The Trident Deception Page 33

  Christine wrenched her left hand away from Hendricks’s grip, grabbing his left wrist with both hands. She pushed upward with both arms, and the pressure on her neck eased. She soon saw the tip of the knife as she continued to push Hendricks’s hand up and away from her neck.

  His lips twisted into a mocking sneer. “Nicely done, Chris. However, there’s one major flaw in your plan.” He lifted his right hand, no longer occupied with pinning her left hand, and wiggled his fingers. He curled his hand into a fist, then smashed it down into her face.

  Her mouth ignited in pain, throbbing with each heartbeat as blood oozed from her lips, split open by his punch. But her attention remained focused on the knife, which had closed half the distance toward her neck as the pain coursed through her body.

  He pulled his fist back, then brought it down swiftly again in a crushing blow. Christine’s nose crumpled under the force, blood spewing from her nostrils. Searing pain flashed through her face, turning her vision yellow with pinpricks of light dancing across her eyes. She fought through the pain, focusing again on the knife. She could no longer see the tip of the blade.

  But she could feel it.

  The tip pressed against her neck again, the blade suddenly dull compared to the sharp pain in her nose and mouth. Hendricks pulled his fist back again, but his hand halted in midair.

  “That ought to do it.”

  His fist opened, his right hand joining his left around the knife handle.

  “Good-bye, Christine.”

  He pressed down with both hands, and she felt the knife pierce into her neck. Her arms and shoulders strained, pushing up against his hands, struggling to halt the knife’s descent. Blood from her beaten face seeped into her mouth between clenched teeth. Tears of frustration and anger filled her eyes, rage building inside her as she realized she would soon be dead.

  Because she was weak.

  Because she was naïve.

  Because she was betrayed.

  Her rage broke in a torrent of adrenaline, flooding her body with the resolve to survive. She channeled the white-hot anger into her shoulders, her arms, her grip on his wrists.

  The knife’s descent halted.

  Christine’s neck burned as the tip of the knife wavered, lacerating the edges of the thin cut in her neck. Hendricks’s eyes widened as she found the strength to match his, the insolence to defy him. The dark pupils of his eyes examined her for a moment. Then he grinned, the corners of his mouth curling up into a familiar smile.

  He leaned forward, adding his weight to the strength of his arms.

  The knife resumed its descent.

  Christine strained to repulse the sharp blade slicing deeper into her flesh, pouring every ounce of strength into her burning muscles, her shoulders and arms shaking from the effort.

  But he was too strong.

  Although she still strained against his hands, her arms stopped trembling, calm replacing the panic that had strangled her thoughts just seconds ago. She had done everything possible to defend herself. At least there was satisfaction in that.

  There was nothing more she could do.

  She accepted her fate.

  Christine closed her eyes as warm blood pooled beneath her head, spreading slowly across the cold stone tile.

  71

  HMAS COLLINS

  32 MINUTES REMAINING

  “Missile launch transients, bearing zero-zero-two!”

  The Sonar Supervisor’s report carried across the Collins’s Control Room.

  Wilson was standing next to Humphreys behind the combat control consoles; his chest tightened at the words. The hope he had nurtured from the first moments in Stanbury’s office—that he would somehow be able to communicate with the Kentucky and not sink her—had been shattered. Now that she had begun launching, the only way to stop her was to attack.

  Humphreys had come to that conclusion as well. He wasted no time.

  “Firing Point Procedures, contact Master One, One Tube.”

  The fire control electronic technicians complied as they determined the target’s solution. It was an easy task since their target was launching missiles—she was dead in the water. The only unknown parameter was range, and the combat system quickly delivered that information.

  Humphreys began to receive the expected reports:

  “Ship Control correct,” the Officer of the Watch announced, informing Humphreys the submarine was operating within torpedo launch limits.

  “Navigation correct,” the Navigator reported, verifying there were no navigational constraints affecting the torpedo run toward its target.

  “Fire Control correct,” the Weapons Officer called out. “Primary weapon ready—One Tube. Secondary weapon—Two Tube.”

