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“One, two, three, launch.” Nguyen’s flat voice was immediately drowned out by an explosive roar and a shaking as the first missile, forty feet long and weighing more than fifty tons, was ejected from its launch tube like a gigantic jack-in-the-box. It was forced up through the last twoscore feet of ocean by its ejection charges and leaped into the air. At the top of its porpoise-like breach, its main engine ignited and the enormous weapon powered skyward on a column of flame and smoke, carrying twelve independently targeted warheads toward their deadly destiny.
Bitzer fiddled with the controls, mumbling. He adjusted ballast to compensate for the lost weight and set down angle on the dive planes, keeping the boat from approaching the surface. There had to be enough water between each missile’s main engine ignition and the boat, or it would fry them in the blowtorch of its exhaust.
“One, two, three, neutral. Select missile number two. One, two, three, arm. One, two, three, fire.” A pause for the next pounding, titans in a gigantic bowling alley. “One, two, three, neutral.”
The sequence proceeded according to Nguyen’s machine-like call, a metronome ticking off ejections of nuclear fireworks. Earth had never witnessed such a thing; the fifty-plus nuclear detonations scattered over the last few years were being overtaken even now in number and power by two hundred sixteen hells flung into the sky in merely six minutes.
Throughout, Bitzer fought the boat as it rang and shook. He pumped ballast and he angled his dive planes downward and he worked the throttles to their full limits.
“That’s the lot. Closing missile hatches. Diving the boat. Depth one hundred. One fifty. Two hundred. Twenty-seven knots. Probably the best we can do.”
A buzzing sound intruded on the now-quiet control room. “What’s that?” Jill asked.
“Oh, bollocks. Get over there where the light’s flashing. What does it say?” Bitzer asked.
She hunched down to look at the display. “It says ‘Countermeasures’ and below that it says ‘Inbound Active’ in flashing text.”
“Someone fired a torpedo at us. It’s within five thousand yards – two or three minutes at most. Here, lass, come here.”
She ran over to the helm, ignoring his familiarity.
“Take the helm, hold it just there. Just like I was, bloody hell.” Bonnagh wormed his way around the Marine to flip switches and punch buttons frantically at the countermeasures station. “Hail Mary full of grace. Jaysus, Mary and Joseph there we go. Both herrings away.” He came back and seized the helm from Repeth.
Seconds ticked by. “Three hundred. Three fifty. Four hundred. It looks like the countermeasures pulled it off us. Might want to strap in. If we make it to six hundred we may live through this.”
