As the ship continued to sail its zigzag course, the captain tried to convince himself that he could escape and that he wasn’t being jammed. He decided that the sonar and the other electronics on board had been damaged by the explosions, and he would be fine because it was a clear day. As the minutes passed and he continued the zigzag course, he grew more confident that he would make port without further difficulties.
*****
On board the Rip Tide, Captain Hodson and the crew were busy racing ahead of the freighter to arrange the ambush that they had been planning before they got sidetracked with the Saudi sub.
“Captain, the freighter has started a zigzag pattern at almost flank speed. They are just over eleven thousand yards out. I’d recommend we increase to flank speed in order to overtake her and arrange ourselves to make the kill,” Chevy suggested.
“Make it so!” the captain replied as he studied the charts of the sea bottom covering the next two hundred miles leading into the Gulf of Aden. There was little to hinder navigation as long as they remained above eight hundred feet. However, the water depth was growing shallower the farther they traveled into the Gulf of Aden. It would shrink to only five hundred feet maximum depth in just over sixty nautical miles, so they needed to act fast. With a water depth that shallow, they might stand out against the sea floor, despite the stealth system they were deploying. That might allow them to be seen from above, detectable by satellites and aerial recon.
“Chevy, shift us into overdrive. We’re running out of ocean, and I want these bastards. Sonar, any contacts?” Captain Hodson called out.
“I have contacts at sixty-five miles to the west, and at ninety miles to the northwest; and I still have that container ship which we passed an hour ago at ninety miles, east and fading. That’s all.”
“That’s plenty,” the captain lamented but decided that it was worth the risk. “Let’s reload tubes one and two. I want a five mile cushion when we turn into the freighter for the attack. We’ll let her sail right up to us.”
“Loading tubes one and two. Target acquisition point, five miles due west of the freighter. Aye, sir!” Chevy called out as the crew readied for another shot at the freighter.
“Captain, I’ve got to readjust the jamming array if we hope to keep the freighter jammed when we move ahead of them. It will take about three minutes to do the job,” the chief engineer reported.
“Do it, Chief! Make it quick. We don’t want these guys calling for any reinforcements.”
*****
The radio man on the Emperor of the Sands informed the captain that the static had suddenly stopped. He asked him what message he’d like to send and to whom, but the captain ignored him and went quickly to the sonar to check for contacts.
The sonar man was already recalibrating the sonar when he discovered an object, traveling only intermittently at a high rate of speed off their starboard side. He assumed it was glitch in the system since it had been jammed for so long. There wasn’t any submarine he knew of that could move that fast, not to mention that they couldn’t make out exactly what, if anything, was actually there.
The captain, seeing the object dancing in and out of focus on the sonar, wondered as well if they were actually seeing a real object or just some glitch caused by the jamming. It seemed to be racing at the pace of a speed boat, which clearly had to be wrong because underwater craft didn’t reach more than twenty knots at top speed.
Giving up on figuring out exactly what the sonar was seeing, he turned to the radio man and ordered him to try and make contact with their escort. He also instructed him to contact the Saudi naval base in Jeddah, located on the Red Sea just north of the straights of Djoubti, if there wasn’t a reply from their escort and alert them to the fact that their sub has been sunk and that they were being followed by an unknown submarine. The radio man immediately began trying to raise the sub to no avail. After several attempts, he quickly composed a message and began attempting to reach the Saudi base at Jeddah.
*****
“Captain, I’m ready to begin jamming again,” the Rip Tide’s chief engineer reported.
“Do it, Chief.”
“We be jamming,” the chief quipped.
*****
The radio man on the Emperor of the Sands informed the captain that he had been only partly successful in sending the message to the Saudi navy as the jamming had begun again. The captain thanked the man for his efforts and told him to pass the word that they needed to pray to Allah for safe passage on the rest of their voyage. He also instructed the helmsman to exaggerate the zigzag course even more than he was already doing, and he then ordered the engine room to find more power to put to the screw if they wanted to live.
“Making the turn now, Captain,” Chevy informed Captain Hodson of their turn into attack position and waited for his next order.
“Bring her up to periscope depth,” the captain ordered. “Open the outer doors and prepare to fire. Sonar contacts?”
“Nothing in visual range, and the freighter is twelve thousand yards and closing on its original course off our port bow.”
“Periscope depth,” Chevy reported.
“Up periscope,” the captain called out.
“Up periscope!” Chevy repeated as the captain leaned over and took a look through the device. At 60x magnification, the Emperor of the Sands was as clear as crystal in the lens of the periscope. He could easily read the faded name on the bow and even make out crewmen as they walked the deck peering into the distance, looking out for the telltale signs of the torpedo they prayed to Allah wasn’t coming.
As the captain of the Emperor of the Sands stood on the bridge, waiting and praying for deliverance from the terror he hoped would not come, his thoughts were disturbed by the entrance of the leader of the Al-Qaeda band he was transporting. He told the captain that he was aware of the explosions that took place an hour ago and that he could feel the sway of the ship caused by the zigzagging course they were running. He then reminded the captain of the time constraints he had agreed to and that the zigzagging course was using up time, making them late.
