Boned 3 (Mandarin Connection Book 6) Read online

  “Get to work, men,” he said.

  —————

  “Okay, people, here’s the plan,” said the Chief.

  “We are going to raise the reactor power back up, but just enough to see if we can trip the breakers. Any that trip, we turn back off and kill that circuit. If they don’t, we see what we can use that power to run, ok?” he said.

  The engineering and electrical crew muttered.

  “Sir, what about grounding?” asked one man.

  “Leave that to me and the torpedo room, son,” he said.

  —————

  The test went well.

  The Chief discovered that, by judicious use of the manual valves, they could indeed blow the water from the ballast tanks.

  “Tell the XO, Paul,” he ordered one of his men.

  —————

  “It’s like this, Chief,” said the Senior Torpedo Weapons Officer.

  “We flood the tube with air, and shove the fish into the ocean, right? Each time we do, we lose air. Now, normally, we can either recharge the tank with the compressors, or use some of those chemical chargers to blow out the tubes. Without power? It’s a real chore,” he said.

  “What if I can get you a compressor?” the Chief asked. “And, the power to run it?”

  “Well, in that case, I might ask you to marry me, but I might not,” said the TWO, joking around.

  “You’re not my type, Stevens,” said the Chief. “But, I’ll bring the compressor up to you.”

  —————

  “Okay, Gentlemen, sitrep,” ordered the Captain.

  It was now sixty-one hours after the attack.

  Food had been prepared and served.

  The boat was falling into a routine.

  That was good for the men.

  But, the Captain was worried about what the rest of the Navy would be doing.

  “Report, XO, give it to me straight,” he said.

  “Captain, we’ve got twelve percent power being diverted from the reactor,” began Chastain.

  “That means we can compress air for the tubes, although not all of them, the ballast tanks, and some for life support. We can open the airlocks, again, because the Chief bypassed the controls with some very rudimentary switches he scrounged up,” said the XO.

  “We can fire eight missiles if by fire you mean launch on compressed air or the gas cartridges. We’ve got enough for all twenty-four tubes, but we only need the ones closest to the sail,” he continued.

  We’ll use two wire-guided torps that can act as grounds since they will still be attached to us. That solves the breaker issues,” he said.

  “Of course, we’ve got no targeting for them, so we will set them to self-destruct one kilo from the boat,” he added.

  “Finally, there’s no way to delay the arming of the other torpedos more than two minutes, unless we completely remove all the safeties. And, that’s pretty dangerous. We can blow the front of the boat off if something goes wrong, like an outer door not opening completely,” he concluded.

  “Awesome work, men,” said the Captain.

  “Now, here’s what I want you to do,” he said.

  As he outlined the plan, he watched the men.

  Most of them didn’t seem too surprised or shocked.

  But, when he told them what he wanted to use the missiles for, he got some pushback.

  “Are you sure that is going to be safe, Sir?” asked Weps.

  “Well, Weps, they are solid fueled, and the launch phase is only compressed air. I think one of two things will happen – it’s going to work, or we’ll all be dead and won’t really give a fuck,” said the Captain.

  “Yes, Sir,” Weps answered, reluctantly.

  “Let’s go, people, we’re on the clock!” said the XO.

  —————

  The Captain's plan was extraordinarily dangerous.

  They still had no really good idea of who or what had actually set off the EMP torpedo.

  Or if there were more…

  —————

  The AEGIS attack group cruised over the Pacific Ocean, racing towards the last known coordinates of the lost submarine.

  Wernher and Kevin practiced drills with the Seabees and Marines on board.

  During the cruise, Wernher had managed to reach Derek, and he’d told them about the ‘Miss T’.

  Kevin remarked on the Zumwalt-class ships.

  “They sure are ugly, but I understand that they are carrying the latest in rail-gun technology, instead of the traditional gunpowder cannons, or Tomahawks,” he told Wernher.

  Wernher, nonplussed, looked at Kevin.

  “The Nazis had that perfected in the 1930’s, and the Russians in the 1960’s,” he yawned.

  “Hell of a lot of good it did them…” muttered Kevin.

  Wernher laughed a cold, harsh hissing sound.

  “Mr. Mitchum, don’t believe everything you read,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” said Kevin.

  “Well, one might make a pointed observation about some aspects of your Space Program, if one wanted to be … unkind,” Wernher replied.

