Shadow of War, page 37
“What the hell did you just do?” she whispered, staring at the body.
Richard turned to her. “We had to do it.”
“What?” Her voice was hollow; she could barely speak.
“Mac is the one to succeed at this. His father failed, but Mac has the potential. The people love him. They follow him. He can lead this battle, Jessica.”
“I agree, but why did you just—”
“He needs to focus on this journey. He can’t do it while distracted.”
“And you think Kat was . . . was a distraction to him? They loved each other, Richard! How could you do this?”
“Listen to me!” he snapped. “This will galvanize him. Push him. Force him to continue moving forward. He needs to be angry. He needs to feel frustration and rage. I can’t let him feel comfortable, ever, or he’ll stop fighting.”
“He’s been fighting for a year now, and he’s done just fine without your motivation,” she growled. “He doesn’t need this.” She pointed at the body. “You just murdered her!”
He stepped toward Jessica, and in an instant, she felt fear swell through her body.
She took a hesitant step back.
Richard noticed and stopped. “I could never hurt you, Jess.”
“You . . . you . . . ” She didn’t know how respond. “What’s happened to you? After so long, waiting for the fight to begin. Planning and preparing while in Ballard. Waiting for someone to step up and lead. Mac finally did, and we’re a part of it. And now you want to throw it all away?”
“I don’t want to throw it away. I’m pushing us forward! This will help! Trust me on this.”
She stared at the man she loved.
Only she didn’t feel love anymore.
She felt fear.
Richard scared her.
A part of her knew that she couldn’t say that. If she did, she might be next. She had to make him feel like she believed him. She’d spend months acting normal, doing what she’d always done. She’d make him feel comfortable and let time pass.
But now she knew the truth.
He was a monster.
She’d escape him, eventually. Get away from him. Distance herself from him. “Are you sure?” she finally managed, her voice a husk.
“Of course! He’ll be angry, but he’ll be in the fight more than ever. He’ll want revenge. He’ll push like he’s never pushed.”
Jessica Ng steeled herself and forced her face to show calm and determination. “I see what you’re saying. It might work.”
His face brightened. “You agree with me?”
She hesitated. She knew she had to make it look like a struggle to consider things before accepting. “Yes, but you should have asked me before you did it.”
He frowned. “I didn’t know we’d be in this situation, Jess. I tried to talk to you—”
“Next time, we need to speak for longer before you make a snap decision like this.”
He looked abashed. “Okay. I can do that. But the opportunity just appeared.”
She peered at him. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“For a while. I saw how he was feeling about her. But he needs to focus,” he said again. “Just stay the course.”
“How are you ever going to move forward after this?” The real question she wanted to ask was, How can you live with the guilt after committing murder, you sick prick, but she knew she couldn’t.
Otherwise, she might end up dead too.
Richard turned and stared out the canopy. They were moving slowly through the rift, creeping back toward base. “I’ll make it up to him sometime. I’ll do my best to ensure the independence movement continues, with him in charge. He’ll forgive me for this. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
“All the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow.”
—Leo Tolstoy
Part Seven: Trafalgar
Chapter Forty
Fish farms.
Fish farms.
Fish farms.
The alarm was calling for attention, and the realization of what had happened to our SCAV drive seared through me with a shock I’d never before experienced. Chalam had already realized, but he was having a hard time vocalizing the danger. A neutral beam had melted—or deformed—our bow and had changed the shape meant to create the low-pressure zone and generate the bubble of air that enveloped our seacar. As a result, we’d crashed out of SCAV and were now in conventional drive.
We hadn’t lost hull integrity, though that likely wasn’t far away.
I screamed to Meg, “Change course! Full power to the screws! Zigzag! Zigzag!”
Their targeting system was phenomenally accurate. They’d pinned us while at an incredible velocity and had held the beam on us long enough to haul us from supercavitation.
Some of the others still hadn’t yet figured it out, though Alyssna knew already too. The irony of the situation hit her and her jaw had fallen slack. She stared around her, searching the bulkheads for evidence of attack.
A flickering, glittering light caught my eye out the starboard viewport. A series of shadows fell across the living area as the light shimmered outside. I thought at first it was the sunlight piercing the water, then I realized it was nighttime far above.
The laser was vaporizing water.
“It’s on the starboard!” I yelled as I pushed through the crowd of people toward the pilot cabin. “Veer away!”
The sonar was showing the fish farms warning and a light was flashing angrily on the middle console. I stabbed at the ACTIVE PULSE button and our system broadcast a lone, explosive ping. The screen flashed in concert with the noise, and a single white blob appeared, along with an odd, narrow, straight line that pierced straight toward the green avatar at the center of the display.
The green shape was us.
The white line was the LaWs E UNPB.
Laser Weapon System Encased Underwater Neutral Particle Beam.
It had zeroed in on us, painting us with deadly high energy particles. Each hit our hull, knocked protons from atoms, pulled apart molecules, and dissolved our hull.
