The Seventh Angel - Страница 68

The Executive Officer frowned. “I understand that we need real-time tracking information. But as Ms. Roark has reminded us, no one has actually verified that her acoustic transponder system is covert. Which means there’s a chance that the submarine will detect our signals.”

“It’s a risk,” Ann said. “I can’t pretend that it’s not. You just have to decide if you need real-time data badly enough to take the chance.”

“Captain, we need the tracking data,” Chief McPherson said. “I don’t see how we can prosecute this submarine without it.”

“We don’t have a lot of choice,” Captain Bowie said. He pointed toward the screen. “The target is heading for the launch position. If COMPACFLEET is right, the sub is going to shoot as soon as he gets there.”

The Executive Officer nodded without speaking.

The captain looked at Ann. “Enable your robot’s underwater transponder system, and try to get him into an intercept position before the submarine reaches the launch position.”

He turned to the Executive Officer. “Nick, I want you to go up to the bridge and assume the Conn. You’re the best ship driver I’ve got.” He pointed toward the Aegis display. “See that big polynya, to the southeast of the launch position?”

Ann followed his finger to a winding passageway that led miles into the ice. Polynya. That was the word.

“Get us as far up in there as you can,” the captain said. “We need to get within torpedo range of the submarine, or all of this is for nothing.”

The Executive Officer studied the screen. “Sir, there’s not going to be much room to maneuver in there. If we need to run, we’ll probably have to back out. There’s not enough fairway to turn around.”

“I know,” the captain said. “And you’ll be sailing in the dark, without radar. So use the infrared cameras on the mast-mounted sight, and make sure your forward lookouts have night vision goggles.”

“We’re going to bump some ice, Nick,” he said. “No way to avoid it. But try not to hit too much of it, and try not to hit it too hard.” He smiled. “I don’t think our ship’s band knows how to play Abide With Me.”

Ann registered the last sentence as a joke, but she didn’t get the reference. Maybe it was some Navy insider thing.

The captain turned to Chief McPherson. “Chief, we can’t use ASROC in there, so make sure we’ve got port and starboard torpedo tubes prepped for urgent attack. We don’t know when we’re going to get a shot, and I don’t want to miss our window.”

He looked at the TAO. “We’ve been operating just across the fence from those MiGs and helicopter gunships all night. We’ve been lucky so far, but now we’re going to climb over the fence and go right into their backyard. Sooner or later, they’re going to notice us and start shooting. When that happens, the jig will be up. Forget about EMCON, and forget about stealth. Get the radars up as fast as you can, so we can shoot back. Engage inbound missiles first, and then worry about hostile aircraft.”

Finally, he turned to Ann. “I appreciate your assistance,” he said. “We couldn’t do this without you.”

Ann nodded, and felt her stomach take a turn. She wondered if this might be a good time to throw up all over Combat Information Center again.

The captain regarded the little group. “Any questions or suggestions?”

No one had any.

“You’ve all got your orders,” he said. “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER 56

USS TOWERS (DDG-103)

SOUTHEASTERN SEA OF OKHOTSK

THURSDAY; 07 MARCH

2243 hours (10:43 PM)

TIME ZONE +11 ‘LIMA’

Seaman Apprentice Richard Melillo — better known to his shipmates as Rich Man—raised the binoculars to his eyes again and resumed scanning the star-flecked Siberian sky. “It turns out,” he said, “that bondoc is the Tagalog word for mountain. So these American Soldiers who fought in the mountains of the Philippines during World War II were fighting in the bondocs. Only the GIs didn’t pronounce it correctly. They called it the boondocks, or the boonies. And that’s where the term comes from.”

Somewhere to his right, Seaman Dreyfus summoned up a measure of phlegm, and hocked it over the lifeline. “Where do you learn all of this crazy shit?” he asked.

Melillo panned his binoculars slowly to the right, methodically taking in small sections of sky at a time, the way they’d taught him during lookout training. “I just pick it up here and there,” he said. “I read. Watch the History Channel. Stuff like that.”

“Yeah,” Dreyfus said. “But how do you remember it? Half the time, I can’t remember where I put my shoes. How do you remember all this history junk? I bet you’d kick total ass if you ever went on Jeopardy.”