  “What are you talking about?” asked Kevin.

  “The two shuttles you lost, that was very odd, don’t you think?” said the German.

  “Such immense effort at secrecy, and yet those particular two were lost,” he added.

  Wernher looked at the ‘Zoomies’.

  “It is truly a pity that so much of history is never told to the masses,” he opined.

  “But, it is probably for the best. The would not believe it, even after having seen it happen with their own eyes,” he concluded.

  Kevin watched as the German grinned his Death’s head grin, and walked below decks.

  —————

  “Okay, gents, you all know the drill. Let’s do this by the numbers!” said Captain Rodgers to his anxious crew.

  “Torpedo room, flood all tubes!” he ordered.

  “Flood all tubes!” repeated the XO.

  “Missile room, stand by to launch tubes three through eight on my command,” the Captain ordered.

  “Missile room, prepare tubes three, four, five, six, seven and eight for launch on my mark!” said the XO.

  “Pilot and nav set the planes to twenty degrees positive, I want this boat to sail right up to the top! Blow all tanks on my command!” said the Captain.

  “Twenty degrees up, or best effort, boys. We know it’s touch and go without the electricals. Prepare emergency blow! On my mark!” ordered the XO.

  The Captain watched the second-hand sweep around on the analog watch he wore.

  It was a Rolex Submariner.

  The EMP hadn’t affected it one bit.

  “Three…two…one! Launch torpedoes!” he shouted.

  “Torpedo room, fire all tubes!” ordered Chastain.

  The sub shook slightly as the torpedoes exited.

  Watching the second hand, the Captain waited for two minutes, and as the sweep hand covered the four on the dial, he gave the next order.

  “Missiles fire! Now! Now! NOW!” he shouted.

  “Missiles fire! Tube three! Launch! Tube four! Launch! Tube five! Launch! Tube six! Launch! Tube seven! Launch! Tube eight! Launch!” shouted the XO.

  The sub rocked from side to side as the alternate missile launch sequence ran its program, and the compressed air forced the huge weapons from their tubes behind the sail.

  “Blow all tanks, emergency blow! All hands brace for impact!” the Captain ordered.

  “Emergency blow! Now, now, now! All hands, brace for impact!” repeated the XO.

  Now, all they had to do was pray, he thought.

  —————

  The Russian sub had been monitoring the Betsy Ross for almost three days and had fallen into a routine.

  The sonar office reported that they could hear some activity, but nothing other than rudimentary noises.

  The EMP had done its job, killing the sub’s power
grid.

  It was like a dead fish, and soon the crew would suffocate.

  They’d been dead already, thought the Capitan, if the stupid Chinese had not fouled up the salvage efforts.

  Apparently, from the reports, a lone diver had managed to insert himself between one of the grapples and the hull of the American vessel.

  The grapple failed to obtain a seal within tolerance, and the Chinese could not proceed until it was corrected.

  They debated removing and attempting another grapple, but the mechanicals in the affected arm were damaged beyond immediate repair.

  The American diver had succeeded in preventing them from cutting the submarines’ nose and tail sections off.

  Well, that was not his problem, and none of the blame could be laid at his feet, the Capitan thought to himself.

  He was satisfied that he was not the commander of the Chinese recovery vessel.

  That worthy was probably on the way to at least a court-martial, and the stripping of his command for his incompetence.

  The Capitan observed the routine workings of his crew and made some log entries.

  The sonar officer reported that he had heard some mechanical noises.

  The Science Officer station indicated that the reactor had scrammed.

  There was some slight temperature rise in the surrounding ocean, but nothing that meant they had managed to bring the reactor online at anything approaching full power.

  There was no thermal signature indicating reactor outflows were anywhere near nominal power.

  “Capitan, there are hull-popping noises, and the torpedo tubes are being flooded,” said the SO, suddenly.

  The Russian Capitan examined his instruments and frowned.

  Surely, they were not going to launch on an unknown adversary?

  That would certainly be suicide.

  Perhaps they were going to scuttle the ship.

  That would save him the bother, he thought to himself.

  “Sir! We have torpedoes in the water!” shouted the SO.

  “Battle stations,” ordered the Capitan, calmly.

  The lights on the bridge turned red, and his XO repeated his commands.

  Just like the textbook, the Capitan thought.

  “Prepare countermeasures!” he ordered.

  “Countermeasures!” repeated his XO.

