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

Whatever the Nanching was blasting away at was most certainly a serious threat to his ship.

The klaxon had only bellowed for a second before the first drone struck. It hit a Super Frelon helicopter that was secured on the transport ship’s helicopter platform. The bird had been fully fueled and readied for a first-light mission as they approached the port. But the explosion from the drone attack sent whirling bits of shrapnel spinning away and flaming jet fuel spreading across the deck.

Then, as if coordinated by unseen pilots, two more drones dived out of the dark sky and exploded on Mung Shan’s foredeck. Another slammed into the main mast, which crashed over like a giant oak, slamming into the ship’s 76mm gun mount.

Ming heard the chainsaw sound of his own AK-630 CIWS firing into the black night, hoping to hit whatever was attacking his vessel. Then, yet another drone smashed directly into the bridge and exploded.

Ming was sent flying out the hatch and slammed into the bridge wing combing.

Sudden pain, then his world was filled with infinite darkness.

Ψ

Joe Glass looked hard at the ECDIS electronic chart. According to the damn display, they should now be about ten thousand yards astern of the Chinese battle group. So where the hell were they? A battle group of that size and at that range should light up the BQQ-10 sonar screens like Times Square on New Year’s Eve. But nary a blip.

“Sonar, Conn. Report all contacts,” Glass ordered into the 21MC mike.

“Conn, Sonar. Currently hold four broadband contacts to the northeast, all classified merchants. Hold a noise source as well on bearing two-two-one, not yet classified.” Master Chief Zillich’s reply was quick and concise. But not an answer to the current quandary. They did not hold the battle group on sonar.

Glass scratched his chin. It appeared that he had guessed wrong and they were way out of position. That—guessing wrong—did not happen very often to Joe Glass and he did not take it well.

And to make things worse, he now had no idea which way to turn, how to proceed to get them back into position to find the big group they had somehow lost. Frowning, Glass turned to LCDR Billy Ray Jones.

“What now, XO? Got any bright ideas on how to salvage this mess?”

Jones stared off into space for just long enough for Glass to wonder if he was still with them. Then he answered.

“Well, Skipper, sometimes when you’s out a’huntin and you get confused like, you all have to call in the dogs and reassess the strategy. I reckon we’d best come up and tell the boss we lost a ten-point white tail out there in the thicket. Maybe he and all his gadgets and gizmos can tell us what’s hap’nin’.”

Glass nodded and allowed himself a slight grin. He turned to Pat Durand, the officer of the deck, and ordered him to proceed to periscope depth.

Ten minutes later, with the Toledo hovering just below the surface and with fresh data aboard, Glass looked at the updated ENTR display. The Chinese battle group was fifty miles to the southwest and moving away at flank speed. Hauling ass.

“XO, you got any idea what might’ve caused them to high tail it so fast? They certainly aren’t waiting around for their diesel boat to catch up to them.”

Jones nodded as he pointed to the intel report on his notepad.

“This just might explain it. Some terrorist group is on the move big time. We’ve got reports here of a major missile attack on the Chinese Navy Base at Djibouti. Most of the facility is destroyed with major casualties, and they also have an LPD on fire just off the coast. That must be what got their attention.”

“Damn!” Glass said with a grunt. “Sure is heating up around here.”

“That ain’t the half of it,” Jones went on. “Looks like they weren’t satisfied with just hitting the Chinese.” He looked up from the screen with a frown. “Our base at Camp Lemonnier got hit, too. More than a dozen missiles.”

Camp Lemonnier was headquarters for the Combined Joint Task Force – Horn of Africa of the US Africa Command.

“Somebody is taking an exception to us being in the neighborhood,” Glass speculated.

Jones flipped to the next screen. “Skipper, it looks like we’ve got ourselves some new orders. We are to make best tactical speed down to the Gulf of Aden and set up an operational box down there to see if we can figure out what’s going on. They must figure this is the beginning of something, not the end.”

“Okay. Tell the boss it’s going to take us two days to get there. Meanwhile, let’s get back down where we belong and haul ass.”

Ψ

Shaikh Babar Khalid—better known as Nabiin, the Prophet—never really felt comfortable when he ventured away from his mountain hideaway. Up there, where he could control any information that came in or went out, he knew that the chances of anyone finding or targeting him were very small. Down here, away from the mountain lair, amongst the people, even his faithful followers, it was so much more dangerous. Still, he knew that he really had no other choice. Not if he was to live out his destiny.

Allah willed that Nabiin take command and lead the faithful through the fitnah, the End Times, and into the awm al-Qiyamah, the Day of Resurrection. He had certainly seen the abundance of corruption and evil all around him. The pestilence that the hadith promised would be the unmistakable signs of the coming fitnah. Now, comfortable or not, in danger or no, Nabiin would be required to complete what he had been commanded to begin.

The helicopter ride down from his secure cave headquarters to the military base outside Karachi had been uneventful. He had passed much of the time in prayer. The nightly shuttles of cars, buses, and trucks along the rest of the journey had been tiring but peaceful