Shadows of the deep, p.44
Shadows of the Deep, page 44
Responding with swift decisiveness, Cutler gestured to Shultz to prepare for action. Both were equipped with semi-automatics cradled in their left hands, their right fingers ready on the hair-trigger. In unison, they raised their weapons to align with their line of sight. Taking point, Cutler started up the stairwell, with Shultz closely following just a step behind.
As they ascended, Cutler subtly transferred the weight of his weapon to his left hand and raised his right fist—a silent command for Shultz to pause and maintain silence. With careful precision, Cutler leaned forward to stealthily peek over the crest of the top stair, vigilant for any signs of danger or movement ahead.
After a quick scan, Cutler gestured to Shultz to step back and then joined him, whispering their next move. “This deck is clear. There’s a maintenance stairway leading to the funnels. Can’t see the exact number of terrorists, but they’re on the platform above. The smoke is a dead giveaway. We’ll adopt a crouch position—you move left, and I’ll go right. Stick to the perimeters where the light is dimmest; we’ll be harder to spot. Let’s rendezvous at the stairway’s base.”
“Understood,” Shultz responded, his voice low and steady.
Their progress was smooth, except for the need to navigate around the clutter of deckchairs strewn across the deck. As they neared the stairwell, the pungent smell of cordite grew stronger. Reaching the stairs, Cutler once again raised his fist, instructing Shultz to stay put.
Handing his gun to Shultz to avoid any accidental clanging against the stairs, Cutler drew his trusted Fairbairn–Sykes fighting knife, a double-edged blade. He placed it between his teeth and began a cautious, quadrupedal ascent. Upon reaching the top, Cutler turned away from the platform, took the knife from his mouth, and held it above the top stair. He moved it from side to side, using its reflective surface to discreetly survey the area ahead. Satisfied, he placed the knife back between his teeth and quietly descended to rejoin Shultz.
Cutler gestured towards the back of the metal stairway, signalling Shultz to position themselves out of the direct line of sight from the platform. He then raised three fingers—index, middle, and ring—and mimed a choking gesture, followed by crossing his hands as if they were bound. Shultz, understanding the message, raised his left fist in acknowledgment: three hostages were tied up.
Next, Cutler indicated the presence of two hostiles by raising his index and ring fingers, then touching his left forearm with his right hand. He then motioned his right arm downwards and behind him, a signal for Shultz to veer right when they reached the top of the stairwell.
On the platform, the situation was tense as the two terrorists hurriedly reloaded their missile launchers, ready to unleash another volley. In their haste, they had overlooked a crucial detail: the halogen lights remained active, starkly outlining their figures against the backdrop of the ship’s red funnel. This error made them distinctly visible and vulnerable.
One of the terrorists, with ruthless focus, had his sights set on the Zodiac speeding towards them, carrying the last of the SAS strike teams. This team, knowing the dangers awaiting them, continued their steady approach, aware of the hostile reception planned for them.
Near the terrorists, the situation for the two hostages was dire. Bound and forced into a kneeling position, their restraints were secured tightly to a balustrade. This strategic placement by the terrorists was sinister, putting the hostages in immediate danger and significantly complicating any rescue efforts by Cutler and Shultz. The close proximity of the hostages to the terrorists was a deliberate move to use them as human shields, adding a grave complication to an already tense situation. This required Cutler and Shultz to execute their rescue with extreme precision and tactical acumen, balancing the need to neutralize the threat while ensuring the hostages’ safety.
Aziz’s voice crackled through the terrorist’s headset with a new directive, “New target, 25 degrees east of true north from the Reef Explorer’s location.” The terrorist quickly shifted his focus, abandoning the standard rocket launcher for a more sophisticated piece of hardware. He grasped the Armitech-developed launcher, a cutting-edge weapon boasting a formidable range of ninety nautical miles, a vast improvement over the eight-kilometre range of the missile launchers aimed at the SAS boats.
With practiced precision, the terrorist inputted the coordinates for the new target, aligning the launcher to the specified 25 degrees east of true north. His fingers danced over the controls, setting the range with meticulous care.
