Attack of the Seawolf

The view was black, the scope lens only breaking the oily water of the bay as the optic module thumped into the stops at the overhead. Pacino had moved the ship two thousand yards down the channel to the southeast of the supertanker-piers, then turning so his bow faced the action at Xingang, hoping to be positioned to get a better view of the P.L.A piers than he had had of the tanker-pier point. But when the lens cleared Pacino saw nothing but orange-and-white flames, the massive balls of fire sent up by the impact of the Javelin explosions. As he watched, a secondary explosion flared from the P.L.A piers, this fireball’s diameter a ship length wide, the glow from it making the scene seem lit by the sun at midday. Pacino could only hear one thought in his head: I sure hope that’s not your ship I see burning, Sean.

“Down scope,” Pacino called reluctantly.

Now that his window to the outside world was again shut, Pacino paced the periscope platform, frustrated.

For the moment the operation was out of his hands.

He had to trust that the SEALs could pull this off.

But what about the Javelins? Had the SEALs realized what was happening in time? Or had the explosions fried them as they had the ships at the pier? And what if the missiles had ripped into the Tampa? What if the detonations had killed the SEALs in the water, or set off their contact charges while they were still diving beneath the hulls of the destroyers? And what if the Chinese were now sending warships to kill the Seawolf, now that her position was compromised from the Javelin launches? There was no way of knowing, short of more periscope exposure, which would imperil the crew of Seawolf.

He itched to get the Seawolf into action, a chance to do something to save his friend, something other than pace the conn in suspension — suddenly, his headset crackled.

“Conn, Sonar, we have a diesel engine startup bearing three five two. Bearing correlates to the pier position of Target Four, Jianghu Type II fast frigate.

Captain, we now have twin screw noises at high RPM.

I’d guess Target Four is getting underway to come see us.”

Pacino didn’t acknowledge Chief Jeb. At his last words Pacino had already called out look around number-two scope” and raised the periscope. As the lens broke the surface he saw the Jianghu frigate backing into the bay from the pier, the wake at her stern foaming up as she reversed her screws. The bow of the vessel turned toward him, the bow wave building up as the ship accelerated, the tall central mast waving flags lit by a spotlight, the wash of the light illuminating the exhaust smoke pouring out of her stack. Pacino called out to the control room watch standers without removing his eye from the scope.

“I’ve got Target Four, Jianghu-class frigate, underway and making high-speed turns directly toward us.

Standby for observation … Bearing mark. Range mark, two divisions in low power, angle-on-the-bow zero. Down scope.”

“We have a firing solution, Captain,” Firecontrol coordinator Keebes reported from the firecontrol consoles of the attack center.

“Recommend shooting.”

“Very well. Attention in the firecontrol team. We’re going to shoot two torpedoes down the bearing to Target Four, give him something for breakfast. Weps, set Mark 50 torpedoes in tubes three and four to surface homing mode, shallow transit, medium-to-low active snake search, wake homing mode on reacquisition, anti-self homing disabled, anti-circular run disabled.

Report status.”

“Sir, tubes three and four are lined up. Mark 50s,” Feyley reported from the weapons console, repeating back Pacino’s mode selections, his voice sounding doubtful at Pacino’s orders to disable the safety interlocks on the weapons. Pacino looked at Keebes, waiting for Keebes to object to risking the ship with torpedoes that could turn around and impact Seawolf. None came.

“Firingpoint procedures, tubes three and four. Target Four,” Pacino ordered, raising the periscope.

“Final bearing and shoot.”

“Ship ready,” Officer of the Deck Turner reported.

“Weapons ready,” Feyley called.

“Solution pending,” Keebes said.

Pacino’s eye hit the eyepiece at waist level as the optic module rose from the well.

“Observation, Target Four …”

“Ready,” Keebes said.

“Bearing … mark!” The frigate’s bow was plowing directly toward them, her slender bow slicing the calm waters of the bay, her guns trained on their position, a crew of men standing at the antisubmarine mortar launcher in the fo’c’sle. The crosshairs of the periscope reticle framed the graceful form of the ship, and the odd thought came to Pacino that the frigate was truly beautiful, an elegant efficient design. He smirked in self-mockery: a beautiful ship, bent on killing him.

“Range mark! Four divisions in low power, angle-on the-bow zero. Down scope.”

The screws of the ship could be heard with the naked ear through the steel of the hull, the throbbing thrashing sound of their angry cavitation a clear indication of the frigate’s hostile intention.

“Solution ready,” Keebes said.