  “Sir, they are launching their missiles!” shouted the SO.

  “What? Are they insane?” said the Capitan, shoving his cup of coffee off his console,

  It crashed to the deck, shattering.

  He frowned.

  That was his favorite cup!

  “Sir, the Chinese are being hit by the missiles! They are reporting heavy damage, although the missiles have not ignited,” said the Communications Officer.

  “Take us to periscope depth, flank speed, fifteen degrees up plane, now!” ordered the Capitan.

  He began to sweat.

  The American was clever.

  They’d sat on the bottom almost four days, and now was the moment he had chosen to begin an attack.

  He felt a small amount of admiration for his enemy, but it was far outweighed by his general contempt of US Naval officers.

  He thought them weak and ill-disciplined.

  Not at all like the glorious Russian Navy!

  “Range to target, Weapons Officer, XO tell torpedo room to load two torpedoes, tubes one and three, all safeties on, fire on my command!” he yelled.

  The XO repeated the orders to his crew as the submarine began to move towards periscope depth.

  “Track those enemy torpedoes!” the Capitan ordered.

  “Sir! Emergency blow from the American! The Chinese report they are taking on water, and are in danger of structural failure along the keel!” the CO reported.

  “Fuck them! Move to periscope depth!” he shouted.

  “Sir, sounds of the Chinese vessel imploding!” reported the SO.

  Those stupid fuckers!

  That clever American son of a bitch!

  “Sir! We have been acquired!” yelled the Sonar Officer.

  —————

  “It’s working, Sir!” said Chastain.

  “Cross your fingers, and pray!” said Weps.

  —————

  The torpedoes from the Betsy Ross ran far past the Russian submarine, dragging their guidance wires behind them, and after two minutes, armed themselves.

  The torpedo room crew, working with the engineers, had managed to delay the target lock and arming function far longer than they had hoped, by removing key modules and disarming the safeties.

  Now, the fish began active pinging, and the only thing they saw was the Russian submarine rising to the surface.

  —————

  The Chinese submarine was hit from beneath by the missiles, pushing it up and away from the Betsy Ross.

  The mechanical arms were never designed to handle such stresses, and sheared away, falling past the American sub and into the trench beneath.

  The USS Betsy Ross began its emergency ascent, the escaping air helping to shove the carcass of the Chinese vessel aside.

  The Chinese sub split along the keel, drowning everyone on board as the pressures of the ocean forced water into every crevice of the ship, flattening the men into paste.

  It fell to either side of the American sub, which rapidly shot for the surface.

  —————

  “Sir, we are getting reports from the AWACS of emergency communications and EPIRB beacons, both in Chinese and Russian, about twelve nautical miles due east of the last reported location of the Ross!” came the report to the Fleet Commander.

  “Make course correction, flank speed, heading one nine five,” he ordered, checking his charts.

  “Sir, Radar reports four Chinese S-055 class destroyers on that bearing, fourteen nautical miles from our current position!” the RO barked.

  “Get me the ‘Zoomies’, and tell them to be ready with those rail guns!” he said.

  “And tell the Carl Vinson to send that squadron now!” he ordered.

  Things were heating up fast.

  —————

  As the USS Betsy Ross cleared the ocean surface, the men inside cheered.

  They could tell from how the boat rocked that they were on the top, now.

  “Open all hatches, prepare to abandon ship!” ordered the Captain.

  He and his Officers would stay aboard until the last minute, in case they had to scuttle the boat.

  The men raced out of the submarine’s open hatches, the life rafts filling up as they came topside, and then shoved off into the waves of the Pacific.

  “Sir, we’ve got visual contact of an AWACS at bearing nine four degrees. It’s dropping sonobuoys!” said the XO.

  “Captain, lookouts report Chinese warships within four nautical miles, in visual range, bearing nine-nine degrees!” reported Weps.

  “It’s getting hot, gentlemen!” said the Captain.

  “Look!” shouted a crewman on deck.

  They all followed his outstretched arm to see a periscope emerging from the ocean on the port side, perhaps four thousand yards away.

  —————

  “Sir! We have been acquired!” yelled the Sonar Officer.

  “That’s not possible!” said the Capitan.

  “How?” he shouted.

  “Enemy wire-guided torpedoes were decoys! They have active-sonar on us!” the SO said, his face telling the story to the Capitan.