Upon pulling the trigger, not a single missile but two erupted from the launcher in swift succession, blazing a trail across the sky. This simultaneous dual launch underscored the exceptional prowess of Armitech’s cutting-edge engineering, marking a groundbreaking advancement in missile technology. The capacity to fire multiple missiles in rapid sequence substantially heightened the level of threat posed by this innovative weaponry.
The acquisition of such a weapon was a sinister development, made possible by Conrad Ford’s dealings. Ford’s collaboration had ensured that Asfour, and in turn, Aziz, received this advanced Armitech rocket launcher, drastically escalating the terrorists’ firepower and posing a grave new threat to the mission and forces involved.
The second terrorist, with cold efficiency, followed suit and changed missile launcher and let off one missile towards the port of Tartus. The launch was a calculated move, aiming at the nuclear barge in the port. The launch of the missile not only heightened the stakes of the situation but also added an urgent timer to the unfolding events, as the consequences of its impact could be catastrophic. Cutler and Shultz, now dealing with multiple critical threats, needed to act with speed and decisiveness to prevent a tragedy.
In a moment thick with tension and anticipation, Cutler and Shultz, their senses heightened, waited just below the top step. These two minutes were crucial, allowing their eyes to acclimate to the glaring brightness above. Then, with a burst of adrenaline-fueled energy, they sprang into action, weapons primed and ready.
Cutler, with the precision of a seasoned operative, swiftly eliminated the terrorist on the port side before fully stepping onto the platform. Shultz, mirroring his partner’s efficiency, turned his focus to the terrorist on the starboard side. His shot was precise, instantly fatal, but it set off an unintended chain reaction. As the terrorist’s body spun from the force, his finger reflexively clenched on the trigger, launching a rocket that screeched through the air to violently collide with the Reef Explorer’s funnel. The impact was catastrophic, igniting an explosion that sent a storm of metal shards hurtling into the air, fortunately away from the hostages and the operatives.
The explosion’s shockwave was like an invisible, forceful hand, violently pushing back against everything in its path. Cutler and Shultz, caught in this maelstrom, were flung backwards with ferocious intensity. Shultz was sent hurtling down the stairwell, a whirlwind of motion that somehow, almost impossibly, missed every step, culminating in a jarring crash onto his back at the base. Cutler, on the other hand, was launched upwards and over the railing in a trajectory that defied gravity, only to come crashing down harshly onto the deck below, landing heavily on his side.
On board the USS Lincoln, Captain Reynolds observed the explosion in the distance, judging that either the ship was hit by a missile, or Cutler had not deactivated all the rigged explosives.
The four members elite of the SAS unit swarmed over the poop deck rails on the grapple lines Stahmer had secured as the explosion occurred. The strike leader stopped for a second and pushed his transmitter.
“Strike Team One, this is Strike Team Three. Strike Team Two down. We have just heard an explosion, can you confirm?”
Cutler was the first to recover, his right shoulder dislocated, and he had some blood on his face from a small piece of shrapnel. The transmitter was on a band around his neck, and he clicked it on with his left hand.
“Strike Team Three, Strike Team One. Stray missile when taking out two combatants, damage to the funnel but not critical,” Cutler reported.
“Roger, Strike Team One.” Shultz shook off the pain of the fall and staggered towards Cutler.
“You, okay?” Shultz asked, on seeing Cutler’s dangling arm. “Pop my arm back in and go check on the hostages,” Cutler replied.
Shultz gave the thumbs up to confirm the hostages had only received minor injuries as SAS Strike Team Four surged onto the deck. The squad leader said nothing but nodded his respect at Cutler and Shultz, and then they were gone, their mission to retake the bridge.
The tension in the air was palpable as the Russian guided-missile cruiser, now just 130 miles from the Reef Explorer, loomed ominously on the radar. Captain Mikhailov didn’t need the drama of glaring lights or blaring alarms; the quiet blips on the radar and the soft buzz of low-level alerts were enough to set his nerves on edge.
