Sea of Shadows

Sub Lieutenant Lavelle keyed a comm box near the radar repeater.

“Operations Room — Bridge. We have negative surface contacts. Bearing and range are clear.” He released the button. “Think it’s a submarine?” he asked softly.

“Probably a fishing boat,” Lieutenant Bryce said immediately.

“Wooden hulls don’t give much of a radar return, especially if they’re small.”

“We should wake up the captain on this,” Kensington said.

“Nobody’s waking the captain over a fishing boat,” Bryce said.

The Operations Room Officer’s voice rumbled the speaker again.

“Bridge — Operations Room. We have six inbound Bogies. I repeat, we have six unidentified aircraft inbound! We are initiating Level One challenges at this time. Recommend we take the ship to Action Stations.”

Before his First Watch Officer could object, Kensington shouted,

“Bo’sun of the Watch! Sound the general alarm! Take the ship to Action Stations.”

The raucous alarm whooped instantly in response, blaring out of speakers all over the ship, rousting sleeping Sailors from their bunks — as it was designed to do. Then the alarm was replaced by the bo’sun’s voice.

“All hands to Action Stations! All hands to Action Stations!”

“Damn it, Kensington,” Lieutenant Bryce half shouted. “That was not your order to give!”

“Sorry, sir,” said Kensington, who was not even a little bit sorry. “I was trying to anticipate your next command. Quick reaction, and all that!”

“Nothing to be done for it now, sir,” Sub Lieutenant Lavelle added helpfully.

“I suppose not,” said Bryce. “Kensington, call down to Main Engineering and tell them we’ll be needing all engines on line. Lavelle, you call up the Chatham. Tell them we’re going to Action Stations and advise them to do the same.” He snapped his fingers three times. “Step lively. The captain is going to be up here in about two shakes, and I want him to see us doing it right.”

“Bridge — Operations Room,” the overhead speaker said. “Sonar is reporting three more active contacts!”

“That would be the rest of those submarines that aren’t going to show up,” Kensington said.

“Shut your mouth,” Bryce hissed.

Kensington started to say something, but the overhead speaker interrupted him. “Bridge — Operations Room,” the Operations Room Officer’s voice said. “Bogies have ignored our Level One challenges.

Issuing Level Two challenges now. Gun and missile stations reporting ready for combat.”

“Very well,” Lieutenant Bryce said. “Stand by for orders.”

A watertight door banged open at the back of the bridge, and the bo’sun called out, “Captain is on the bridge!”

The captain crossed the bridge with a few long strides, his movements in the darkness carrying a confidence that only years of familiarity can bring. He climbed into his raised chair at the starboard end of the bridge and said loudly, “First Officer of the Watch, what is the situation?”

“We have six inbound aircraft, sir, as well as three active sonar contacts.”

“Four,” said Sub Lieutenant Kensington.

“Correction, sir,” Lieutenant Bryce said. “We have four sonar contacts.

The aircraft have disregarded our Level One challenges. Level Two challenges are in progress. Gun and missile stations are reporting ready for combat.”

Over the speaker, the Operations Room Officer’s voice said, “Bridge — Operations Room. Bogies have gone radar-active. I and J band pulse-Doppler emitters with a cascading pulse repetition rate. Looks like the German Air Force variant of the ECR-90C radar.”

The captain exhaled audibly. “Luftwaffe. That narrows the field a trifle. We’re either dealing with back-fitted Toranados or those damned Eurofighter 2000s.”

“Bridge — Operations Room. Bogies are not responding to Level Two challenges.”

“Is that right?” the captain asked quietly. “Second Officer of the Watch, take missiles to the rails. Shift the gun to anti-air automatic.”

Sub Lieutenant Kensington stood for a few seconds without speaking.

He’d done this a thousand times under simulated conditions, but this was no simulation. There were real planes out there, and real submarines.

“Second Officer of the Watch!” the captain said loudly.

Kensington started. “Yes, sir!”

“Take missiles to the rails, and shift the gun to anti-air automatic.”

Kensington managed to catch himself before he saluted out of reflex.

“Aye-aye, sir!” He keyed a comm box and repeated the captain’s orders to the Operations Room Officer. Were they actually going to shoot? Surely it wouldn’t go that far … or would it? The captain seemed to think so …

* * *

Out on the darkened forecastle, the twin arms of the British Aerospace missile launcher rotated up to the zero position. Two small hatches powered smoothly aside, and slender rails extended through the openings to mate with the arms of the launcher. A fraction of a second later, a pair of Sea Dart missiles rode up the vertically aligned rails to lock into place on the arms of the launcher. The rails retracted themselves, and the small hatches closed as soon as they were clear. The entire operation took less than three seconds.

The 114mm Vickers gun was loaded and ready a split-second later. Its barrel instantly slewed to a new position as it locked on the inbound aircraft and tracked their radar returns through the night sky.

* * *

“Missiles at the rail, sir,” the Operations Room Officer reported. “The gun is in anti-air automatic.”

“Good,” the captain said. “Ready all torpedo tubes for firing.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Kensington said. He keyed his comm box and repeated the order to the Operations Room Officer.

“Bring us around to two-six-zero,” the captain said. “Don’t let those subs get past us.”

Lieutenant Bryce’s voice was loud, “Helmsman, right standard rudder.

Steady on course two-six-zero.”

“Helm, aye! Sir, my rudder is right fifteen degrees, coming to new course two-six-zero!”

The Operations Room Officer’s voice came over the speaker.

“Bridge — Operations Room. Bogies will penetrate our inner defense perimeter in five seconds! Request guns and missiles free!”

“Negative!” the captain said. “They’re just trying to scare us into breaking formation so those submarines can get past us. We are not at war, gentlemen. We’ll not fire the first shot!” His next words were drowned out by an earsplitting roar that vibrated the thick bridge windows like tuning forks.

The jets rocketed overhead, not more than ten meters above the foremast. The shriek of their engines was deafening, literally rattling Kensington’s teeth. The glass faceplate of a gyrocompass repeater exploded into fragments under the sudden pressure.

A sliver of flying glass stung Kensington high on the right cheek, burying itself deep under the skin. His involuntary yelp was lost in the cacophonous scream of six pairs of jet engines running at open throttle.

And then the jets were gone, climbing away into the darkness, their afterburners carving blue arcs of flame into the night sky.

Kensington touched his cheek and felt the moistness of his own blood.

His ears were still ringing from the fly-by.

“Steady, lads,” the captain shouted, obviously nearly deafened himself.

“We’ll not fire the first shot,” he repeated. “But if they do, I give you my word that we will fire the last one!”

The Operations Room Officer’s voice came over the speaker again. It was difficult to hear him because he wasn’t yelling like everyone else.

Working farther down in the superstructure, he hadn’t been half-deafened by the jets. “Bridge — Operations Room. Bogies are coming back around for another pass.”