Silent Warpath (Sean Quinlan Book 1)

by Dominic Conlon

  Running at 10 knots, a black shadow glided silently five hundred metres below the waves. Her instruments detected a surface force at maximum range. Immediately Cetus shut down her own active sonar systems. After a small course correction she began to reel out the passive sonar towed array. The hydrophones attached to the array began feeding signals directly to the on-board digital signal processor.

  As she drew closer, Cetus began to register the faint signals of a cluster of surface ships. The signal processor collected all sound emissions, filtered out background noises and converted the remainder into digital signals. A huge database of previously recorded material was accessed to lookup a match and tag the source.

  At that moment no less than 18 warships were registering: a mix of destroyers, frigates, re-fuelling tankers and an aircraft carrier. Cetus was unable to solve the puzzle why so many ships from different navies were in such close proximity. She had no way of knowing that she had just blundered into a joint exercise between US and NATO fleets.

  The first ship to be identified was the HMS Illustrious, the UK’s only remaining aircraft carrier. The digital processor began to identify other ships: the Spanish frigate Adm Juan de Borbón, the German frigate FGS Lübeck, the US frigate USS Taylor and the Polish frigate ORP General K Pulaski.

  By now Cetus had identified 11 ships. Like a computerised game of chess, the main battle computer on board mapped out their positions, bearings and speed. As each position was plotted, plans of attack were proposed, considered and rejected or retained for later evaluation.

  In truth the computer made these plans out of habit because it was programmed to do so. But none of these targets were on its acquisition list. Nevertheless if any of them threatened Cetus it would know well in advance what counter measures it had to take and it could respond without hesitation.

  Even as the signals continued to be filtered and processed, Cetus began to reel in her passive sonar array in preparation for flight or fight.

  But Cetus’ main preoccupation was with a target much further north and it was programmed to avoid anything that got in the way. As the fleet was southeast bound Cetus made another course correction south-west in an attempt to avoid them completely. In doing so it failed to detect the last of three submarines assigned to protect the fleet. HMS Astute drew the ‘tail-end Charlie’ position, located four miles south and three miles behind the last frigate. Astute was the largest and deadliest hunter-killer submarine ever built. As long as a football pitch and as wide as a four lane motorway, the UK’s first stealth submarine made less noise under water than a baby dolphin. She was the lead ship of the Astute class of nuclear-powered attack submarines and she lay directly in the path of Cetus.

  Cetus picked up the tiny noises made by cavitations of the Astute’s propeller and matched these on its database. Caught between the submarine and the tail end of the fleet, Cetus had run out of options. To add to her difficulty Cetus’ computers knew that Astute’s sonar was so sensitive that she could continue to follow Cetus for up to 3,000 nautical miles.

  ‘Ops controller! Passive has a new contact on a bearing of 165 degrees.’

  On board the Astute Commander Roger Thwaite also knew the outstanding capabilities of his sonar equipment and could not understand how the new item had only just been detected. ‘Active ping!’ Thwaite commanded.

  The Astute sent out a high power sonar signal radiating in all directions. Any sound reflected back would be picked up by the Astute’s computers and converted into a radar-type picture on the scope. But it was already too late.

  As soon as Cetus heard the active ping its own computer systems went into attack mode. On-board computers had already powered up the sonic cannon to low power and the sub aligned itself in advance of its target. Rather like a sportsman on a clay pigeon shoot, Cetus needed to aim in front of the target. Sound waves from its weapon were surprisingly slow in traversing the dense water of the Atlantic. If Cetus didn’t compensate, by the time they arrived the target would have moved on. The computer systems ensured that by using the technique of ‘leading’ the beam in front of the direction of travel, the deadly sound waves would connect with the target.

  The impact of the sonic waves pounding on Astute’s hull created a noise like the sound of a jet aircraft taking off in the room. Loose articles on tables fizzed and jumped about, spilling to the floor.

