Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) by George Wallace (different ereaders .txt) 📕

Billy Ray Jones looked up from the document that he and Doc Halliday were poring over.

“Skipper, Doc and I are checking the Atmosphere Control Manual. Until we get a scrubber back on-line, it looks like we’ll need to ventilate at least twice a day to keep everything in spec.” He pointed to a chart in the manual, then shifted a couple of pages to another graph. “Once we have a scrubber back, then we’ll only need to ventilate once daily until we can get a burner working.”

Glass nodded as he studied the information.

“That, of course, all hinges on not having any atmosphere problems—no chemical spills, no refrigerant leaks, no burned French fries, no flatulence from the chiefs’ quarters.”

Jerry Perez stepped over, interrupting.

“Skipper, we are steady on course two-two-zero. Ten minutes until the array is stable. Sonar reports new contact Sierra Three-Five, bearing one-four-three on the sphere. Sonar classifies submerged contact.”

Damn. Things were getting interesting. They had no idea what the first contact might be and now the party had been crashed by another vessel, likely a submarine.

Glass checked the Embedded National Tactical Receiver (ENTR) display, the sophisticated digital receiver that pulled information from satellites orbiting high above. He wanted to see where the intel weenies believed all the other vessels in the area were located. The God’s-eye display showed the Chinese battle group forty miles off to the northwest and a smattering of commercial traffic scattered around the area. The only submarines displayed were a British Astute-class in port in Bahrain, an Indian SSBN in a very large “area of probability” off the Indian coast, and the Chinese Yuan with a very old track down to the south. Nothing around where Toledo floated, according to the best information US taxpayer dollars could buy.

“Sonar, Captain. Are you sure you have a submarine?”

Glass regretted his question even as he asked it. If his sonar team said they had a sub, then a sub was out there, no matter what the analysts sitting in their comfortable, air-conditioned offices half a planet away might say.

“Captain, Sonar, sir, we have engine lines on a ten-cylinder diesel, equates to a Chinese Type 39C Yuan-class submarine.” Glass recognized the strong, clear voice of his new sonarman, Joe Drussel, over the 21MC announcing system.

The captain looked up just as Master Chief Zillich stuck his head out of the sonar room door to further answer his ill-advised question.

“And it sounds like he needs to clean his injectors,” the legendary sonarman drily reported. Point made.

Glass ignored the implied reproof. Clearly the intel broadcast was wrong. Glass and his crew would simply have to locate and identify Sierra Three-Five and then report back home.

“Officer of the Deck, contact of interest is Sierra Three-Five, the probable submarine,” Glass told Perez, loud enough that everyone in the control room could hear him. “Get a tracking solution on Sierra Three-Five. Sierra Three-Four is now the secondary contact. Maintain contact on Sierra Three-Four and generate a tracking solution.”

Glass stepped back over to the navigation stand. He drew a straight line from where the ENTR said the Yuan should be to his best guess of where the bastard really was. The line pointed directly to where the Chinese battle group was steaming.

“XO, Nav, look at this.” Glass explained his idea. On the electronic chart he pointed to the southeast, off the southern Indian coast. “Intel says our friend is down here because that is where they last had contact on him.” Then he pointed to where they now held the Chinese submarine on sonar. “This is where he actually is now. Assume he was lollygagging around down south when he got orders to rush up to meet with his skimmer friends. What would he do?”

Jones scratched his head for a second. Then his face lit up as if a switch had been thrown.

“Reckon he’d high-tail it up there at best speed. Same thing we would do. That would also explain him snorkeling. His AIP system wouldn’t give him enough power to move so quick without some air off the surface. But it would have to be something pretty dang important for them to have to get there in that big a hurry. He’s telling us and everybody else in the ocean where he is. Wonder why.”

“That’s what I intend to find out, XO,” Glass answered. Pointing to a spot in the ocean halfway between the Chinese ships and a couple of miles off the straight line, he went on. “Nav, work your way over here, between the two of them, and just off the track. We’ll slip in behind our friend and eavesdrop on their little party.”

“And if they take offense at our showing up uninvited at their throw-down?” Jones asked.

“Let’s just hope they are not so offended that they try to slam the door in our face.” The skipper tapped his lips with a forefinger. “Hate to have to kick it down.”

18

“Conn, Radio, all traffic onboard and receipted for. No longer need the OE-538 mast,” the 21MC blared, reverberating throughout George Mason’s control room. “We have new tasking. Sending to the Command Console.”

Almost immediately the display being watched by Lieutenant (junior grade) Bill Wilson, the sub’s officer of the deck, shifted to gibberish and then to text. The young officer scrolled through the list of messages until he found the new OPORD. He gave it a quick scan and then sent the messenger to fetch the captain and the navigator.

Jim Shupert, George Mason’s navigator, arrived first, still sleepily rubbing his eyes. He was mumbling about how inconsiderate it was of Fifth Fleet for OP ORDs to always arrive in the middle of the night. That was when Brian Edwards walked in.

“What we have, Nav?” the CO asked, but he was already looking over Shupert’s shoulder.

“Looks like our liberty call in Bahrain has just gone down the tubes,” the Nav answered. “Fifth Fleet wants us to head up north so