Shattered Trident (36 page)

“We won’t be able to hit it with a torpedo,” Lieutenant Commander Jain complained. “The torpedo seeker will reject anything that small as a decoy.”

“Then we’ll ram it, Number One,” Samant said grimly. He was smiling, but Jain thought his expression was a little disturbing.

“Sir, may I respectfully remind you that the bow sonar dome is only fiberglass. We don’t know what this thing is made of.”

“Helm, left fifteen, steer two nine seven, make your depth five zero meters, increase speed to fifteen knots.” Samant turned to face his executive officer. “I understand the risk, Number One, but I intend to strike it with the upper part of our bow or the sail. It’s my decision.”

“The contact is drawing left, new course two five zero, still at ten knots. That may be its maximum speed.”

Samant smiled wickedly. “Number One, read off the contact’s bearing every fifteen seconds. Helm, match the bearing.”

The MG-519 operator reported, “Range is decreasing rapidly!”

Jain picked up the microphone for the ship’s announcing circuit, and looked to Samant, who nodded. He warned, “All hands brace for impact!”

USS
North Dakota

“OOD, keep us behind him. Use whatever speed you need.” Jerry couldn’t worry about Minot right now.
Chakra
’s radical maneuvers made it hard to stay behind the Indian sub. With the other boat increasing speed like that, Jerry could risk going faster himself, as long as he could keep astern.

“She’s pointed squarely at Minot,” the sonar operator announced. “Intercept course.”

“UUV operator, wait until the last minute and zig Minot to port.”

“Understood, skipper. Zig to port. UUV is still rising.”

Contact depth was hard to read with passive sonar, especially for a contact maneuvering like the Indian sub. With Minot rising, the question was, how well could the Indian skipper match the UUV’s depth? The only thing in their favor was that submariners were not taught ramming tactics.

“Zig to port sent,” the UUV operator reported hopefully.

The sonar rating called out, “Contacts have merged.” And Jerry found himself holding his breath.

INS
Chakra

They braced for almost a full minute, long after the calculated time of impact. To the first officer, Captain Samant looked even angrier than he had yesterday when he’d lost the Chinese submarine.

Samant ordered, “Make a wide turn to starboard. Leave the MG-519 sonar on, and transmit on all three active arrays, maximum power. I expect it to maneuver, but it can’t get far with a maximum speed of ten knots. We’re going to get a longer run at it and build up enough speed so it can’t dodge out of our way.”

They waited as
Chakra
swung around the compass. At speed, nuclear submarines are agile—true sea creatures. They’d be pointed back at the vehicle in less than a minute.

“Sir, new active sonar contact, range ten kilometers, bearing one one five.”

“What? That can’t be the UUV.” Samant’s puzzled expression became one of alarm.

“It’s a weak return, sir, but it’s got to be much larger than the UUV if we can see it. Course is to the north, below us. It’s maneuvering.”

“Track him, but keep watching for the UUV. If he hasn’t shot at us by now, he’s not a threat. I think I know who that is.”

The mine-hunting sonar operator reported, “I have the UUV. Range is two kilometers. It’s much shallower, and above us, near the surface.”

Samant smiled. “He’s trying to hide it, but we’ll get there first. Helm, increase speed to twenty knots and match the contact’s bearing and depth.”

“Match the contact’s bearing and depth, Helm, aye.”

“Captain, rising at that angle, whether we hit the UUV or not, we’ll broach.”

“Sod that!” Samant answered. “I want to smash that thing while its master watches.”

South China Sea

Xing Bao knew there was a war going on. The television said so, but the empty ocean told him that as well. His fishing junk normally worked well south of the shipping lanes, but there were always merchant ships on the horizon, or sometimes passing by. Occasionally they’d get too close, and he’d have to quickly pull in his nets.

But for the past few days, aside from other fishermen, there’d been nothing but the flat horizon. And since everyone had their own spots, he’d worked his junk alone since just after dawn.

