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1614 GMT
HAN 405

Only the officers aboard Chinese nuclear submarines wore dosimeter badges. Last night Captain Chou Hua’s badge was already starting to turn milky, indicating that he was taking too much radiation.

It was why China’s submarine commanders, when they did sail, would never hesitate to fight. Do the job, get it over with, and return to base. It was a man’s only chance at survival.

Pity his chief engineer, Lt. Cmdr. Xu Yongguo, and the poor bastards back in engineering, right next to the leaking reactor, didn’t have the same chance. When they left on a long mission, base records pulled their files and sent them to graves registration just in case. It’s one of the reasons most Chinese nuclear submarines spent most of their time tied to the docks. They were death traps.

“Conn, sonar.”

Capt. Hua pulled down the growler phone. “Have the Americans started their move?”

“Yes, sir. They closed the two outer doors they used to fire the missiles, and I am detecting reloading sounds.”

“Course and speed?”

“One-two-five, accelerating now through twenty knots, captain. I don’t know if they’ve detected us, but I think I know what their captain will attempt to do.”

The chief sonarman was Lt. Youan Peng Fei. He was the nephew of Vice Adm. He Peng Fei, a deputy commander in chief of the navy. He was a bright young man, who, because of his position and connections, was not hesitant to use his brain and to express his opinion.

“Stand by,” Hua said. He turned to his executive officer, Lt. Cmdr. Shi Tsu-Lin. “Fire tubes one, two, three, and four. Seawolf is on the way out.”

“Yes, sir,” his XO snapped. He turned and issued the firing point procedures and match bearings orders.

“Captain, I think that the Americans plan on shooting their way out of the bay,” Sonarman Peng Fei said. “I’ve worked out their probable firing solutions on the Soho and Najin. If they could take out those two ships, they would be clear.”

“Which is why we are here, Lieutenant,” Captain Hua said. “Attend to your duties. I want to know the moment Seawolf does anything else. Anything at all.”

“Fire one,” Tsu-Lin ordered.

The first SET-65E was ejected from the 533mm farthermost starboard tube on a blast of compressed air that made the entire hull ring like a bell.

The XO fired tubes two, three, and four at two-second intervals. It was the signal for the other three submarines in the flotilla to each fire four of their fish.

Sixteen torpedoes would soon be heading toward one very good American submarine. But only one submarine for all that.

“Everyone shoots at once and keeps shooting until the American is dead,” Hua said.

His XO looked over. “Yes, sir. But first I think that he will kill some of us.”

“Yes, he almost certainly will,” Hua agreed. “Fate.”