Thomas relayed Shepherd’s warnings to Dom and the rest of the crew aboard the returning Seahawk as well as Lauren and Navid back in Frankfurt.
“Spitkovsky will act fast,” Dom said over the comms. “He knew stealing the warheads would not go unnoticed. He’s not an idiot. We don’t have much time.”
“Agreed,” Thomas said. “Give me permission to engage, and I will stop them.”
“I know you would. But the last thing we need is to set the warheads off with a stray shot.”
Thomas knew that was true. He didn’t want it to be, but it was damn near suicidal to attack the Karlstad. Dom and company needed to infiltrate the ship and confiscate the weapons. Still, he’d rather see the enemy ship sinking to the bottom of the ocean, taking the whole goddamn crew of rotten bastards with it.
“Fine,” Thomas said. “But you better get your asses back here before—”
“Incoming vessel spotted!” Cliff interrupted. “They’re headed our direction at approximately forty knots.”
“Jesus,” Thomas said. “Dom, we’ve got company. Permission to engage now?”
“If it’s going to fire on you, then fight back. But if it’s the Karlstad, just get the hell out of there.”
“Copy,” Thomas said. Then to Cliff he asked, “Did the Karlstad turn around on us?”
“No,” Cliff said. “This is bigger than the Karlstad. Much bigger.”
Thomas glanced at the radar. “Good lord. I need eyes on it.”
“Reroute the drone?”
“No,” Thomas said. “We can’t let the Karlstad get away.”
“Aye,” Cliff said. The man looked like he was staring over the edge of a cliff and being told to jump. “The incoming vessel is massive. It must be some kind of frigate.”
The Huntress was capable of handling its own if it was backed against a wall, but it wasn’t truly a warship fit for prolonged sea battles. Sure, they’d had their fair share of naval scuffles, but each time those battles had taken a toll on the ship. She was designed for stealth and speed, not gunfights.
“Shit,” Thomas said, another realization hitting him like a rogue wave. “The Karlstad still knows we’re following them. There’s no other way that ship would be able to find us. We shouldn’t be that easy to spot.”
“That means you were right. We’ve been led straight into a trap.”
And just like Thomas knew the Karlstad’s capabilities, the crew of the Karlstad knew theirs. Which meant whatever was headed toward them knew exactly where and how to strike. His mind reeled. They didn’t know what their enemy looked like yet. They didn’t know what kind of punches to expect. But what he did know was where he needed to block the incoming blows.
“Cliff, get the Gatlings online. Expect a ship-to-ship missile targeting the bridge and the engine room. That’s where I’d fire to disable the Karlstad.”
“Aye,” Cliff said. “Torpedoes?”
“Prepare torpedo countermeasures,” Thomas said. “They’re not going to go for the obvious broadside. If they want to disable us, they’re going to shoot for the forward water intakes. Even a little damage there will foul up our engines.”
“Offensive weapons?”
“Counter with ship-to-ship missiles. Ensure the fifty-seven-millimeter magazines are ready to go, and load the torpedoes,” Thomas said. “As soon as we confirm this is an enemy vessel, we fire.”
On the off chance this was some terrible coincidence, he couldn’t sink an innocent ship. For all he knew, it was a cruise ship full of evacuees. That was unlikely, but he had also once thought it unlikely that someday people would be turning into cannibalistic, half-skeleton monsters.
“Incoming torpedo detected,” Cliff said. A bullet of sweat dripped down his tanned forehead, belying his otherwise calm expression. “Make that three torpedoes.”
“You know what to do,” Thomas said. Cliff engaged their countermeasures. “Swing the ship around eighty degrees to starboard.”
Soon the radar showed they were pointed directly at the ship, presenting the smallest profile possible. The first countermeasure torpedo met its target, and Thomas held his breath. Would they both disappear, signaling the destruction of the incoming torpedo? Or would they both go on, like ships passing in the night?
The first pair of dots on the screen disappeared. It was such a simple way to signal the sudden decompression and release of violent energy. Then the second pair disappeared. Thomas imagined the dark water deep below the ocean’s surface bubbling and heating with the detonating torpedo.
