CHAPTER 53
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the net, “Conn — Sonar. Sierra One Seven is flooding his tubes! Looks like he’s going in for the kill, sir!”
Captain Patke scanned the unfolding geometry on the tactical display screen. Contact Sierra One Seven, the Shang, was setting up for a torpedo attack against one of the American warships. If the surface plot was accurate, the target would be the destroyer, USS Towers. But it didn’t really matter which of the ships had fallen into the crosshairs of the Shang. What mattered was that a Chinese nuclear attack submarine was about to sink a U.S. Navy vessel. That — in spite of Patke’s personal opinions about the shortcomings of the skimmer navy — was not a satisfactory arrangement.
He keyed his headset. “Conn, aye. Any sign that Sierra One Seven is alerted to our presence?”
“Conn — Sonar. Negative, sir. Sierra One Seven has shown no reaction to us at all.”
Patke checked the bearing to the Chinese submarine, and thought about coming a few degrees to port, to improve his firing angle on the enemy boat. He decided against the maneuver. No sense in polishing the cannonball.
He glanced over toward the combat control module. “Weapons Control, how’s your plot?”
The Fire Control Technician of the Watch looked over his shoulder and gave a thumbs-up gesture. “In the groove, Captain. I have a firm firing solution on contact Sierra One Seven.”
Patke nodded. “Very well. Flood tubes one and three. Assign presets, and spin up the weapons.”
The Fire Control Tech turned back to his console and began punching soft-keys. “Aye-aye, sir. Flooding tubes one and three. Prepping both weapons for launch.”
Patke pulled off his wire rimmed spectacles and polished them with a fold of his dark blue coveralls. His outward demeanor was calm and his voice was even, but he could feel the adrenaline burning at the back of his throat.
This was not a drill. In a few seconds, he was going to give an order that would kill other human beings. Not empty target ships. Not blips on a screen. Not computer simulations. Real living, breathing people, who would neither be living nor breathing after his order had been carried out.
With his eyeglasses off, Patke’s vision beyond arm’s-length was a blur of indistinct shapes. But he didn’t need his eyes to know what was going on. The men and women of his control room crew were moving quickly and proficiently, performing their assigned duties with quiet competence.
They were trained. They were skilled. They were ready. Or, as ready as anyone could ever be for this sort of thing.
He gave the lenses of his glasses a final polish, and returned them to their customary spot on the bridge of his nose. “Open outer doors on tubes one and three. Firing point procedures.”
As the orders were being acknowledged and carried out, someone to his left muttered something nearly inaudible.
Patke turned to see the Officer of the Deck. “Say again. I didn’t catch that.”
The OOD looked surprised. “Oh. Sorry, Captain. I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”
Patke raised an eyebrow. “If you’ve got something to say, son… Now is the time.”
The OOD gave him an expression that was half-grimace, and half-embarrassed grin. “I was just saying ‘snickerdoodles,’ sir.”
Patke frowned. “Snickerdoodles?”
“Yes, sir,” the OOD said. “Like we were talking about last time. Almost getting an ass-whuppin’ when somebody else stole the cookies. But we’re stealing the cookies this time, aren’t we, sir?”
“You’re right about that,” Patke said softly. “We are definitely going to steal the cookies this time.”
The Sonar Supervisor’s voice came over the net again. “Conn — Sonar. Torpedo in the water! Sierra One Seven has a weapon in the water! He’s going after the destroyer, sir!”
Patke raised his voice. “Weapons Control, this is the Captain. Match generated bearings, and shoot!”
The giant display screens flashed, strobed with random bars of color for several seconds, and then snapped suddenly into focus.
The Tactical Action Officer turned toward Silva. “Aegis is back on line, Captain.”
The screens began populating with symbols. First, the Towers and the Gerrard appeared, followed quickly by the two remaining hostile surface ships: the carrier and one of the Chinese destroyers. Then, the hostile aircraft symbols began appearing, and — for a few seconds — Silva wondered if the Aegis computers were malfunctioning. As new enemy air symbols continued to pop up on the screen, she began to hope that it was a malfunction.
She whistled softly through her teeth. “Jesus… How many planes are those guys going to launch?”
The TAO gave her a half-hearted smile. “Looks like all of them, ma’am.”
The sheer absurdity of the situation hit her then. She had been in command for all of ten minutes. Half of her CIC consoles were out of action. She had no idea how many of her crewmembers were dead or dying. There was a hole in the side of her ship big enough to drive a minivan through. And China’s shiny new aircraft carrier was about to shove its entire air wing down her throat.
It was like being twelve years old again. Standing on the uneven planks of her homemade raft, being swept down the river by forces beyond her control. Powerless to fight the current. Her plastic milk jugs and inner tubes bobbing helplessly on the waves.
She felt her jaws tighten. The river had been stronger than she was. Her raft, the Spray, had been tiny and frail. But she had gotten her homemade vessel back to shore. She had brought her ship safely home. And she was damned well going to do it again.
She made eye contact with the TAO. “We need to go after that destroyer.”
“The gun is still off line, ma’am,” the Tactical Action Officer said. “And we’re all out of Harpoons.”
‘Understood,” Silva said. “Is VLS back on line?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Then hit that contact with SM-3s.”
The TAO opened his mouth to speak.
Silva gestured him into silence. “I already know the next half dozen things you’re going to say, so you can save your breath. I know that the SM-3 missile is not an anti-ship weapon, and I know that any effect it has will be marginal, at best. I also know that our orders are to kill that ship. Unless you’ve got a better plan, we’re going to hit that destroyer with the only weapons we have left. Do I make myself clear, Lieutenant?”
The TAO nodded. “Yes, Captain.”
He swallowed, and keyed the net. “Weapons Control — TAO. Kill Surface Contact Zero One with SM-3 missiles.”
There was a pause before the reply came. “TAO — Weapons Control. Say again, sir?”
The TAO keyed the net again. ‘Weapons Control — TAO. You have your orders. Kill Surface Contact Zero One with SM-3 missiles. Now!”
“Ah… Weapons Control, aye.”
The deck rattled with the growl of anti-air missiles, tearing into the sky on a mission they had never been designed for. The tumult of the launches was much louder than usual, the sound reverberating freely through the open wound in the side of the ship.