Ten minutes of the drone’s active searching passed, raising Levy’s blood pressure.
“Find me that damned submarine!”
“If it’s there, we’ll detect it, sir,” the supervisor said.
“Of course, it’s there! Find it!”
Before Levy’s blood could return to normal, he heard the news he desired.
“Active return from the drone,” the supervisor said. “Submerged contact, bearing two-seven-eight, range seven miles from the drone. Sending to the system.”
The icon appeared less than a mile north of the Specter’s last location.
“That’s it!” Levy said. “That’s my target.”
“We’re within weapons range, sir,” the supervisor said.
“I know that.”
The sonar expert turned his head and raised his eyebrows. Levy accepted the hint.
“Oh, yes,” he said. “What does your revised sound model say about counter-detection range?”
“Eight and a half miles, sir. We’re within nine and a half. I recommend slowing.”
Levy heeded the advice and slowed the Crocodile. A second and third return from the mercenary submarine confirmed its hobbled status.
“The Specter’s moving at barely more than a knot, sir,” the supervisor said. “I think it’s damaged.”
“Can you hear it yet?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Keep listening. See if you can find a sign of damage. And assign tube two to the Specter.”
The technician beside the sonar ace tapped keys.
“Tube two is assigned to the Specter, sir, but before you shoot, can I have a word?”
Annoyed, Levy reminded himself to use the man as a resource, despite his insolence. He gestured him to the plot.
The supervisor walked to him and leaned into a private conversation.
“Sir, I don’t see any need to shoot at all.”
“Explain yourself.”
“You remember the cat-and-mouse games the Russians and Americans played during the Cold War?”
“Of course. They’re required studies. The Americans usually enjoyed the role of the cat, but not always.”
“Right, sir. But the unwritten rules were no launching of torpedoes. One commander outdid the other and announced the victory with a surprise sonar ping."
Levy leaned back and scoffed.
“I see your point, but I’m not playing a game. I’m protecting a tank battalion.”
“It’s not exactly cat-and-mouse, sir. It’s actually cat-and-paralyzed-mouse.”
“I don’t follow.”
“You’ve already won, sir. Send word to the task force and have them order the mercenaries to surrender.”
Levy digested the concept but protested.
“The Specter can still hear me, and the Goliath can surface from wherever it’s hiding and launch its rounds.”
“Our task force has enough missiles to hold the Goliath underwater for hours, and the Specter is helpless.”
“The Specter is motionless but not helpless. It can shoot torpedoes at me and Exocets at the task force.”
“It doesn’t carry enough Exocets to penetrate the task force’s air defenses, sir, and it can’t so much as twitch without us hearing it.”
“I’ve given you enough leeway in your discussions with me, sailor,” Levy said. “I’m going to simplify this and sink the damned Specter.”
“Sir, these mercenaries… they’re annoying, but they’ve gone out of their way to spare lives. Have you even heard of one man dying in this exchange yet?”
Levy knew every warrior had survived the mercenary fleet’s attacks, defying the statistics of Renard’s prior assaults.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what’s the point, sir?”
“Damn it! The point is that the decision is mine, and I’ve made it. Go to your station and obey my orders!”
“I’m a professional, sir, and I will obey your orders as long as they’re lawful. I know you have the right to destroy the Specter, but the guilt will haunt your conscience. I wash my hands of this.”
The supervisor walked away. In his mind, Levy spat the excuse of lacking the luxury of a humanitarian torpedo, but he refused to vocalize his feeling a need to mount a defense.
“Am I waiting for anything else to launch a weapon?”
The supervisor shook his head.
“No, sir. The weapon is ready.”
“Very well, then. Shoot tube two.”
The barometric change popped Levy’s ears.
“Torpedo in the water, sir!”
“I know. I just shot one.”
“No, sir. Hostile. Active seeker bearing one-nine-one.”
“Impossible,” Levy said. “Who shot at me?”
“The Wraith, sir. Who else could it be?”
“That’s impossible. It can’t be.”
“You told us all to listen exclusively for the Specter, sir. You forget to defend your flanks. None of us was listening for any threats, based upon your orders.”
Levy looked to his chart, and a quick mental calculation supported the closure. Given the Crocodile’s speed towards the Specter and assuming the Wraith’s commander had risked a reckless all-out sprint, an incoming torpedo was possible.
And he’d let tunnel vision allow it.
“Time to impact?” he asked.
“Less than two minutes, sir. Closer to one minute. It was a well-placed passive shot and I have little history to track it.”
“You should’ve heard it coming!”
“Do you really want to argue, sir? Or do you want to react?”
“Start listening for the Wraith, and inform me immediately if you hear anything. Prepare tubes three and four to go out on bearings ten degrees of either side of the incoming weapon.”
Technicians tapped keys.
“Tubes three and four are ready,” the supervisor said.
“Shoot tube three. Shoot tube four.”
Levy knew the southern mercenary submarine had defeated him, but he consoled himself with his adversary’s child-like weapons. He needed to only brace for impact, surface his ship, and continue his attack on the Specter.
“Do you want to try to evade, sir?”
“No, you’ve proved that it’s pointless, and I want to keep my wires so that I can fight back,” he said.
Levy raised his voice to fill the control room.
“I know their tactics. We’re about to be attacked by limpet bombs. Prepare damage control parties for shoring, rig the ship for collision, and drive the ship to the surface smartly.”
The veteran mechanic passed the word throughout the ship and tapped icons to raise the Crocodile’s deck.
“Prepare a message for the task force with our location, our drone’s location, our torpedo’s data, the Specter’s location and speed limit, and the data on the Wraith’s incoming weapon.”
The veteran tapped keys and dragged icons into each other.
“The message is ready, sir.”
As the deck rolled, Levy ordered his radio mast raised and his message sent. After learning of his transmission’s receipt, he took solace in knowing he’d claimed victory over the Specter.
No matter what the Wraith did to him, he’d silenced the invader.
Then he heard the Wraith’s wrath as magnetic limpets clamped to his hull. Relieved that his adversary withheld the horrible surprise of a heavyweight torpedo, he braced for the impact of the bomblets and the crippling of his ship.
What he would do next depended on the extent of the damage, and he expected to know his fate within seconds — seconds that ticked in frozen time, like agony.