The third pair of dots went out.
“No remaining torpedoes detected,” Cliff said. “Enemy destroyer is still outside visual range.”
“Launch the first round of anti-ship missiles,” Thomas said, “followed by our torpedoes. These bastards will regret messing with us.”
Cliff hit the command that executed the attack. For a second, the rest of the world damn near faded away. There was only the bridge, with Cliff and himself on it. Realistically, he knew the crew was scrambling below deck to carry out their orders. The ship was alive with activity, from Chao and Samantha in the electronics workshop to Alden in the engine room. Others would be ensuring torpedoes and fresh magazines for all the ship’s onboard weapons were ready to go.
But all that mattered to Thomas now was the blinking radar. He watched two dots representing the torpedoes trail another two dots showing the location of the anti-ship missiles. He fished his cigar from his pocket and stuck it between his lips. The slightly sweet taste of the tobacco soothed the fire raging through his bloodstream.
He didn’t expect any of those weapons to hit their target. Whatever they were facing was large and undoubtedly better equipped than them. Still he clung to some hope that they would succeed. He imagined bulkheads tearing wide open, unleashing cargo and crew like the guts of a disemboweled whale.
“Come on,” he said as he watched their weapons speed toward the enemy ship. “Come on.”
The missiles went first. They disappeared from the screen as if they’d been specks of dust and nothing more. Then the torpedoes. First one, then a few seconds later the other.
“Son of a bitch,” Thomas said. He pulled the cigar from his mouth. “Prepare to launch again.”
Cliff gave him a look of concern but said, “Aye, sir. We’ve finally got a visual.”
The image he brought up on the screen was pixelated, but it was clear enough for Thomas to recognize the general shape of the ship. In large white block letters, he saw the number 751.
“That’s a frigate, all right,” Thomas said. Through the comms, he added, “Chao, get me a complete rundown of all Black Sea Fleet vessels in the Russian navy. I’m looking for ID 751.”
“Got a hit,” Chao said a moment later. “It’s the Admiral Essen. Max speed of thirty knots, displacements of four thousand tons full. Known countermeasures include a hundred-millimeter naval gun, an eight-missile UKSK VLS cell, two twelve-rocket 3S90 M Shtil-1 VLS cells, two Kashtan air defense gun-missile systems, two torpedo tubes, a RBU-6000 rocket launcher, and four KT-216 decoy launchers.”
“In other words, they got a shit-ton of weapons,” Thomas said.
“That’s an accurate assessment, sir.”
“Orders?” Cliff asked nervously from his station.
Thomas waited a beat before he made up his mind. “Prepare countermeasures for their next salvo.”
The frigate must have been doing the same. Thomas expected to see another round of missiles headed their way. Soon, the Admiral Essen would open up with the hundred-millimeter cannon, too. He stared at the monitor, searching for the first sign of an incoming missile. What were these assholes waiting for? Maybe they were loading up to unleash a devastating salvo all at once—missiles, torpedoes, cannon. Blow the Huntress away in one fell swoop.
“I know you wouldn’t think it to look at me now, but when I was a scrawny kid, I used to get bullied. Those bigger kids were used to a predictable routine. They throw a few punc
hes, and their target folds. Gives up the money, runs away, cries, whatever.” Thomas tapped the side of his temple, leaning over the console. “What they didn’t like was when I threw that routine off. One day, when one of them looked at me funny, I charged the ugly bastard. I went at him, yelling and screaming and flailing my fists like I was a Skull that hadn’t eaten in months.”
Cliff looked at Thomas, nonplussed. “Did that work?”
“He ran away crying and never really bothered me after that.”
“So you’re saying we go crazy on the Essen? Charge it and fire everything we got?”
“Nah, I’m just telling a story to pass the time. This waiting game is killing me.”
Cliff’s eyebrows scrunched together. “What?”
“Yes, full ahead,” Thomas said with a sigh. Young people today did not appreciate his sense of humor. “Torpedoes, missiles, the fifty-seven-millimeter. Give them everything we’ve got. The only advantage we have right now is unpredictability. That and our stealth capabilities. It’ll at least make us harder to target.”