  ‘Sir!’ called out the Ship Control. ‘After plane controls are becoming hard to handle! Initiating Emergency Operating Procedure.’

  The commander acknowledged. ‘Petty Officer, issue ear muffs!’

  Petty officer Saunders opened a cupboard and started distributing headsets to everyone in the control centre. While they didn’t block out all of the sound energy, it protected ear drums from pain and possible rupture. Commander Thwaite began calling out evasion manoeuvres to shake off the attack.

  ‘Rudder jamming!’ called out the second helmsman.

  The volume of noise in the confined space rose again.

  ‘Sir’ the Chief Petty Officer shouted. ‘Reports from junior ratings in the bunk section. Nearly all are suffering from bleeding from the ears.’

  Thwaite turned to his XO. ‘Any ideas about the source of the attack Smithy?’

  Executive Officer Smith shook his head. ‘I think it’s time to leave.’

  ‘Action stations!’ Thwaite ordered immediately. ‘Surface, surface, surface!’ If the hull was breached he wanted to give his men the best opportunity they could to escape.

  Above all the noise and confusion came a huge ‘whump’ of an explosion that rolled up and down the narrow gangways of the Astute. Glass smashed in some of the gauges and men were thrown off their feet. Thwaite clung to his chair while asking all sections for damage reports. Many of the seamen were overpowered by the explosion, noise and vibration to report anything meaningful.

  ‘Hull intact - so far!’ shouted the watch leader.

  As HMS Astute powered towards the surface, the senior sonar rating thumbed his mike. ‘Commander, sonar. We have contact bearing 162 degrees. Unable to identify source.’

  ‘Torpedo room, prepare tubes one and two. Open the outer doors!’ the Commander snapped.

  Another huge ‘whump’ crashed through the steelwork and smoke started to pour into the control room.

  ‘Fire torpedoes one and two!’

  ‘Torpedoes away and clear!’ The report from the torpedo room was drowned out by a cry from his executive officer.

  ‘Hull breeched! We are taking on water!’ yelled the XO.

  ‘Blow main tanks’ the Commander shouted above the din.

  The submarine rocked as another explosion ripped through the close confines of the boat.

  Chapter 15

  The shock wave from the torpedo explosion radiated outward from the centre like an expanding ball. Cetus had little time to manoeuvre or prepare but it managed to face the wave front before it engulfed the submarine.

  The effect on Cetus was similar to being hit on the nose: it was slammed back and the aftershocks buffeted it further. Its sonar receptors would have been damaged beyond repair if the overload protection circuit hadn’t kicked in and shut them down the instant before the compression wave hit.

  Cetus recovered quickly and re-balanced its sonar sensitivity. Somewhere out in the darkness another torpedo was homing in.

  Fifty milliseconds later Cetus boosted power to its electric engine and called the evasion package for another course change. The operating systems driving Cetus acted in full defensive mode. It determined the sub needed to put as much distance between itself and the source of the threat. The preferred course took it directly into the path of the previous explosion, saving it from certain extinction.

  Demanding full power from the nuclear reactor plant, the sub put a hundred metres behind it as the second torpedo exploded well to the rear. By the time the wave front from this explosion caught up with the fleeing sub it had covered another 20 metres. It caused the sub to tumble through the wat
er but no lasting damage was caused.

  HMS Astute wasn’t faring so well. The flagship submarine of the British Navy was on her way to the bottom.

  ‘All fire parties to their stations! Blow remaining tanks. Call out depth!’ shouted Commander Roger Thwaite.

  There was a flurry of activity as men ran to their stations and started to report damage.

  ‘500 metres and descending!’ shouted out Ship Control.

  At least the vibrations caused by the unknown enemy had stopped. The Commander turned to his second officer. ‘Check how the team are dealing with the hull breech will you? Anything else they need, make sure they get it.’

  ‘550 metres’ called out Ship Control.