“Three missiles launched from the Reef Explorer, captain. One’s heading for Tartus, two are on our course,” the tactical officer reported, his voice steady but urgent.
“How far out?” Captain Mikhailov’s voice cut through the tense atmosphere.
“Eighteen nautical miles and closing fast,” came the reply, laced with the implicit urgency of the situation. The tactical officer was already lining up the ship’s short-range surface-to-air defence system, targeting the incoming missiles.
“Are they locked?” Mikhailov barked at his weapons officer, his tone sharp.
“We’ve got a lock on the two targeting us, but the third is bound for Tartus. It’ll hit before we can intercept,” the officer replied, the gravity of the situation evident in his voice.
“Launch!” Mikhailov’s command was curt, decisive.
As he ordered his communications officer to warn Tartus, Mikhailov relayed the dire situation to Admiral Sokolov. His expression grew graver with each word exchanged, tension etching deeper lines into his brow.
“Missiles one and two destroyed, Captain,” came the update, a brief respite in the mounting pressure.
“Good. Now target the Reef Explorer,” Admiral Sokolov commanded without hesitation.
The SS-N 12 Sandbox, a formidable surface-to-surface cruise missile, momentarily faltered as it broke free from its vertical housing, a brief pause that was almost imperceptible. But this hesitation lasted only a fraction of a second before the missile’s powerful engines roared to life, propelling it forward with ferocious speed and determination.
As it raced towards its target, the Reef Explorer, the missile maintained a harrowingly low trajectory, skimming just feet above the undulating surface of the ocean. This low-altitude flight pattern was strategic, designed to evade radar detection and make interception more difficult. The missile’s path, a blend of precision engineering and ruthless efficiency, was a chilling display of military prowess.
Equipped with a highly destructive payload, the SS-N 12 was more than just a weapon; it was a symbol of impending doom. Its design, optimized for maximum damage upon impact, ensured that it would unleash a devastating blow to its target. The sleek, menacing form of the missile cut through the air, leaving a trail of condensed air and sea spray in its wake, as it unerringly homed in on the Reef Explorer.
Aboard the USS Lincoln, the atmosphere shifted dramatically as Captain Reynolds received the startling update. The radar operator’s report, delivered in a tense, clipped tone, detailed the sudden emergence of three missiles from the Reef Explorer, followed swiftly by a Russian counterstrike. This information sent a ripple of shock through the vessel’s control room, instantly heightening the sense of urgency.
The room, usually a hub of disciplined activity, transformed into a whirlwind of intense action and sharp focus. The crew, well-trained for such emergencies, sprang into action, their movements swift and purposeful. Captain Reynolds, with a grave expression, issued the command for action stations. The sound of alarms, loud and insistent, reverberated throughout the ship, cutting through the air and signalling the severity of the threat.
Officers and sailors alike responded with a mixture of professionalism and underlying tension. The energy in the control room was palpable, a tangible manifestation of the crew’s readiness to confront the imminent danger. Each person, from seasoned officers to the youngest sailors, understood the gravity of the situation. They were not just facing a potential military confrontation, but also the very real possibility of a missile strike.
Captain Reynolds, standing firmly at the helm, issued orders with a calm yet commanding presence, directing his crew in the preparations to defend the ship and potentially engage the enemy. The USS Lincoln, a symbol of naval power, was now bracing for a confrontation that could escalate into a full-blown maritime conflict.
On a lifeboat a fair distance from the unfolding chaos, Aziz’s attention was glued to a computer screen, which displayed the alarming image of the SS-N 12 Sandbox surface-to-surface cruise missile hurtling through the air. With a sense of urgency, he whipped out his encrypted satellite secure phone and quickly sent a Snapchat message to Asfour: ‘Russian missile launched.’
Asfour’s response came rapidly, within twenty seconds, using the same modern, inconspicuous medium of communication. ‘They will fire a second, make sure you have everything in order before that,’ he advised, indicating the critical need for readiness in the face of escalating danger.