The Huntress’s engines roared, reverberating through the bulkheads. Thomas braced himself at the console. There was a perfectly good captain’s chair behind him, but he wouldn’t sit. Not in the middle of battle. That wasn’t his style.
“Incoming torpedoes and missiles,” Cliff reported. “Two of each.”
“Countermeasures,” Thomas responded as calmly as possible.
Every time Dom left on a mission since the Oni Agent outbreak, Thomas had joked with him about being left behind to babysit the ship. It turned out babysitting the ship involved more action than he’d ever anticipated. He was too old to play the action hero. His back was bad. He couldn’t run real well anymore, and his shoulder still felt like shit from the time he’d been shot.
But although he might not be hitting the ground with the Hunters, at least on the Huntress he didn’t have to back down from a fight.
The automated Gatling guns on the forward deck whirred to life with a mechanical hiss. The Essen’s missiles were drawing closer, smoky contrails visible over the placid water. One of the missiles exploded in a ball of fire and white smoke. The other met the same fate.
“That’s how we do this,” Thomas said, smacking his fist into his other palm.
Then he saw a puff of smoke from the hundred-millimeter cannon on the Essen. A moment later, a column of water geysered off their port bow.
“That was damn close,” Thomas said. “Too close. Let’s move this thing at a hundred and twenty percent maximum.”
Normally Thomas expected Cliff to complain about straining the Huntress like this. But not now. The engines thrummed louder, and the shaking in the bulkheads threatened to loosen every damn bolt on the ship.
“Come on, you bastards.” Thomas bit down on the cigar. “Tonight you dine in hell.”
Cannons fired on both ships. Water burst all around. Countermeasures flew, causing missiles and torpedoes to peel away from their targets, setting the sky alight with flame. The Essen continued on its path, its broadsides still fully exposed to Thomas. They seemed to bat every missile and torpedo coming at them away like a horse swatting flies with its tail. If they were scared of the charging Huntress, they certainly weren’t acting like it.
A brief flash of uncertainty cut through Thomas. Maybe they should turn around. Maybe they should retreat into the Mediterranean and try to outrun these bastards.
But even if they did turn and run, the frigate had a good chance of knocking them out anyway. Plus he couldn’t lose the Karlstad. Dom might forgive him for punching a couple new holes in his ship, but he’d never get over it if they let the FGL get away.
“Give it everything we’ve got, Cliff!” Thomas yelled.
“I am!” Cliff snapped.
Missiles flew, and torpedoes pierced the sea. Thomas felt like he was stuck in the ocean’s undertow, kicking desperately against its unrelenting power. But fighting was all he could damn well do right now. They couldn’t let the Essen win. That would mean the Karlstad would escape. Dom and the others would be on their own.
It couldn’t go down like that. Thomas wouldn’t let it.
Then he saw an explosion on the deck of the Essen. One of the fifty-seven-millimeter shells slammed into it, ripping into the gunwale. Four more shots hit in quick succession. A fireball erupted from one of the Kashtan air defense systems, and the force of the explosion rocked the ship.
Two of the Huntress’s ship-to-ship missiles slammed into the Essen next. Fragments of metal sprayed from the blasts, and the warship listed hard to her port. Where she was going, there was no turning back.
“Hot damn,” Thomas said, his teeth clamped around his cigar. Adrenaline still surged through him, making his fingers shake. He closed his eyes briefly and relished the improbable victory. The half-crazed charge had actually worked.
But the klaxons on the bridge were still blaring. Cliff’s console beeped an earsplitting warning.
“We’ve got three incoming missiles,” he said.
Even though the Essen was going down, it had still lashed out.
“Countermeasures, damn it,” Thomas said.
His heart pounded in rhythm with the wailing alarms. The Gatling guns sent ropes of gunfire slicing through the air. The missiles were five seconds away now. One disappeared in a maelstrom of angry fire and spreading smoke. Three seconds. Another vanished.
Two seconds. One.
