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

world—in every instance the story distributed by the Associated Press—was a mere four-sentence mention in their single-column “International” wrap-ups. Fox News, CNN, and the BBC failed to mention the incident at all.

6

The dark sea was bathwater warm. The only way that Navy SEAL Lieutenant Commander Jim Ward could even see the inside of the Shallow Water Combat Submersible was from the warm glow given off by the computer control panel. This was Ward’s first adventure piloting the SWCS on an actual operational mission. With capacity for only six people and their gear, there was no room inside the mini-submarine for the luxury of a dedicated pilot or navigator. Everyone onboard was necessarily a shooter, a fully trained and qualified SEAL.

The world of the SEAL Delivery Vehicle teams was a new one for Jim Ward. Despite having seen more than his share of new technology—and old-fashioned kinds of engagement with bad guys as well—he had not yet ventured into the shadowy world of mini-subs and their surreptitious littoral missions. At least until now, when he got the chance to serve as executive officer of SDV Team ONE, based in Pearl Harbor.

He had discussed the opportunity with his dad, who just happened to be Admiral Jon Ward, now head of Naval Intelligence at the Pentagon. After giving him renewed grief for not following in his footsteps, and those of his grandfather, driving submarines for the Navy, the elder Ward told him he thought it was a fine idea.

“I knew you would come around and become a bubble-head before it was over,” Jon Ward had told him. “Even if it is a toy sewer pipe you’ll be skippering. Submarining is in your blood, Jimbo.”

The younger Ward had spent several weeks at Coronado in California, learning how to operate the new SWCS. He assumed he would have more time to perfect his abilities. Now, though, it was time to prove that he had paid attention in class.

The process so far had been very easy, beginning with launching the craft out of the dry-deck shelter on the back of the USS Hawaii in deep water twenty-five miles to the northeast of where they now made their way through relatively shallow water. Unlike the older Swimmer Delivery Vehicles, the entire launch sequence for the SWCs was automated. Then, very little to do but watch the auto-pilot as they plodded without deviation on a course to the south and west. Sit back and try to relax in the dark, cramped space as the little electric sub cruised just a few feet below the wavetops. At a max speed of six knots, the outbound trip would take just over four hours for them to reach their target spot.

Then the navigation trace confirmed that Ward and his small team of SEALs had arrived at their destination, the southeast end of the North Luconia Shoals. The mass of coral heads and reefs sat about sixty miles off the Sarawak coast of the big island of Borneo. Like most every geographical feature of the region, these coral structures were the object of disputes, with primary claim being that they were part of the territory of the Spratly Islands. But none of this was of interest to Jim Ward and his mini-sub crammed with scuba-breathing SEALs.

Seahorse Breakers lay only a few hundred yards dead ahead. The reef was named not for the seahorses that swam these waters but for an English opium clipper of that name that had met its deadly fate on the coral heads almost two hundred years ago. The reef stretched across an eight-mile arc of ocean from the northwest to the southeast. Its entire length lay in perilous wait, solid but not necessarily visible, in perfect position to tear the bottom out of the vessel of any unwary mariner. At its highest point, the reef was covered by no more than six feet of seawater.

The SWCS’s bottom profiler showed precisely the sandy ocean floor that the hydrographers had predicted. Ward inched the vessel upward until it cruised only a couple of feet below the surface, then reached over and toggled a switch. From somewhere just behind his seat, he could hear a low hum as the sensor mast outside hinged up. His computer screen shifted displays, now showing a video picture not of the bottom but of the calm, dark ocean surface above them. The high-definition, multi-spectral video camera sitting at the very top of the folding sensor mast panned around, revealing an empty sea. The sun was just rising, low on the eastern horizon.

No sign of one of the stray Chinese ships that Ward knew were anchored off Aitken Reef, twenty miles to the north. Those ships were the reason Ward and his team were out here in the South China Sea, late on a moonless night. The cargo of sensors they were here to plant covertly would give the brass hats back in Pearl a set of hidden eyes and ears on what the Chinese were doing.

Ward stole a glance over at his co-pilot/navigator’s control panel. Ensign Tad Riley, the newest member of the team, fresh out of SWCV pilot’s school and SEAL Qualification Training, sat staring tensely at his monitor, as if he were waiting for the next level of a video game to appear. The screen was still set to the inertial navigation display.

“Tad! Wake up!” Ward told him over the vehicle communications system. “You’re fixated on the screen. Sensor mast is up. You need to get a quick GPS fix and check ESM. We need to know if we have any unfriendlies close by. Then see if we have any message traffic.”

Ward could faintly sense the young SEAL shaking his head, coming back to the here-and-now. Then he could see the monitor flicker to different screens as Riley quickly danced through the displays.

“Skipper, picking up an RM-1290 nav radar and an MR-36A surface search radar. Best bearing three-four-seven. Signal strength is pretty high. Best bet it’s a Chinese Type Fifty-Four ALPHA. And