Meanwhile, aboard the USS Lincoln, Captain Reynolds was intensely focused on the radar screen. The missile was represented as a small, rapidly advancing blip, with data message boxes popping up to provide detailed information on its trajectory and speed. Without hesitation, he issued a decisive command. “Gunner’s mate quad six, seek and destroy missile heading towards Tartus.” In response, four Evolved Sea Sparrow missiles were launched with precision from the quad rocket launcher on the port side of the ship.
Captain Reynolds, not taking any chances, quickly followed with another command through his binoculars. “Gunners mate quad seven, seek and destroy Russian cruise missile heading towards Reef Explorer.” Another set of four Evolved Sea Sparrow missiles was promptly dispatched from the starboard side quad launcher.
The crew on the USS Lincoln, ranging from seasoned officers to young sailors, instantly recognized the distinctive sound of their missile launchers in action. They turned towards the spectacle, watching as the missiles blazed a trail into the evening sky, disappearing over the horizon within seconds.
The strategy was to position the Evolved Sea Sparrow missiles above the incoming Russian cruise missile and then knock it down from above. The advanced rear guidance system of these missiles afforded them exceptional manoeuvrability, though this feature also meant they expended their energy more rapidly. This was a calculated risk, considering the high stakes of intercepting the incoming threat before it could reach its target.
Aboard the Israeli Dolphin-class submarine, Captain Levy was in a critical position, just two miles west of the USS Lincoln. In a move marked by both strategic caution and the necessity to avoid friendly fire, his radio operator promptly informed the Lincoln of their position, ensuring clear lines of communication in the increasingly complex theatre of operations.
Captain Levy’s gaze was fixed on the radar, observing the sequence of events unfolding with rapid intensity. He tracked the missiles launched first from the Reef Explorer, then the Russian ship Serbia, and finally the counter-response from the USS Lincoln. With the situation escalating rapidly, he ordered his crew to action stations, readying them for any required engagement or defensive manoeuvres.
Meanwhile, the Russian cruise missile was rapidly closing in on the Reef Explorer, now only ten miles away and mere seconds from its target. Above, the Sea Sparrow missiles from the USS Lincoln locked onto their target, descending with lethal intent. The first two Sea Sparrows, however, fell short, missing the cruise missile by about sixty feet. It was a tense moment, but the third and fourth missiles did not miss their mark. The resulting explosion was deafening, the shockwave reverberating through the air and across the decks of the Reef Explorer. The passengers on the ship were engulfed in a wave of fear and panic, their terrified screams echoing in the aftermath of the explosion.
Captain Mikhailov, aboard the Russian ship, observed the destruction of his missiles with a mixture of frustration and resolve. “The Americans are protecting the ship,” he muttered, more to himself than his crew. He knew well the challenge of intercepting a single missile, but multiple strikes presented a far greater challenge. Determined, he ordered the launch of missiles two through four, ready to test the Americans’ defensive capabilities to their limits. In his mind, the destruction of the Reef Explorer seemed inevitable in this endgame scenario.
However, the situation took another turn as the Russian radar operator reported a new development. “Captain Mikhailov, we are picking up a signature for a Dolphin-class submarine, two miles west of the American position,” he announced. This revelation added yet another layer of complexity to the already tense situation, introducing a new and potentially game-changing element into the equation.
Captain Mikhailov, upon hearing about the Israeli Dolphin-class submarine, remained composed and focused. “Track its position and inform me immediately if they open their torpedo tubes,” he instructed. In this complex situation, even the smallest detail could tip the scales, and the presence of an Israeli submarine added a significant variable to his calculations.
Elsewhere, the intricacies of the terrorists’ plan were known only to Aziz and Khalid, a decision driven more by operational necessity than trust. As Khalid piloted the lifeboat, Aziz worked intently at a portable computer terminal. He extracted a hexagonal wolfram cylinder from a container and connected it to the laptop via USB. After a brief pause, he sent another message to Asfour: ‘WCU operational, securing.’ Their communication method, modern and seemingly casual, belied the gravity of their actions.
