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that air-conditioning would normally be in use, but with the silent running orders this was not a possibility. Sweat was visible at the men’s armpits and the small of their backs, and the temperature added to the tension.

“One-thousand metres, coming right at us. She should clear us by one hundred feet,” the sonar operator said quietly.

“If she fires, I want both Barracuda torpedoes launched, then a hard to starboard, full-speed and dive to three hundred.” McClure paused. “Confirm intent.”

“Roger, hard to port, vent and dive, full-speed,” replied the helmsman.

“Two barracuda, check,” replied the WEPS.

“Ease speed to eight knots,” McClure said, and the submarine noticeably slowed.

“So, this is it,” Jacobs murmured. “Our Virginia class against Russia’s newest hunter-killer. So far, I think we’re winning…”

“How so, XO?”

“Well, they’re still heading for us, no change in speed. Our equipment is obviously superior to theirs.”

“XO, there are half the crew members on that Russian boat. Sixty-eight to our one-hundred and twenty-eight. Which tells me they have equipment and tech we don’t yet have, nor understand…”

“Torpedo! Torpedo! Torpedo!” the WEPS exclaimed. “Eight hundred metres!”

“Evasive action!” the commander shouted.

“Torpedoes away!” the WEPS confirmed.

“Enemy sub breaking hard to our starboard!” the sonar operator shouted.

“Helmsman, new orders! Hard to starboard! Dive one hundred! Full power!”

“They were assuming we didn’t have torpedoes already in the tubes and are taking evasive action themselves…”

“And now we’ll go right underneath her…” Commander McClure gripped the rail tightly as the vessel dived, turned, and accelerated hard. There was an almighty explosion and the submarine buffeted as the shockwave engulfed them.

“Direct hit! Enemy torpedo destroyed!” the sonar operator exclaimed.

“Where’s the sub?” McClure shouted.

“Same course, passing over us in five seconds!”

“Self-destruct the second torpedo and ready three ship attack missiles. Fire in… three… two… one… away!”

There was a hissing sound and all at once, all three vertical tubes sent waterborne air attack missiles directly above them. The sound they made impacting on the enemy submarine’s hull sounded like cannon fire and every man felt the vibration in their chest as the Virginia class shook with the impacts.

“Three hits, Commander!” the sonar operator said triumphantly. “Multiple alarms sounding, and they are surfacing rapidly.

“Maintain course, level at three hundred, bring speed back to twenty knots,” Commander McClure ordered. “Monitor for an SOS…”

“Aye, aye, skipper.”

The ship attack missiles were designed to be fired and home in on either pre-entered coordinates, or laser guided by air support or ground troops, who would ‘paint’ the target with a laser for the missile to lock onto. The missiles could be controlled via the communication links, which were sent to the surface with the communication buoy, but in this case, the missiles were launched without targeting, meaning that they would not arm the warheads, and would have self-destructed after a two-thousand-foot vertical climb. The system had been designed for emergency ice breaking, should the submarine not have enough power and momentum to break through polar ice in the event of mechanical failure. The Russian submarine would have undoubtedly suffered damaged in the triple attack, the seams rupturing from the impact creating serious flooding inside and would likely have to be evacuated if a support vessel could not be reached in time and moored to.

“They are taking on water, Sir. Venting the ballast tanks and sending out an SOS to all vessels in the vicinity.” The sonar operator paused. “There is no other shipping nearby…”

“Launch the communication buoy,” McClure said quietly. He turned to Jacobs and said, “Get Washington on the line…”

Chapter Thirty-Nine

 

Barents Sea

 

The lights cut a swathe in the ocean darkness, occasionally lighting up darting shoals of fish and jellyfish with their long tendrils wafting lazily and snagging shrimp and tiny crustacea in a web of stinging death. King heard his own breathing, shallow and unsteady, but he knew it was down to nerves and adrenaline at what had to be done next. Grainger had made docking the submarine sound easy, but he knew that in practice it would be anything but. The docking collar would need a good, smooth fit. All very well in theory, but they did not yet know if the submarine had sustained damage that would make a secure fit an unrealistic option. And then the water had to be pumped out under a pressurised seal. King would then have to get the hatch open, another two escape hatches below that, and if the British submarine was full of water, then the geyser which could erupt would give Old Faithful a run for its money and the seal would be broken. To save Grainger from this fate, he would first have to lock one of the hatches above him. It was as simple as that. Once they docked, King’s next move would be one of life or death.

They found negative buoyancy halfway down, at around three-hundred and sixty metres. Grainger checked the display and air mix. “Doesn’t hurt to slow descent and get adjusted at this depth.”

“How far down can this thing go?” asked King. There was the sound of metal flexing, the rivets tightening under pressure. The sound was both eerie and worrying. Grainger did not seem unduly bothered, and the fact relaxed King, if only a little.

“We’ve done work at five thousand metres, so it’s signed off to that depth. The oceans aren’t the deepest around here. Six hundred metres mainly, with trenches of up to three thousand metres. To the north in the Arctic are some of the deepest waters on the planet. Of course, the Mariana Trench off the Philippines gets the record, at least that we know of, but the North Atlantic and Arctic Ocean can get bloody deep. Twenty-two thousand feet under the icecap and thirty-thousand feet in parts of the Atlantic Ocean. That’s jumbo jet cruising altitude and certainly higher in terms of direct measurement

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