Hunter Killer - Alex King Series 12 (2021), A BATEMAN [urban books to read TXT] 📗

Iran would have no reason to fear its enemies again, and its enemies would quake in its shadow. A new world order was possible. With riots on American streets, democracy proven to be a myth as half the US felt cheated and disillusioned in recent years, Iran and its allies would grow stronger, while the great Satan that was America grew weaker and frequently less vigilant. The submarine commander smiled at the thought. The scales would soon balance in Iran’s, and the Great Ayatollah’s favour.

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

500 miles north of Svalbard Archipelago

Beneath the Polar Icecap

Commander JT McClure gave the order for silent running. No crew member other than the two helmsmen and the sonar operator, along with his second in command (XO) and the Weapons Division Officer (WEPS) could speak. And even then, anything but a low tone a quiet voice was a court-martial offence. All  crew members were frozen in their spots. Above them, just eighty-feet of water between the conning tower and the first of the dramatic polar stalactites and a steady eight-foot thickness of solid polar icecap. Just one-hundred feet below their hull, the Russian submarine was suspended in eleven-thousand feet of water, at a steady eight-knots.

The Virginia class Submarine was America’s deadliest and newest hunter-killer in the US Navy’s arsenal. The sonar warning system had identified the propeller as a Yasen-class Russian submarine, and both the sonar operator and the Commander had confirmed the pulse. A team of US Navy SEALS had rigged recording buoys under the surface of the water outside Murmansk in the extreme north-west of Russia, home to their nuclear submarine base, with the sole intention of recording the pulse and pitch of the new Yasen-class submarines. Months of classroom-based scenarios had taught US submarine officers and sonar operators what to look for, but this was the first time Commander McClure had been so close to a Yasen-class submarine, and the feeling was unnerving to say the least, although he did not show his concern to his crew. The Yasen was Russia’s newest, fourth generation nuclear powered attack submarine. A hunter-killer.

The vessel’s distinctive design with such a forward placed and low conning tower, was state-of-the-art. The Yasen-class nuclear submarines were presumed to be armed with land-attack cruise missiles, anti-ship missiles and anti-submarine missiles, as well as anti-ship and anti-submarine torpedoes. The Yasen could also detach mines and retaliate with countermeasures to missile and torpedo attack. It was also the first Russian submarine to be equipped with a spherical sonar. CIA intelligence reports had shown that the Yasen was crewed by just sixty-four, while the US Virginia class submarines were typically crewed by one-hundred and twenty-eight – indicating that the Russian’s had a great deal more sophisticated computerised systems and technology than previously thought.

“Hard to port, maintain speed.” Commander McClure ordered quietly. “WEPS, Harpoon Torpedoes in tubes one and three,” he said quietly, then added. “Maintain silent running.”

The Weapons Division Officer passed on the order, nodding that he’d heard. Normally he would have repeated the order loudly to confirm but with a hunter-killer submarine directly below them, he did not dare risk it.

“Do you think they know we’re here, Commander?” His second in command asked quietly.

McClure shook his head. “They’ve stumbled into us, I think they’re oblivious. They’re not taking any defensive action…”

“And we should continue to stalk them?”

“Lieutenant-Commander Jacobs, it’s always better to keep your eyes on a predator rather than to turn your back…”

“Yes, Commander…”

Commander McClure looked at the digital map above him. They were heading on a south-westerly course. He could see the marker indicated by Svalbard and the Aurora Project rigs. He could draw an imaginary line directly on their present course. All the way to the sunken British Astute class submarine, some fifty miles south of the Aurora rigs. “Okay,” he said quietly to himself. “Let’s see how this plays out…”

Chapter Twenty-Six

 

The Aurora Project

 

“I’m Thomas Grainger,” the man said. Nobody shook hands anymore, so King gave an extra meaningful nod. “Call me Tom,” he added.

“King.”

“Simon said you were a man of few words. He also said that you tend to make up for that with your actions.”

“Mereweather wants you to keep an eye on me?”

“Not in the slightest. Not sure I could, anyway.” He paused. “I’m here to lend a hand, help you navigate Aurora, the protocols et-cetera.”

King nodded as Grainger turned and led the way down the painted metal corridor and up a flight of galvanised mesh steps. “You and Mereweather were at university together?”

“Indeed. The good old days.”

“Post or pre-Segwarides?”

“Oh, post! I can’t believe he told you that!” Grainger laughed. “No, I’m in the Simon camp, always known him as that.”

“He didn’t tell me his real name,” King replied. “That was his old man.”

“Sir Galahad!” Grainger paused at the top of the steps. “Wonderful man. Helped get me some useful contacts. A true Royal Navy man, then went into the secret squirrels, rather like yourself.”

King started to climb, not enjoying the vulnerability of talking to a stranger while still on the stairs. Surviving in his profession was all about the advantages of position and holding ground. “It’s moved on, by the sounds of it.”

“I imagine so,” replied Grainger as King passed him and paused in a recess in the corridor. He eyed King with a tentative respect. It was clear to him that King wasn’t walking in Simon Mereweather’s shoes. The two representatives of MI5 could not have been more different. “He’s a real Sir, as well. So, a real-life Sir Galahad!”

King nodded. He wasn’t knowledgeable about the court of King Arthur, but he understood it was far more mythical than historical. Although the Mereweather family had seemed to have taken it all quite seriously. “What has Simon told you?” he asked, as Grainger continued down the corridor. Either side of the corridor there were