The Faithful Spy

by Jeffrey Layton

  “Let’s go.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Yuri and the Spetsnaz operators retraced their steps across the island to its western shore. They stood at the edge of the brush line, peering downslope at the rocky beach.

  Yuri was about to descend when Dobrynin latched onto one of his arms.

  “Patrol boat,” he whispered, gesturing with his other hand.

  Yuri turned to his right. The boat sped southward about fifty yards away from the breakwater that connected with the north end of the island. The churning white bow wave stood out in the blackness. Navigation lights marked its hull.

  “Where’d that come from?” asked Shtyrov.

  “Quick, back into the brush,” Yuri ordered.

  The trio retreated, using the heavy vegetation for concealment. The patrol craft raced by at thirty knots, the deep-throated growl of its twin diesel engines breaking the tranquil pre-dawn silence.

  “Dammit,” Yuri muttered. “It’s one of those autonomous sentries.”

  Shtyrov said, “That’s the first one I’ve seen here tonight. Maybe it’s just a routine patrol.”

  “Let’s hope so.” But Yuri had his doubts.

  Shtyrov continued, “If it’s a perimeter patrol, we’re probably okay.”

  Yuri was about to comment when he noticed the change. The drone throttled back to idle; it was about a quarter of a mile away. Shtyrov uttered a curse. Yuri’s eyes remained glued to the faint silhouette of the patrol craft, but it was too far away to make out any details. Nevertheless, he suspected big trouble.

  Dobrynin addressed Yuri. “What’s it doing, sir?”

  “I think it’s in ASW mode, probably using its passive sonar.”

  “The mini?”

  Yuri bit his upper lip. “I’m afraid so—we’re supposed to rendezvous in that area.”

  “Govnó!”

  Chapter 64

  Aboard the P-815, Lieutenant Tumanov monitored the idling diesels of the autonomous surface vessel. The patrol boat was 720 feet northeast of the minisub. The P-815 hovered six feet above the bottom; it had been waiting to pick up the dive team for over an hour.

  Tumanov’s two enlisted crewmen stood nearby as he manned the pilot’s console. Nevsky continued to occupy the co-pilot station. The virtual reality headsets both men wore created an artificial three-dimensional image of the water space surrounding the submersible. A flashing red icon at the top right quadrant of the screen revealed the enemy craft.

  “Captain, is it looking for us?” asked Nevsky, his voice suppressed.

  “I don’t know what it’s—”

  Tumanov was interrupted by a grating clang as a high-powered sonar pulse hammered the hull.

  “Tvoyú mat!”—son of a bitch—he muttered.

  * * * *

  “What was that?” asked Shtyrov.

  “Active sonar pulse,” Yuri said.

  All three heard the muted sonar pulse as a slice of its energy telegraphed into the air through the ASV’s hull. Mounted to the keel of the patrol craft, the sonar’s transmitter was just three feet below the water surface. Seconds later, a floodlight lit up the water surface in front of the drone.

  Yuri cursed. “The shore operator remotely switched on a search light.”

  “It’s really hunting the mini,” Dobrynin said.

  “Yes.”

  Shtyrov checked his watch and turned to look over his shoulder. “What do we do?”

  “Wait and hope Tumanov can shake the thing.”

  * * * *

  Tumanov advanced the throttle to flank while steering the P-815 toward the southeast. The only chance for escape was to go deep, but they needed time to traverse the shallow nearshore zone before diving.

  “Vassi, prepare to launch countermeasures,” he ordered.

  “Ready, sir.”

  “Launch number one.”

  “On the way.”

  A charge of pressurized seawater ejected a stainless-steel canister from a housing in the minisub’s sail. As the P-815 surged ahead, the neutrally buoyant cylinder remained behind, drifting thirty feet below the surface. About half the size of a standard SCUBA tank, the canister flooded the water column with billions of air bubbles. Within ten seconds, a bubble sphere sixty feet in diameter engulfed the cylinder.