Bit by bit.
We couldn’t let them focus on us for a sustained period. If we did, we’d lose hull integrity.
It was inevitable.
Johnny was next to me in the chairs. Meg was now over my shoulder. “What can we do?” she hissed.
Chalam yelled from the back, finally able to speak, “Get shallow, Mac! Less pressure! And everyone, get away from the bulkheads!”
The group moved as best they could to the center of the seacar. I aimed upward; our thrust was already at full power—70 kph—though the particle beam was moving nearly at the speed of light through a vacuum channel in the water; we’d never be able to avoid it.
We had only one torpedo.
I realized with dread that we weren’t actually at 70 kph; we weren’t even close. The damage to our bow had increased friction, and the seacar was shaking madly.
A callout label had appeared above the white dot on the sonar.
Registry: HMS Trafalgar
Spitfire Class SSN, BSF
Depth: 756 meters V
Speed: 70 kph
“It’s Trafalgar,” I yelled. I’d heard that name before. I searched my memory. “Spitfire Class.”
Chalam said, “That’s the ship that rescued me!”
After the weapon had destroyed his rented seacar, weeks ago and also in the Indian Ocean near Diego Garcia, he’d ended up unconscious in the water in scuba gear. The same vessel had rescued him.
The one with the neutral weapon.
And now they were going to obliterate us to get the components back.
And they were highly motivated.
The depth in the region was only 818 meters. They were hugging the bottom, firing upward at us. I stared at the image projected on the canopy. The vessel was 108 meters long. They had ten tubes, four thrusters, a max speed of seventy-three kph, and a Crush Depth of 3,100 meters. There was a bulge on the top of the hull, at amidships, from which the white beam with a flood of bubbles arced upward.
“They’re staying deep,” Johnny mumbled.
I kept turning the ship as we ascended, to keep our hull difficult to lock to. “The beam is coming from the top of its hull. If they were shallower, we could get below them. They’re not going to let that happen.”
And this area was not deep enough for us.
I searched the map frantically, looking for a trench, a crevasse, a crack or fracture.
Anything.
But no luck.
Alarms were still sounding.
Fish farms.
“Dammit!” I cried. They were matching every move we made. They were larger and less maneuverable, but they were faster and could fire at us from below.
“What’s the range on this?” I screamed. “Two hundred?”
Alyssna was behind me. “To be effective, yes.”
Our depth was now a hundred meters. It meant they were seven hundred meters away. The beam would not be destructive at that range.
Sure enough, Johnny said, “They’re coming shallow!”
Registry: HMS Trafalgar
Spitfire Class SSN, BSF
Depth: 623 meters ^
Speed: 73 kph
“Any ideas?” Trafalgar had increased speed to their max and were blowing ballast. They were trying to lower the range, to get the weapon closer.
Alyssna said, “You have to get below them if possible. They can’t shoot downward with that configuration.” She was peering at the image on the canopy, projected by the VID system.
“We have one torpedo.” I thought furiously. We couldn’t waste it. “Is there any way to disrupt the beam?”
“Distance,” she said. “Put more distance between us.”
I swore. “They have a faster top speed.” I cranked my head around and searched for Meg. “Is the bow screwed? Can you check?” As I said it, I pushed the SCAV throttle forward. The ship started to rattle. The reactor was still generating steam—flash boiling seawater—but the engineered shape at the bow had changed. It was generating a lot of friction, and not the large bubble that we needed. The vibrations increased and SC-1 started to moan.
Meg was at my back and she was peering out the canopy. Then there was a particularly loud groan—angry and sepulchral—and she snapped her head around to search it out. “Stop, Mac! That was a structural noise. The SCAV, we can’t push it.”
I pulled back on the throttle. So, we could use it for lower speed—which would create a lot of noise and bubbles—but we couldn’t go fast.
The Water Pick neutral beam had really damaged our structural integrity.
The alarm started screaming again.
Torpedo in the water!
Chapter Forty-One
The alarm blared three more times.
There were four weapons in the water headed for us.
And a stream of bubbles shooting upward from the turret at the top of the Spitfire Class warsub, Trafalgar, as the particle beam continued to fire, aiming at us.
It was not going to stop.
The bubbles diminished at just over 200 meters from the warsub, but it was still firing.
I almost laughed at the name of the ship’s class; it was so appropriate, I thought.
“Johnny,” I snapped. “We’ve only got a few seconds here. Target the turret on that ship and fire our torpedo when we get close.”
He eyed me. “If you get closer, the beam gets stronger.”
“I know, but we don’t have a choice. We have to damage it.”
SC-1 heeled to the port as the torpedoes grew closer. I dropped countermeasures, then arrowed down, away from them, headed back into the deeps—
And the concussion ripped out into the ocean.
All four torpedoes exploded.
