Lion Resurgent (25 page)

Captain Beecham reminded himself that this was also a sales trip and this personable young Lieutenant would be making a full report on his experiences. “A lot better than the French and Italian boats, especially on the surface. They use the cylindrical hull like the American and Chipanese nuclear boats. Great for underwater but very poor on the surface. Running surfaced, they can barely make eight knots, ten in a smooth sea. Underwater they can make twenty five as long as they don’t mind running their batteries flat in less than an hour. Now, our oval hull makes us a lot more seaworthy. Even in a blow we can hold twenty plus knots on the surface. More importantly, we can have people out on deck while on the surface, something the French and Italian boats could only dream about. That can come in pretty useful if we want to put people ashore; a special forces team for example.”

“This is a large boat, more than four times the displacement of my
Simpson.
Doesn’t she take time to dive?”

“Not really. We can’t get down as fast as a V-boat of course, but we can dive pretty damned quick. The hull planes forward and the beavertail aft mean we can drive ourselves underwater. We’ll beat our rivals underwater and once down, we’re a lot quieter. No blade beat you see. The screws are outside the turbulence from the sail.”

Elorreaga nodded, carefully filing the information away.
“Simpson
is noisy, that is for certain. No rafting on the machinery, blade beat and lots of flow noise. A good boat for forty years ago, but time has passed her by. We don’t even have a missile launcher.”

Captain Beecham laughed. “That was a surprise wasn’t it. Almost as surprising as the fact they let us see it. A twin-rail launcher like that, I wonder why they did. It would have been a nasty surprise for a sub-hunting bird. We don’t have anything like it. We’ve got missile launch tubes down there, beside the sail. You can see the hatches from here. But they’re for land attack missiles only.”

“Perhaps them being a nasty surprise is why they showed that launcher to us, Sir?” Cardew spoke slowly. “There was something odd about the whole business of that sub turning up. A Chimp hunter-killer with a friendly Captain almost tripping over himself to show us his boat. Almost as if he was under orders to be as accommodating and unthreatening as possible.”

“I got that impression as well, Number One. The Chimps were playing a deep game, that’s for sure. Remember Sazuko going out of his way to tell us that the Navy and Army were at daggers drawn? There’s politics there, Steven, politics deep and dire. Somebody in Japan is trying to tell us something.”

“Japan, not Chipan?” Cardew thought about that. Although everybody in the rest of the world referred to the Japanese and occupied China as Chipan, the official name was still the Empire of Japan and that was where real power still remained.
Or did it?
The internal politics of the Empire were almost as mysterious as those of the Caliphate.
Was somebody in Japan trying to open a window to the West?
“Strange though. We’ve always thought of the Chimps as being a faceless, threatening horde. It was odd meeting Sazuko and his group of bandits. They reminded me of us.”

“Except we cook our fish, of course. Lieutenant...” Beecham fumbled for the Chilean officer’s first name. He had the man’s file of course, but in the urgency of getting out and to sea, he hadn’t had a chance to read it yet.

“Marcello, Sir. Marco for short”

“Thank you. Marco, we need to get far south as quickly as possible. Our snorting speed is four knots. Our speed and battery drain rates are down in the chartroom. Remember, we’ve got a lot of battery, twice as much as the French boats and four times your old V-boat. So, make me a course and speed that gets us to the Beagle Channel soonest.”
And that should convince you just how good a submarine
Rotorua
is. Not as mobile as a nuclear boat perhaps, but faster and longer-ranged than any other diesel-electric.

“Very good, Sir.” Marcello Elorreaga lowered himself through the hatch and vanished.

“Seems like a good man, Sir.” Cardew spoke quietly.

“We’ll see. But he does shape well. I wonder how Gavin is getting on with his wedding preparations back in Valparaiso?”

“He looked a bit like a stunned fish last time I saw him.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Beecham hesitated slightly. “Chris, get a group of torpedomen together. Inspect every torpedo we have and check everything about them. Fuzes, engines, depth keeping system, homing system, the lot. Take nothing for granted. Sazuko was right. Once we’re down south, anything can happen. After all, this is a sales cruise. But...”

