Fatal Thunder: A Jerry Mitchell Novel (41 page)

Shi nodded. “I am familiar with this issue.”

“The commodore says he’s been unable to get an explanation of the reasons for this, much less your navy’s cooperation.”

She nodded toward Simonis’s image, and the commodore added, “I’ve promised to put a P-8 Poseidon in its place, the most capable aircraft we have, with far better sensors than the SH-5 or Y-8s you’ve been putting out there.”

“It may be more capable,” the general responded, “but is it true that the Indian Navy is also operating P-8 aircraft from your base in Guam?”

“Yes,” Simonis replied. “They’ve provided four aircraft so far, all they have operational, and promise more within twenty-four hours.”

“And they will be patrolling throughout the area?” Shi asked.

“Yes, all along
Chakra
’s possible transit routes, as part of the overall search plan.” Simonis answered carefully, but Patterson could hear a question in his tone. Where was Shi going with this?

“Will there be American observers aboard the Indian planes, people other than the crews?”

Simonis’s expression on the monitor showed his confusion. “No, why would there be?”

“To ensure that if they detect the criminal submarine, they actually report it.” Patterson and Simonis both started to answer at the same time, and when they both paused, giving each other a chance to speak, Shi added, “We are amazed that the same country that owns the rogue submarine is sending aircraft to ‘help’ find it.”

Patterson countered, “We have no reason to doubt the dedication of the Indian crews. Their government is doing its best to arrest the conspirators, and has actually sent a liaison officer to provide information on
Chakra
’s specifications and tactics.”

“Very comforting. The Chinese government will be very surprised if an Indian aircraft reports the location of the Indian submarine, much less attacks and sinks it.”

On her laptop computer, a text message from Simonis appeared. “I can put a parallel barrier just behind the Chinese zone. It’s a waste of resources, but we can’t make them trust the Indians.” Shi couldn’t see it, and she typed a quick “OK, thanks.”

“Let’s table that issue for a moment, General. Commodore Simonis is also concerned about receiving the hydrographic information near the target ports, and along the coast. He’s requested the information several times, and the only answer he’s received is that the information is being updated and isn’t ready yet.”

Simonis started to speak, but Shi cut him off. “I understand the importance of such information to antisubmarine searches,” he said sharply. “Salinity, temperature gradients, ambient noise, and so on.

“Another important feature marked on the charts are wrecked ships. Patrol planes searching for submarines use magnetic detectors to look for the submarine’s metal hull. A sunken ship could easily be mistaken for a submerged submarine, so even if the wreck is not a hazard to navigation, the location must still be marked on the chart.”

By now, Patterson was texting Simonis offscreen. She typed a “???,” to which the commodore responded, “Their ASW charts must be worse than ours.”

Shi was still talking. “About six months ago, a large number of wrecks were added to those already present. If your pilots use the existing charts, they’ll discover that China’s coastal waters are full of submarines.”

Patterson was still trying to think of what to text Simonis when a message appeared from him: “WAPOBS.” She hadn’t seen that acronym before. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but it probably wasn’t polite.

It turned out Shi was just getting started. “It is also vital that Commodore Simonis inform us of the flight plans and positions of all aircraft as they enter the South China Sea aircraft identification zone…”

Patterson had to stop herself from groaning out loud. Ever since the end of the war, the Chinese had “reestablished” the “air defense zone” to help support their territorial claim to the entire South China Sea. It was pure posturing, and accomplished nothing.

She cut Shi off in midsentence. “General Shi, is it possible that you do not understand the threat posed by this submarine to your country?”

“Do you mean the threat by the Indians to send nuclear torpedoes into five of our largest coastal cities, incinerating millions of Chinese citizens? That threat?”

Shi paused, then declared, “We have no intention of letting you turn the South China Sea into an American lake, or letting Littoral Alliance and American vessels operate freely in our waters. One reason why I’m meeting with you at this late hour is that the Central Military Commission just finished holding an emergency meeting. We are putting our nuclear forces on wartime alert. A message has been sent to the Indian government stating that if a nuclear weapon destroys a Chinese city, India will lose a city of the same size. Ports first, of course, but…”

“This is insane!” Patterson shouted. “The submarine has gone rogue. The Indians have been broadcasting recall messages nonstop.”

