Shattered Trident - Страница 40

With the rest of his men, Jiang watched the time fall away, seconds passing as distinct moments. He glanced at the navigational radar. “Is the tanker turning yet?”

The phone talker passed the question forward to the bridge. “They’ve just started,” he replied.

Jiang shook his head. “Too late, far too late.” The trick was to be somewhere else when the torpedoes’ own sonars activated. If there was nothing in front of them, the weapons would have to circle and search, which dramatically reduced the chance of a hit. And while they circled, the target moved in the general direction of away. But the tanker, like all tankers, turned like a cement truck.

Running back up to the bridge, Jiang arrived to see the distance between the two ships growing slowly. Another reason for the turn was to get some separation from the torpedoes’ intended target. He didn’t want to be nearby, and in nautical terms, that was measured in miles.

He didn’t get miles. Luckily, Da Qing 435’s new course took her almost directly away from the frigate, but she was still a little less than a mile away when the vessel seemed to shake, as if she’d struck a submerged object. The water around her hull churned to a milky froth, then erupted in a white tower. It all happened silently, until the sound reached him a few seconds later, first as a deep rumble, then an explosive roar that staggered him and rattled the frigate’s hull.

The perfect geometry of the column was destroyed a moment later, when the second torpedo detonated. The force of the first explosion, just a little aft of amidships, had actually pushed the massive tanker up out of the water by a meter. Jiang could clearly see a band of red showing below the ship’s normal waterline. Now the second explosion, just a little forward of the first, pushed the tanker’s bow up even farther, so that the bow stem actually cleared the water for a moment.

Amidships, the ruin created by the two weapons extended well up from the waterline, and the ship began to sag in the middle, like a swayback horse. Thick coils of black smoke were starting to appear, and through binoculars he could see the crew struggling across the tilting deck to reach the lifeboats.

His first impulse, from years of training, was to get his own boats in the water and go to their aid, but he checked the thought almost immediately. He would have to stop to lower any boats, which would not only disrupt his towed sonar, but would also make him a sitting duck if the submarine chose to attack. First things first.

Jiang stepped back into the command center, checking his watch. Just over four minutes. Call it four and a half kilometers. Pleased with his close guess, he started to talk to the helicopter controller, when sonar announced, “The third weapon has missed the tanker. It passed underneath without detonating.”

So the turn had made a difference, just not enough. “Fine,” Jiang acknowledged, “keep tracking it, but don’t stop looking for the submarine.”

“Understood, sir.” The sonar rating turned to go back in the sonar compartment when a shout came out of the open door. “The third torpedo! The bearing drift is changing! It’s turning!”

Jiang felt ice form in his chest, but he quickly told the controller, “Keep working with the helicopter,” then turned and hurried toward the sonar space. The door was open, and he called, “Which way?” before he’d even stepped inside.

The answer, in a relieved tone, was, “Starboard, away from us!” and Jiang could breathe again.

Many torpedoes had “wire guidance,” thin wires that actually spooled out as the torpedo left the submarine. Miles long, the wire allowed the sub to see what the torpedo’s own seeker saw, and the launching sub could also steer the torpedo if the target maneuvered radically. In this case, the submarine captain knew the third weapon had missed, and was turning it back toward the tanker. Miles away and underwater, he didn’t know that the merchant ship was finished.

“Where’s the sub now?” Jiang demanded.

“Heading south, Captain, and speed has increased to eight knots.”

Jiang smiled. “Good, keep feeding those bearings to the helicopter—”

The other sonar operator, tracking the weapon, reported, “Sir, it’s still turning. It’s gone past an intercept course for the tanker, and is turning toward us!”

The guidance wire can break. If that happens, the torpedo automatically circles and searches on its own. But Jiang quickly discarded the idea. He couldn’t take the chance.

He picked up the handset again. “Bridge, increase speed to flank, turn us to starboard, and pass as close as we can to the sinking tanker!”

“Sir, the towed array…”

“Forget that! Do it now!”

