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

can match the Yasen-class submarine, and I think we’ve already dispelled that rumour…”

“Two for two, Boss?”

“Yes. But get that security detail ready to get on deck ASAP.” McClure turned to the helmsman and said, “Get us broadside to their stern, fifty-metres out and hold depth.” He paused. “Launch the Cyclops, regenerate five-hundred kilowatts from the reactor and wait-out. Radio operator, contact the Russians on the emergency channel…”

“Cyclops ready, Sir,” the WEPS announced nervously. He had fired the nuclear-powered regenerative laser system only a few times in exercises. Ships, aircraft, and high value coastal targets were the targets of the Cyclops – the laser capable for frying circuit boards and communication systems in fractions of a second, or incinerating sections of metals such as engines or communication masts - but submarines were not considered targets because the laser system only worked above water, fired from the refractor which had been built into the multi-function photonics mast.

“Russian submarine reached, Sir. The captain has sent word to Russia that we have committed an act of war and that they will defend their vessel at any cost…”

“Relay my sympathy that he was bested in a fair engagement, inform him that we have black box data that will show that they fired first and completely unprovoked.” He paused. “And that we will assist them in any way possible. However, we would like to inform him that he is taking on water, that we have sent survival systems to aid him, and that we will be surfacing imminently.”

  The communications officer relayed the commander’s words, then made shorthand notes as he listened to the message, which again would come through the Russian submarine’s communications officer, and never from the commanding officer. “Sir, the Russian captain said he will fire upon any submerged vessel, and that he does not require our assistance.”

“Tell the Russian captain that his weapons will be useless against our own.”

“Sir, he has asked to inform you that he has men deployed on the deck and they have a twelve-point-seven-millimetre heavy machine gun loaded with armour-piercing rounds, that would suggest otherwise…”

“WEPS, can we see the machine gun?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Melt it…”

“Yes, Sir!”

Commander McClure focussed the camera using the mousepad on the display monitor and studied the two men lying on the deck, their large-brimmed sailor’s caps with ribbon tallies tied around were not the most intimidating, but he knew submariners to be a tough bunch the world over. He watched as the WEPS counted down and fired. The two submariners looked confused, then scared and suddenly leapt up from their position, one sliding overboard into the icy water. The other looked as if he contemplated leaping in, too, as the machine gun and deck area underneath it reached 1000ºc in a matter of seconds and the ammunition cooked off and fired away like a string of firecrackers. The machine gun continued to heat up, glowing red, before buckling and bending and the deck around the weapon started to glow red. The remaining submariner ran for the conning tower and skidded over the wet casing, where sailors aimed their Kalashnikovs at an unseen, unheard threat.

“Tell the Russian captain that we can cook his entire vessel and everything inside if we so choose. Tell him we are surfacing and offering him assistance, and that I suggest he accepts it graciously. Just one shot fired upon us and we will sink his vessel and send both himself and his crew to the bottom of the ocean…”

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Three

 

Barents Sea

They were heading back to the Aurora rigs at full speed. The bow of the working boat was crashing down on the gentle swell and cascading huge plumes of icy water over the deck.

“We may have an issue when we get there,” said Grainger ominously. “This swell is small, but it’s building steadily. If they haven’t already pulled in the pontoons, then they most likely soon will.”

“Where does that leave us?” King asked, his eyes on the distant rigs ahead. Slight mounds on the grey horizon that could have been boats had they not known the course and distance.

“The RIBs will run between them for a while. But it’s not a taxi service, we’re talking emergencies or people caught on the wrong rigs. The RIBs will at least run until the swells hit three or four feet, but if the sea becomes choppy, then forget it. We’ll be rig-bound for the foreseeable future.” He paused. “There is a helicopter on Rig Three, the main admin rig, but it will only fly for casualty evacuations to Spitsbergen or special circumstances.”

“Shit!” King snapped. He paced to the port-side window but more for the distraction, returning having not even looked outside. “Okay,” he said decisively. “I need to find someone on one of the rigs. Rig Two, I think. A Swedish girl, or woman… her name is Madeleine. I don’t know her surname. She has just got assigned to the marine biologists studying pods of orcas.”

“Orcas?”

“Yes,” King replied tersely. “Make the call, get somebody to find her and then get her on the line, Grainger. We don’t have much time…”

***

Hormuzd Shirazi did not have much time either. He had the coordinates and the ETA. It would require a leap of faith, but faith was the one thing he had. Unwavering, resolute. Faith was his constant.

He had packed his kit in the duffle bag and changed into his cold weather gear. He was not a fan of the water, so wore a lightweight CO2 inflatable life vest over his jacket. It was the type that inflated upon full water submersion, or by a toggle which could be activated by the wearer. He had assembled the lightweight AR-15 rifle complete with folding stock and a shortened fourteen-inch barrel. He had smuggled the stripped weapon into Spitsbergen inside an empty diving bottle with a false