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

weapons,” he called out, glancing over at Glass. They were prepared to shoot back should there be a chance to do so. But it might well be their last act on this earth if they did.

“Picking up torpedo engine lines. Correlates to Chinese YU-9 electric-drive torpedoes. Both weapons now in active search.”

Chief Zillich was scraping up every bit of information that he could. For the good it would do them if the Chinese torpedoes racing their way ultimately took them down.

Even in their grim situation, Joe Glass was still trying to figure out what was amiss here. The scenario simply did not make sense. No way a Chinese sub—even their very best warship—would ever have been able to get the drop on them. And even if they, by some miracle, had done so, why would they ever shoot at an American sub? It was a certain route to World War III.

“EMATT is running,” Pat Durand reported. The vessel they had launched was a miniature UUV designed to be used by surface ships as a submarine target for training purposes. But since it simulated a submarine so well and could be loaded with signals that sounded just like the Toledo, it made a very effective decoy in a situation like this. Or at least the crew hoped so. But even then, the EMATT could only play the part of a real submarine for ten minutes or so, until its battery ran down. But by then everything would be decided, one way or the other.

“Incoming torpedoes, still bearing one-one-two!”

Those damn fish were relentless!

Glass looked again at the ECDIS display. The bearing lines from the torpedoes ran right through his ship. And then straight to the Yunes. That had to be the answer. The Chinese sub was not shooting at Toledo at all. He was shooting at the Iranian. Toledo’s bad luck that she just happened to be in the way.

Didn’t really matter, though. They would be just as dead if one or both of those torpedoes hit them. Accident or not.

Sweat dripped off Glass’s chin onto the glass top of the ECDIS. They had done all they could do. Maybe their luck would change and...

“Incoming torpedoes, still bearing one-one-two! One weapon shifted to acquisition. Other still in search!”

The news was getting worse. It looked every bit like one of those deadly bloodhounds had sniffed them out. There was no chance of running.

“Launch two more evasion devices,” Glass ordered. “Wait ten seconds and then launch two more.” Maybe a wall of noise would hide them for long enough. And the devices would do them no good anyway if Toledo became a scrap heap—and eternal tomb—on the bottom of the sea.

The two Chinese torpedoes were now close enough that Toledo’s crew could hear them through the hull, an angry freight train running right at them. They did not need a sonar to know death was imminent.

And just like an approaching, speeding freight train, the rising pitch of the racket told them that the weapons were racing in their direction.

Just when the roar reached a crescendo, as every man held his breath and gripped something solid, the pitch suddenly, miraculously, shifted down.

Both weapons raced past the submarine. Close. Very, very close.

They had missed them! Cheers went up throughout the boat.

But Joe Glass knew they were not suddenly safe. These bloodhounds, with their technology stolen from the United States in the first place, were very smart. When their microprocessor brains realized they had run past their target, they would circle back, once again on the hunt.

“Both weapons past CPA and opening.” Randy Zillich’s voice was marginally calmer. “One weapon still in search, bearing two-one-two. The other weapon has speeded up and is in attack mode, currently bears three-two-one.”

Glass was again questioning what was going on out there when, suddenly, the boat was rocked by a tremendously violent explosion. The deck heaved beneath their feet. Lights flashed.

The captain was thrown backward, his head striking the fathometer before he crashed to the deck.

Commander Joe Glass’s world suddenly went stone-cold black.

Ψ

There was a gray haze. An incessant buzzing. A throbbing pain that flashed back and forth around the back of his head.

Then a voice. Someone was talking to him, asking him something. He tried to answer but his lips would not move.

Doc Halliday, holding him down on the rack in his stateroom. Asking him if he could hear him.

Glass tried to sit up, but Doc would not allow him. No need. Everything spun dizzyingly around him. He closed his eyes, trying to regain equilibrium.

It was slowly dawning on Glass that his boat must still be intact. They were still alive. And that he was saddled with one big headache but still living, too. But were they still afloat? What was the damage to Toledo? Who was hurt?

“Take it easy, Skipper. You took a pretty hard knock.”

Someone else, Billy Ray Jones, chimed in.

“That noggin of yours ain’t near as hard as the piping around here, Captain.”

Glass groaned and relaxed.

“I thought I might have died and gone to heaven until I opened my eyes and saw your ugly mug, XO. What the hell happened? How’s the boat?”

“Best I can figure it, the one YU-9 went for the EMATT. We’d heard they have some kind of really nasty sodium hydride-enhanced warhead that blows up real good. I ’spect we were just a tad too close when the EMATT sacrificed itself for the cause. No real damage to Toledo. Just a lot of folks with bumps and bruises from getting tossed around like you did.”

“The other boat? The Iranians?”

“I don’t think the Yunes made out so well. We heard another explosion and then breaking-up noises a few minutes after the first one.”

Glass could not help himself. He struggled up to a sitting position, then reached up and felt the bandage wrapped around his head. The left side felt especially tender.

“Well, XO, looks like we stuck our hand into a beehive. Let’s tell the boss what