The Pacific Rim Collection
Page 99
Jones-Landry locked eyes with Commander Parrott. The end was near.
Hopefully their close proximity to the Falklands would minimize the massive loss of life. But even that depended, in part, on not delaying too long in issuing the abandon ship order.
The massive thud rocked the great ship. Papers flew to the floor and glass rattled. Anything not buckled down moved.
“Captain!” the ship’s navigator shouted. “Water depth thirty-six feet! We’ve grounded on an uncharted sandbar! And this is high tide!”
“All engines stop! Belay that abandon ship order, XO! We aren’t going anywhere! In fact, give me the 1-MC.”
“With pleasure, sir.”
“Now hear this. This is the commanding officer! I am pleased to report that the Queen Elizabeth is stuck in the mud! Belay the order to abandon ship. We aren’t going anywhere until naval engineers from London arrive and patch the holes in our lower compartments.”
Cheering from a thousand-plus crewmen rose from the flight deck.
“And a special thanks to Reverend Honeycutt, the ship’s chaplain, whose prayer to the Almighty worked! I am going to personally promote Reverend Honeycutt to full commander in a ceremony on the flight deck later this afternoon!”
CHAPTER 29
CS Miro
Drake Passage
20 miles south of Cape Horn
depth 100 feet
7:00 a.m. local time
Skipper, FLASH Top Secret message from Fourth Fleet.”
“Very well.” Pete took the message from the Miro’s communications officer.
FROM: Commander, US 4th Fleet
TO: Commanding Officer, CS Miro (FKA USS City of Corpus Christi)
RE: Operational Orders—Drake Passage and Antarctic Region
1. Recent naval intelligence shows increased Argentinean/Venezuelan naval vessels in the waters of Drake Passage within fifty miles of Cape Horn, Chile.
2. Argentinean/Venezuelan forces have shown hostile intent to Britain.
3. Rules of engagement require that you attack and destroy all Argentinean/Venezuelan naval vessels in the area.
4. Be further advised that an Argentinean submarine, believed to be ARA San Juan, is believed to be responsible for sinking three British warships, one British freighter, and the near sinking of the carrier HMS Queen Elizabeth.
5. The location, sinking, and destruction of ARA San Juan is your top priority.
6. These rules of engagement shall remain in effect until further notice.
Respectfully,
KA Foster
RADM, USN
COMMANDER FOURTH FLEET
“Check this out, XO.” Pete handed the orders to Lieutenant Commander Norman Rodman.
“Unbelievable. A single Argentinean submarine with four sinkings and a near sinking of the Queen Elizabeth.”
“It is amazing, isn’t it?” Pete admired, secretly, the war-waging abilities of a worthy opponent. “The skipper of that boat has some talent.”
“Perhaps, Captain, but I’ll put my money on you.”
“I’ve got a feeling your skills as a riverboat gambler will be tested before this is over with,” Pete said. “We’ll see how good you are. I have a feeling this is headed to an old-fashioned sub duel to determine the outcome of this war. And in that kind of a duel, there can be only one winner. One captain will die. Only one will survive.”
Comodoro Arturo Merino Benítez International Airport
British Airways terminal
Santiago, Chile
8:30 a.m. local time
Mommy! Mommy!”
The boy’s sweet voice melted Meg’s heart even before she saw him running with open arms across the terminal. He jumped into her arms, and she kissed him on the cheeks and forehead.
With her arms wrapped around Aussie, Meg felt another pair of arms wrap around her.
“Shelley!” She put Aussie down and wiped her eyes. “Thank you for coming.”
“How couldn’t I?” Shelley smiled. “Besides, you paid for it.”
“Yes, and remind me to retain the first bankruptcy lawyer that I can find when we return to London.”
That brought a chuckle from Shelley. Then a serious look. “Have you heard anything?”
Meg shook her head. “Nothing. But our embassy personnel here have been wonderful. They’ve invited me to call or stop in every day until we know something.”