The third missile hit the Huntress.
-30-
Kara wrapped her arms around Sadie. Maggie pressed her body against both of them, shivering. The ship shook as if a Titan had slammed into it. Everything went dark, then the scream of alarms pierced the air.
The sound of boots crashed through the passages outside. A horrible, grating roar echoed through the Huntress. It was as if the ship had been mortally wounded and she was letting out an agonized cry. Maggie barked and snarled, her fur standing on end. Sadie whimpered, and Kara pulled her in closer.
“It’s okay!” Kara said. But she couldn’t hear her own thoughts, much less her voice. Everything was still bathed in darkness. She was certain her eyes were open, but she saw nothing.
Here she was, stuck in her cabin aboard the Huntress, impossibly far from her dad and Meredith and Navid. She hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye to them. Every time they left on a mission, she’d always wondered if they would actually return. She had hoped that part of her heart would go numb, that eventually she would stop worrying. Like maybe she would develop some kind of resistance to the emotional pain just like her immune system grew resistant to illness.
But that hadn’t happened. She’d worried every single day they were away.
And now it looked like all that worrying had been for nothing. She was the one who might not survive whatever was happening now.
“Kara!” Sadie screamed, managing to be heard above the din.
“I’m here, Sadie! I’m right here!”
Sadie buried her face into the crook of Kara’s shoulder. Hot tears soaked through the fabric of Kara’s shirt. Maggie squeezed herself between them.
“It’s okay. I’m right here,” Kara said. “We’re going to be okay.”
She felt like she was lying to the both of them. But then the ship began to settle. Emergency lights flickered on. They illuminated the cramped berth smashed against the bulkhead. Shadows stretched over Sadie’s face, giving her a ghoulish appearance. Tears glinted along her cheeks as Kara stroked her sister’s hair.
“Look. See?” Kara asked. “It’s going to be okay.”
She wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure Sadie or herself now.
There were no more deafening blasts, no more staccato reports from firing weapons. Only the metallic groans of the ship’s hull and bulkheads as it rocked gently back and forth.
Still, Kara knew something was amiss. There were more boots down the corridors. Frantic voices filtered through the hatch into their cabin. The main lights remained
off, but there was something else that seemed wrong.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet, she realized.
“The engines!” she said.
Sadie looked up at her. “What?”
“They’re, uh, off. I think.”
“Why would they do that?” Sadie asked. “We’ll be stuck here, and they’ll come after us again, and they’ll sink us, and Dad won’t be able to come home.”
I should not have said that, Kara chided herself. “Remember how I told you all about Alden? He’ll take care of the engines, and we’ll be moving again. The guy’s very smart.”
They waited for what felt like a couple of minutes. Still no power. No humming engines. More panicked crew members yelled outside, followed by rushed footsteps, all headed in the same direction.
A sinking feeling spread through Kara’s stomach. This wasn’t right. Not right at all. Everyone was headed toward the engine room. She tried to reassure herself that they might be going somewhere else. The mess was also that direction, and so were some of the crew’s quarters.
“He needs help!” a man’s voice rang out. “He’s not moving!”
“I’m coming!” replied a woman.
Divya. Definitely Divya. Shit, Kara thought. The crew’s footsteps faded down the corridor. They were headed toward the engine room. She was sure of it. Kara felt a tugging in her gut. She should stay with Sadie and Maggie. It was probably safer for all of them. And if she went out there, she’d probably get in everyone’s way. But all the same, she wanted to see what was happening.
“I’m going out there,” Kara said.
“No!” Sadie cried.
“You and Maggie will be safe here,” Kara said. “But I’ve got to go help.”
Sadie continued to protest as Kara slipped through the hatch. She didn’t want to try to explain her gut feelings to her sister. It already sounded stupid enough in her head. All the same, Kara followed the stomping footsteps down the darkened corridors. Red lights cast a hellish glow between the wan yellow emergency lights. The acrid scent of oil wafted toward her, and the air grew uncomfortably hot.
The Tide: Ghost Fleet (Tide Series Book 7) Page 22