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

out on a large spool of command wire, the Virginia class was armed with the Barracuda Mk IV and once fired at the enemy, used powerful electro-magnets to remain on target, as well as a conventional noise source detector, like that of heat-seeker missiles fired from fighter jets, but sensing the pulse of the submarine’s propeller instead of heat.

Commander McClure leaned back against the heavy angle from their descent and said quietly to his second in command, “Let’s just hope ours can get to them before theirs gets to us…”

“Amen…” Jacobs replied, watching the sonar screen beside them.

The two Mk IV Barracuda torpedoes were equidistant from the Russian submarine and the wire-guided torpedo to their stern.

An explosion rumbled and the Virginia Class submarine tremored and vibrated. The WEPS announced, “Their countermeasures have destroyed one of the Barracuda…”

“Add a real prayer to that Amen, would you…?” McClure said quietly, but Lieutenant-Commander Jacobs just stared at the sonar and said nothing.

Behind them, the countermeasures were sinking and exploding with white-hot phosphorus balls which glistened like deep-sea phosphorescent plankton. The Submarine was diving hard and the torpedo, which had been steered a devious and circuitous route, was getting ever nearer. The barrage of countermeasures was scattering around the nose cone of the torpedo, and finally one exploded dead-on. The burning, 2000ºc chemical fire of the phosphorous melting the hull and letting in enough water for the torpedo to be put off balance and lurch to starboard, exposing its command cable to the starburst of super-heated chemicals. The wire was severed by a clump of burning, sticky phosphorous and the torpedo continued, but deviated steadily off its course with the American submarine.

Another explosion rumbled and shook the submarine and crew. The Weapons Division Officer looked at his commanding officer and said, “The second Barracuda has been destroyed, Sir…”

“The enemy torpedo is off course and heading directly for the Russian sub!” the sonar operator shouted. “The Kilo-class is turning broadside into it!”

“Helmsman hard to surface! Vent ballast tanks, hard ascent!” McClure turned to the sonar operator and said, “Get us back under the ice…”

“Yes, Sir. Head twenty-five degrees north…”

The helmsman acknowledged and steered to port, whilst the ballast tanks vented.

“Reduce speed, fifteen knots. Slow ascent.” Commander McClure paused, turning to his second in command. “Damage report?”

“Nothing serious reported. Small oil fire in the galley, but it’s out now. Expect sandwiches for dinner…”

   McClure nodded then gave the order, “Silent running…” He turned to the sonar operator but said nothing yet. The sonar display showed the Russian torpedo close to the Russian submarine. There was a sudden explosion and a tremor vibrated through the hull. “Impact?”

“Negative, Sir. Self-destruct. Russian sub is veering to the east, full engines.”

Commander McClure nodded. “Maybe that’s the last we’ll see of her, then…” But he didn’t think so for a moment.

 

Chapter Thirty-Three

 

The Aurora Project Rigs

 

Hormuzd Shirazi had seen King and another man leave one way, and after the last pontoon had been attached, the Asian man who he had fought with for possession of the gun had left in the other direction. Shirazi had been using a pair of powerful Zeiss binoculars with light enhancement, although it was now too dark to use them. He had sprinted to the third rig in the chain, but his accommodation – a bunk in a shared room - was in the second rig and he was now in a position where he could be shepherded into containment. He figured the Englishman would want to maintain his cover, so they would not have announced the fact they were searching for someone, much less the reason. And they would be unable to search the individual accommodation rooms and sleeping quarters. He glanced at his watch. He had missed his first scheduled communication and had only three minutes until the next. His lips and nose were sore, his ribs too. The Asian guy had put up a tremendous fight for possession of the pistol, and he had lashed out in return with an almighty kick to the man’s balls, flooring him. Unfortunately, the man had fallen backwards and kept hold of the pistol and by kicking him to the floor, Shirazi had put too much distance between them. He had darted for the stairwell, hearing the gun fire its muted silenced shot after him, the bullet ricocheting around the metal staircase. It had been close, but he had lost the weapon he had stolen from the English agent, and he had shown his hand. He knew he would be hunted and there was nowhere to go, nowhere for him in which to flee. Seven former oil rigs in a ring covering five kilometres did not offer much in the way of escape. His options were limited. He had already seen where the inflatable boats were stowed, and the larger ships were anchored a mile away on the outside of the ring. They would remain while the Aurora scientists got organised, and while the weather conditions remained calm. The crew raising the submarine were still arriving and getting organised over the next two days, and then they would leave and not return until the submarine was floated on the inflatable bags similar in design to the large booms forming the pontoons between the rigs. That gave him a night at least. Enough time to make contact, confirm the coordinates and kill the Englishman. After he had completed his mission, he would steal an inflatable and rendezvous with the Tareq-class submarine commanded by Keshmiri Pezhman of the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps Navy and continue his journey.

Shirazi checked his watch. Just a minute to spare. From his position on the top deck, he could no longer see the Englishman or his kafir subordinate approaching in their pincer movement. The rigs were now shrouded in complete darkness and he was also aware of a dense fog looming