Shelley nodded. “Have you heard about Bob’s ship?”
“Yes, I have. Why do you suppose I wanted you here?”
“How did you know?” Shelley said.
“How did I know what? That deep down you still carry a torch for him?”
Shelley nodded. “How did you know?”
“How long have we been best friends?”
“A long time.”
“Look,” Meg said, “no one knows what will happen. But no matter what, we have each other. We must have faith that no matter what storms we are facing, God will lead us through and provide us comfort and the strength we need.”
A stunned look crossed Shelley’s face. She stared into space, like she had seen a ghost.
“Shelley? Are you all right?”
“Yes . . . I . . . Sorry. It’s . . . well, I recently heard someone else tell me the same thing.”
“That’s odd. Someone told me the same thing yesterday . . . here in Chile. Let’s get your baggage, get something to eat, and get to the room. You must be exhausted.”
St. James Catholic Church
Santo Domingo 36
Valparaiso, Chile
11:30 a.m. local time
Why?
Why had she driven out to the peninsula again today? For the second day in a row. Before yesterday, she had not been out here in years.
Yet she knew why. She last saw him here. Perhaps this was the last place anyone would see him.
The city, in fact the country, was ablaze with the news of the attack by enemy submarines and the sinking of four British ships, including a British freighter, and the near sinking of Britain’s newest aircraft carrier.
She barely remembered the Falklands War, when Chile sided with Britain against Argentina. But the old-timers and the news media claimed that this war could erupt into something much larger, since Britain and Chile had collaborated on the oil drilling in Antarctica that led to the first attack.
America and Russia might even get involved, according to the news reports.
Maria already knew that America was involved. Pete had sailed off in a submarine that was Chilean in name only, manned by an American crew.
War fever in the last twenty-four hours had swept Chile, especially this Navy town. She looked out at the spot in the bay where she last saw him. That day, the calm water looked glassy. Now, as the noon hour approached, choppy waves covered the bay, and boats and ships crisscrossed back and forth.
War fever. She’d not sensed it when he left. But now it was like the bay had been ignited with newfound electricity.
She had to pull it together and get back to work.
She started her car and started driving back toward downtown along Errázuriz Boulevard, paralleling the bay to her left. But as she took her eyes off the water, a sign caught her eye and instinctively caused her to tap her brakes.
St. James at Santa Domingo—Next Right
She turned off the main road, winding her way up the twisted road toward the basilica. Minutes later, high atop a hill at the top of the narrow road, she stopped the car at the basilica and got out.
A sign in the entryway announced that midday confessional hours were from 11:00 a.m. to 1:00 p.m.
Good. Perhaps she had gotten lucky.
She followed the signs to the confessional booths behind the sanctuary.
No one was there, so she stepped into the first booth. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been . . . I don’t know how many days since my last confessional. I accuse myself of . . . of attempting to seduce a man that I just met, of loving a
man that I barely know, and of wanting a man who may be about to die.”
Nothing.
Then a kind elderly voice. “The first part, the seduction part, or the attempted seduction, may have been a sin, but I am not convinced that the other matters you have confessed are sinful.”
“I don’t know, Father. I feel torn inside. I feel so worried.”
“It appears that your principal motive for coming to confession might not be to confess at all, but rather to seek prayer for this friend of yours whose life is in danger.”
“Yes, Father. And if I have come to confession with an improper motive, forgive me for my improper motivations.”
A chuckle from behind the curtain. “I don’t think our Father views a desire for prayer to be an improper motive.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Tell me, how may I pray for you, my daughter?”
“Pray for the safety of my friend. That he would return safely and that . . .”
“That the two of you would be together?”
“I . . . I don’t know, Father. I don’t know what to say.”
“What is your friend’s name?”
“Peter.”
“Aah. A wonderful biblical name. Is he Catholic?”
