Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

we are there to protect our sea lanes to Australia and New Zealand. Plus, we have some new reasons to think they do, indeed, need some protecting these days.”

Admiral Fritz set down his cup and leaned forward.

“We’re going to be testing a brand-new idea for forward basing. The idea is to use the Chesty Puller, one of those expeditionary sea-base ships, as a stand-in for a sub tender. It won’t be able to give you everything a tender can but should be able to fix most things. Plus, it won’t advertise the presence of subs over there. And by the way, you’re going to have to share your new home with the battalion of Marines and squadron of Marine rotary types that COMPACFLT is sending for local security. The heavy brass up at Camp Smith seem to think they’ll need some firepower down there.”

Fritz took a breath and reached back to grab a file from a stack piled up on his desk. He checked the cover sheet and slid it over to Glass.

“Joe, I’m detailing a couple of ORCA UUVs from UUVRON ONE to you. You can operate them out of there, too. Some of this is still in the planning stages as we learn more...as you learn more...but I’m thinking of shuttle-running your boats out of Pago Pago. You can work out the details with Ops.”

The ORCA unmanned submarines were a brand-new toy, bigger and more impressively equipped than any previous robot vessel. While not officially part of the fleet yet, they were obviously now available for this particular task.

Joe Glass took another sip of his coffee. He did not even taste it this time. He idly scratched his chin. His instincts were screaming.

“Admiral, my radar screen is lit up like a son of a bitch. Can you tell me what’s going on out there?”

“If I knew more, I’d tell you. That’s one of the benefits of your new job, you know. You get all the info. Like drinking from a fire hose sometimes. One thing I do know is that your old friend Jon Ward smells something rotten. You already know it’s China, but this time...well...it ain’t all for propaganda and bluster. Especially after what they did to Tarbox...”

“Enough said.”

“You have plenty of reading to do there. But if it makes you feel any better, I have the same bad feeling in my gut about all this. Something’s up. And you, of all people, know that usually means submarines are best placed to do a lot of the heavy lifting.”

Glass downed the last of the java and stood.

“We got it.”

Ψ

It was near the end of another very interesting day on the Deep Ocean Explorer research vessel. A balmy tropical breeze blew across the deck, but nobody on the ship was topside to enjoy the weather or the brilliant sunset.

Instead, they were all huddled around a bank of monitors down in Mission Control, raptly watching as Dr. Sandy McDougal played back the tapes from Sea Raptor’s last mission.

“Wow! I’ve never seen such a well-developed field of fumaroles!” McDougal exclaimed. “Some of them are almost two hundred feet tall. Truly amazing at this depth, too. This is way deeper than we would normally expect such massive and well-formed deposits.”

Mitch O’Donnell interrupted the scientist’s pondering. “Yes, Doc. Impressive. But look at the gold! There must be literally tons of it down there! There’s enough to make us all gazillionaires!”

Rex Smith stood off to the side, frowning. “I hate to dash your enthusiasm, but there are a couple of issues here. Other than the question of ownership and who has a legitimate claim on this find, the gold is six miles below the surface of the ocean. I am not aware of any technology capable of mining anything that deep.”

Smith allowed the team a few more minutes to gawk at the tapes and ponder his concerns. It was time to get back to work. The researcher turned to Bill Bix, Deep Ocean Explorer’s captain.

“Bill, we need to get parts to fix the Sea Raptor. Make best speed to Pago Pago. Hopefully, we can get the parts flown in from Sydney in the next week or so.”

But everyone else in the room was fixated on the small mound of pure gold dust Mitch O’Donnell had placed strategically in the middle of a chart table.

Ψ

Commander Chet Allison stepped back from the Type 18 periscope and glanced around Boise’s control room. It appeared the battle-stations ship control team and fire control party were on-station. Allison stepped back up to the eyepiece again. Best to give everyone a few minutes to get settled in and ready to go.

The view outside was boringly nondescript. No visual contacts, either on the surface or in the air. The only object in his periscope view was a faint gray-and-green line on the far eastern horizon. That would be Dong Doa Island. Only a few months ago, the spot had been known as North Danger Reef. In reality, it consisted of only a very few square feet of dry land, even at low tide. Then the Chinese began hauling in dirt, rocks, and tons of cement. They had turned the reef into a bustling navy base, complete with a deep-water harbor and an airfield capable of handling high-performance combat aircraft. Allison’s intel brief had been frustratingly sparse on several key points, but the most concerning one to him was what kind of search sensors might be in place to protect China’s newest base.

Allison grabbed the 21MC microphone and pushed the button. “ESM, Conn, report all ESM contacts.”

The reply came almost immediately.

“Conn, ESM, currently hold three contacts. Echo One equates to a Chinese Type Three-oh-five Alpha phased array air defense radar. Echo Two equates to a RES-1 Chinese air and coastal defense radar. Echo Three equates to a REL-6 Bravo air surveillance radar. Currently hold no emitters equated as a threat.”

At least the Chinese did not appear to be expecting underwater guests. Just the typical search radars were up and scanning.

“Ship