Kilo Class

Saint Lanne and was not detected by the Taiwanese lookout post up on the heights of Pointe Bras guarding the entrance to Bay du Repos.

The Hai Lung was holding a course to the right-hand side of the mile-wide deep-water channel, and Boomer was not surprised when the Kilo headed resolutely after her down the Baie du Repos. He took another fast look through the periscope as he came under Pointe Bras, and again the Taiwanese lookouts were unable to spot him… in contrast to Cuttyhunk, which they had spotted.

Eight miles down the ever-narrowing dead-end fjord, with a freezing south wind whipping the snow off the peak of Mount Richards, and pawing the water out in front of Columbia, the Hai Lung suddenly stopped snorkeling and went silent. Boomer cursed under his breath and raised the periscope just as the Taiwanese Sea Tiger burst out of the water, now only three miles distant, and continued her journey on the surface.

The Kilo appeared to stop but remained dived at the entrance to the last narrow three-mile section of the fjord. Boomer stayed two miles north of the Kilo but could still see right down the length of the channel. He decided to risk another furtive look, always aware he just might be observed. And out in front he could see the Hai Lung head off to the right. He could also see two old rusting, gray buoys spaced about four hundred feet apart off the rocky western lee shore. The sonar chief was reporting the unmistakable signature of a pressurized water reactor at power…and it was echoing down the fjord.

He guessed from right between the two buoys, moored to which, under the water, there had to be a nuclear submarine.

“That’s their power source,” muttered the Commander. “Where’s the goddamned factory, or whatever it is?” And then in the distance he could see the Hai Lung slow almost to a complete stop, drifting in toward the shore. From where Boomer watched, it looked like the submarine would collide with the cliff. But very slowly, without any sign of panic, the submarine just vanished, slipping behind what Boomer realized must be some kind of overhang, or steel curtain. He stared at the high granite cliffs which lined the shore and called out for a depth check.

“Three hundred and sixty feet, sir.”

“That’s what we came for, guys,” said Commander Dunning. “Right over there, right-hand bank…one mile on the chart from the end of Baie du Repos.” Boomer pronounced it to rhyme with rip off.

“Good job everyone. Let’s get the hell outta here — real careful, real slow, and back the way we came to Choiseul.”

Columbia headed once more for the big bay at the head of the Kerguelen fjords, leaving the Kilo to do its worst. It was 1915 and still bright, but windy along the surface of the water as they approached the mouth of Baie Blanche. Boomer proposed to hold here for an hour, and then head out into clear seas to access the satellite and send a signal to SUBLANT, notifying them that he had located the Taiwanese factory at 49.65N 69.20E at the far end of the Baie du Repos. He also proposed to inform headquarters that he had observed the Hai Lung docking there, and that the facility was being powered by a nuclear reactor moored out in the bay. There was, furthermore, a Russian-built Granay-Type Kilo patrolling in nearly four hundred feet of water close to the factory.

Boomer put Columbia into a holding pattern and assessed that it would take the Chinese boat about five minutes to accomplish its plain and obvious task.

As educated guesses go, that one was not bad. At 1955, Columbia’s sonar picked up a succession of almighty explosions as the Kilo sent in a barrage of torpedoes splitting asunder the rock in which the Taiwan factory was built, obliterating the facility, the Hai Lung, and the French nuclear-powered Rubis Class submarine. The underwater bombardment lasted ten minutes.

What the American sonar men could not have known was that the Kilo had immediately surfaced afterward and fired six successive SA-N-8 SAM missiles from the launcher at the top of the fin. From point-blank range. Straight through the steel curtain, which had obscured the factory for so long. All of the weapons and launchers had been provided by the Russians.

On board Columbia the sonar operators were incredulous at the length of time the Chinese Captain had spent blasting away at the cliff. The Americans would have expected to achieve a similar result in less than a minute. But Captain Kan was not just a driven man, he was a fanatic, with a psychopathic edge to his mind. He enjoyed killing, and the instinct had been suppressed for too long.

Now, with every thundering explosion, he struck a blow on behalf of his late mentor Madame Mao and his Commander in Chief against the traitorous Taiwanese and their American allies. Every hit was one back for the Kilos they had lost. Every echo, an echo from the rising military dragon of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy. Kan smiled the uneasy, slightly crazed smile of the psychotic as his missiles wiped out every last possibility of life in Taiwan’s secret nuclear plant.

“Shit,” growled Boomer Dunning. “These crazy bastards really mean it. Guess that’s sayonara Taiwan…back to the drawing board, right?”

“What now, sir?” asked Lieutenant Commander Krause. “You wanna head back to open water, update the signal to SUBLANT? I got a draft right here. We sure found what they were looking for.”

“Yes, Mike…I want to get out of these enclosed waters now. If I’m not mistaken the Kilo is going to be coming right through here in less than a couple of hours. We don’t want to get caught with our shorts down. Specially with the mood that fucking Chinaman’s in!”

Columbia turned away, sliding below the surface of the calm, dark waters. There was moonlight again tonight, and through the periscope Boomer could see the shape of Point Pringle and Cape Feron, the huge black granite cliffs between them. They increased speed to eight knots, and Boomer ordered the Watch Officer to make a holding point between Iles Leygues and Cap D’Estaing.

It had been a long day for the crew and especially the officers, few of whom had enjoyed much of a break since the late Hai Lung first came sneaking into range the previous evening.

But Boomer did not feel sociable. He delayed sending his signal and sat alone in his cabin and sipped coffee. He wished to hell his Kansan buddy Bill had been there — would have liked a chat with a friend. But that was not a luxury to which he had access. Instead he took out the signal sent to him by the CNO and stared again at the coded zinger from the NSA. “Well, I sure know what he thinks of me right now,” he muttered.

The clock ticked on. At 2140 he was still pondering the draft signal to SUBLANT. Columbia ran her familiar slow racetrack pattern, awaiting a decision from the Commanding Officer.

At 2200, Boomer was back in the control center, just as the sonar operator picked up the Kilo, running due north at eight knots, snorkeling away from the scene of its crime, bound for the nearest open water, and eventually Canton.

“Captain…Conn…Kilo bears 180, sir…gotta be heading toward…range six miles. She snorkels now, sir. Good contact on ghoster. I’m opening off track to the northwest. Track twenty-eight.”

“Captain, aye.”

Boomer ran his hands through his hair and returned briefly to his cabin. Four minutes later he went back to the control center. He hesitated for a few seconds.

He then took his entire career in his hands and snapped, “I intend to sink the Kilo as soon as he’s clear of the shoal water. Estimate one hour. Ready one and two tubes…forty-eight ADCAP.”

Lieutenant Commander Curran, the Combat Systems Officer, never blinked and strode back into the sonar room.

Deep in the ship the torpedomen prepared two weapons as ordered.

Fifteen minutes later the sonar room called, “Track twenty-eight bearing 178, sir. Range six miles.”

Down in the torpedo bay, weapons were loaded into both number one and number two tubes in case of a malfunction. The Guidance Officer was at the screen murmuring into his pencil-slim microphone while Jerry Curran watched the sonar with Bobby Ramsden and the Chief. It seemed everyone was on duty right now. Lieutenant Commander Krause had the conn as the CO concentrated on the task that might very well see him court- martialed.

The time inched by and the black hull of the Chinese Kilo pressed on through the water, running south of the American nuclear troubleshooter. The Columbia sonar team checked her approach, calling