  Although the Commander knew that the maximum operational depth of the boat was 550 metres, no-one really knew what the crush depth was. Thwaite didn’t want to find out either – his life and the lives of the 98 men on board were at stake.

  ‘Reverse screw.’

  ‘Reversing screw’ echoed the throttle control-panel operator.

  They were still heading down bow first. The Commander calculated that the drag created by reversing the propeller at the stern might slow the descent.

  ‘580 metres’ sang out the Ship Control.

  Was it his imagination or was the rate of descent becoming less? Even so compression noises from the hull were increasing.

  The speaker crackled. ‘Executive Officer reporting. Team have breech under control. Water is still entering but it will be contained in the next 10 minutes.’

  ‘Thank you XO’ replied the Commander. ‘Try to make it sooner rather than later.’

  ‘600 metres.’ The speaker could not quite eliminate the fear in his voice.

  ‘Increase revolutions.’

  A judder ran throughout the length of the boat and the noise from propeller cavitations could be heard.

  ‘620 metres’ called out Ship Control. Sharp cracks could be heard as the outer hull compressed under the weight of water.

  Commander Thwaite looked aft as his XO arrived back on station. He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Water ingress has stopped sir and we’ve patched the breech for now.’

  ‘Thank you Smithy’ said the Commander dispassionately.

  ‘630 metres’ called out the Ship Control.

  ‘Any other suggestions?’ asked the Commander quietly.

  The XO thought for a moment. ‘Maybe if we reduced the cavitations we might get a better reverse thrust?’ he said hopefully.

  The Commander knew that cavitations were pockets of air created by the propeller thrashing the water too quickly. By slowing its rotational speed the Executive Officer hoped for greater reverse thrust as the propellers increased contact with the surrounding water.

  ‘I’ll try anything right now,’ said the Commander as he picked up the mike.

  ‘Reduce revolutions to prevent cavitations.’

  ‘Reducing revolutions to prevent cavitations’ echoed the throttle control-panel operator.

  ‘638 metres’ called out the Ship Control.

  There was a particularly sharp crack. Some ratings ducked their heads, afraid that the hull was about to implode under the pressure of the ocean depths.

  ‘640 metres’ Ship Control called out. ‘Descent halted!’

  After Sean had gone Natasha ran a bath. Waiting for it to fill, she wondered if she could trust him. He had appeared just before Ben died, claiming to be his friend. How did she know he was what he claimed to be? Natasha shook her head. No, whatever Sean said he was, he wasn’t a killer. She was sure of that. The timing of his appearance must be a coincidence.

  Natasha felt the water temperature, added some more hot water and got in. There was something else that kept nagging at the back of her mind. When the warm water found the grazes she had received she bit her lip. She soaped her elbow where the skin had been rubbed raw during the sniper attack. She touched her bruised jaw where Sean had driven her face into the dirt.

  The way that Sean had moved so quickly had taken her completely by surprise. Although everyone was easy prey to the sniper he was the first to realise the danger and take command of the situation. He had tried to save her first and she was grateful for that because she was sure that this time they would succeed in their quest to kill her.

  But the speed at which he’d reacted told her that this was a man who had been under fire before. That thought led her to think about his job. If he worked for the British Security Services then Sean’s appearance around the time of Ben’s death might not be the coincidence he claimed it was. If he really belonged to the Service then maybe he was not really Ben’s friend at all? The thought chilled her despite the warmth of the bath. She noticed her hands beginning to shake again. She closed her eyes trying to calm the feeling of panic and helplessness.

  Another thought rose unbidden. Suppose it was Sean, not her, who was the object of the sniper attack? The two attacks might not be connected. Surely if Sean were some kind of agent then he was much more likely to be a target. After all what did she know compared to someone who was, frankly, a professional? Thoughts swirled around her head. She decided she was too exhausted to think any further. She put on her bath robe, towelled her hair dry and got into bed.

  Two minutes later she was fast asleep.

