon to the nearest corvette.”
“Shall I target the propulsion gear as usual?”
“Yes. See if you can cripple it.”
“They know the techniques the Russians and Greeks used to counter such an attack,” Dahan said. “They’ll use evasive maneuvers and the point defense systems while they maintain flank speed towards Jake.”
The Aman soldier’s voice over the loudspeaker preempted Cahill’s rebuttal.
“They’re turning back!” he said. “The entire task force, except for the submarine. They’ve been ordered back. I just intercepted the message.”
“The evidence I’m now seeing agrees,” Renard said. “Apparently, the Israeli Navy is using common sense to determine what causes are worth risking one’s life. Chasing down a fleeing mercenary submarine fortunately isn’t one of them.”
Cahill’s enjoyment of the victory was brief.
“At least not today, mate,” he said. “But a retreat still leaves us with a challenge in our primary mission. If we can’t defeat this task force now, those assets will just head home to beef up the blockade. This just delays our final conflict.”
“Indeed it does,” Renard said. “But have no fear. I have a backup plan that addresses this.”
“Don’t you always have a backup plan?”
“Yes. And for now, continue to Jake and pick him up. He’s dangerously low on battery, and I don’t want him snorkeling with the Crocodile’s whereabouts unknown.”
“Leave it to me,” Cahill said. “I’ll grab him.”
“Then bring him southeast. Once you’re both safely disengaged, I’ll share our next steps with you.”
CHAPTER 11
Volkov digested Renard’s data feed trickling across the Wraith’s central plotting table.
“This is undesirable but not entirely unexpected.”
His sonar ace spoke over his shoulder.
“Is everyone okay on Jake and Terry’s ships?” Anatoly asked.
“Yes. Our ambush yielded one mothballed missile boat, and Jake’s narrow escape from a counterstrike with Terry’s help yielded one helicopter. But the Crocodile still remains at large.”
“You make it sound like it could’ve been worse.”
“That task force that materialized around the Crocodile appears to have been a well-planned reaction to Jake’s ambush. You could call it a reactive ambush, if such a thing may be defined.”
The supervisor shrugged.
“Whatever you call it, it puts more pressure on us,” he said. “We’re a great crew, but other than our skill, we have no advantage over the Revival. In fact, we have a disadvantage since it’s defending water while we’re the aggressor.”
Volkov reviewed his tactical chart. An ellipse of uncertainty of the Israeli submarine’s location covered a sizeable chunk of water off the Gaza Strip’s coast.
“Yes, we are at a disadvantage,” he said. “And we will remain so until we alter our circumstances.”
“Your tone suggests you have an idea?”
“I’ve been considering an option.”
“Are you going to share?”
“Yes,” Volkov said. “But not with you. Not unless I can convince someone else first.”
In the torpedo room, Volkov noticed an oddity in a spare weapon rack.
Atop the arced metal recess which had once held a reload torpedo, sprawled blankets and a comforter. A bright foam plug jutted from the sleeping man’s ear as drool rolled from the corner of his mouth to a pillow.