Jiang didn’t wait for an acknowledgement, but hung up the phone, and hurried out of the sonar cabin, through the combat center, and onto the bridge. The sinking tanker, with black smoke pouring out of the hull, was swinging across his field of view as the deck officer turned the frigate hard to starboard. The deck, tilting with the sharp turn, vibrated as the screws tried to push the hull faster and faster.

“Steady us on… one one five,” Jiang ordered after taking a bearing, and the deck officer acknowledged with a worried look. Jiang knew his bridge watchstanders would be too cautious and pass too far away from the hulk. They’d hidden behind the tanker before, now perhaps the dying ship could absorb the torpedo meant for his frigate. The tanker would appear as a much larger target to the weapon.

“Sonar, what’s the torpedo doing?” he demanded.

“We’ve lost it on the towed array, but our bow sonar still sees it, sir. It’s headed straight for us. Very strong signal.”

He’d guessed right, then. Jiang stepped out onto the port bridge wing. The burning hulk loomed fine on the port bow, and Jiang tried to judge if he could steer closer. Yancheng was responding wonderfully, speed building from twelve knots, and was already past twenty-two. It was much more responsive than any tanker, but it still took some time for 3,800 tons of steel to accelerate. They had to close the distance between…

The deck officer put down the intership phone. “Captain, sonar reports the torpedo’s seeker has activated, and the weapon’s speed has increased!”

“Hard left rudder! New course back toward the weapon!” Jiang sighed. He’d lost the race. At attack speed, the torpedo would swim at forty-five knots or more. Their only hope now was a sharp turn inside the weapon’s arc.

Yancheng was continuing to accelerate, and the bow swung sharply to port, putting the tanker on the other side now. A cold wind cut at his face and tugged his clothes. He stepped back into the bridge and studied the plot, watching the angles. He ordered the deck officer, “Tell all hands to brace for impact!”

4 September 2016

1830 Local Time

Shinkansen Control Center, Kansai Region

Japan

The Japanese “bullet train” system is one of the most efficient and fastest in the world. With speeds close to two hundred miles per hour, trains operate on dedicated rail lines, separated from slower-moving freight and local trains. First operating in the early 1960s, the ever-expanding network has dramatically shortened travel times across the mountainous country, revolutionizing transportation and commerce in Japan.

Obata Takeshi had the duty at the Kansai control center when the trouble began. The three large flat-screen displays didn’t give any indication, and none of the communications staff had reported any problems.

The central display showed the Kansai region, his responsibility, in the south central part of Japan’s main island of Honshu. Heavily urbanized and populated, it holds Kyoto, Osaka, and many other major Japanese cities. The electronic map showed not only the cities and the rail lines, but could display local traffic, emergencies like fires, and even precipitation levels.

The position of each bullet train was updated constantly, using transmitters on the trains and sensors placed along the track. The Osaka–Tokyo line, one of the major runs in the system, could have as many as a dozen trains an hour in each direction, neatly separated by five-minute intervals.

The phone at the control desk connected to the first responders rang, and Obata grabbed it quickly. Nothing showed on the board, but it could be a drill, or a warning. “Obata, Kansai Control.”

“This is Battalion Chief Kawaguchi at the Fushima station. We’re rolling everything we’ve got. Who is the on-scene commander?” The firefighter’s tone was urgent, but professional.

“What?” Obata’s astonished question was loud enough to attract the attention of others in the center, and he punched a button that put the conversation on the loudspeaker. In the background, they could hear sirens and the roar of diesel engines.

“Who is in charge at the scene, dammit? We’re losing time. Can’t you people follow your own procedures? It’s bad enough we had to hear about this from civilians who saw the accident. I need to know if I should sound another alarm. Two—no, three trains, what is that? It’s over a thousand passengers per train.”

“Battalion Chief, I’m not showing any problems on any of the lines.” Obata’s confusion was obvious.

Kawaguchi replied quickly, “Your board is wrong. We’ve gotten dozens of mobile phone calls about trains colliding about five kilometers west of Shin-Osaka Station. At first, it was just two trains, but we’re getting word of a third train that’s plowed into the mess. And you don’t show any of this?” The firefighter’s question, shouted a little to be heard over the sirens, ran through Obata like an electric charge. The rest of the staff had the same reaction, and began furiously checking their systems.