Shadow of War, page 24
“Indeed. But I do have a code that we can broadcast. An emergency signal. It’ll attract BSF warsubs in the vicinity.”
“And Aurora will come?”
He nodded. “Mandated by BSF procedures. They have to, if they’re close. And when they do . . . ” He trailed off. “We take the ship and steal the component.”
“It’s not that simple,” Meg said.
“But we have some things going for us,” I interjected. We’d spoken about this back at Trieste. “We have BSF uniforms already. I do, Johnny does, and Richard as well.”
“And we have the Commodore too,” Johnny added. “So, when the warsub arrives . . . ”
Clarke said, “They’ll board us and the four of us will be here, in uniform. I’m a Commodore. I outrank all of them. Instead of them boarding us, we’ll board them. Then we go take what we need.”
“They won’t just let us walk in and out,” Renée said.
“There might be some violence,” Clarke said with a nod.
“No killing though,” I said. “Try not to, anyway.” These sailors didn’t deserve it.
And besides, Sahar was completely against it. I needed to keep her on our side.
“There’s another major issue that we need to be aware of.” He paced before us, staring at the deck. “If I make the call, every BSF warsub in the region will arrive. Not just the one we want. That’s a risk.”
I frowned at that. “We have no other choice. We can’t just wait for them to arrive at Blue Downs.” I stared at the others there in the living area. All were present except for Sahar, Hyland, and Chalam. Their eyes were on me, and each nodded silently at my questioning gaze. I turned to Clarke. “Go ahead. Give the signal. The rest of you, get ready.”
—••—
Johnny, Richard, and I put on our BSF uniforms. We looked official and commanding. The others retreated to the engineering compartment and sealed the hatch. When we gave the order, they would remain absolutely quiet.
I wished we had a uniform for Cliff. We could use him on Aurora, but then again, he likely couldn’t pull off the accent.
Clarke came into the pilot cabin and sat in the right-hand seat. He glanced at me, then clicked the comm and adjusted the settings to an all-channel broadcast. “Attention. This is a Red Waterloo. Repeat. Red Waterloo. Coordinates are—” He recited our current location while staring at the nav display between the chairs. He then recited an alphanumeric code using the NATO phonetic alphabet, which the UK had adopted. “Tango Zulu Sierra One Delta India . . . ”
He repeated the call several times.
Then we waited.
I’d made our depth thirty meters and set the thrusters at station-keeping. We were neutrally buoyant and hovering in one location. The water was blue and the sunlight above filtered down through our canopy. It felt surprisingly like the Gulf. The water was a similar color and the bright fish seemed familiar and welcoming.
Then the comm crackled to life.
“Attention vessel calling Waterloo. Identify yourself.”
Clarke glanced at me and shook his head. “We don’t. We just call the emergency again.” He activated the comm with the trigger on the yoke. “Red Waterloo. Repeat. Red Waterloo. Our coordinates are . . . ”
I stared at the sonar display. There was a white light on it now, powering toward us. “They’re moving at 77 kph. It’s a Victory Class warsub.”
“That’s it.”
Sure enough, the callout display indicated:
Registry: HMS Aurora Rex
Victory Class SSN, BSF
Depth: 203 meters
Speed: 77 kph
Bearing: 27º
Estimated Time of Intercept: 22:53 minutes
The ETI was counting down. The warsub had just entered our 30-kilometer sphere and was racing toward us at its maximum speed. The Victory Class vessel was eighty-eight meters long and had a max depth of 3,650 meters. Eight tubes, one giant thruster, with a crew of eighteen. It was meant for stealth, so it was quiet when running on reduced thrust, but it was also armed and dangerous. There were thirty-eight in the BSF fleet.
I grinned. Perfect. The warsub we’d been looking for was now coming for us. And when they arrived, they’d find four BSF officers on board.
And we were going to steal Component Two of The Water Pick.
Then another chime sounded from the sonar display, and my face paled as the information there registered.
My expression was one of horror, I was sure.
Two other warsubs had appeared at the outer edges of our detection range. One was a BSF Hunter-Killer—Churchill Class—and the other was a Vanguard Class SSBN missile warsub.
“Oh, shit.”
—••—
The Vanguard was due to arrive first. We didn’t want that, so I made our course 27º to move toward Aurora.
The drawback was that the ETI had now shrunk considerably. It was now at fifteen minutes and counting down.
And soon after that, the two other BSF warsubs would arrive.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I marched back to the engineering compartment to inform the others. I kept my voice low. Their faces showed concern, though Cliff’s was like stone. “Do you need me up there?”
“No. They’ll know immediately that something is off. Stay here, but be ready in case they send guards back here to investigate.”
“They have that authority?” Alyssna asked.
Renée said, “Since we called an emergency, they’ll see it as a tacit approval to do what they want.” She shrugged. “I was in the FSF. It’s what I’d do.”
“She’s right. Seal the hatch and wait it out.”
“Good luck, Mac,” she said.
I squeezed her arm. “We’ll be fine.”