Luckily, warships didn’t care about fishermen. And with the war scares, prices had been—

“Captain, off the port quarter!” The lookout’s call became a scream of fear, and by the time Xing had put down his tools and turned aft, everyone topside was shouting, although the words made no sense.

Three hundred meters away, maybe less, maybe more, a patch of the sea was boiling, white with froth. As Xing and his crew watched, a round black shape roared out of the water and grew quickly until he could see the entire bow of what had to be a submarine. Other parts of it appeared, the conning tower on top, and a fin aft. Almost a quarter, perhaps a third of its length was out of the water.

It was immense, many times the length of his own boat, and he had one of the larger junks in the harbor. Behind him, he could hear his crew shouting, “I see it! What’s it doing?”

The vessel stopped rising, and the bow began to fall, landing heavily. Tons of water, enough to swamp the harbor, much less his boat, splashed out from the bow, and as quickly as it had appeared, the submarine was gone. The waves reached them, and he clutched a railing for support as the deck suddenly bucked wildly under him.

The patch of water remained disturbed, like a ship’s wake, for several minutes, until the waves finally erased the last traces.

All thought of work was gone from his mind as he tried to grasp what he had just seen. The vessel had been painted black overall, with no way to tell who it belonged to.

Xing had been raised on the sea, and he accepted its wonders as a part of normal life. But now his mind whirled as he tried to imagine some colossal struggle, taking place in the depths right below him.

USS
North Dakota

“Minot is not responding,” the UUV operator announced. He sounded like a heart surgeon searching for a nonexistent pulse.

“Understood,” Covey answered. He looked at his skipper, still seated calmly in the chair.

“Open the range, OOD, before he stabilizes his depth and starts looking for us. It’s time to report in.”

7 September 2016

1000 Local Time

Okutama, Nishitama District

Tokyo, Japan

There was a car waiting at the Okutama station, the driver holding a sign saying
HIRANO
. Komamura was not the only passenger. A Korean in civilian clothes named Choi Jang-Kang was already in the car. One of the staff for the Korean delegation, he recognized Komamura immediately, and asked respectful questions about his book as they drove away from the train station. The professor pushed himself to answer intelligently, but his fatigue made speaking an effort.

The car quickly left the small town behind and began climbing through the thickly forested foothills.

Although technically part of Tokyo, Okutama was in the Nishitama District, the westernmost district in Tokyo. It had taken the professor forty-five minutes by train to reach Okutama station, the end of the Ome line.

The mountainous terrain was sparsely settled, and the area was laced with deep valleys and sharp peaks. The slopes were completely covered by trees, now brilliant with their fall colors.

The road took them north and west of town, first simply climbing, then switching back and forth through dense woods several times before coming to a pair of soldiers manning a barrier. After the driver and passengers had produced identification, they were allowed to pass. One final switchback took them to a timber-covered carport and a set of worn stone steps.

Their driver led the way up. “Please excuse the climb, but right now it is the only way to reach the estate. I understand a sloped path will be added in a few weeks.”

“This was a private estate?” Komamura asked, steeling himself for the ascent.

“Yes,
sensei
. The alliance purchased it because of its privacy and because it is relatively close to Tokyo. It is also within the footprint of Tokyo’s ballistic missile defenses.”

“But away from any population centers,” the Korean added.

“That, too,” acknowledged the guide. “Security here is very strict. Please refrain from making any cell phone calls or using the Internet until you have been briefed by Captain Madarame. That’s scheduled right after the meeting.”

The house was hidden by the hill until they were almost on top of it. The stairs took a hard turn to the left, leading around a sharp corner in the hillside, almost a wall of rock, before becoming a more or less level path.

Komamura, grateful to be at the end of his quest, looked up to see a large tile-roofed structure, in the Edo style, built into the hillside. Oversized eaves sheltered a wooden walkway that surrounded the structure and blended with the path. The wooden frame of the building, although well maintained, had weathered so that it appeared to be part of the forest. Many of the house’s outer walls had been folded back to take advantage of the warm weather.