The captain expressed regrets for the delays, but they could not be helped. He explained that he believed they were being stalked by a submarine—the same one that had sunk their escort—and to not zigzag would make the ship too easy of a target. He explained further that they were experiencing electronic jamming which had to mean they were preparing to attack.
The captain was in the middle of suggesting that the man and his people gather as much as they could carry and head for the life boats, when the Al-Qaeda man pointed out the bridge window at the two jet wakes in the water dead ahead and closing. There was no mistaking the jet streams for anything other than what they were—the trail of cavitation bubbles from two torpedoes. The captain simply said, “Inshallah.” It is God’s will!
The explosions rocked the Emperor of the Sands. The crew was thrown to their knees, and, in some cases, tossed them with such force that they received extensive injuries, completely immobilizing them, leaving them to the mercy of the cold-hearted sea. Most of the terrorists were killed in the initial blasts, being spared death by drowning or being eaten by the sharks that infested these waters.
The captain and the leader of the Al-Qaeda band had been tossed into the air and then slapped against the rear wall of the bridge. The captain regained just enough of his senses to witness the waters overrun the main deck and carry away members of the crew that he had worked with for almost ten years. He struggled to gain his footing but was unable to before the waters of the sea burst through the open spaces where the windows had been. The waters lifted him up and out the side door in a rush and then into the open sea, where he floated momentarily before the suction caused by the sinking ship drew him under the water to his death.
On board the Rip Tide, a ship was painted under the boat’s motto in the control room above the helm which read: Rip Tide—The shot not heard around the world! A submarine was painted under
the battle column next to the motto. It was their first battle and most likely not their last with an enemy warship.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Time ticked by at a snail’s pace as the team at the gas terminal in Hamburg became embroiled in a fierce firefight of their own. The military was keen to avoid the actual storage tanks that held the liquid gas, so they concentrated on the aft portion of the ship. At first, this seemed like a good strategy, except that the only avenues of ingress—the hatchways leading to the superstructure and the wing ladders—were either completely exposed or mined. Over a dozen soldiers were killed by the terrorists before they abandoned that attack strategy.
They next tried helicopter gunships, but after having fired a rocket into the bridge during the attack, showering flames and sparks very close to the pressure tanks, the minister of defense ordered the attack halted for fear the attack would ignite the gas vapors, setting off a cataclysmic fire or explosion.
Although he was watching the situation on television from Berlin, the minister of defense was appalled by the on-site commanding officer’s lack of concern for the men under his command and the citizens of Hamburg, which he had demonstrated by attacking a LNG tanker with rockets. He had the man replaced by his second in command. Unbeknownst to the minster, half of the terrorists were killed by the rocket attack, and only two remaining (as yet unseen) in the side companionways halfway to the bow were uninjured. The three terrorists on the bridge were dead, along with the remaining hostages. The terrorists on the “C” deck, although still in the defensive positions they had setup at the beginning of the assault, were now both seriously wounded. Each man had at least three wounds, with one definitely considered to be life threatening. Valiantly, they fought on knowing they were here only to delay the inevitable and wanting to please Allah!
*****
With only twenty minutes to go before the timers on the bombs reached detonation, both Yousef and Aijaz managed to pull up to the public boat ramp, despite being under attack by their comrades on the tanker. With the boat still making minor headway, Yousef helped Aijaz, and both leapt ashore at the dock.
The two men firing at the supposed escaping hostages finally drew the attention of the military snipers. Before the snipers could fire, however, they had to get permission to fire. This took several minutes because the powers that be had to debate the issue before they okayed the order. Finally, with the debate resolved and a decision made, the snipers prepared to take out the gunmen.
Meanwhile, Yousef and Aijaz had taken refuge behind a bakery truck as the men on the ship continued to fire on their position. Yousef cursed his supposed brothers because they were wasting precious time he needed to escape; but then suddenly, the shooting stopped. Cautiously, he peeked around the corner of the bakery truck and saw that the bridge wing was empty. He then quickly grabbed Aijaz by the collar and practically dragged him to the BMW. He dumped him in the passenger seat and quickly slipped himself into the driver’s seat. Yousef gunned the engine and raced off for the Autobahn.
Glancing at his watch, Yousef was alarmed to see he was down to seventeen minutes, providing plenty of incentive to push the pedal to the metal. He burst from the parking lot, just missing an on-rushing police car dispatched to find them and bring them in for questioning.
He raced past the police car and broke into traffic, causing several cars to brake heavily and fishtail to avoid colliding with him. The police quickly turn around and began pursuing the royal blue BMW as it headed for the Autobahn.
Yousef wasn’t wasting any time on proper traffic etiquette. He quickly accelerated, and the Beemer jumped to its top end—a hundred and forty kilometers per hour. Yousef was completely unaware of the fact that Germany had reduced the speed limits on the Autobahns as part of “greening” the country. The limit had changed from no limit to between sixty-five to eighty kilometers per hour, depending on population and traffic patterns. Despite the heavy traffic, Yousef weaved through the maze of cars with wild abandon as the minutes ticked away, and death loomed ever closer.