“Maybe they haven’t been trying hard enough,” Shi replied in a condescending tone. “I know you’re convinced it’s gone rogue, and you’re trying to stop it. But aren’t you also taking advantage of a crisis created by the Indians to extend your influence in the region?

“Think about it, Dr. Patterson. The Littoral Alliance’s goal in the recent war was to wreck our economy. They couldn’t manage it then, so the Indians concocted this plot to finish the job. Because this will indeed wreck my nation, and if only millions died I’d think we were fortunate. But if millions of Chinese do die, then India will suffer just as dearly.”

“But they have no control over it!” Patterson insisted.

“That remains to be seen. A demarche was sent to the Indian government about an hour ago. Many of use believe the ‘rogue’ submarine will have a change of heart. They may even put the captain through some sort of show trial along with the rest of the ‘conspirators.’ Certainly a failed plan of this magnitude will require some housecleaning.”

“And if
Chakra
doesn’t turn around?”

“China will defend herself. If your ships and planes find and sink the Indian, that is good news and we will be genuinely grateful. But our navy commander has assured us that they are concentrating their defenses to protect our ports. Since those operations are happening inside our own territorial waters, there is no need to coordinate with your forces. As long as your ships and planes stay outside our territorial waters, you may do as you please.”

15 April 2017

1100 Local Time

INS
Chakra

Lema Channel, Wanshan Qundao

Hong Kong, China

“The navigation aid on Wenwei Zhou Island bears green zero nine one degrees, ten kilometers. We are on track, recommend turning to zero five five degrees in thirty seconds. That will take us between the two marked channels.” Although Lieutenant Commander Kumar Rakash had taken over Jain’s duties as first officer, before that he’d been
Chakra
’s navigator, and Jain had insisted that he take over his old job for the actual approach to the firing position.

“What’s the distance to the wreck ahead of us?” Jain asked.

“Eight thousand, two hundred meters, bearing red zero two five,” Rakash responded instantly. “After the turn we will be opening the range. Mark the turn.”

“Starboard fifteen, steer new course zero five five degrees.” Now it began. Jain was nervous, and fought to keep his voice calm. Although they’d been warned to watch for signs of hostile activity, it appeared the Chinese were not expecting them. All he had to do was focus on the navigation. That was the only thing that could get him into trouble, but that was enough.

Hong Kong was a world-class deep-water port, but only for surface vessels. Thirty meters of water was more than enough for the largest supertanker, but
Chakra
needed eighteen meters just to submerge. Splitting the difference gave her only six meters over her sail and six between her keel and the bottom.

“Lieutenant Kota, report.” Jain tried to speak softly, to project the calmness he wished he felt.

“There are five ships ahead of us in the Lema Channel, three heading northeast ahead of us, the other two approaching on southwest courses. Closing speeds on both approaching vessels are ten knots. All contacts show appropriate bearing drift.”

Lieutenant Harish Kota, the usual navigator, had been assigned the sole task of tracking the heavy merchant traffic in the channel, using passive bearings from
Chakra
’s hull sonars.

“Drafts?” asked the captain.

“We’ve identified two, both container ships:
Xin Ning Bo
, nine meters, northeast at ten knots and
Wanhai 317
, eleven meters, southwest at ten knots. There’s also a small tanker, and two even smaller vessels, all doing about ten knots.”

That was the regulated speed in the channel, which was divided into two lanes, northeast toward the harbor and southwest toward the open sea. While it was theoretically possible to pass another ship in your lane in the channel, the authorities judged it unwise and required all vessels to maintain the same speed, as well as a healthy separation between each ship in the lane.

Jain was taking
Chakra
, submerged, up the two-thousand-meter-wide buffer between the inbound and outbound channels. Like a bicyclist pedaling on the median between opposing lanes of traffic, drifting too far to either side meant disaster.