“His father was Catholic. But he grew up in America and became Protestant.”
“No matter. I will pray for him nonetheless.”
“Oh, thank you, Father.”
“But there is one thing that you should remember.”
“What is it?”
“No matter what storms we are facing, God will lead us through and provide comfort.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Go now knowing that this Peter is in my prayers. Go in peace, my daughter.”
“Thanks be to God.”
CHAPTER 30
CS Miro
Drake Passage
20 miles south of Cape Horn
depth 100 feet
11:50 a.m. local time
Like a cheetah waiting to pounce on an unsuspecting elephant, the nuclear attack submarine that had now been jointly designated, for purposes of this mission only, as CS Miro / USS Corpus Christi hovered in the dark under the cold sea lanes—waiting, listening.
With his sub’s torpedoes cocked and ready to be fired, Commander Pete Miranda had learned that hunting ships, like hunting deer in the Carolinas or elk in Montana, depended on the dual elements of patience and surprise.
Checking the chronometer, as the clock approached the noon hour locally, Pete could not shake from his mind another sub commander. The Argentine captain of the ARA San Juan had, with four and a half kills in the past twenty-four hours, proven his worth as an opponent. Or had he merely proven his luck?
Until yesterday, Pete was convinced that he was the world’s best sub commander. Today he remained convinced of that. But today, unlike yesterday, a challenger waited in the depths of the sea.
The thought of someone daring to challenge his supremacy brought a rush to his Chilean-American blood.
As the clock approached noon, Pete longed for a showdown with the Argentinean. If he could be so lucky!
“Skipper! Sonar showing enemy contact! Bearing two-seven-zero degrees!”
“Please tell me you’ve found me a sub to attack, Mister King.”
“Stand by, Skipper.” Sonarman Chief John “Bloodhound” King adjusted his frequencies. “Skipper, multiple screws in the water. Acoustics computer showing probability of Argentine warships!”
“Right full rudder. Let’s try to slip in behind their wakes. They’ll never hear us, never know what hit ’em.”
“Right full rudder. Aye, Captain.”
As the sub swung to the right through the cold waters of Drake Passage, Pete could not contain the rush surging through his body. Just like the rush a deer hunter feels before pulling the trigger on an eight-point buck. But not the same as having a twelve-point buck in the gun sight.
And for Pete, the enemy sub was the twelve-point buck.
“Captain! Counting four . . . repeat four screws in the water! Showing four Almirante Brown–class destroyers, and we’re in behind ’em at point-blank range, sir! They don’t have a clue.”
“Four screws?”
“Four screws, sir.”
Suddenly, the eight-point buck felt like a ten-pointer. “Go to periscope depth. Up scope. XO, take the boat to general quarters.”
“Aye, Captain.” Then on the loudspeaker, “General quarters. General quarters. General quarters. All hands to battle stations.”
“Periscope depth. Up scope. Aye, sir.”
Pete felt surging electricity throughout his body. With a little luck, he could even up the score with the Argentinean skipper before their showdown.
“Scope’s up, Cap’n.”
“Very well.” Pete stepped to the periscope and looked through the viewfinder. “Yeah, baby!” Against blue-gray skies and gray waters, the sterns of four destroyers were steaming parallel to one another, in a line from left to right, spaced two hundred yards from ship to ship. The four warships were cutting a parallel course in the water that stretched about eight hundred yards from the ship on the far left to the ship on the far right.
Pete focused on the one in the right center and clicked on the zoom button. Then again. And then again.
The third click magnified the image so powerfully that he could see behind the stern the white churning water kicking up in the wake. Painted in black on the gray steel on the ship’s stern, below the fantail, was the ship’s name:
Almirante Brown
Flapping from an angled flagpole off the back, its light blue banner whipping in the wind off the water, the flag of the Argentine Republic!
The sight made Pete forget the sub. For he was a hunter and his prey was in sight. Nothing on the face of the planet could match the exhilarating rush of this very moment!
