Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (dark books to read TXT) 📕

on board the submarine knew one thing for damn certain. This might be a drill for training purposes, but when the control rods back there in the nuclear reactor hit the bottom, it was no longer just a drill. The reactor was really shut down. It would not be making power again until they had successfully completed all the procedures to safely and rapidly restart it. It was analogous to the pilot of a fighter plane turning off his jet engine to go through procedures for a flameout. It might be for training, but if he did not get power back quickly, very bad things would really happen.

“Pilot, make your depth six-two feet,” Pawley ordered.

Chief Schmidt reached over to his flat-panel display and keyed in six-two feet as the ordered depth. The big sub started to angle up, but their forward speed had dropped to near zero. It just was not moving fast enough to get up to periscope depth. Ray Pawley recognized that he had a choice to make: use some of the remaining residual reactor heat to turn the propulsor, or shift propulsion to the emergency propulsion motor and use the battery to move the sub. Or he could hover up, using high pressure air to blow water out of the trim tanks.

But Pawley also recognized he did not have a great deal of time to study the situation.

“Co-pilot, hover up to six-two feet and prepare to snorkel,” he ordered confidently.

“Hover up to six-two feet and prepare to snorkel, aye,” Joshua Hannon answered, reaching toward a button on his flat-panel display. Chief Schmidt reached over and swatted Hannon’s hand away. Shaking his head, the experienced pilot pointed to the correct switches to line the trim system up so they would automatically blow water overboard. That would bring them up to periscope depth. Sure enough, the big boat started to move vertically upward.

Ashton Jennings leaned over to Ray Pawley and quietly asked, “You suppose you might want to be able to see out when you get up to PD? Might be helpful, just in case somebody’s up there.”

Pawley nodded. “Co-pilot, raise number two scope.”

The low-profile photonics mast (LPPM) slid up, but the only picture on the large screen command display was a uniform blue. Gradually, though, the blue shade became paler, until finally the video cameras cleared the sea surface. It was a clear, sunny day in the Philippine Sea. And a quick 360-degree scan verified that no unexpected company was up there to greet them.

“No close contacts,” Ray Pawley called out. “Commence snorkeling.”

“Snorkeling” was exactly what it sounded like. A pipe deployed up to the surface to take in fresh air while allowing smoke from the diesel generator to be ejected from the boat.

“Commence snorkeling, aye,” Hannon answered. “Snorkel mast coming up.” The big covered pipe appeared on the command display. Seconds later, Hannon announced, “The ship is snorkeling. The diesel is ready for full loading.”

Air began to move in the control room again as the big Caterpillar diesel down in lower level sucked in great gobs of fresh sea air and pushed diesel exhaust smoke back overboard.

“Conn, maneuvering. The diesel is not assuming electrical loads. The diesel breaker will not shut. Engineer recommends securing from the drill,” the engineering announcing circuit boomed. There was a problem, and it was a real one, not part of the drill. The generator was not able to provide the power needed. It was time for the first team to fix the problem with the diesel.

Edwards grabbed the 1MC microphone and ordered, “Secure from scram drill for training. Secure snorkeling. Conduct a fast recovery start-up.”

Ten minutes later, the reactor plant was back up online, supplying steam to the turbines and main engines. The sub was back down at three hundred feet, again heading west. The electricians had found a blown fuse in the diesel breaker-closing circuit and replaced it. The drill had gone well and had even uncovered a problem that would have been serious had they been engaging the enemy. Or if they had actually experienced a reactor scram.

Meanwhile, the George Mason had received orders. They were to proceed to Subic Bay in the Philippines for a liberty call in four days.

Nice prize for a—mostly—successful drill.

Ψ

Two hours after the Yuan submarines disappeared beneath the waves, the two Type 93A nuclear submarines at Hainan completed their load-out. The last bus to pull up to the pier disgorged two platoons of black-uniformed Jiaolong Assault Team special operators. The highly trained and supremely fit Marines efficiently moved their mounds of equipment onto the submarines. A pier crane lifted each of their assault boats and swung them over to where they could be manhandled into each submarine’s dry-deck shelter. The shelter, like a giant wart on the sleek nuclear submarine’s back, had a large clamshell at its aft end that swung open to allow easy access to the shelter’s cavernous interior. There was plenty of room in each shelter to store a pair of assault boats and all of the team’s heavy weapons.

An hour after the Jiaolong Team arrived, the clamshells slammed shut on the shelters. The last special operator scurried across the brow as it was being lifted away. The two submarines moved out into the center of the channel and slipped out of the cave mouth. The sun was setting over Hainan Island as they steamed out into open water.

An hour later, the two dived at almost the same point where the Yuans had submerged that morning. But these two subs steered a course to the northeast. At a cruising speed of thirty kilometers per hour, they would be off the coast of Taiwan and ready to execute their mission in thirty-six hours.

An hour after they submerged, the Naval Ocean Processing Facility (NOPF) Whidbey Island was reporting their first hits on a suspected Chinese nuclear submarine in the South China Sea. The new seismic array lying on the ocean bottom on the south side of Taiwan—supposedly only there to detect