But all he had to do was steer straight on course 055 degrees for eighteen and a half miles. At five knots, that would take almost four hours, but he didn’t dare go any faster or
Chakra
would leave a V-shaped wake on the surface, pointing like an arrow to his exact position. Merchant sailors were not the most observant lot, but Jain was sure that with all the traffic up there, somebody would ask embarrassing questions.

And that would be a problem. From this point on, he was committed to a four-hour run to the northeast, to the firing point in the center of the channel. If he was spotted, he could not maneuver or dive deep to evade pursuit. Speeding up would be pointless.

“First Officer, keep us biased toward the outbound channel. It’s the inbound channel I worry about.”

“Only if they don’t stay in the channel, sir.”

“Exactly my concern. A merchant traveling at ten knots and us at five knots, and blind in our stern arc, with no way to see him coming? Do you trust civilian navigators to stay in the lane?”

“No, sir!”

Jain turned to Kota, working at the next console. “And any time there’s a sizable gap in the outbound traffic, tell the first officer and me so we can slide
Chakra
over even farther to the left.”

Jain saw the Russian Orlav enter the central post from forward. He waited for the captain to turn away from the chart table before reporting. “Prefiring checks are complete, Captain. The weapon is loaded in tube number one, as ordered.” His navy reflexes had kicked in. He might as well have been one of the crew.

“Very well,” Jain remarked automatically. He turned to look at Rakash, who without prompting reported, “Sixteen and a half miles, three hours and twenty minutes.”

“Very well.” Jain nodded, then asked Orlav, “Where is Kirichenko?” He didn’t bother with the Russian’s title. He might have been an admiral once, but he wasn’t anymore, as far as Jain was concerned.

“In our stateroom,” Orlav answered.

“Poring over maps, no doubt,” Jain said, laughing. Orlav frowned at his tone, but said nothing.

Theoretically, Orlav didn’t need to make any checks, but if there was a problem that prevented the torpedo from working as intended, he wouldn’t get paid. The two Russians had actually finished their assembly work two days ago. In addition to installing the last two torpedo warheads, they had reset the timers on all five weapons to April 23, since they were leaving two weeks earlier than Operation Vajra had originally planned.

Kirichenko had complained nonstop about the lack of proper lighting, the lack of enough tools, and especially the cramped working conditions, but they had to work in the torpedo room. In addition to the five special weapons,
Chakra
carried thirty-three UGST-type torpedoes—a full load. Dhankhar had made sure that if they had to fight their way in or out, they had the wherewithal to do it.

So, although it had taken longer than expected, they had still finished with time to spare. The moment Jain had inspected their work, and announced that he was satisfied, Kirichenko turned over the code cards and asked for the money Dhankhar had promised them.

“Is there somewhere you plan to spend it?” Jain asked. He was smiling at the man’s foolishness, even while he was repelled by the Russian’s greed. Kirichenko started to protest, but Jain cut him off. “You will get your money as was agreed, once we are away and the weapons have exploded. As promised, we will then put you two off in rubber rafts with your money.”

Knowing that there was nothing else to be done, Kirichenko had asked for a nautical chart and a port directory. Since then, he had appeared only for meals, which he ate silently, brooding.

Orlav had been more cooperative, or maybe Kirichenko wasn’t the best company and he preferred the companionship of the crew. He’d borrowed a pair of coveralls and proceeded to thoroughly check over the firing circuits and all the other modifications that had been made.

“Sonar contact close aboard, starboard side aft!” The urgency of Kota’s report almost made everyone glance over their shoulder. It was only a moment later that they actually heard a
thrum-thrum-thrum
through the hull.

“Bearing rate!” Jain demanded, which Kota acknowledged with a quick nod as he looked at the Omnibus display.

The navigator-turned-contact-coordinator held out a hand for a moment, then reported “Rapid left,” meaning that the ship which had suddenly emerged from their blind arc aft was passing down their starboard side, as it was supposed to, and was not in danger of ramming into the submerged submarine.

Kota reported, “Contact evaluated as a medium-sized tanker.”