Steve Abbott - Devil's Gambit

“It’s them.” Tom punched up the thermal display on the central CRT screen. The Nung appeared in reversed black and white. “Bingo! He’s seen us! They’re turning in.” Tom turned back to his radar display. “They’re increasing speed and turning. What the?” Tom turned to Weaver. “I’ve got a second return, low in the water by his stern.”

“What?”

Tom slewed the thermal scope to the stern of the freighter and aimed it at the sea there. The two men watched the sail of the Leader slip below the waves. Before either one of them had a chance to comment, the helo was gripped by the fingers of the forward fringes of the squall as it cast about for victims not suitably impressed by its growing power. Weaver fought it with rudder pedal, collective and thrust.

“Damn! Get in touch with Bloodhound. We’re going to have to get a boarding party to this ship and inspect it. Get confirmation on what they want to do about the sub. You’re going to have to trust the MAD gear if they want us to bag them and Tom, it’s going to have to be real quick. We are bingo for fuel.”

It is with a heavy heart that I write these orders. You and your men were chosen to serve on our most advanced and secret submarine, because of your political dependability and outstanding military careers. What I must now ask you to do will go against the grain of all of your experience and learning. I must stress, the mission you are on is a matter of utmost national security and I do not exaggerate when I tell you our country’s very survival, indeed our glorious way of life, depends on its success. The capitalist dogs of the West and their lackeys cannot be allowed to catch scent of this mission. It is under my orders then that you are to sink the Nung Il Yeung. Do not think I take this lightly. It will haunt me till the end of my days.

The Captain folded the note. On the bridge, his face impassive, he gave the orders. “Periscope depth, ahead one half. Navigator, plot a firing solution to the freighter. Helm close to five hundred meters.” Activity on the bridge stopped as the men all turned to their Captain, stunned by his orders. His tone of voice told them all this was not a practice drill. “You have your orders. Stop gawking and move!”

The helm, sonar and the fire control officers worked together to plot a course and firing solution to the target. Each man wondered at how quickly the freighter had gone from being their countrymen to their target.

At twenty two knots, the submarine closed rapidly with the freighter. The Leader did not need to be at Periscope depth to fire, but if the Captain was to be responsible for the death of so many of his countrymen, good reason or not, he had to be sure. Helm had again done a masterful job bringing them into an almost beam on firing position.

“Five hundred meters, Captain.”

“Up periscope,” the Captain said. The periscope slid up into his hands. The freighter sat dead ahead and then he saw the helicopter with British Royal Navy markings. “Down scope, fire one and two.”

The fire control officer looked sick as he pushed the launch studs for the two torpedoes.

With a “Chunk!” and scream of steam-powered screws, the two torpedoes burst out of their launch tubes and sped off towards the Nung. At this range, it was unlikely they would miss. Still, the Captain did not give the order to cut the two guidance wires trailing the weapons. Even with the enemy helicopter there, he had time. The Nung would not know until the last moment of the torpedo’s existence.

The fire control officer called out the distance to target. In his right hand was a stopwatch, to make sure of a more accurate entry in his log. “Two hundred meters, one fifty, one hundred, any second now.”

Weaver had the Sea Lynx head on to the freighter. Tom had the video camera going. One more pass before they headed back to the Bloodhound. An explosion of water and flame erupted amidships of the vessel, followed by a second as the Leader’s other torpedo hit.

“Bloody hell!” Weaver swore as the Lynx pitched back from the shockwave. He regained altitude and both men looked out on the destruction.

Tom called it in. “Bravo one to Fox-trot Oscar. The freighter has been destroyed by an explosion. Possible submarine attack. Request weapons free.” There was no response. The center of the Nung Il Yeung had ceased to exist. Flame and smoke billowed from the ship’s two broken halves as they sank. There was little left; only bodies and debris showed there had been anything there at all. “Bravo one to Fox-trot Oscar. The freighter has been destroyed by an explosion. Possible submarine attack. Request weapons free.”

The reply came back laden with static. “Fox-trot Oscar. Bravo one, weapons free.”

Weaver could see men in the water, but few were moving. The frigid waters would claim them as well. He hated himself for it, but he did not have the fuel to rescue any. But he could destroy the sub that killed them.

“Did you get that?” Tom shouted.

Weaver flipped the arming switch for the torpedo to the on position. “Not much time left.”

Tom shot a worried glance at the fuel indicators and nodded. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” He brought the MAD gear online. The results were immediate. “Two contacts. Must be what’s left of the freighter.”

Weaver’s mouth hardened. “Shit! Set it for submerged search and send the fish anyway. There’s no time.”

Tom looked at the pilot, but he knew better than to argue with Weaver when he was like this. Besides, luck might be with them.

It was the first and only time the Leader had fired live torpedoes. The Captain could imagine the grisly aftermath. Kim Jong Un may have issued the orders, but it was he and his crew that were going to have to pay the price of being the assassins. His throat was thick, burning but he had to issue the next orders.

“Diving officer, get us below the thermal layer. Navigator, set a course for the homeland. Helm, make turns for eighteen knots.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Transient!” The sonar officer covered his headset to better sort the noise out of the surface clutter. “Bearing is one seven two. It’s a torpedo and it’s active.”

The bridge sprang into action. The Captain barked out his orders. “Launch a noisemaker. Hard to port, ninety degrees. Full thrust for six seconds and take us down to four hundred.” The Leader turned hard. The six seconds of full thrust would leave a knuckle of turbulence in the water. In that knuckle, the noisemaker would use compressed air to simulate the sound of a submarine.

The mark forty six torpedo dropped by the Lynx slammed into the noisemaker thirty seconds after activation. The Leader was rocked, but not damaged by the explosion. It slipped deeper into the depths, turning down and away from the carnage caused on the surface. Hundreds more feet below them, what was left of the Nung Il Yeung and her crew continued their debris-shedding trip to the bottom.

The Lynx crew saw the geyser of foam shoot into the air. There was no apparent wreckage with it. Tom shook his head. “Looks like the bastard got away. Better head back before we end up like that lot out there.”

Weaver did not need to be told twice. He applied full power. The blades bit into the air, clawing for altitude, away from the gray violence beneath them.