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

triggered in his mind. Why had the CO burner not cleared the carbon monoxide from the air? That was why the equipment was there, after all.

At least his headache was easing somewhat. Maybe the pills were working. Or possibly, having a problem he might actually be able to solve had caused the engineer to forget about something as inconsequential as pain.

Ψ

Captain Yon Hun Glo read the urgent message from PLAN Submarine Command Headquarters again, this time even more carefully. He could only shake his head in amazement. What could those brass hats sitting in a cave on Hainan Island possibly be thinking? The reported destruction of the Chinese battle group had come as a total shock to the submarine skipper. Had he not seen the summary report for himself, he would never have believed such a thing. How was it possible that a tribe of Arab nomads and camel jockeys could attack and destroy the finest and most powerful naval warfare technology in the world? Inconceivable! But Hainan would not lie to him. The proof was right there in his hand.

Even more incredible, the brass hats had ordered him to make maximum speed to race down to the Gulf of Aden and then to rain down destruction on those goatherds. Did not his masters understand that the only destruction he could “rain down” was the four YJ-18 Eagle Strike cruise missiles resting in Wushiwu’s torpedo room? A three-hundred-kilo warhead would make a satisfying boom for certain. But blowing up some stray Houthi tent hardly constituted revenge for the destruction of a fleet of warships.

But he had his orders. Yon Hun Glo would follow them exactly, of course. He turned to his conning officer and ordered the submarine to come to a flank bell and turn to a course to the southwest. Then he told the torpedo room to back-haul the four YU-9 torpedoes and to instead load the YJ-18 missiles. That would still give him two torpedoes, ready to employ for self-defense if he really needed them. But now, with both the Iranian and the American submarines destroyed, he was alone in this bit of ocean. Such an attack was not a big concern.

As the sub’s deck tilted beneath his feet, the skipper pondered the next few hours. By the time the weapons were all rearranged in the submarine’s torpedo room, the battery would be exhausted from this high-speed dash. Then he would need to surface and run the diesels for a while to continue the race and recharge those batteries.

Finally, he could waste his perfectly good weapons, as commanded. At least it would be a good training exercise for his crew.

Nothing more.

Ψ

“Captain, contact zig! Upshift in received frequency,” LTjg Bob Ronson called out as his fingers danced across the keyboard. He was trying to deduce what this sudden move by the Chinese submarine they had been bird-dogging meant. “Sonar reports contact zig. Increasing SNR, suppressed cavitation. Master Chief says they are speeding up and going deep.”

Joe Glass glanced at the young officer’s computer display for a few seconds and then leafed through the sonar displays. Just as the Toledo’s team was reporting, it appeared that crazy Chinese captain had kicked it in the tail, abruptly going fast and deep. Before he responded, though, Glass needed to figure out what might be going on. Had he been counter-detected and the Chinese skipper was trying to evade? And was the guy possibly lining up for an attack? Or, since the Yuan had just been to periscope depth, was he merely responding to new orders from home base? It would take a few minutes to make a best guess. And, considering what had so recently happened in the area, it would need to be his very best guess. In the meantime, it was better to assume the Yuan still did not know Toledo was lurking nearby, just sit where they were, deep in his baffles, and watch the Chinese submarine dance. But to absolutely not lose sight of him.

“Attention in the attack center,” Glass called out. He waited for a beat, until he saw Master Chief Zillich stick his head out the sonar room door. It sure looked like the grizzled old sonarman needed a shave and probably a few hours’ sleep. Glass grinned, imagining that he looked pretty much the same. “Confirmed contact zig on Master One, the Chinese Yuan.” Glass spoke loudly enough so everyone could hear. “It looks like he has speeded up and gone deep. I intend to stay back here, deep in his baffles, until he stables up and we see what his intentions are. Then I intend to take a position deep in his baffles and continue the trail. Resume tracking.”

Now the whole team knew where they stood and what their captain intended to do.

Glass chewed on his lower lip as he studied the displays around him. He could only wish he had a better idea of what he intended to do. The Chinese sub could well be off to something drastic and ugly in response to recent events. If so, the Yuan’s skipper would not hesitate to shove Toledo out of his way to get there. And should they trail them, remaining undetected, and the other vessel was obviously ready to launch something really destructive at a city full of unsuspecting human beings, how bad would it have to be for Toledo to intervene?

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks,” Glass mumbled sarcastically.

“Pardon me, sir?” a sailor at a console nearby asked.

“I just said I’m going to grab a cup of coffee. Stay alert now.”

“I will, sir.”

And that was the only comforting thing. He knew the young sailor and all the other young—and old—sailors at work up and down the length of his submarine would do just that.

Glass whistled tunelessly as he headed toward the wardroom.

29

The plan was all coming together very nicely. Perhaps too nicely. A full decade of scheming, praying, killing, politicking, training, recruiting, investing, bribing, and maneuvering