“Good. Because you’ve removed only one submarine and are facing more than half a dozen more that are unaccounted for.”
“But only three more can be standing between us and the Indiana. That’s all I’m responsible for. And it can’t be any more than three. The others are in port or were last seen too far away to cover the distance, per your fleet’s intelligence reports.”
“Don’t get cocky, Mister Volkov. Three is plenty. Except for the one you just shot, they’re all drifting. You and the California are searching, which means we need to move and make noise while they sit and listen. They have the positional advantage.”
“But they don’t use drones. Their small subs don’t have the space to carry them, and their larger submarines are far away. I’m used to this sort of challenge, and I don’t mean just in training scenarios. I’ll follow in the California’s wake and shoot weapons until this swath of water is sanitized.”
Something within Volkov’s message or the tone of its delivery appeared to bother the American, and he retreated to the back of the room.
Standing at the plotting table, the Wraith’s commander stayed in the room’s center. For thirty minutes, he followed a prescribed course and speed behind the American submarine, but Iranian targets eluded the teamed submarines.
The rider returned to Volkov’s side and pointed at a stream of characters. “The California’s going to slow down the search to four knots, and that goes for you and all drones.”
The Wraith’s commander grunted. “Four knots, and on a shallow approach angle. This will take forever.”
“Would you rather commit suicide?”
Volkov conceded the need for caution. “No. Damn it. You have a point. I’ve lost my dolphins, and your robots are committed elsewhere. We have only our drones as advantages, and they have limits in their hydrophone loadout.” He ordered his ship and drones slowed per the California’s demand, and then he looked to the rider. “We all agree on moving slowly.”
“I appreciate you being reasonable about this.”
Volkov realized he’d been fighting his role as the American submarine’s understudy and wanted insight into his ally. “Do you know the captain of the California personally?”
“I know him by reputation. He’s by the book. He does as he’s been trained, nothing outlandish, which I respect.”
“Do you think he’s tried using active sonar, in a micro-pulse secured mode, either from his ship or his drones?”
“I won’t reveal anything about American tactics that I don’t have to, but I’m sure you understand the value of secure active against drifting diesels. Why are you asking?”
“I want to make this go faster. Time is—”
A shadow overcame the rider’s face. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“No need to hurry anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the Goliath. Your colleagues sent a communications buoy. They tried loading the Indiana, but it didn’t work.”
“As in, a first attempt failed and they’re delayed?”
“No. As in, it didn’t work, and nobody has the first clue how to get the Indiana the hell out of here.”
CHAPTER 13
Lieutenant Commander Jazani pleaded his case. “Sir, I want divers and dolphins.”
The task force commander’s tone was stern. “The divers are sapped. They just worked themselves into exhaustion scouring the bottom for the American submarine.”
“Don’t we have ships with side-scan sonar that can do that?”
“We do, but I’m searching with every asset I have. We use humans and technology to search.”
Jazani leaned forward into his console and adjusted the boom microphone running along his jaw. “But it’s all for nothing. Our lightweight torpedo hit something, but we can’t find the American submarine.”
“The conclusion is that we hit something else. That’s the only logical explanation, and we’ve seen the Americans using decoys and robots to absorb our heavyweights.”
“I know that, sir. I’ve read the reports. But when decoys and robots deceive our heavyweights, we hear them. Their whole point of their existence is to make noise and become targets, but I didn’t hear a false target when the lightweight exploded. Nobody did.”
“So, you think the first American submarine was hit?”
“I know it’s hard to conclude that without evidence on the seafloor, but it must be considered.”
“Then where is it? Do you propose that it turned into a ghost?”
The Ghadir’s commander hesitated to share his theory and stalled. “I don’t have a solid answer, but I have to speculate given the Americans’ harsh response.”
The task force’s leader scoffed. “You call this harsh? One Virginia-class submarine, which, may I remind you, is likely the one we missed with the lightweight torpedo, is harassing us along with a mercenary mini-fleet. If you call that harsh, you’d be disappointed if we really infuriate the Americans.”
“But then why the mercenaries? And especially why bring their ugly railgun ship?”
As if being patient with a child, the task force commander sighed. “It’s a measured response. The mercenaries have their less-than-lethal weapons, and you can’t blame the Americans for making someone else handle their dirty work. As for that railgun ship, it’s there to attack our shore-based military targets in case we overplay our response.”
Jazani muted his microphone while groaning. He thought his nation’s politicians had demanded the impossible by ordering the American submarine hobbled with a lightweight weapon. Now, they were reacting to the undesired outcome, and his task force leader’s explaining couldn’t hide the stench of desperation seeping into his new instructions. He unmuted his headset. “So, my orders are now to sink any mercenary vessel I find, but not at the risk of hitting said vessel in international waters, losing my ship, or hitting an American.”
“Correct.”
“Has anyone considered that the Americans want us to do exactly that? They may be using the mercenaries to bait our submarines into shooting and exposing ourselves to counterfire.”
The task force commander’s voice became deeper. “Your orders are your orders.”
Jazani tried a new angle. “I want to keep searching for a bottomed American submarine.”
“Absolutely not. Were you listening when I told you it’s not there?”
“Of course, I was listening, sir. I mean to search farther east.”
“I’m not following you.”
“I mean, what if the submarine was damaged but somehow maintained propulsion?”
“Then it’s already in Oman. I don’t see your point.”
“No, sir. What if it was limited in speed?”
The task force’s leader sounded exasperated. “Then it’s only half way to Oman but still out of reach.”
Almost ashamed to share his theory, Jazani lowered his voice and pushed his boom microphone to his lips. “What if it had trouble with depth control? What if its commanding officer refused to risk the transit across deeper water because he’s fighting a battle with uncertain shoring and with his drain pumps barely keeping pace with flooding? He’d want a nice, shallow, soft, flat bottom below him, wouldn’t he?”
“Go on.”
“He’d head east to Pakistani waters.”
“If, if, if. Yes, I concede that if all that were true, your argument’s logical. What do you want?”