  The Collins was ready to engage.

  Humphreys looked to Wilson for permission to fire on a U.S. submarine.

  But Wilson wasn’t ready.

  When the Kentucky didn’t acknowledge her Launch Termination Order, he was certain at first it was nothing more than a Radio Room casualty. But his confidence was shaken when Malone departed his moving haven, for reasons still unknown. Even so, every fiber of his being told him Malone and his crew were simply executing launch orders they believed to be valid, and that things were wrong in ways he couldn’t even begin to grasp. Throughout it all, he held on to one firm belief: that he would be able to save his son’s life.

  Wilson’s hope they would not have to sink the Kentucky had just been crushed, the same way the submarine’s hull would be crushed by the ocean depth a few minutes after the Collins fired. He had hoped that somehow the father would return home with the Prodigal Son, at which point he would retire. As they closed on the Kentucky, he had measured his love for the Navy, to which he had dedicated thirty years, against his love for his son—and it paled in comparison.

  However, as he stood in the Control Room of the Australian submarine, none of that mattered. He had been placed aboard the Collins for a purpose. His personal feelings were not relevant. Humphreys and the other men and women in the quiet Control Room stared at him, waiting for his order. Finally, Wilson decided there was no point in waiting any longer. He spoke firmly, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Proceed.”

  Humphreys turned to his Weapons Officer. “Fire One Tube.”

  The electronic technician at the Weapons Control Console pressed the Fire key on the touch plasma display, sending the fire signal down to the Weapon Stowage Compartment, initiating the launch sequence for tube One.

  72

  USS KENTUCKY

  31 MINUTES REMAINING

  “FOUR, away.”

  Tom spoke into the microphone in his left hand, the Trigger still in his right. He had squeezed it four times now, each contraction accompanied by the flexing of the submarine’s deck as the missile left the ship. His mind was numb, his actions and reports automated. He felt divorced from his body, no longer controlling the words he said, the muscles he contracted. The horror of what he had done, what he was continuing to do, reflected from dark brown eyes set within a pale white face.

  The ship’s deck steadied as the submarine recovered from the launch of missile FOUR, its first-stage engines igniting now, just above the water’s surface. The starboard missile team was now in place at tube Five, the teams in each level working their way down the port and starboard sides of the ship. Tom brought the microphone to his lips again.

  “Prepare FIVE.”

  * * *

  Commander Malone stood in front of the Captain’s Indicator Panel in Control, monitoring the status of the launch. He was proud of his crew, executing this difficult task professionally. Yet at the same time, his stomach churned; he could taste the acid in his mouth.

  How could they do this?

  How could he do this?

  As he stood on the hard steel deck of the submarine, his thoughts drifted back to his childhood, when he had knelt in front of the wooden pews in church, thinking about one of the more important axioms he had be
en taught to believe as a small boy.

  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

  He knew there would be no reconciling what he was doing with the morals that had been ingrained in him as a child. He couldn’t even begin to think of what would soon happen thousands of miles away. But there would be time enough for reflection during the Kentucky’s lonely voyage home, which would begin as soon as she discharged her obligation, and her twenty-one missiles. As Malone’s thoughts returned to the status of the missile launch, the next report came across the ship’s announcing system. But it wasn’t the report he expected from MCC, announcing the launch of missile FIVE.

  “Torpedo in the water!”

  Malone’s heart leapt to his throat as Sonar’s report echoed across Control.

  “Torpedo bearing one-eight-two!”

  A red bearing line appeared on the combat control displays, signaling the detection of an incoming torpedo. Where that torpedo had come from was answered by Sonar’s next report.

  “Heavyweight torpedo, submarine launched!”

  73

  HMAS COLLINS

  USS KENTUCKY

  30 MINUTES REMAINING

  Commander Humphreys peered over the Weapons Officer’s shoulder as the Weps called out, “Own ship’s unit has enabled, active pinging. Solution on Master One holding firm.”