  * * * *

  “What’s that?” Dobrynin said, pointing. Diffracted light from the patrol boat’s search beam revealed a deluge of fluorescent bubbles around the drifting robotic craft.

  Yuri responded. “Noisemaker from the mini—air bubbles flooding the water to confuse sonar.”

  “Will it work?” asked Shtyrov.

  “I don’t know. It’s shallow out there. Maybe.”

  They heard a new sonar pulse from the ASV, followed by another a couple of seconds later.

  “The boat is moving now,” Dobrynin said.

  “Dammit,” Yuri muttered. “It’s still following the mini.”

  Shtyrov again checked his wristwatch while looking over his shoulder at the distant Yulin base. Dobrynin observed his boss’s action and gestured toward Yuri, who continued to follow the AUV.

  Shtyrov faced Yuri. “Sir, we’ll need to take cover soon.”

  Yuri was about to respond when the roar of diesels on full power caught all three by surprise. They turned in unison toward their right. A second patrol craft raced along the seawall, its churning bow wave of white water revealing its location.

  “Can they evade two of those things?” Dobrynin asked.

  Yuri pursed his lips. “This is just the beginning. More of those damn things are no doubt on the way. They’ll swarm the mini.”

  “What will happen then?”

  “The drones carry depth charges. Some may even have homing torpedoes. They will attack and will keep attacking until they kill the mini.”

  Dobrynin turned away as the reality of Yuri’s words sank in.

  Shtyrov summed up the tactical situation. “We’re screwed.”

  * * * *

  The P-815 rushed southward at nearly eighteen knots, its power plant pushed well into red zone. Sonar pulses from the pursuing robotic patrol boats were now continuous.

  “Launch number four,” Tumanov ordered.

  “On the way,” replied Nevsky.

  The air bubbles offered slight protection. The noisy underwater smoke screens diffused the sonar pulses, which helped confuse the AI software used to execute the swarm attack.

  The P-815 crossed the sixty-foot contour. Deep water was just ahead. Once they passed ninety feet Tumanov planned to launch their last countermeasure. The decoy was pre-programmed to execute an evasion program mimicking the minisub. The autonomous decoy would continue south at eighteen knots while Tumanov cut power and piloted the P-815 westward at four knots.

  “We’re coming up on deeper water, men,” Tumanov said, hope in his voice.

  An enormous clang engulfed the hull, shaking the minisub with violence.

  “Depth charge attack,” Tumanov shouted. “Hang on!”

  * * * *

  A quarter of a mile away from Yuri and his colleagues, a geyser of seawater mixed with bottom sediment rose thirty feet above the sea surface, followed nearly instantaneously by a muted clap.

  “They’re attacking the mini with depth charges,” Yuri said, his voice strained as he peered into the pre-dawn darkness.

  A churning ring of bleached foam marked the detonation point.

  “Can they survive?” Chief Dobrynin asked.

  “Maybe—if they can avoid a direct hit. The hull is tough. It can a take lot of abuse.”

  “There’s another one,” Lieutenant Shtyrov announced, pointing to his left.

  A third drone roared across the water, having just come through the southern harbor entrance to the Yulin Naval Base.

  Yuri
muttered a curse. “This is bad. I’ve reviewed simulations on these drones. They’re going in for a coordinated kill.”

  “What do we do?” asked Dobrynin.

  Yuri was about to respond when Shtyrov said, “I know those boats are autonomous, but they still report back to the base—correct?”

  Yuri faced Shtyrov. “Yes, I’m certain base personnel are monitoring everything remotely by encrypted comms. They can override or redirect the attack if they don’t like—”

  Shtyrov interrupted, “What happens if a drone loses RF contact?”

  “With the base controller?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know what they do here, but for other locations the drone would automatically revert to default mode if it loses contact with its controller.”

  “What then?”

  “Default mode usually calls for the drone to break off the patrol and return to its base.”