“Submarines are nobody’s friends and if attacked we may have to defend ourselves. We’re on it, Sir.”

ARA
Catamarca,
North of South Georgia

“We’re at the target point, Sir.” Leonardi nodded. “Switch on main search radar.”

“Yes Sir.” There was an agonizingly long pause while the SPS-40 mounted on the foremast resumed its search. “Got her!” The surge of triumph that went around the bridge was unmistakeable. “Range less than twenty kilometers; bearing oh-nine-oh. We could open fire with our guns, using radar fire control.”

“At this range and in this weather?” Leonardi’s voice was stem but inwardly he appreciated the officer’s enthusiasm. “I think not.”

“Use the anti-ship missiles. At once.” Astrid’s voice echoed across the bridge from his seat in one comer.

“Again, I think not. We only have four and there is a war coming. There are no reloads for us, not one. You and your army friends never allocated the money to buying reserve stocks, remember. Now, we must conserve our missiles and close to use gunfire.

HMS
Mermaid,
North of South Georgia

“Where the hell did she come from?” Sparks was stunned by the sudden appearance of the radar transmissions dead ahead of
Mermaid.
Then bad news turned to worse. “She’s got us. Received signal is well over threshold value.”

“Range?”

“Very close. I’d say if it wasn’t for the clag, we could see her.”

Blaise banged his first. “Too late for hide-and-seek. Sparks, main search radar on. We need to know exactly where she is. Helm, bring our bows around, back to oh-nine-oh. We’ll give her a tail chase.”

“Radar contact, Sir, range approximately eleven nautical miles out. Bearing two-seven-zero. Battle stations. Close up all gun crews. If we can’t get away, our only chance will be to get the first shots in and hit hard.”

“Sir, radar contact, now designated Bandit-Charlie, has turned to follow us. Speed estimated at 24 knots. Sir, Bandit-Baker up north has turned to close on us as well. Range thirty nautical miles, speed, 25 knots, bearing three-five-five.”

“Charlie has reported finding us. That rules out us heading north again. Hold on oh-nine-oh. Engines, we need everything, absolutely everything you’ve got down there.” Blaise felt the rumble of the diesels under his feet but he knew it wasn’t anywhere near enough.

“Visibility range is about three miles, maximum, Sir.”

“Bandit-Charlie will have a visual sighting in less than two hours. When the range is down to five miles, we’ll turn and engage.”

“The rules of engagement are that we can’t fire the first shot, Sir.” Number One was doing his job, reminding his Captain of the details where, notoriously, the devil hid out.

“I know. We’ll just have to hope that the shot in question misses.”

NSC Building, Washington D. C.

The two men were in civilian clothes but it was obvious that they were accustomed to being in uniform. They crossed the reception area, nodding briefly to the statue that dominated the area and strode up to the reception desk. It could be said that they ignored everybody else in the area, but that would have been untrue. They showed no sign of even being aware that other people existed.

“I wonder if they are even aware that we have an appointment with the National Security Advisor.” The older man snapped the words out to the younger man with him.

“That would require a level of administrative efficiency on their part.” The younger man sounded reluctant, as if he couldn’t quite conceive of anybody meeting his standards of competence.

The receptionist bit back her irritation and looked down the printed list of authorized visitors. She had met some very strange people since starting this job, but these two were weird even by the standards of the NSC Building. To make matters even more interesting, these two appeared to be Chipanese. “Mister Takeda? We have your appointment listed. Miss Bonney will take you up to the Advisor’s offices.

“Gentlemen? If you would come with me please?” Anne Bonney had made a private bet with herself that the two guests in the building would turn up on time to the fraction of a second. She had won and promised herself some chocolate ice cream in payment. “Please display these visitor security badges prominently.”

“I wonder what would happen if we refused?” The younger man spoke to the elder, ignoring Anne completely.

“The last people to walk about this building without authorization never got out alive.” Anne spoke equally idly. As it happened the comment was true, but the circumstances had been very unusual. She moved her body so the control panel on the lift was masked, then pressed a combination of buttons before selecting the 14th floor. Although there would be no indication of the fact inside the lift, it would now stop at the 13th floor. One that did not, officially, exist. When it did open, Nefertiti Adams was waiting outside the doors.

