“I’ll have wire control.”
“You’ll be maneuvering erratically and at great risk of breaking your wires.”
Cahill wondered if his employer had forgotten the burden of facing mortal danger.
“If you see a better way out, now’s the time to mention it.”
“I’m thinking.”
“It may be your ship, but it’s not your arse out here.”
“I said I’m thinking, man.”
“I’m two minutes from being turned into a fiery mist of goo if I don’t submerge, and once I’m under, we won’t be able to have this conversation. So I suggest you either come up with something brilliant fast or let me fight the battle.”
“Very well, then,” Renard said “Use your torpedoes. But establish conservative fence protocols to shut them down in case they miss the Seagulls.”
Tired of rules forcing his fleet to fight at a disadvantage, Cahill had ignored the risk his heavyweights would pose to the Israeli seamen, but he considered Renard’s comment valid.
“I will,” he said.
Unsure if he expected a congratulatory or condescending remark, he glanced over his shoulder, but Dahan ignored him while listening to her headset.
He turned back to the display and noticed a rare glimpse of the Frenchman’s humility in his softened eyes and facial rosiness.
“You’re out of time,” Renard said. “Best that you submerge now for your safety.”
“Right,” Cahill said. “But next time we talk, I’ll remind you to give me some anti-air missiles. A dozen vertical launch cells in each bow section would have turned this day into a vacation.”
“I understand your plight but make no promises.”
“Seventy-five seconds,” Walker said.
“Very well, Liam. Prepare to crash dive.”
Walker tapped keys, and Cahill watched multiple graphics representing the induction mast, the turbines, the phased array radar system, and the railguns merge into a group of systems to be lowered or turned off upon the touch of a single key.
“One minute to missile salvo arrival, Terry.”
“Very well. Flooding the forward trim tank and securing the Phalanx close-in weapon system.”
Cahill tapped an image that ordered huge centrifugal pumps to inhale the sea and drive water towards the forward-most internal tanks. He hit another key and then watched the cylindrical silhouette recede into the port bow.
“Placing full rise on the stern planes.”
The Israeli officer’s voice distracted him.
“We intercepted traffic,” she said. “The task force commander just ordered the release of the Seagulls.”
“Very well, major. I suggest you stand and grab a railing.”
He tapped another graphic that drove the sterns downward to counterbalance the heaviness of the bows. The added weight lowered the ship in the seas and increased flow friction on the hulls, sapping three knots.
He pressed a button to send his voice throughout the ship.
“Prepare to crash dive in five seconds. Four. Three. Two. One. Crash Dive!”
He stabbed his finger against a graphic that ordered the preselected group of systems to shift to their undersea states, and then he walked his hand across the screen to command the stern planes to their opposite extreme.
“Hold on, major. This is our roughest maneuver.”
He grabbed a railing and took a wide stance as the rising rear drove the proper prow and the stubbed prow into the waves. Speed pushed the rakish bows under tons of water, and the ship glided through liquid and canted to the right with the extra downward force on its longer starboard forecastle.
The sea’s darkness rushed to the domed bridge and engulfed it in opaqueness. The rapid and steep angle tugged the Goliath below the waves and created a fulcrum that lifted the propellers above the water. Momentum carried the hulls under.
“The ship’s submerged,” Walker said.
“Right. That always gives me the willies.”
“And that bloody stubbed port bow didn’t help matters,” Walker said
“But it held. Bring us back up to twenty meters. Make us light with a ten-degree down angle.”
As the ship rose, Cahill balanced against the new decline, and a glance over his shoulder showed the Israeli officer as a statue. Her knuckles were frozen white over the railing, and even in the bright lighting, her skin appeared as green as her uniform.
The Goliath’s most violent maneuver had chinked her air of invulnerability, and she looked spooked. Cahill capitalized upon the opportunity to explore her weakness.
“Are you alright, major?”
“Fine.”
Her tone contradicted her words. She sounded frail, human, and her vulnerability increased Cahill’s desire.
“Propulsion is on the MESMA systems,” Walker said. “All plants running normally. We’re at sixteen knots, slowing to our maximum sustained submerged speed of thirteen knots.”
Cahill spoke to a microphone.
“Sonar supervisor, listen for Harpoons overhead.”
“I’m tracking them. They’ll pass in twenty seconds.”
Cahill knew the weapons would circle back seeking him until they exhausted their fuel. He expected them to pin him below the waves for another ten minutes while the robots sprinted towards him at twice his speed.
“Stay on them. Also, listen for the Seagulls.”
Distance kept the paired hunters silent to the Goliath, but Renard’s low-bandwidth feed showed them inching closer. Cahill analyzed the geometrical limits he’d invoke to attack the robots while protecting the humans that launched them.
Despite touching the world’s best technology, his fingertips failed to find an automated answer, and he taxed his mind.
The huge rate of closure between his torpedoes and the speedy corvettes left little leeway for error to the east. A rampant weapon would reach the Israelis without extensive limitations — limitations so restrictive he estimated they prevented him from launching.
“I can’t shoot yet,” he said.
“Sorry?” Walker asked.
“A wayward weapon would pass over any fence I could set before reaching the robots. At least I think so, if I’ve done the math right.”
His executive officer intensified his glare on his display.
“Let’s see what happens if I advance forward in time.”
Walker tapped his screen, and Cahill glanced at his visualized predictions.
“You’re right,” Walker said. “But we’ll have a narrow launch window in about ten minutes that should remain open about two to three minutes. Any sooner, and we’d risk hitting those corvettes. Any later, and the Seagulls could shoot at us.”
“That’s good enough. We’ll hit them.”
“If our predictions of their paths are accurate.”
“We know how they hunt, based upon Jake’s escape.”
Walker reset the display to the present moment, and Cahill noticed that the combatants had sent another Harpoon salvo his way. A quick analysis showed the new weapons’ arrivals timed with his expectation of the prior salvo’s fuel exhaustion.
A perfect shot to prevent his single Phalanx point defense system from defending three axes and knocking down all missiles. A perfect shot to keep him submerged while the robots hunted.
His blood pressure rose as he considered his tight window.
Then he enjoyed good fortune as the corvettes turned away.
“You see that, Liam?”
“If you mean the corvettes peeling off, yeah.”
“I do. I trust this means they’re heading back to deal with their busted blockade.”
“Agreed. Dare we shoot now?”
“Perhaps. Major, does your team hear anything?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
She still seemed spooked, and Cahill coaxed her to reality.
“Is it possible that the corvette commanders already had permission to turn back at their discretion?”