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

Hun Glo watched through one of the polycarbonate viewing portals as the mini-sub was lifted from the ship’s deck and swung out over the relatively calm water. The sub settled into the dark sea and rested on the surface while divers disconnected the power umbilical and the lifting rig. As that was happening, the MRV was lowered alongside and the tow rig was connected between the two vessels.

Technicians and the crew completed a couple of last-minute equipment checks. Then the Fendouji and her tag-along companion, the MRV, slowly descended into the inky water. Yon Hun Glo sat back and tried as best he could to get comfortable in the cramped capsule. Even the veteran submariner was bothered by such close quarters.

It was over six miles to the bottom. Even with the four propulsors at maximum power, the trip would take the better part of three hours. Until then, there was nothing to do but relax.

Relax and think of over a billion dollars per roundtrip.

Yon Hun Glo had actually begun to doze off when the sub’s high-speed acoustic communications system chirped. He read off the report that had originated with his command center, the one hidden in the cargo containers on the Pearl Moon. Their radar had detected a ship approaching at very high speed from the direction of the American port of Pago Pago on American Samoa. And it was not transmitting on its AIS transponder.

It was almost certainly an American warship. Nothing else would be traveling that fast, and only warships were exempt by the International Maritime Organization from using an AIS transponder. Yon’s first question was how the Americans were able to get a ship out of Pago Pago without the PLAN submarine he had posted there seeing and reporting it.

The second was what was going to happen when the ship arrived. The meager Tongan patrol boats would be of no use against an actual warship, even if this area was supposed to be their territorial water and their responsibility to defend. He did have one surprise for intruders, but he could not be certain it would be enough, depending on the type of warship coming their way.

Yon Hun Glo decided he could not rely on the Tongans or his “surprise” to deflect the approaching vessel. Instead, he directed one of his submarines to attack the impertinent American ship.

But, unknown to Yon Hun Glo, there was other traffic in the area. The submarine Cheyenne cruised at periscope depth three thousand yards south of where the admiral’s little group of ships slowly circled. The officer of the deck could easily see through his ’scope the brightly lit Chinese research vessel and a larger container ship a thousand yards further. Three little gunboats, flying the Tongan flag, wove in and out around the pair of bigger ships as if on joyrides.

The sub’s sonar showed a little more complicated picture. In addition to the five surface ships, there were two submarines, one making wide, slow circles a couple of thousand yards to the west and a second doing the same a few thousand yards to the east. Both submarines were classified Chinese Yuan-class AIP boats. They were so quiet that they were only held on the TB-29A towed array. But they were definitely there. And not unexpected. The sensors in the ship channel had reported their passage, too.

Quieter still, barely a blank spot in the ocean, the American UUV, ORCA One, was a few hundred yards astern of the eastern Yuan.

And well off to the north, but closing fast, they held a broadband contact that sonar classified an LCS, the Canberra. It seemed to be rush hour in this typically empty part of the Pacific Ocean.

“Conn, Sonar, picking up acoustic comms from the research ship. Sounds like a data link of some kind.”

Walt Smith, the Cheyenne’s XO and currently standing watch as the command duty officer, grabbed the 21MC microphone and acknowledged the report.

“Sonar, Conn, aye. Can you make anything out of it?”

“No, not really. Not something we have heard before. Got it on tape, though. Maybe the ACINT brains can make sense of it when we can upload. Hold on a second.” A brief pause. “Conn, Sonar, contact zig on the east Yuan, Sierra Five-Six. Looks like he has increased speed and changed course to the north.”

“Sonar, Conn, aye.” Smith turned to talk to the section tracking party manning the bank of computers on the starboard side of the control room. “Attention in the attack center. Confirmed target zig, Sierra Five-Six, turn away and speed increase. Set anchor range five-two-hundred yards. Continue tracking Sierra Five-Six.”

Smith turned to the officer of the deck and ordered, “Make your depth three hundred feet and move over closer to Sierra Five-Six. Get yourself to three thousand yards behind him, deep in his baffles. I don’t like where I think he’s headed. I’m going to get the captain.”

Smith had barely finished his orders when Bart Knox, the skipper, walked into the control room. “What you got now, XO? Sounds like things are picking up a bit.”

“Skipper, Sierra Five-Six, the easternmost Yuan, just zigged, picking up speed and heading up toward where the Canberra is coming this way. I got a bad feeling about that. I figured we would get up in a position to make sure we can stop him if he is up to no good.”

Knox looked at the sonar display for a few seconds and then at the fire control solutions for all the contacts.

“Okay, I agree. Let’s get in this bastard’s baffles and be ready to shoot, just in case. Man battle stations silently. But let’s try to make sure we don’t shoot the ORCA by mistake.”

The Cheyenne slipped down into the depths and picked up speed as it closed on the Chinese submarine without being detected. Half an hour later, they were exactly where Commander Knox wanted them to be, thirty-five hundred yards astern of the Chinese diesel boat and off its starboard quarter. And in a position that was blind