  After five hours Natasha woke with a jerk. It was completely dark. For a moment she was not sure where she was. With a great deal of effort she pushed the remnants of a bad dream away. She got out of bed and made a cup of tea but it didn’t have the normal restorative effect. Natasha felt a familiar sense of sadness return in the pit of her stomach.

  She wondered over to the window and pulled the curtain back a little to look out. She couldn’t see any police cars about. Perhaps they had popped out for a meal somewhere? That decided it: she was going to go away for a few days.

  Natasha looked at the clock. She would ring work later and leave a message for Stan. She began to pack a few things into a suitcase and made a sandwich with some leftover salad. As she collected the final few items for her trip she began to feel better at last.

  A few minutes later she locked up the apartment and went down to the car. Thankfully there was no-one about but she did wonder why the promised squad car hadn’t returned. She would ring them tomorrow.

  A block further down the road Sean watched as Natasha opened the boot of her car and threw in a suitcase. As she pulled away Sean followed slowly, keeping a discreet distance behind.

  ‘So Harris, have you found this rogue sub yet?’

  Harris let out a sigh. ‘We turned the task force back from the South Atlantic. I sent my best man to join them - Jock McIver – you might remember him from the Kola incident a few years back.’

  ‘I do – he’s a good man. What else have you got?’

  ‘We’ve interviewed everyone connected with the project to see if they are implicated. Nothing imminent there. We also spoke to all the senior technical people to see if they have any more ideas how the sub can be stopped. Unfortunately they’ve come up with nothing.’

  Harris looked at the President. ‘There is something else you should know Robert. There’s been a development further north and we think it’s related.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘We’ve just had a report from a NATO exercise in the Caribbean. It’s a mixed group of surface craft and submarines that are testing their communications and inter-ship procedures.’

  ‘Why do I feel I’m not going to like what you’re about to tell me?’

  Harris coughed weakly. ‘We were told that one of the submarines had to surface quickly.’

  ‘What’s the connection with our task force?’

  ‘The submarine was tagging behind the rest of the fleet. She’s a boat belonging to the British Navy called the Astute.’

  ‘So... maybe our Chinese friends were active in the area?’

  ‘We have a very full report from the Astute’s Commander via the Admiral of the fleet. The damage came from so
mething the Commander has never experienced before.’

  The President looked weary. ‘You’re going to tell me the boat was attacked by that experimental sub, right?’

  ‘It’s called Cetus, Robert. And yes, I’m afraid that is what it is beginning to look like.’

  It was a minute before the President asked the next question.

  ‘Casualties?’

  Harris glanced at his papers. ‘Over forty but none serious. Most reports were about bleeding from the ears. I understand that one sailor broke a leg when he fell. About a dozen sailors are recovering from smoke inhalation. Everyone is expected to recover though.’

  ‘Thank God for that’ the President said fervently.

  Harris coughed again. ‘Unfortunately that isn’t the end of the story.’

  ‘What, don’t tell me another ship was attacked?’

  ‘No, nothing like that Mr President. But in some ways it is worse.’

  ‘What could be worse?’ asked the President, genuinely mystified.

  Harris cleared his throat. ‘There was extensive damage to the boat. Everyone got out in time but the hull was breached. It took on water before it reaching the surface. The Admiral tells me there was water ingress to the nuclear power plant and it will require a major overhaul and refit. They’re still checking but some of the crew may have been exposed to abnormal levels of radiation.’

  A hush descended as they absorbed the shocking news.

  At last the President asked, ‘So you think that Cetus is responsible, but you can’t be absolutely sure?’

  ‘I wish I could say it happened because of something else’ Harris responded. ‘But in my view Cetus is responsible. We will still continue to keep an eye out in the South Atlantic, of course. But it looks like the sub is travelling north.’

  ‘Jesus, this just keeps on getting worse!’ The president let out a gasp of frustration. ‘What about those satellites you tasked?’