Chapter 27

27

Aboard the Spook Fish

Using the view screen and controls inside the Spook Fish, Callie maneuvered the drone so that its prop faced the silt pile partially covering the flight data recorder’s access door. Within moments the prop blew away the silt, providing clear access.

“This is one of the reasons why I haven’t deployed a fully automated drone system yet,” Callie said. “Sometimes there are problems that still require a human to figure out.”

“That graphene cable is a real breakthrough,” Juan said. “It lets you keep control and provides extra power to your unit.”

“Unless you get all tangled up, then you might lose both. But that’s an operator error, isn’t it?” Callie said.

Linda nodded. “The combination of automated and manual control makes a lot of sense to me.”

“You’re about to see why I like both.”

Callie accessed the drone’s socket tool and affixed it to the first of ten bolts. Thanks to Eric’s download of the Airbus’s schematics, she knew all of the bolt sizes they would encounter on this trip. It was nice to have, but wasn’t really necessary. The drone’s self-adjusting socket tool was designed to automatically fit any bolt within standard parameters.

Callie then put the socket function into auto mode. Juan and Linda watched with fascination as the drone’s socket ratcheted out the first bolt, then located the next nine and removed them as well. Once they were all removed, Callie retook manual control of the drone and manipulated its gripper arm to pull open the flight data recorder access door.

She then guided the drone inside. She used its bright LED lamp to find the recorder bolted to a bulkhead bracket that was now hanging upside down. The bright orange metal box was ten inches long, six inches tall, and five inches wide. It was marked in inverted black letters: flight recorder do not open.

According to the downloaded spec sheet, it weighed only ten pounds—no problem for Callie’s drone, especially given the buoyancy of salt water. She maneuvered the drone to the two multi-pin connectors fixed to the box. One was connected to a power supply, and the other communicated with the data terminal. Both were easily disengaged by Callie’s deft handling of the controls. Within moments, she was working on the bracket bolts to free the box.

A text message from the Oregon suddenly flashed on the Spook Fish’s main monitor.

“Be advised…we are under attack.”

“Get me comms,” Juan said.

Linda tapped a virtual toggle switch on the monitor. A virtual keyboard appeared under the flash warning.

Juan used his index fingers to type out, “SITREP.”

There was no response.

“SITREP!”

Nothing.

“You want me to surface?” Callie asked.

“You have that box secured yet?”

“Need another minute.”

“Take it. We need that box.”

“You sure?”

“The Oregon can handle herself,” Juan said. He meant it. And Max was a fine commander.

But at that moment Cabrillo would have given his other leg to be in the Kirk Chair taking the fight to the enemy. The Oregon was his lady, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to protect her.

But down here, thousands of feet below her keel, he was useless.

Alarms sounded on Murph’s early-warning screen.

“Air defense is tracking two high-speed missiles heading our way. They have radar lock on our position.”

Max turned in the Kirk Chair.

“Hali, sound general quarters.”

“Aye, Max.” Hali Kasim punched the alarm button. An old-school Klaxon shrieked throughout the vessel as red GQ lights flashed.

“Wepps, distance and speed?”

“Approximately five miles out, one hundred eighty-two degrees relative. Closing at Mach Eight. Estimated impact: twenty-seven seconds and counting.” Murphy put up a giant digital clock counting down the impact.

Max wanted to make the Oregon a smaller target.

“Helm, hard about. I want bow-on to those things. Wepps, activate automated air defense weapons.”

“Aye,” Eric said, his hands on the helm controls.

“Roger that,” Murph said as he punched a button on his weapons station.

The Oregon’s electric engines spun up at nearly the speed of light as the vector thrusters rotated into position. The big 590-foot vessel turned on a dime. Everyone in the op center grabbed their station desks. Belowdecks, plates crashed, books flew, and heaven help any poor slob stuck in the head.

Before the Oregon completed her turn, the two air defense systems immediately engaged, and both displayed on separate wall screens for everyone in the op center to see.

