“You look troubled, Vasily.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I don’t know. I just happen to notice.”
“I think you notice because we are indeed friends, Dmitry.”
Volkov accepted the truth and nodded.
“Yes, we are. What’s wrong?”
“I fear for Mikhail and Andrei.”
“You fear for them frequently. Why now?”
“The Israelis know our return-to-ship order.”
Volkov raised his finger.
“Yes, the Israelis have intercepted it, and they use it. But they don’t know what it means. To them, it’s just a wild hope of distracting your dolphins.”
“But it’s so dangerous.”
“That’s why we’ll use a drone as a guide.”
“I never trained them for this. We’re making up lessons for them in combat. What if my babies get confused?”
“They’ve proven themselves. They know your voice, and they want to come home. They’ll always come home to you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“No, my friend, I cannot. But I can promise you to treat them like my own. Have I not always done that?”
Color returned to the trainer’s face.
“You have.”
“Will you reassure them of this for me?”
“Yes, Dmitry. I will.”
The mammals’ master turned and headed to his dolphins, and Volkov returned to his seat.
New lines on his tactical display drew a quadrilateral over the Golan Heights and several four-sided shapes off the Israeli and Lebanese coasts.
He interpreted the smallest skewed box, farthest from the coast, as the Goliath’s launch basket. From there, Cahill could fire his cannons and have them hit tanks anywhere within the larger form drawn over the Israeli-Syrian landmass.
Two larger waterborne boxes showed the areas he and Jake would patrol in protection of their comrade. As he questioned how they’d reach their defined areas, which intersected the hostile red arc representing the reach of the submerged Israeli submarines, the friendly boundaries disappeared and reappeared farther west in smaller formats outside the adversary’s reach.
“This shows the drop off point, which you’ll reach two hours from now,” Renard said. “Terry will submerge there. From that point, Jake and Dmitry will take thirty-minute head starts and advance eastward while Terry remains dead in the water.”
Volkov hung on his translator’s words as Renard continued.
“The center of Terry’s launch basket is defined in space and time with him making a speed of advance of eight knots from the drop off point. You can all see what that means in terms of your patrol areas. You’ll need to keep moving forward with urgency.”
Accounting for his half-hour head start, Volkov computed his speed needing to approach twelve knots to stay ahead of Cahill while conducting a back-and-forth zigzag search for submarines waiting to ambush him.
“Too fast,” he said in Russian.
“Shall I translate that?”
“No. I can compensate by covering extra water with the dolphins. But the American cannot. Let’s see if he protests.”
“Merkava tanks provide low profiles,” Renard said. “But Terry’s rounds will come from the higher elevations of ballistic flight. He’ll be targeting the engines in front, which should give large targets while placing the tank crews in minimal danger.”
Volkov watched Jake for a reaction but saw none, and the conversation ended without dissent. He decided that his new teammates shared great confidence in their abilities, suffered from group hubris, or both.
Cahill offered a warning that he’d be testing a new barrel on a cannon, since repeated fire had worn the prior hardware. Volkov passed the word to his crew, and then a solitary crack rang.
To distract himself from the helplessness of being Cahill’s passenger, he called his crew to their breakfast shifts and allowed a leisurely eating pace.
Two hours later, the deck’s rocking subsided, and he darted to his seat on the conning platform. The waves behind Cahill’s image slowed to their natural wind-whipped speeds.
“Verify you’re rigged to submerge, Dmitry,” Cahill said.
Volkov looked to his veteran mechanic.
“We’re still rigged for submergence,” the gray beard said.
“I’m rigged for submergence,” Volkov said.
“So am I,” Jake said.
“Okay, gents. Any last words for Pierre?”
“No, thank you,” Volkov said.
“None from me,” Jake said. “I don’t want to get him started, or we could be here for hours before he finishes his next sermon.”
“I resent that,” Renard said. “As usual, I’d wish you all luck, but I see no need. Prove to me again that you’re all charmed.”
“Submerging to thirty meters,” Cahill said.
The concept of windows on a submarine disquieted Volkov as indigo engulfed the dome behind Cahill and then became blackness. Gentle undulations replaced harsh rolling.
“We’re at thirty meters,” Cahill said. “I’m letting Jake go first since he has a bit farther to travel. Are you ready, Jake?”
“Yes. I don’t do anything except drive away when you signal me, right?”
“Right. You haven’t changed your trim much since we were last under, did you?”
“No. I should still be heavy.”
“Right. You’ll have to pump overboard to rise. You’ll lose laser lock quickly, but you won’t be clear of Dmitry’s tower until I can pull him under you. So be patient until I signal you with three bursts of scanning sonar. Ready?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Let me go.”
Through an external camera feed, Volkov watched half the Goliath’s presses roll back and release his ship’s twin. Though free, the Specter remained in place.
“You’re free, Jake. Start pumping overboard.”
“I’m pumping overboard.”
“You’re a little heavy aft,” Cahill said. “I see it on the cargo bed’s pressure sensors.”
“Got it. Pumping aft to forward,” Jake said. “I see your pressure sensor readings, too. Now I look balanced. Pumping overboard from centerline again.”
The submarine began to rise.
“I’m using the outboards to drive backwards and keep Dmitry out of your way,” Cahill said. “You look clear.”
Jake’s image froze as his submarine floated from the Goliath’s communications lasers. Volkov pressed a button to darken the screen.
“I’m taking us down another ten meters to be sure,” Cahill said. “You’re next, Dmitry.”
As the Goliath settled deeper, Cahill sent three bursts of his scanning sonar outward, freeing Jake to drive away. Volkov looked to his sonar ace.
“Do you hear Jake’s screws?”
“Yes,” Anatoly said. “He’s driving away.”
“Same thing for you now. Are you ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready,” Volkov said.
The presses released the Wraith, and after five minutes of pumping, the submarine started to float. Cahill’s face froze with the loss of laser.
“Terry’s going deeper now,” Volkov said.
“I hear his pings,” Anatoly said. “We’re free.”
Volkov looked to his gray-bearded veteran.
“Take us to five knots, course one-two-five, depth thirty-five meters, and get a neutral trim.”
The deck rolled through the turn.
“The ship is at five knots, course one-two-five, depth thirty-five meters. I’m getting a neutral trim.”
“Very well,” Volkov said. “Tell the trainer to get his dolphins ready.”
The gray beard lifted a sound-powered phone to his cheek.