Power came from a device that converted wave energy into electricity, storing it in a large pack of batteries that filled the rest of the area below the decking. Computer servers and other electronic equipment were stacked along the walls; there were two processing stations with multiple screens and keyboards. One of the computers seemed to be on standby, with a small LED lit, but the rest were off and the screens blank.
“Quite a setup, huh?” said Guzman.
“It is. We gotta get this stuff out of here,” added Danny.
“It’s bolted to the metal frames.”
As Danny leaned down to examine it, there was a loud crack from above. The ship lifted two feet in the air, then settled hard, knocking both of them to the deck.
“Damn,” muttered Guzman.
“Yeah,” said Danny, hitting the radio Send button. “Team check in.”
There was no answer. The short-range communications relied on being near another unit, and with all the metal and water between them, Grisif was now out of range.
“Colonel, look at that.” Guzman pointed back toward the entrance to the cylinder connecting them to the rest of the ship. A sheet of water streamed down from a fresh crack at the top. “We gotta get out of here.”
But before they could move, the cylinder abruptly jerked downward, pushing them toward the hatchway where they’d come in. The pair fell into the water as it rolled, flopping against the side of the ship as the hatch came loose from its mooring. The tunnel-like connection between the ship and the compartment broke apart. A section rolled under the container and the ship. Crushed and twisted, it blocked their way out.
The minesweeper’s shot on the merchant ship hit the reef on the starboard side of the vessel, throwing a geyser of water and coral into the air. It was short, and the Chinese crew didn’t get a chance to correct.
“Fire,” said Turk. “Disable target.”
Current shot through the rail at the center of the Tigershark, propelling what looked like an aerodynamic railroad spike out of the plane, through the air, and into the center of the shroud covering the 85mm deck gun on the Chinese minesweeper.
Two more shots sped from the Tigershark before Turk told the computer to stop; he was out to disable the gun, not sink the ship. His restraint was not appreciated on the ship, however, especially among the gun crew nor the men in the compartment directly below. Traveling in excess of Mach 6, the rail gun’s spikes shattered the Chinese gun and the mechanism that fed it. The spewing shrapnel ignited the explosive in a loaded shell, which not only exploded but started a secondary fire in the gun housing. This quickly spread to the deck immediately below the gun.
Meanwhile, two of the three projectiles continued through the ship after striking the gun. Penetrating the hull, they left relatively small but critical holes, and the ship started listing to its starboard side.
Damage control was complicated by the fire on the deck below the gun and confusion among the crew and the captain; it was not immediately clear where the attack had come from, as neither the Tigershark nor its escorts could be picked up on radar. The minesweeper therefore continued toward the reef — a serious mistake.
The fire showed as a hot glow on Turk’s targeting screen, with a damage percentage of one hundred percent in the legend next to it, indicating that the gun was now considered out of action even by the overly cautious computer. But the ship had other guns, and the fact that it was still moving convinced Turk that it remained a danger.
“Target propulsion system on target one,” he told the computer.
“Computed,” replied the computer. It lit three separate target areas that it proposed to strike, two in the engine room and a third a little farther back, on the propeller shaft.
“Eliminate propulsion system,” said Turk, choosing to let the computer pull the trigger while he flew the aircraft. The course was computed for him on the screen: dead on his present heading for five seconds, then a slight nudge right; the rail gun was fixed in the Tigershark’s fuselage, and could only be aimed as the airplane was aimed.
The gun fired nine times in quick succession, not quite at its full capacity. The shots were true; the minesweeper immediately lost power, its engine and driveshaft obliterated. Its momentum continued to drive it south, but it was off-course, and its list to starboard quickly deepened.
The targeting computer was pleased; it listed the minesweeper’s fighting ability at zero percent, and declared that it had only a thirty-three percent chance of surviving.
“Minesweeper is no longer a factor,” Turk radioed Danny.
Danny never got the message, as he was still out of range of the other units. He wouldn’t have responded in any event, since he had a lot of other things to worry about.
Water, primarily.
A hole in the tunnel allowed air to escape as the seawater rushed in. Danny took one look at the mangled metal and realized they weren’t leaving that way anytime soon. He led Guzman to the far side of the compartment, where there was a hatchway that looked like it must connect to the outside. The surface was only a few yards above, at most; all they had to do was open the hatch and get out.
The problem was the hatch: it wouldn’t open. At first Danny thought it was because the pressure of the seawater was too great. But Guzman showed him that the hatch swung inward and the wheel itself was locked, just as the one leading there had been.
“Can we blow it off?” Danny asked.
“The explosives are topside.”
Danny worked his way back toward the door to the ship, hoping the radio reception would improve. But there was no answer from anyone above.
What a place to die, he thought. How ironic — in the Air Force pretty much all my life, and I’m going to die at sea.
The water gurgled around him. It was just about to his knees.
The pumps were still working, though they weren’t able to keep up with the inflow.
Sooner or later the water would rise high enough to cover wherever the air was escaping, and stop the inflow, he thought. If they could get help, they could retreat to the air pocket and wait for someone to blow the door.
“You think there’s a radio in these controls?” he asked Guzman, going over to the panel. “Help me look.”
They looked over the controls and started punching buttons. But there was no obvious effect. The water, meanwhile, continued to rise. Air was leaking from somewhere other than the tunnel, Danny realized — more than likely the ventilation system.
There was a crackle and a beep in his helmet.
“Colonel Freah, where are you?” asked Boston, his voice loud and clear in the helmet.
“We’re trapped inside a compartment at the base of the ship,” said Danny.
“We think it broke off from the ship,” said Boston. “I’m above the compartment where the doorway was.”
“What about Grisif?” Danny asked, worried about the Whiplasher he’d left behind. “She was watching our backs in there.”
“We just pulled her out of the wreck. The hull collapsed. There’s a ton of rusted steel between us and you.”
The line went dead then. Danny moved back toward the doorway at the ship’s end, but got nothing.
“They’re working on it,” he told Guzman, still trying to find a radio.
“They better work fast,” said Guzman.