—••—
Richard, Johnny, Clarke, and I stood in the living compartment. We faced the airlock hatch. There was a sound of screws as the warsub approached. We could hear it throttling down. There were a few pings as they studied the surroundings to determine our precise position. Then Aurora stopped moving, and there was a high-pitched whine as an umbilical extended. It thunked against our hull, there was a sigh as it formed a seal, and pumps removed the water. Since our two vessels were both at four atms—mandated across the oceans—there were no issues moving from one pressure to another.
They’d continued to call over the comm, but we’d ignored each one.
I took a deep breath and stared at the airlock.
Richard muttered, “Here we go.”
“How’s your accent?” I asked.
“Nonexistent.”
I grunted.
Clarke said, “I’ll do the speaking. I’m the ranking officer now, as soon as they make the connection with our seacar. They’ll have to respond to me and do what I say.”
Johnny said, “I hope it’s that simple.”
“And I hope they don’t recognize me,” I murmured. I locked eyes with Clarke. His motives were murky and there was much to learn about him. I still needed to know why—or if—he had tried to kill me in the airlock. I’d decided to keep him close and watch him, but something was about to happen from which there was no turning back. “Clarke.”
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
“It’s a bit late now, mate.”
“I mean, once they see you, your career will be over. The BSF will know about you. There’s no hiding this like we did at the Churchill labs. If we get Component Two, they’ll know you stole it.”
His expression remained stoic. “Your dad meant a lot to me, Mac. I want independence for the undersea colonies. This is part of that.”
“But what happens after this mission? When they start hunting you?”
“I guess I’ll have to find a new place to live. Or hide.”
“What did you have in mind?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. But I want to fight with you and Richard. I know that.”
I stared at him, confused. It just didn’t make sense. If what he was saying was true, then why the attempt on my life?
Then I turned back to the airlock.
It opened.
—••—
There was a hiss as the air from the two ships mixed. I immediately detected the aroma of the British vessel, which was distinctly different from ours. Sometimes the smells were so intense they made people sick before they grew used to it.
A man in his forties stepped from the lock and entered SC-1. There were three others with him. His face registered surprise at our uniforms. Then he noted Clarke’s rank, and his eyes narrowed.
It was not quite the reaction I’d expected.
He stared at us intently. “What is this, exactly?”
“I’m Commodore Clarke. I’m on an Eyes-Only mission in the region.” He glanced at the others in the Captain’s group. “Can we go somewhere to speak privately.”
There was a long, extended pause. “Certainly not.”
Then I noticed the red and black patches on their shoulders. They were all wearing them.
—••—
“Who are you?” Clarke snapped.
“Captain Mantis.”
A woman next to him said, “I’m the XO. Lieutenant Smith. Your call forced us here. It isn’t exactly what we were expecting today.”
In addition to the XO, there were flanking guards who looked intimidating and angry. They were special forces, of that I had no doubt.
“No one ever expects emergencies,” Clarke said. His eyes were hard, and he was glaring at Mantis. “And you are to follow orders. Let’s go speak in private.”
“I said, no.” He stared at us. “I want to know exactly what the emergency is. Trieste is the official port of this seacar. Why are four BSF officers on board? And why didn’t you respond to our queries?”
“Part of our mission,” Clarke snapped. “Which I’d be happy to tell you about if we could—”
“Sadly, we don’t care about your mission, Clarke.” He pinned each of us with his steely glare. “We’re working with the BSFIF right now. Your mission is irrelevant.”
—••—
The BSFIF. Here it was, again, along with the hostility toward the regular BSF.
“We’re all BSF,” Clarke growled. “Our mission involves British Intelligence. Are your people cleared to hear Eyes-Only information?”
There was a long pause. He glanced at the guards. Then, “No.”
“Then let’s go speak where we can’t reveal security secrets, shall we, Captain?” His inflection on the rank signified his intention to outrank the other, but it didn’t seem to be working.
Mantis paused and watched Clarke in silence. Then he relented. “Very well. Perhaps on Aurora?”
“That would be acceptable.”
“I don’t have a Pipe the Side ceremony prepared, Commodore.” He appeared to be more accepting of the other’s rank. He turned to the XO. “Please call Fletcher here with the bosun’s whistle.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Clarke said.
“You’re a flag officer and it’s tradition to hear the twelve second boatswain’s call.”
“Not needed. Let’s go.” Clarke strode confidently through the umbilical toward Aurora.
Richard, Johnny, and I pushed through the others and followed him onto the BSF warsub.
I sensed their eyes on our backs. They felt like laser beams burning into us.
The pistol was on my right thigh; I sensed its weight as I marched through the airlock and stepped onto the warsub.
—••—
We were on Aurora Rex. I couldn’t quite believe it. What had started as a fantastical concept that Richard had first brought to my attention—an underwater energy beam?—had now culminated in a very real and deadly weapon that the BSFRL was not only developing in the Indian Ocean, but using against civilians. Or perhaps the mysterious BSFIF was responsible? We had now infiltrated a BSF Victory Class warsub, and were in foreign, hostile territory, totally and utterly surrounded.