The impact of the shock wave shoved the seacar to the side. The safety straps dug into my side and shoulders as we moved. I groaned against the stress. Behind me, people slammed into the bulkheads. They were getting shoved around like rag dolls.
The seacar shook and rattled, and a stream of water shot into the pilot cabin from the canopy seal.
“Shit!” I cried. “We’re taking on water!”
But it was just a bit, at that point. The pumps would easily be able to keep up with it, but water and electronics didn’t mix.
I held the yoke tight in my hands. Trafalgar was just below us and 350 meters to our starboard. I pointed the bow toward it, but the beam was slicing straight for us.
I swore. It was no use. We couldn’t get close.
“Fire,” I said. It was a last resort.
Our final torpedo launched and headed straight for the BSF warsub. I pulled up and away from it, leading the beam on an angle away from the torpedo, to create a clear path for our weapon.
The warsub launched countermeasures and turned from the missile . . .
But they were already right at the bottom, and the places they could run were limited.
I held my breath.
Our weapon continued on and disappeared into the bubbling mass of countermeasures . . .
And exploded.
The concussion echoed in our seacar, and I stared at Trafalgar. It was a huge ship, and the chances of us doing a lot of damage with only one torpedo were limited. They had four thrusters, and even if we damaged one of them, they’d still be able to pursue and fire at us.
The concussion wave hit the warsub and the beam flickered. The bubbles stopped.
I released my breath, staring at the enemy ship, willing it to sink downward and hit bottom.
But no luck. We just didn’t have the firepower to hurt it.
And we didn’t have the speed to escape.
Then it started to blow ballast and rise.
The turret turned toward us, and the beam started again.
They were over 300 meters away, but they were coming.
And the neutral beam was going to slice us to pieces.
Chapter Forty-Two
I made our depth thirty meters and stared at the screen. They were below but rising, and had matched our speed and course. We were taking on water and had no other torpedoes, but they didn’t know that.
Clicking the comm, I said, “Attention Trafalgar.”
Johnny stared at me.
I said, “We have to stall.” Then I turned and yelled behind me. “Get the grenades!”
Meg was at my back in an instant. “What do we do, Tru?” Her eyes were wild.
“We don’t have much hope here. But we have grenades stored on board.” They were for our mission to Aurora, but we hadn’t used them. “Listen, we can tie them into a bundle. Drop them on the ship. Like a mine.” That ship was below us. We could hope that our makeshift bomb would hit it . . .
It seemed laughable though.
They were rising still, the beam was coming toward us . . .
“What are your intentions?” I asked the BSFIF warsub. “You’ve attacked us without provocation.”
A voice crackled back, “You raided our base and killed multiple officers! What are you talking about?” The tone was dark.
“I’m sorry?” I said. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t lie to us. You’re going to die.”
They were still coming, so I changed tack. “Don’t get close to us,” I snapped. “We have a nuclear bomb on board. We’ll detonate it.”
“Bullshit.”
And yet the ship’s approach slowed. The lie had had an effect, although small. It was still coming . . . but more hesitant than before.
I pressed on, and made my voice ice: “You noted the detonation near Diego Garcia a few minutes ago, correct? Don’t come closer or you risk the same.” I studied the sonar return. They were likely attempting to mollify us . . . but were still moving slowly into the 200-meter range.
“Get ready to drop the grenades,” I said.
Sahar entered the living area from the engineering compartment. The concussion had battered her; her face was bloody and bruised, but her eyes were sharp. “Listen,” she cried. “That’s like throwing a dart and hoping it hits a marble in mid-air. It’s not accurate.”
“What else can we—”
“I can take it down, Mac.” Her eyes were fierce. “Remember, I was a free diver? I can swim it down to them. Secure it to the hull. Then pull the pin.”
—••—
Trafalgar was coming toward us.
We didn’t have a lot of time.
I stared at her. “Are you sure, Sahar? It means possibly hurting—”
“We don’t have a choice right now!” she snapped. “We have to get the weapon back to Trieste.”
“But the mix isn’t right!” I cried. “You’ll get a dozen meters down and start feeling narcosis! It’s too—”
“I’ll change the mix as I go. I’ll try my best. It’s all we’ve got!”
She was already sprinting back to the airlock to grab her equipment. I said to Meg, “Get the package ready.”
She was watching Sahar as she ran from us. Then she turned back to me. “Are you sure?”
I had to admire the British Mayor. She was going to sacrifice herself for us, perhaps because of what Clarke had done. Because she’d vouched for the man, who’d then gone off on his own mission. I said in a soft voice, “She can go out the moonpool. We’ll try to stay stationary for her. Not much other choice.”
Richard, who’d been quiet, yelled at us. “Mac! Let me help. Cut these restraints. I’m not a threat to you. I can help with the grenades.”
Cliff was at my side in a flash. “I’ll watch him. We need the help.” They also had to prepare Sahar’s equipment for a nightmare dive.
I stared into Richard’s pleading eyes. “Okay,” I said.