Melillo smiled to himself. “I guess,” he said. “Maybe.” In truth, he though he probably would kick ass on Jeopardy. But it didn’t seem right to say so.

Dreyfus hocked another one over the rail, and followed it up with a nasty sounding snort. “This cold is killing me,” he said. “My feet feel like they’re frozen to the deck plates, my damned nose won’t stop running.

He stomped his feet several times, to get his circulation moving. “Damn,” he said. “It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey.”

Melillo grinned. “Yeah it is,” he said. “Hey … Do you know where that saying comes from? About freezing the balls off a brass monkey?”

“Get the hell out of here,” Dreyfus said. “You really know where that comes from?”

“Yeah,” Melillo said. “It goes back to the days of sail, when they used to stack cannonballs on deck, ready for use — next to the cannon. You know, in little pyramids, like you see on pirate movies. Well cannonballs are round, right? So they had to come up with a way to keep them from rolling all over the deck …” He paused, his binoculars held motionless as he listened intently.

Dreyfus got tired of waiting for him to finish. “Yeah?”

“Be quiet for a second,” Melillo said. “I’m listening.”

“Listening for what?” Dreyfus asked.

“Shhhhhhhh!”

Seaman Apprentice Melillo shifted the earphone of his headset to free up his right ear, and pulled the cold weather hood out of the way. The air was insanely cold against his exposed skin, but he stood without moving, straining to recognize a sound near the very bottom end of his hearing.

There it was. Yeah. It sounded like …

His binoculars came up again, sweeping the sky in the direction of the sound. After a few seconds of searching, he found what he was looking for: a cluster of black shapes, silhouetted against the starry sky. He calculated a couple of quick angles, and grabbed the push-to-talk button on his headset.

“Bridge — Starboard Lookout. Multiple helicopters, bearing zero-four-zero. Position Angle thirty-three. Moving from left to right very rapidly.”

Even as he was listening to the reply from the bridge, he saw the helos turn toward the ship. He had a better look at them now, and the sound of their rotors was now easily distinguishable. He keyed his headset again. “Bridge — Starboard Lookout. I have three helicopters, I say again three helicopters, bearing zero-four-five. Position angle thirty-three. Helos have turned towards own ship, and they are inbound. I say again, helos are inbound.”

The phone talker on the bridge said something in reply, but Melillo’s attention was focused on the helos now. Through his binoculars, he saw several brief flashes of light in the night sky.

“Incoming missiles!” he shouted into his headset. “Missiles inbound, from the starboard bow! Bearing zero-four-five!”

Again there was a reply from the bridge, but it was drowned out by the bark of an amplified voice from the ship’s topside speakers. “This is the XO from the bridge. We have inbound Vipers! This is not a drill! All topside personnel get inside the skin of the ship, now! All hands brace for shock!”

The announcement was immediately followed by the raucous whoop of the missile salvo alarm.

Melillo and Dreyfus were nearly knocked over by another Sailor, running past them through the darkness. They made it into the starboard break, clambered through a watertight door, and were dogging it behind themselves when they felt the ship shudder with the first launch of outbound missiles.

As the roar of the missiles was fading, Seaman Apprentice Melillo said, “We’re getting our birds up there. They’ll knock down the inbounds.”

The last word was overpowered by a prolonged metallic burp from the forward Close-In Weapon System, as the defensive Gatling gun hurled a thousand or so 20mm projectiles at the inbound missiles. The sound was followed by two muffled explosions, not very many yards from the ship. The CIWS growled again, pumping out another stream of 20mm tungsten bullets, but it was a fraction of a second too late.

* * *

S-24 Rocket (mid-flight):

Even as two of the S-24 rockets were shredded by the ship’s Close-In Weapon System, a third flew toward its target, unaware that it had escaped early destruction by a margin of less than five meters.

The 240mm Russian-built rocket was only marginally more intelligent than a rifle bullet. It had no sensors, no guidance package, and no processing capability of any kind. It knew only how to ignite its solid fuel engine, how to spin its airframe for flight stabilization, and how to detonate when its arming circuit was completed.