  Wilson reviewed the solution for the Kentucky, represented by a red half circle on the combat control screen. Their torpedo, a green ∧, was rapidly closing in on the Kentucky. Unfortunately, they’d been forced to fire at long range in an attempt to disrupt additional missile launches, and that would give the Kentucky an opportunity to evade, even starting from dead in the water.

  Ideally, Wilson would have preferred to fire a warning shot and call it a day. However, submarine warfare was usually a duel to the death. Now that the Kentucky had been attacked, Malone and his crew would do everything within their ability to sink the Collins, and the Collins had no choice but to do the same.

  Only one submarine would survive.

  Commander Humphreys intended to ensure that submarine was the Collins.

  The first torpedo was on its way. A second torpedo would follow.

  “Firing Point Procedures, Two Tube, contact Master One.”

  USS KENTUCKY

  “Secure from strategic launch!”

  Malone began issuing orders to his crew, transitioning the ship from its vulnerable strategic launch posture, dead in the water, to a viable submarine killer.

  “Helm, ahead flank! Steady course two-seven-zero!”

  “Launch countermeasure!”

  The submarine’s propeller surged into action, churning the water as it strained to accelerate the Kentucky to maximum speed, and a countermeasure was ejected to maintain the incoming torpedo focused on where the Kentucky had been rather than where it was headed.

  “Flood all torpedo tubes. Open muzzle doors, tubes One through Four!”

  Returning his attention to the Captain’s Indicator Panel, Malone waited for the red lights to extinguish, signaling the disarming of the gas generators and the closing of the ship’s missile tube hatches. All indications switched back to their normal dark status.

  “Conn, Torpedo Room. Tubes flooded down, muzzle doors open.”

  The Kentucky had completed her transition—her missile hatches were shut and torpedo tube doors open. She was ready to fight back.

  “Rapid counterfire! Bearing one-eight-two, tube Two!”

  The Kentucky had no solution on the target—only the bearing of the incoming torpedo. But Malone couldn’t wait to gain the target on sonar and for the submarine’s combat control algorithms to calculate the contact’s solution. He needed to shoot now and would settle for a shot back down the bearing of the torpedo.

  “Solution ready!” The XO verified the correct bearing had been assigned to the torpedo.

  “Weapon ready!” the Weapons Control Coordinator called out.

  “Ship ready!” the Navigator announced.

  “Shoot!” Malone ordered.

  Malone listened to the whirr of the submarine’s torpedo ejection pump and the characteristic sound of the four-thousand-pound torpedo being ejected from the submarine’s torpedo tube, accelerating from rest to thirty knots in less than a second.

  Inside Sonar, Petty Officer DelGreco and the other sonar techs relayed orders and reports between them, simultaneously attempting to lock on to the threat submarine’s sonar signature, track its incoming torpedo, and monitor the status of their outgoing unit. Sonar referred to their torpedo as “own ship’s unit” so their reports wouldn’t be confused with information about an incoming torpedo.

  “Own ship’s unit is in the water, running normally.”

  “Fuel crossover achieved.”

  “Turning to preset gyro course.”

  “Shifting to medium speed.”

  The Kentucky’s torpedo turned to the ordered bearing and began the search for its target. But while they held the outgoing and incoming torpedoes, they had not yet detected another submarine.

  “Hold no contacts.”

  Either the threat submarine was far away or a quiet contact. Or both.

  As the Kentucky increased speed to evade the incoming torpedo, Malone knew he’d soon render his sonar systems useless, blinded by the submarine’s turbulent passage through the water, unable to detect the enemy and any additional torpedo launches. But worrying about subsequent launches would have to wait. The Kentucky had to survive the first incoming torpedo before she could concern herself with another. Malone focused his attention on the announcements from Sonar, reporting the bearing of the torpedo every ten seconds.

  “Torpedo bears one-eight-zero, drawing aft.”

  Good.

  The torpedo hadn’t locked on to the Kentucky yet and was still headed toward the submarine’s original position. The question was, Would the torpedo close to within detection range before the Kentucky vacated the area?