“Weapons Officer. Program four torps to lock onto each target. On my mark. Prepare to fire torp one.”
“Prepare to fire torp one. Aye, Captain.”
“Very well! Fire torp one!”
“Firing torp one! Aye, sir!”
“Fire torp two!”
“Firing torp two! Aye, sir!”
“Fire torp three!”
“Firing torp three! Aye, sir!”
“Fire torp four!”
“Firing torp four! Aye, sir!”
“Weapons Officer! Report status!”
“Four torps in the water, Captain! Torp one, time to impact, one minute, sir!”
Pete at this point would ordinarily order an emergency dive in case any of the torpedoes missed and the targets came looking for the submarine.
But these torps were not going to miss. Not with point-blank shots. He knew it in his gut.
“Sonar. Range to target.”
“Range to target . . . thirty seconds.”
Like a jet’s vapor trail cutting through the skies, the four Mark-48 torpedoes painted long white streaks in the water, cutting under the surface, rushing as underwater missiles to a deadly collision with their unsuspecting targets.
“Range to target . . . ten seconds.”
Pete gripped the scope handles hard.
The first fireball exploded in the back of the Almirante Brown. Then two . . . three . . . four fireballs lit the sky, leaping to the heavens in a perfect line from left to right. “We have four direct hits!” the XO reported over the 1-MC.
Spontaneous cheering and applause broke out all over the sub. But Pete could not cheer or applaud. He could only watch. The flames leaped high in the sky now, and black smoke billowed into the heavens.
The ship on the right began to list hard to starboard, and the left middle destroyer started sinking, stern down, her bow rising to the sky. The other two were burning out of control.
Pete had seen enough.
He had scored complete kills on every target, delivering a gut-wrenching blow to Argentina.
“Down scope.”
> “Down scope. Aye, Captain.”
“Diving Officer. Take us down. Make your depth four hundred feet. Set course one-three-five degrees. All ahead half.”
“Make my depth four hundred feet. Set course one-three-five degrees. All ahead half. Aye, sir.”
CHAPTER 31
La Casa Rosada (the Pink House)
presidential palace
Buenos Aires, Argentina
3:15 p.m. local time
The president of the Argentine Republic, el Presidente Donato Suarez, stared down at the top secret memo announcing that four Argentinean warships had, earlier that day, been torpedoed and sunk in Drake Passage by an enemy submarine. Suarez felt his veins popping in his neck as he studied the list of ships:
ARA Almirante Brown
ARA La Argentina
ARA Heroína
ARA Sarandi
The president stood up, pulled off his designer navy blue pinstripe jacket, and flung it down on his chair. “Are you telling me, Admiral Blanco, that we have lost four destroyers in one swoop, all attacked by one sole, solitary submarine?”
“I regret that this is the case, Mister President.” Admiral Victor Blanco, commander of the Navy of Argentina, sat in a leather wingback chair across from the presidential desk.
“How many casualties, Admiral?”
“We’re trying to determine. A Chilean fishing boat picked up a couple dozen. The rest are believed to be lost.”
“You didn’t answer my question, Admiral. How many?”
Blanco hesitated. “Each ship carried a crew of 224. Times four ships. We’re missing almost 900 sailors, Mister President. Most are believed to be lost.”
Domingo Ramos, the Argentinean foreign minister, sat in the other wingback chair next to Blanco. Ramos had said nothing and winced when told that the Argentinean Navy had lost hundreds of sailors.
“But I would also respectfully remind you, sir,” Admiral Blanco said, “that we, likewise, have sunk three of Britain’s Daring-class guided-missile destroyers, and we also sank one of their merchant vessels, and, most importantly, we have attacked and disabled the most powerful vessel in the history of their Navy. We have beached a great and powerful nuclear supercarrier, which would have changed the balance of power in this war. We are winning the naval war, sir.”