We practically charged up the corridors toward the vessel’s bow. We moved like we belonged there. Clarke was next to me, and he was urging us forward. I followed his lead, but kept a close watch on him from the corner of my eye.
Behind me, Johnny and Richard filled the corridor and prevented the others from getting past us.
The Captain, XO, and the two guards also stalked behind us. They had accepted that the Commodore knew where he was going, and they were simply following, but I heard them muttering something, and that made me worry. They would not let us just take over, I knew. They would get us in a cabin somewhere, and then hear us out.
—••—
Commodore Clarke had led us to a forward lounge near the bow. He took a seat and we followed suit. Captain Mantis appeared an instant later, staring at us with narrowed eyes. Lieutenant Smith entered and closed the hatch.
The two guards stood just outside, in the corridor.
Mantis sighed. “Now we have privacy. You have used a Red Waterloo call using your division’s code sign, and I want an explanation. You’ve pulled us from our patrol route. Even more egregious, according to my XO, you’re a Commodore in charge of the Channel and North Sea region and have absolutely no authority over us here in the South Pacific.”
“I have every authority. I’m a Commodore. I’m the ranking officer here.”
“This is highly irregular. I want an explanation.”
“You’ll get one. But first we have to get past the issue of insubordination.”
“There is no such thing now. I want an answer from you, sir. Answer me. Now.”
Clarke remained quiet and leveled his icy glare at Mantis. Their eyes locked.
XO Smith said, “I thought this was an emergency, Commodore. Instead it’s turned into a pissing match between you two.”
Mantis growled, “The Commodore here signaled a rarely used emergency signal. Three warsubs are now here. What is it?”
Clarke stared for a minute longer, then visibly deflated. “You might be right, Smith. The Captain’s attitude was offensive, especially toward a ranking officer. I got my back up about it.”
“What is it, exactly?” she asked. Her dark hair was pulled back under a hat and her eyes were also dark. Her skin was olive and she was very pretty, though I noticed the pistol at her side, and her right hand dangerously near it.
Clarke said, “We are on a mission to retrieve a piece of equipment from you. It’s needed desperately back home, I’m afraid.”
A deadly silence descended over the cabin. I kept my face stoic. Surely such a tactic wouldn’t work, but I figured we could at least try. The Captain and Lieutenant looked at each other for a moment, then turned to stare at us again. “Are you serious?” he finally grated.
“Absolutely.”
“And why couldn’t you just signal us?”
“Too dangerous. The component is secret. I’m not even sure if Smith here has clearance to know about it.”
Mantis continued to glare at us. Then, “You must have paperwork.”
“I only have my verbal command.”
The other tilted his head and his face flattened. “You’re serious?”
“As a King’s fart.”
Captain Mantis snorted. “There’s no way I can release what you’re asking for without written authorization from BSFRL HQ.”
Another silence descended. I cleared my throat to speak. I wanted answers. “We’re not from the RL division.”
“That I can tell,” he snapped, staring at my rank. “And even if you had written authorization from BSF HQ, it wouldn’t be enough.”
“Why not?”
“For the precise reason you just stated. You’re not BSFRL.”
“We’re all in the same fleet, Captain. Don’t be absurd.”
He tilted his head and stared at me. “What are you here for?”
“We desperately require the component in the Channel. There’s an imminent threat and they need the weapon. It’s needed to defend the United Kingdom. You are preventing that.”
“Weapon?”
I frowned. “Surely you’ve heard of it. The particle beam. The Water Pick. You have a necessary component on this vessel. We’re here for it. It’s so secret we couldn’t broadcast a command or even bring written authorization. We can’t let word of it get out.”
“I have heard of it. I know it’s here. And command authority ordered me not to release it to anyone but the BSFRL or the IF.”
“The Commodore said it before. We’re all in the BSF.”
He hesitated. “And why are you in a civilian seacar?”
“Because we had to get here fast, and get the component back to the Channel just as quickly. SC-1 has a SCAV drive. We used it the whole way here.”
“Trieste let you have it?” Smith asked.
“We stole it. We’re on a mission to retrieve the Staging System from you.”
Clarke stood. “Come on, Mantis. This is getting ridiculous. You have authorization from me. I’m telling you to hand it over to us. I outrank you. Now let’s just do this and we can all move on.”
Mantis stared at us for a minute longer. The silence seemed absolute, despite the routine calls over the comm system, the ventilation fans, boots on the deck outside the cabin, and clicks from the pressure monitors. He lifted a comm device to his mouth. “Midshipman Pettiger.”
“Aye, sir?” a voice echoed back.
“Send a crew over to the seacar and take command of it immediately.”
I drew my weapon in a flash and leveled it at them. Johnny followed suit.
Mantis froze as he stared at me. Clarke muttered under his breath, “You should have listened.”
The Captain continued into his comm, “Do it now, and send a—”
I stepped forward and swung the butt of my weapon at his temple. He ducked and dropped the comm. Smith jerked backward and screamed. Johnny had stepped forward and he slammed his fist on the hatch’s LOCK button. The guards outside had heard, and they started to pound on the steel.
