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

But the deck was already beginning to tilt as high-pressure air flushed water out of the tanks and the submarine began a quick trip to first sunlight.

Ψ

Jim Ward could just make out the dull, gray wake from Nabiin’s speedboat in the first glow of a new day. He was out almost to the horizon. With his own craft’s heavier load, it appeared that the two boats were close to evenly matched. He was not getting any closer, but Nabiin wasn’t getting away, either. The boat jumped and slammed into the waves as they raced through the dark seas. They were going to have a long, hard ride. And could only hope the fuel gauge was accurate, indicating almost a full tank.

Then a brilliant flash of light off to the northeast grabbed Ward’s attention. Too bright for a shooting star. The brilliant flare resolved into an arrow-straight and very bright line that arced up into the night sky before finally disappearing among the lingering stars.

Ward shook his head. He had a good idea of what they had just witnessed.

“I hope to hell that ain’t what I think it is,” Master Chief Johnston yelled to be heard over the wind and engine roar.

Ward merely nodded agreement then pointed toward Nabiin’s distant boat.

“Any way you can hit him with that sniper rifle you lug around?”

Johnston looked toward the fleeing terrorist and then out into the night sky. He thought for a bit and then, clearly disappointed, shook his head.

“He’s out better than a thousand yards. With this bass boat bucking around like a really pissed off bronco, it would have to be a really lucky shot.”

“About what I figured, but maybe we can make him keep his head down or do something silly to dodge. See what you can do.”

“I’ll give it a shot,” Johnston agreed, and chuckled at the poor pun as he reached down to unlimber his favorite Mk13 Mod 5 bolt-action sniper rifle. It was a weapon designed to reach out and touch someone. Reach way out. But generally, from a stable platform with known wind conditions and a relatively stationary target to aim at.

Johnston slid the bolt forward to chamber a Winchester 300 magnum round and propped the bipod on the boat’s deck, wet and slippery from dew and sea spray. Bracing himself as best he could against the bouncing and pitching, Johnston took a breath and sighted carefully. He waited and then fired in that brief pause while they were at the top of a wave.

The shot apparently missed. Nabiin’s boat still raced ahead.

Johnston chambered another round and again took careful aim. Once more, the bullet flew off into the night to no apparent effect.

Ward saw what could only be muzzle flashes from Nabiin’s boat. Then, almost instantly, he felt a couple of the rounds crash into his craft. How in hell was the guy able to be that accurate while steering the boat and bouncing over the wavetops.

Master Chief Johnston suddenly slumped over, groaning in pain. One of the terrorist’s shots had somehow found its mark.

Then several more slugs slammed into the engine compartment. Immediately, the SEALs’ speedboat slid to a halt, its engines smoking, dead.

Nabiin, the Prophet, raced off into the heavy mist of an impending new day.

36

The Khorramshar medium range ballistic missile arced up and away from the Iranian submarine, cutting a fiery path all the way until it was into near space. At an altitude of one hundred and fifty kilometers, the rocket’s first stage burned out and fell away, right on schedule. The warhead and guidance package continued to climb higher, perfectly following the predetermined ballistic trajectory.

As the warhead proceeded through its midcourse phase, Israeli early warning radars picked it up and dutifully began tracking it. Tracking and continually analyzing it.

Somewhere over central Saudi Arabia the warhead reached an apogee of nearly three hundred kilometers. It was at this point that two Israeli Arrow 4 ABM missiles roared away from their launchers, hidden deeply amid the rocks, scrub, and sand of the Negev Desert.

The two-stage rockets raced off into the night sky, flashing toward a computed intercept point at better than Mach nine. Ground-based telemetry guided the missiles toward that spot in the sky with gentle nudges and minor corrections until their installed infrared sensors detected the Iranian nuclear warhead for themselves.

The warhead was just entering its terminal phase, still one hundred kilometers high over the desolate eastern Jordanian desert, when the ABMs found their target and were satisfied this was what they were programmed to intercept. The nuclear warhead was obliterated in a sudden brilliant flash that for a brief instant lit up the night sky across most of the Eastern Mediterranean. Those who noticed it assumed it was an especially bright shooting star.

Missile and warhead debris rained down over a wide swath of territory mostly inhabited by scorpions and snakes.

Jerusalem was rendered safe even as prayers in three religions rang out for the new day.

Ψ

The sun had just appeared on the eastern horizon when Nabiin spotted the Darih al Mahit al Muqadas. The repurposed vessel was a beautiful sight, steaming directly toward him. Nabiin pointed the bow of his speedboat toward the ship. And he was, of course, recognized by the ship’s crew. He eased alongside and loosely tied up along the former research ship’s port side.

He reached for a remarkable reserve of strength as he climbed the steep Jacob’s ladder up to the main deck. From there, he ignored the bowing and pandering crewmembers as he hurried past them and ran directly to the bridge. He had seen at least one of the missiles airborne and was eager to get the news that the other three had been sent heavenward.

That Jerusalem was no more. That the war to bring on the End Times had begun.

Ψ

“Captain, Radio. Voice comms with the SEAL team. They report that they are DIW and need pick-up. They report posit one four dot three one north, zero four