For the most part, Yousef kept on the shoulder of the road and only occasionally had to weave back onto the actual roadway to avoid a stalled car or debris of some sort. When this happened, he weaved between the slower moving cars until he could return to the shoulder, but the police had an advantage as they were able to travel on the actual road with their lights flashing, causing the traffic to part and allowing them to pass unhindered.
The police gave away that advantage, though, by keeping their speed much more reasonable at just under ninety kilometers an hour, but they made up for the loss by using their radio to set up a road block five kilometers ahead at Neuland.
Yousef noticed traffic was starting to slow as he neared the bridge over a railroad yard just before the Neuland exit. The slowing traffic caused a sense of panic to wash over him. He knew time was quickly running out.
Narrowly avoiding a car that suddenly stopped as he weaved through the slowing traffic, he quickly cut across to the emergency lane, which ran down the center of the roadway, attempting to get through the backup.
In his mind, he reviewed the map of northern Germany and knew that he had to get at least as far as Horst to avoid being in the predicted killing zone. Horst was six kilometers ahead; and with the traffic nearly stopped, it may as well have been a thousand kilometers away.
Glancing over at Aijaz, he noticed that his wounds were bleeding heavily and that he was a ghostly pale gray. He surmised that the bullet had severed an artery and that Aijaz would bleed to death without medical treatment. Yousef mumbled to himself, “Inshallah!” as he jammed the gas pedal down to the floor, thanking Allah that the Germans were such courteous drivers.
They were very different from the French or the Americans. Drivers in those countries would do all they could to keep you from passing them, legally or illegally. They often blocked the shoulders of the road in backups to keep other drivers from slipping past and getting ahead of them.
It had been reported in the news services that people would go as far as suddenly opening car doors, causing major accidents rather than letting someone slip past and gaining the perceived advantage.
Here in Germany, no one made any effort to interfere as Yousef flew by. It was then he remembered reading that in recent years the traffic fines had been increased to extremely high levels. Minor speeding offences got you a fine of well over a thousand Euros, and if someone got hurt because of your bad driving behavior, the fines were much higher. The sudden realization of the possible traffic fines almost made Yousef laugh, but he was too concerned with the time to allow himself to dwell on something so inconsequential.
Cresting the bridge, he saw the reason that traffic had come to a stop. The police had erected a makeshift road block at the bottom of the bridge and were checking every car. Yousef knew they had to be checking for him and Aijaz, since the other police officers had seen two men escape the ship and then the parking lot.
Yousef’s mind raced as he jammed on the brakes and fishtailed to a stop, even though he was still over three hundred meters from the police checkpoint. He glanced again at Aijaz.
The man had now passed out from his blood loss, and Yousef decided that he, himself, was far too important to be killed today. He reached across Aijaz, popped open the door, and pushed the dying man out of the car onto the concrete of the bridge’s emergency lane. Then as quickly as he could, Yousef sped off, weaving through the traffic while the cars behind him stopped and people got out to try and help poor Aijaz.
Finding a driver paying more attention to her cell phone than the traffic around her, Yousef slipped into the line ahead of her, right before the police roadblock. They were indeed looking for two men and not one. Of course, it helped that there were at least a hundred cars in line that looked just like his. Plus, the growing commotion back on the bridge, complete with police cars now, helped distract the police at the barricades, so Yousef was able to slip right through.
Immediat
ely after the roadblock, Yousef took advantage of the lighter traffic, once again opening up the Beemer to the engine’s redline and quickly raced to a hundred and forty kilometers an hour. He weaved through the lighter traffic as if he was skiing the giant slalom, hoping against hope that he would be able to get far enough away to survive.
A police cruiser pulled out of a turn-around as Yousef blew past and turned on his lights in pursuit for clearly breaking the speed limit. However, the cruiser would never catch Yousef as time ran out.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The new on-site military commander at the gas terminal opted for an all-out assault on both of the LNG tankers as the best way to end the standoff. With five minutes until the first blast was to occur, the military once more began the assault of the terrorists. The attacks went off like clockwork, despite the fact that they were hastily planned just minutes before. The soldiers assaulted the ships from three fronts simultaneously.
They used grappling hooks to climb aboard from the water. They had the helicopters swoop in and disperse troops with the use of ropes onto the bridge wings, and last but not least, they once again had troops storm the gangways, while snipers fired into the portholes and doorways from which the terrorists might fire. At both the ship in the river and the one at the gas terminal, heavily armed soldiers in full body armor began climbing the gangways. The soldiers met no resistance as they climbed the gangways, and having learned from the disaster on the tanker at the gas terminal earlier, the team on the river LNG tanker expected to find tripwires and personnel mines in and around the gangway and entrance hatches to the superstructure. They weren’t disappointed.
Reprisal!- The Eagle's Sorrow Page 20