“Shingen-Sama, Katsuyori-San, welcome to the NSC Building. The Seer is waiting for you in our conference room.”

The two Japanese men showed no sign of having heard the comment. Nefertiti glanced at Anne Bonney and raised one eyebrow. Dealing with representatives from the Kempetai could be wearing and the fastidious Nefertiti always felt an urgent need to wash her hands afterwards. Nevertheless, she took her guests into one of the conference rooms where the Seer was reading through a file full of papers.

“Ah, they’ve turned up at last, have they?” The Seer’s expression didn’t change. “Sit them down please. I suppose they’d like some tea. Could you organize that, honey?”

Nefertiti left the room, allowing herself to smile as soon as she closed the door behind her. The two Japanese Kempetai officers weren’t the only ones who could play games.

HMS
Mermaid,
North of South Georgia

“Bring her around to two-seven-zero. Weaps, prepare for surface action; guns ready to fire on command. Sparks, prepare to get the following message out: Am under attack by Argentine warships. Enemy ships have fired upon us. Am returning fire. Issue is in doubt.’ Once you start, keep transmitting until we get acknowledgement or the ship sinks under us. Or both. Engines, if we weren’t at full power before, get the diesels running red-zoned. Burning them out isn’t going to matter too much anyway.”

Keighley looked grim. “No chance of us getting away?” As if to answer him, there was an express-train roar overhead and two shells splashed into the water ahead of them. “Sorry I spoke.”

“Sparks get that message out and keep transmitting. Weaps, you have radar fire control solution. Return fire.” The Gunnery Officer’s finger must have been poised over the switch because
Mermaid’s
two four inch guns cracked out their shots almost instantly. “Helm, bring her around to two-two-five.”

Mermaid’s
hull lurched as she turned abruptly to chase the shells that had missed her. Keighley grabbed a bridge rail as she rolled. “Think those were warnings or intended to hit us?”

“Hard to tell in this.” Blaise was interrupted by another express-train roar. This time three shells that fell in a straight line, two short, one over. They were well aft though, thrown by
Mermaid’s
change in course. “Right, well that answers the question doesn’t it. First pair were warnings; that one was a ranging ladder, meant for business.”

“Starboard look-out here Sir. Enemy ship, bearing two-seven-zero. Range eight thousand yards. She’s firing.”

“She’s a Cordoba all right. Look at her digging her bows in.” The dark gray destroyer had white water piled up around her foremost turret and the mount was obviously incapable of firing. “Weaps, hit her with something please.”

Mermaid’s
four inch twin mount cracked again. The shots were good for line but both fell well short. Up forward, under the shield of the Mark XIX mounting, the gun crews were reloading as fast as the aged design of their guns and the atrocious weather allowed. Across the sea, Blaise saw the three turrets on the destroyer that weren’t flooded out suddenly masked by the orange flare of muzzle-flash. First the port gun in each turret, then the starboard gun. “Helm, three-three-five.”

Mermaid
swerved again. The two three-round ladders scythed into the water beside her. First ladder was two short and one over; the second two over and one short. Both were perfect for line. The Argentine destroyer had her range and Blaise guessed that her Captain would be ordering a ‘fire-for-effect’ with all six guns he had operational. “You know, Number One, I wish I was commanding an Indian destroyer right now.”

Keighley laughed at the thought. If
Mermaid
had been an Indian destroyer with her eight rapid-fire 4.5s, there would be a solid line of shells joining her to her target and the Argentine destroyer would be well on the way to being reduced to a heap of scrap metal. Then, reality was restored. The Argentine destroyer’s turrets flashed again, this time a six-gun salvo. “For what we are about to receive, may we be truly thankful.” The old prayer was lost in the crash as the salvo crashed home.

The dispersion on the salvo was much larger than it should have been, the dreadful weather saw to that. Three of the shots landed in the water too far out to do any harm. Two more landed close alongside. One raked the hull over the screws with splinters, the other repeated the process the other side, further forward. One of the 5.3 inch shells scored a direct hit on the ship’s cutter, blowing the wooden small craft to fragments.