  Shtyrov checked the watch strapped to the left forearm of the dive suit. “If the mini can hang on for the next minute or so, they’ve got a chance.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Another offshore geyser erupted accompanied by a sharp thwack.

  “Dammit,” Yuri said. “They’re getting close!”

  * * * *

  “Captain, were taking on water in the engine compartment. A seawater intake pipe on the cooling system ruptured.”

  “Can you band it?” asked Lieutenant Tumanov, addressing the P-815’s engineer over the minisub’s intercom system.

  “I’ll get it done—somehow.”

  “Okay, Chief. I’m sending Sasha back to help.”

  “I can use him.”

  Tumanov didn’t need to order the crewman. He was already headed aft.

  “Skipper, that last one was too damn close,” said co-pilot Nevsky.

  “I know, but maybe we confused ’em.”

  The underwater bomb detonated thirty yards away. The resulting shock wave hammered the P-815, stressing eardrums and rattling teeth. It also disabled the launch system for the decoy.

  With no other options available, Tumanov reversed course and headed northward—back to shallow water. Expecting the target to continue on its speed run to deeper water, the trio of attacking drones probed the depths with active sonar.

  Within minutes, however, the AI software guiding the robotic patrol boats would redirect the attack to the P-815’s last known position. With three units working together, it wouldn’t take long before they discovered the mini lurking in the shallows.

  Knowing that the odds of their survival diminished by the minute, Tumanov made the toughest decision of his career. He picked up the intercom mic and keyed the transmit switch.

  “This is the captain. Prepare to abandon ship.”

  Chapter 65

  “What are those damn things doing now?” asked Dobrynin, his eyes following the searchlights of the drones.

  “Still heading out to sea,” Yuri said.

  Dobrynin cocked his head. “I don’t hear anything. Did they stop dropping depth bombs?”

  Shtyrov cut in. “It’s going to get real loud in about half a minute, Chief.”

  Dobrynin glanced at his watch, also strapped to the forearm of his dry suit. “Oh, shit,” he muttered.

  Puzzled, Yuri turned to face Shtyrov. “What are you talking about?”

  The Spetsnaz officer pointed northward, back toward the Yulin Naval Base. “Vlad and I left a surprise package for the PLA Navy.”

  “Surprise package—what are you—”

  A brilliant flash lit up the north shore of the base for just an instant. The hulls of the moored warships—especially the two towering aircraft carriers—cast elongated shadows against the steep hillside that rose from Yalong Bay.

  Ten seconds later, the shock wave reached the divers—a sharp thunder slap.

  “What have you done?” Yuri demanded, facing Shtyrov.

  “Change of orders from Moscow.”

  “You blew up a damn ship?”

  “No, we didn’t sink anything. But if it worked right, we took out the entire taskforce.”

  Yuri gawked at Shtyrov, bewildered and furious.

  “We used an e-bomb,” the Spetsnaz officer announced.

  “EMP?”

  “Correct. A focused electromagnetic pulse composed of microwaves—very nasty thing if you happened to have electrical and electronic equipment on the receiving end.” Shtyrov pointed with his outstretched hand. “And it looks like it worked as planned.”

  Yuri looked back at the naval base. “My God,” he muttered.

  The entire north and east shores of the base were black. Not a single light was visible onshore or aboard any of the dozens of warships moored to the piers or anchored.

  * * * *

  Tumanov remained at the P-815’s pilot’s station. His crew stood behind him, huddled around the ladder that provided access to the escape hatch at the top of the sail. Each man wore an escape suit. Designed to protect a crewman ascending from a crippled sub, the suit also provided flotation to prevent drowning and extra thermal protection to ward off the chill of the sea.

  Once the minisub broached the surface, Tumanov removed the VR headgear he had used to guide the craft while submerged. He stared at the widescreen display fronting his control console. He had just switched on the forward looking infrared camera. Mounted to the periscope mast, the camera lens swept the sea surface, providing black and white imagery of the surrounding waters.