Admiral Kubo, in uniform, and Hisagi Shuhei were both waiting on the veranda, along with several other members of the working group. Everyone bowed a welcome, and came forward to greet Komamura. After he’d said hello to Kubo and others he knew, a small, thin, dark-skinned man in uniform came forward. It took the professor a moment to recognize him, but then he greeted the newcomer warmly. “Captain Giring! You must have left for Japan immediately after my visit. I hope this means that Indonesia has made a decision.”

Giring nodded, smiling. “You were most persuasive, Doctor. I am the naval representative to the working group. Our civilian representative will be Minister Ganesha. He arrives tomorrow.”

Komamura smiled broadly. “You have made part of my report obsolete,” he said happily.

Kubo took his arm. “I’m sure you are very tired, but if you can last a short time longer, we would welcome your presence. Events are carrying us forward rapidly.”

The professor was exhausted, having visited three countries in a day and a half. It was possible that parts of him resided in different time zones. All he wanted was a quiet cup of sake and a long soak, but his obligations came first.

They walked into the central hall. Dark polished wooden floors contrasted with the brightly painted wall screens. They mirrored the fall scenes outside, making the room feel spacious, almost open.

Each delegation sat at a low table, with support staff behind them, and Komamura saw a table with the Indonesian flag and Captain Giring already seated. Another held the two representatives from the Republic of the Philippines, who had joined immediately after the Littoral Alliance had declared its existence.

More ships to add to the new crest,
thought Komamura. He wondered what colors they would use.

The working group had a rotating chair. This time Minister Nehru, from the Indian delegation, ran the meeting. Gray-haired and just a little overweight, he wasted no time on formality. “Welcome back, Professor. We’ve received your reports during your travels. Do you wish to add anything?”

The professor stood and bowed. “I was going to say that my proposals were warmly received and that I was optimistic about all three countries joining our alliance.” He turned to Giring. “I am very pleased to be proven at least partially correct so quickly, and I am also pleased that I can thank Captain Giring personally for his hospitality during my visit.”

He sat down as the other members applauded, and Nehru announced, “We must decide on priorities for those submarines capable of firing land-attack cruise missiles…”

Suddenly very tired, Komamura poured himself a cup of tea from a pot by his elbow. He wanted to be pleased with the results of his trip. Indonesia had immediately joined, and he believed the other two nations, Malaysia and Singapore, would also. But that meant their armed forces would join the fight, and the war would grow. There were rumors that Pakistan’s military was assisting the Chinese, and Iran and North Korea were noisily promising their assistance. The economic costs …

“Professor?” Minister Nehru’s question startled him from a half-doze. “I’m sorry, sir. I know it isn’t within your expertise, but what do you think? Given the increasing lack of tanker targets, should submarines capable of firing land-attack missiles start attacking naval bases, or continue to use torpedoes against warships and what merchants they can find?”

“Neither,” Komamura answered quickly. “Please excuse me, but sinking warships will not hurt the Chinese economy. And the loss of merchant ships carrying random cargoes will have only a superficial effect. China has already suffered deep wounds in her energy sector—specifically oil. I respectfully suggest that we remain focused on that goal.

“If there are few productive merchant targets at sea, cruise missiles should destroy oil facilities within their range, especially oil refineries. The distillation units would be particularly vulnerable to precision munitions. We must continue to hunt down tankers, even if they are empty, and sink them, even in harbor. We should also consider attacking China’s deep-ocean oil-drilling rigs. Naval experts can provide guidance on the best method of attack.

“Although we are united, we still cannot beat China’s military. She could lose her entire navy and just build another one.” Bowing toward the Vietnamese table, Komamura said, “Your brave ships stopped the southern prong of the Chinese offensive, but only after the Chinese seized Spratly Island, and at the sacrifice of four vessels. We cannot afford many such victories.”

Like the others, the South Korean naval representative, Admiral Park Uchin, nodded agreement, but countered, “There are some military targets that would benefit our campaign, Professor: Command and control centers, patrol aircraft bases for example. Taking the long view, these attacks would help reduce our own losses, and thus we would have more boats available for the campaign.”