Terminal Run by Michael Dimercurio

Author:Michael Dimercurio
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780451410467
Publisher: Onyx
Published: 2002-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

15.

Kelly McKee was shaken awake in the night, his curtain pulled aside by the messenger of the watch. He blinked in the light of the messenger’s red-hooded flashlight, sitting up on one elbow submariner style, since sitting upright would only result in a bang to the head on the low overhead of the coffin like rack enclosure. He felt the rack shaking, then realized it was the entire ship that was trembling. Judison must have increased speed to flank, up from the full bell, which was a violation of McKee’s orders to the fleet to proceed at high speed, but quietly, at the maximum revolutions possible in natural reactor circulation mode. He didn’t want his submarines clanking across the ocean, alerting the Snare or the British or even an Atlantic-penetrating Red Chinese submarine.

“What is it?”

“Admiral, the captain sends his respects at the hour of twenty hundred Zulu, and requests your presence on the conn, sir. There is top-secret message traffic and an update to the tactical situation, sir.”

“I’m up,” McKee said, throwing his legs out and jumping down from the bunk. “Tell Captain Judison I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” The messenger shut the stateroom door behind him as McKee turned on the desk lamp, the stateroom dimly illuminated. Karen Petri’s curtain opened, and she climbed out of her bunk and found her coveralls.

“We’re flanking it,” she said sleepily. McKee nodded at her as he pulled on his patrol-quiet boots.

“Judison has news on the conn,” he said. “You ready?”

Petri shook out her hair, pulled it back in a ponytail, and nodded.

McKee stepped out into the red-lit passageway and hurried forward to the ladder to the middle level, emerging on the forward bulkhead of the control room, which was also lit by red lights, but much dimmer than the passageway, the lights rigged to prevent loss of night vision for the officer of the deck in the case of an emergency periscope depth maneuver. Judison and his officers were gathered around the navigation chart.

“Good evening, sir,” he said crisply. “Hammerhead has increased speed to flank to get in position to intercept the Snare.”

McKee took the pad computer Judison handed over and read the Snare intelligence summary. Snare had transmitted a sitrep giving away her position, and a message had been intercepted from the hijackers telling Snare to rendezvous at Pico Island. An infrared satellite scan had captured the sub on the surface. She would be following the African coast on her way to the Indian Ocean, or so the Naval Intelligence experts supposed. It was great news, McKee thought, since they had finally located the out-of-control sub. All they had to do was sink her, and the first part of the mission was over, leaving only the Red Chinese and the British.

“What’s your plan to intercept the Snare, Commander?” McKee asked formally.

Judison pointed to the chart. “We’ve laid a course from Snare’s position that will take her to the Indian Ocean, along the fastest route. The variable is speed, because she may be going ten knots or fifty.

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