  “Where are they, Captain?” asked Junior Lieutenant Nevsky.

  He stood behind Tumanov’s seat, eyeing the video display. Expecting to be surrounded by robotic patrol craft, Tumanov worked the joystick controlling the FLIR camera.

  “There’s one of ’em,” Nevsky called out.

  “Got it,” Tumanov said as he spotted the target on the right side of the screen.

  He increased magnification five times. The white splotch near the aft end of the otherwise gray image of the hull stood out prominently. The heat of the engine compartment marked the unmanned patrol boat.

  Tumanov checked the bearing of the patrol craft.

  Astonished, he called out, “It’s heading away from us—back toward the south harbor entrance.”

  The strobe light at the peak of the patrol drone’s radar mast flashed on, along with the standard hull nav lights.

  “What’s with the lights… and where are the other ones?”

  The FLIR camera picked up all three unmanned patrol craft, each one illuminated with marking lights. The three boats proceeded northward in single file, each running at fifteen knots.

  * * * *

  Yuri continued to reel from the blacked out naval base. From their position on the breakwater island, the entire Hainan Island shoreline to the north and east remained black.

  “It was a non-nuclear device?” Yuri asked.

  “Of course. Plastic explosives compressed an electrical charge into the pulse.”

  “There’s not a light visible over there. How could that happen?”

  “Besides simple power and lighting circuits, that pulse was specifically designed to fry integrated circuits—even hardened ones. Once the computers go down, so does everything else.”

  The Yulin naval station, like most modern military facilities, relied on computers for virtually every electrically powered and electronically controlled system on the base—from air conditioning controls in the dozens of shoreside buildings to radars and comms aboard every warship in the harbor. The energy released by the Yulin e-bomb generated Terawatt electrical surges in the wiring systems that powered the computers, scorching microchips and erasing hard drives. Yuri reached into a watertight pouch on his dive suit and removed a portable radio. He clicked on the power switch. The display activated.

  “This
still works.”

  “The explosive charge that triggered the e-bomb was focused so that at least ninety percent of the pulse was directed toward the target.”

  Still stunned, Yuri couldn’t mask his dismay.

  “Look,” shouted Dobrynin.

  Yuri and Shtyrov turned around. They both spotted the waterborne drone, the strobe on its radio mast flashing. It raced parallel to the island and then disappeared as it turned north into the main harbor entrance.

  “There’s another one,” Dobrynin announced.

  Yuri watched the second robotic patrol boat cruise by. Soon after, the third ASV followed in the wake of the others.

  Dobrynin commented, “They’re heading back in. They must have sunk the mini.”

  Shtyrov swore.

  Yuri stared down at the rocky outcrop they stood on. Now what?

  The speaker on the radio Yuri held came alive. “Alpha Team, Nomad, radio check.”

  Despite the washed-out tone of the decrypted transmission, Yuri recognized Tumanov’s voice.

  “Nomad, this is Alpha. Where are you?”

  Chapter 66

  “Sir, I apologize for awakening you.”

  “What is it, Admiral?” asked Chen Shen.

  He held a phone to his ear while sitting up in his bed inside the presidential quarters of China’s equivalent of the White House—the Zhongnanhai.

  “The Yulin base was attacked this morning,” Admiral Soo reported.

  “Attacked—by whom?”

  “Unknown at this time. Some type of electronic warfare, about an hour ago.” The chief of staff of the People’s Liberation Army-Navy called from his office in the Ministry of Defense.

  “Cyber attack?”

  “No, physical attack using a directed energy weapon.”

  President Chen swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. “How much damage?”

  “We don’t know at this point. Initial reports indicate that the weapon was directed against the moored ships at the base.”

  Chen’s belly flip-flopped as he connected the dots. “The taskforce—it was massed at Yulin.”

  “I’m afraid so.”