  “Passing twenty knots,” the Helm reported. “Steady course two-seven-zero.”

  Malone needed to worry not only about how far away the torpedo was but also at what depth it was searching. They had been launching their missiles when they’d been fired at, so best bet was that the torpedo was searching for them shallow, at the same depth they were currently at. That was something Malone needed to change.

  “Dive, make your depth eight hundred feet.”

  The Kentucky’s deck tilted downward.

  HMAS COLLINS

  “Two Tube presets matched. Weapon ready!” the Collins’s Weapons Officer reported.

  “Ship Control correct!”

  “Navigation correct!”

  “Fire Control correct!”

  “Fire Two Tube!” Humphreys ordered his second torpedo into the water.

  Wilson’s ears popped as the submarine impulsed the torpedo from the tube, then rapidly vented its impulse tanks, refilling them to supply the water for the next shot. He listened to Sonar’s reports as they scrutinized their second torpedo, verifying it achieved its milestones.

  “Own ship’s unit in the water, running normally.”

  “Fuel crossover achieved.”

  “Turning to preset gyro course at high speed.”

  Wilson watched the combat control screens update, and a second green ∧ appeared near the Collins, speeding toward the static red diamond. But the Collins needed to obtain a new bearing on the Kentucky, lost once the missile launch had been terminated and the transients had ended. Sending the second torpedo right down the trail of the first would do no good. He needed to know where to steer it.

  “Torpedo in the water, bearing three-five-nine!” Sonar’s report of the incoming torpedo blasted across the 27-MC in Control.

  “Helm, left full rudder,” Humphreys called out, “steady course three-zero-zero.”

  Wilson watched the Helm rotate the rudder to left full, turning the Collins out of harm’s way. The incoming torpedo would now pass safely behind t
hem. The Kentucky had counterfired, hoping to distract the Collins, or even get a lucky hit.

  Excellent.

  The Collins’s first torpedo had been fired at the Kentucky’s original solution, with the target bearing 002. Her bearing was now 359. The Kentucky was headed west.

  Wilson turned to the Weapons Officer. “Report wire continuity.”

  “We have the wire to both weapons.”

  The first torpedo continued north, toward the Kentucky’s original position. Wilson decided to wait on the first fired unit. But he had something special in mind for the second torpedo.

  He turned to Humphreys. “Second fired unit—recommend a left twenty-degree steer, slow to medium speed and pre-enable the weapon.”

  A confused expression clouded Humphreys’s face as he pondered Wilson’s last recommendation. He wondered why Wilson had requested he turn off the torpedo’s sonar. But he soon nodded his understanding. The Collins was engaging the Kentucky with inferior weapons—Mod 4 versus Mod 6—as well as inferior submarine speed. Their normal advantage—stealth—had been dealt away by shooting at long range, giving their opponent sufficient warning to evade. Their only hope in this engagement was superior tactics. Thankfully, there was no one more experienced than Wilson.

  Humphreys turned to his Weapons Officer. “Insert a left twenty-degree steer, change speed to medium, pre-enable second fired unit.”

  The Weapons Officer raised an eyebrow as he repeated the order, then directed one of the fire control electronic technicians to send the three commands.

  Wilson studied the contact summary display, ensuring the second unit accepted the new orders, verified with an abrupt veer to the left. The Kentucky’s solution had been updated, indicating a western track, flank speed, and that the second fired unit had been vectored to the left in an attempt to intercept the Kentucky as it evaded the Collins’s first torpedo. After reviewing the updated solution, he was confident of the Kentucky’s evasion course and speed.

  Depth was another matter.

  The Kentucky had been shallow for its strategic launch. But where had she gone, now that she was evading? Had she done the obvious and gone deep? Or had she stayed shallow in an attempt to fool the Collins? Or perhaps she was deep, since staying shallow to fool the Collins was really the obvious response. The debate was an endless circle. Wilson decided to go with what a submarine captain would instinctively decide in the heat of battle. “Recommend new search depth change, second fired unit.”