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

I’ll do it in a moment.” She rummaged through her tote handbag and said, “Here, take two of these.” She passed Caroline a box of tablets, then fetched her a glass of water. “They’re the strongest they would do over the counter. Paracetamol and Codeine, take two every four hours.”

Caroline took the box and opened it, taking out two of the capsules and swallowing them down with the glass of water. “Thanks,” she said quietly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Thorpe said, taking hold of the large box and using her thumbnail to break the tape seal. “I understand why you’re doing this, but just look at you. You can barely get out of a chair, now.”

“I’ll be better with the second crutch.”

Thorpe shook her head. “I’ll meet with Fortez.” She ran her thumbnail down the seal and placed the box back down on the table.

“No offence, but you don’t talk the talk. Not in this game, at least.” Caroline shook her head. “Fortez thinks he’s meeting with an ex-soldier who runs a team of ex-special forces mercenaries.”

“You’re taking Dave with you. He can talk the talk for me.”

Caroline watched Thorpe undo the box. She worked at the joins of tape with her thumbnail. She must have caught under the nail with a sharp piece of tape or card because she sucked on her thumb, before using her nail again on the join. “I have a pair of nail scissors in my bag,” she offered.

“No, I’m fine,” Thorpe replied irritably. She finally got the lid of the box open and reached inside for the crutch. “Gosh, it’s heavier than I expected.”

“That’s why I don’t like using them…” Caroline shrugged. “That and the fact I have always been so active. I guess it’s just vanity, really.”

“It’s necessary! Just use them, and you will heal more quickly. Christ, you’re like my nan! When she broke her hip, she just kept rushing her recovery, you’re no different,” she beamed a rare smile and Caroline could see that she was in fact quite pretty, underneath her normal, if somewhat austere façade.

“Are you calling me an old lady?” Caroline grinned. “I suppose I have rushed it a bit, I’m just fed up with how slow the process has been, that’s all,” she said, then added, “And thanks for doing this.”

“Don’t mention it.” Sally-Ann pulled the crutch out of the box with both hands and placed it beside Caroline’s chair.

Caroline yawned, then looked up as Ramsay entered the living room.

“Finally getting along, then?”

Caroline smiled. “It’s these painkillers she got me. I think she substituted them with horse tranquilisers…”

“Hah!” Sally-Ann laughed. “Now there’s a thought!”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

 

200 miles south of the Polar Icecap,

Barents Sea

 

“Sir, she’s back,” the sonar operator announced. “Due east, two-thousand metres and turning towards us.”

Commander McClure nodded. They had just retrieved the communication buoy and the Virginia class submarine’s cutting-edge ‘periscope-less’ camera. Instead of the classic periscope and fold-down double handles associated with military submarines, the Virginia had a retractable camera that used 3-D imaging, infrared and laser-distancing. The picture was both crisp and clear and could be viewed on various monitors. The sea ice was still abundant but becoming thinner with every mile further south they travelled. The captain had contacted Washington on the direct link made possible by the communications buoy and reported the confrontation. His orders were not to use torpedoes unless fired upon. The standard ‘do not fire unless fired upon’ protocol that had dogged every soldier, sailor and airman in the theatre of operation for the past sixty years.

“Sir, this is a direct act of aggression!” Lieutenant-Commander Jacobs protested, albeit quietly a foot away from the man’s ear.

“You read the transcript just like I did,” McClure replied somewhat tersely. “We have a job to do, and we need to do it. So, we need to get out of here…” He paused. “Maintain course, silent running, dive to two hundred feet, speed to four knots.” The nerve-wracking and inconvenient truth was that to run silent, speed had to be greatly reduced, thus inhibiting their ability to change course quickly and potentially make themselves a sitting duck to the enemy. He waited for the quiet confirmations and realised he was subconsciously rubbing the St. Christopher medallion which hung around his neck next to his dog tags. He stopped at once, checking that the buttons of his shirt were secure. He glanced at his second in command, but the man hadn’t appeared to notice. “With any luck, we’ll pass directly beneath her. Ready anti-ship missiles.”

“Anti-ship? Will they detonate under water? I didn’t think they would, I haven’t seen any data for such an action.”

The submarine was equipped with an array of weapons from ground assault cruise missiles to anti-ship missiles and torpedoes. Torpedoes were launched in the water and travelled through the water to their target, while anti-ship missiles were fired either underwater or on the surface and travelled through the air to their target.

“Let’s see, shall we? The transcript said not to fire our torpedoes unless fired upon.” He paused. “And anti-ship missiles, and I’m sure you’ll agree with this XO, are not torpedoes. This boat isn’t going away. The Russian skipper is belligerent, and I have one-hundred and twenty-eight lives to consider.”

“But if the missiles don’t detonate…”

“Then they’ll give the bloody Russians something to think about, won’t they?”

They still had two torpedoes loaded in opposite tubes, and the countermeasures had been replenished. The crew were maintaining their silent running orders, but everyone was wearing an expression of worry and anticipation. The tension was high, and the atmosphere seemed like a touchable, pliable entity. The men were perspiring, for although the submarine was operating in waters of around -1.8ºc (seawater freezing at -2ºc), the heat from the crew’s bodies, the electrical devices, and operating systems, as well as the kitchen galley meant