“Wepps, put your missile radar tracking screen on one of the wall monitors.”

“Done.” Murph tapped a few keys and one of the wall screens showed his radar tracking display. Now everybody could watch the action as the two missiles sped toward the bull’s-eye at the center of the screen—the Oregon.

The first air defense system to deploy was the Laser Weapon System (LaWS) emerging out of the top of the Oregon’s fake smokestack. The telescope-looking device rotated instantly to the direction of the missile attack.

The second was the Kashtan combat module, a close-in weapons system. A steel sleeve lowered at the top of the forward crane tower revealing the twin thirty-millimeter rotary six-barrel cannons spinning up, designed to deliver ten thousand rounds per minute of explosive-tipped tungsten projectiles. The Kashtan also featured anti-aircraft missiles that upon explosion projected an impenetrable fifteen-foot-diameter wall of fragmented steel, destroying anything in its path.

“LaWS is locked on. Kashtan is prepared to fire.” Murph waited for permission to engage.

“Release fire controls.”

“LaWS firing.”

All eyes fixed on the laser. Nothing could be seen or heard. The laser light was invisible and silent, though the superheated air rippled like a mirage.

Six seconds passed. It felt like an eternity.

Nothing happened.

The digital clock sped past 17.6 seconds.

“What about the LaWS?” Max asked.

“No effect,” Eric said. “Maybe they have some kind of reflective coating?”

“Missiles now at four miles—”

Murph’s voice was cut off by the roar of two of the Kashtan’s missiles auto-launching. The system was programmed to launch at targets reaching within four miles of the ship.

“Kashtans should impact in five point four seconds,” Murph reported.

Two heavy thuds like mortar rounds sounded high overhead.

“Chaff deployed,” Eric said.

“Kill the Klaxon,” Max said as he did the math in his head. If those Kashtan missiles missed their marks, the incoming rockets would hit the Oregon in just over twelve seconds.

Five seconds passed like five hours.

“Incoming missiles breaking up,” Murph shouted.

The op center broke out in cheers.

“Sonar detects two splashes,” Eric said, breaking the celebration.

“Debris?” Max asked.

“No. Two high-speed screws detected—tangos one and two coming in hot.”

Murph tapped his screen. “Estimated time of impact…thirty seconds.”

“Activate automated anti-torpedo systems,” Max said.

“Paket activated,” Murph said. The Russian-built anti-torpedo system featured ten-foot-long mini torpedoes. Another wall monitor camera pulled up the Paket launchers. Two Paket torps burst out of their tubes and hit the water.

“Pakets away,” Murph said.

“Manual override, Wepps. Put two more fish in the water.”

Murph grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He smashed two firing buttons on his panel and two more Paket torpedoes launched into the water.

“Helm—evasive maneuvers, now!”

Eric slammed the throttles. The giant freighter’s deep-V monohull reared like a racehorse out of the gate and charged forward through the dark blue water, its massive frame stabilized by T-foils and fins fixed to the keel.

A mirror image of Murph’s monitor popped up on another wall screen. Four virtual Pakets depicted in green raced toward two incoming red icons.

The clock counted down. At just over fourteen seconds the first Paket collided with the first incoming torpedo.

“Tango one destroyed,” Murph announced.

But the second Paket missed its target.

Max leaned forward in his chair.

All eyes were fixed on the remaining two Pakets honing in on the last speeding torpedo—just heartbeats away from slamming into the Oregon’s hull.

A distant, low-frequency thud echoed inside the Spook Fish.

Juan and Linda exchanged a worried glance.

“What was that noise?” Callie asked. She didn’t move her eyes from the drone’s view screen as she maneuvered back under the plane’s tail.

A few seconds later, a second thud sounded.

“Incoming message,” Linda said.

The main monitor flashed a new text from the Oregon. She read it aloud with a smile.

“All clear.”