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

indeed be a great day. But for the haughty colonel, he only nodded, as if it did not matter at all to him that he was honored to be the one responsible for killing millions of people.

But then Gilani roughly pushed Dirbaz aside.

“But wait. If you will excuse me, Mohandes Doktor,” he ordered, “I must enter the actual targeting parameters for our missiles.” He pulled a small flash drive from a chain hanging around his neck and inserted it into the computer’s USB port. He quickly entered his password, and with a few more keystrokes, Dirbaz’s carefully laid plan was shattered. “The prophet insisted that the final parameters be confirmed and installed at the last possible moment to prevent the unlikely possibility of sabotage. Nothing can snuff the glorious flame now!”

Gilani grabbed Dirbaz and dragged him back in front of the launch panel. Then he pulled his Russian-made MP443 Grach automatic pistol and held it up to the engineer’s right temple.

“Mohandes Doktor, you have played me for a fool for the last time,” he sneered. “You will now do exactly as I order, or you will only hasten your eventual execution.”

The loudspeaker at Gilani’s ear blasted the update.

“Colonel, we are hovering. The Boz-Manand is ready to launch all missiles.”

Gilani smiled. “Very well, open missile tube hatches.”

Ψ

“Captain! She’s opening missile hatches!” The voice of ST1 Joshua Hannon, the sonar operator on USS George Mason, rose several octaves in excitement.

“Snap-shot tube one on the Iranian!” shouted Brian Edwards.

The Weps, LCDR Aston Jennings, was next to chime in, but his report stopped things cold.

“Captain, weapons not ready. We are inside minimum enable. Current range six hundred yards.” They simply were too close for any torpedoes fired by the submarine to arm themselves and be ready to explode before striking the target.

Brian Edwards smashed his fist into the hardened plexiglass screen. He instantly regretted his show of emotion. A skipper was supposed to keep an even keel, always be in charge. And especially of himself.

“Damn! No time to maneuver! By then he will have launched if he has already opened the missile hatches.”

“Ram the son-of-a-bitch!” Jason Biddle shouted.

Edwards looked over to the fire control panel where his executive officer stood. In a split second, he understood what Biddle was saying and realized that it was their only chance to stop the unthinkable. Suddenly, such an old-fashioned tactic seemed to make perfect sense.

But he also knew it was horribly risky. There was a very real possibility that they would not survive such an undersea collision. And still a good chance the Iranian vessel would get his missiles off before they could even get there. By the time they got up to speed, those six hundred yards would take over a minute to cover.

“Ahead flank!” Edwards ordered. “Rig ship for impact. Sound the collision alarm.”

The pilot scrolled down on his screen and punched up a flank bell. The huge ship immediately jumped ahead as massive amounts of steam dumped through the wide-open throttles to spin the racing turbines. The alarm reverberated throughout the boat. Cavitation around the sail sounded like small-arms fire as the submarine raced ahead. Stealth was no longer required. Even if the Iranian sub heard them coming, there was little they could do to dodge or duck.

Amid all the noise, they felt and heard a sudden massive roaring explosion that rocked the boat. Edwards knew it was exactly what they had feared.

“Captain, Sonar.” Hannon’s voice came over the 21MC. “The Iranian has launched one missile. Rocket motor ignition.”

Jesus. One away. They had to make sure that was the only one out of the barn.

Then, suddenly, and with unbelievable force, the submarine crashed into something solid. The deck beneath them tilted upward as the ship rode up and almost over the Iranian missile boat. The sounds of screaming, tortured metal, and crashing equipment erupted up and down the length of George Mason.

One of the key things all submariners work so hard to avoid had just been done on purpose.

Though he had braced himself, Edwards was thrown hard against the command control console. As he woozily picked himself up, he felt something warm and sticky running down his forehead. His hand came away red with blood. His own blood.

“All stop!” he shouted. But someone had already taken the foot off the gas pedal.

The control room was a mess. People were slowly climbing back onto their feet from where they had been tossed.

First order of business was to determine damage and casualties. Jason Biddle quickly stepped over to where Edwards was leaning on the command console, trying to stop the compartment from spinning. He began giving reports simultaneously with their arrival on his headset.

“Captain, torpedo room reports flooding around tube two. Emergency closures actuated. Flooding has stopped. Engineering is reporting loss of number two turbine generator. Steam leak port steam header. Port steam header is isolated.”

“Good job,” Edwards said with a nod. How in hell had his XO gathered all those reports in the half a minute since the collision? George Mason was hurt, but it appeared she would survive. “People?”

Biddle nodded and held up his hand as he listened to more incoming reports. Then, he continued. “Doc has four injured they know of and they’re putting them in the wardroom. Triage teams are checking and will move more injured there as they assess. Still getting reports.”

“And the Iranian?”

“No way of knowing. Our bow array sonar is apparently gone. I suspect he is in bad shape, though.”

Edwards thought for a moment. He was finally getting his equilibrium back.

Then he ordered, “Pilot, blow us to the surface. Time to get on the roof and tell home what’s happening. XO, get into radio and get an OPREP THREE NUC FLASH out. Gotta let the boss know that they got one missile off before we ran over their ass.”

“Skipper, you may want to have Doc take a look at…” Biddle started, pointing to Edwards’s head wound.

“I’m okay, XO. Mad as hell, but okay. Now