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Four Exocets leaped from launchers in rapid succession. Two streaked toward the Oregon, the others toward the Deepwater, which was now moving away from the Portland at top speed.
The Oregon’s Gatling guns emerged from hidden positions, and the six-barreled weapons began unleashing three thousand rounds per minute. The heavy tungsten tracer shells homed in on the missiles. Two of the Exocets were shot down halfway to their targets. One slammed into the bridge of the Oregon and erupted in a huge fireball.
Tate cursed because he knew there was nothing of value on the bridge. It was merely an observation post and decoy used for fooling visitors. Juan and his command crew were nestled deep within the ship in the op center, protected by the ship’s armor cladding just like he was.
The fourth missile shot past the Oregon and looked like it might take out the Deepwater before it could get away, but the Gatling gun on the opposite side of the Oregon blew it apart moments from impact.
The Deepwater was swallowed by the fog. At the same time, the Abtao’s two sections went down in a swirl of white water and foam. There was no sign of survivors.
Tate was furious. Unlike Juan, whose own anti-ship missile launcher looked too damaged to function, Tate could f
ire another spread of missiles. That was a futile tactic. They’d probably be shot down just like the last ones.
“Prepare to launch torpedoes at the Oregon!” Tate shouted. “I want that ship sunk!”
56
In the Oregon’s op center, Juan couldn’t get comfortable in his command chair. The sonic disruptor was setting his teeth on edge and making his skin crawl, like he’d had sixteen cups of coffee, and everyone around him looked just as uneasy. But they weren’t going crazy. Murph and Julia’s hull vibration solution to partially neutralize the acoustic weapon seemed to be working.
For the last two days, they’d been traveling at maximum speed to intercept the Portland before she reached her target, yet it wasn’t fast enough. Juan had been planning to surprise the Portland as she came through the islands. He was just going to wait until he saw her bow pass by as he hid in a cove, slamming four torpedoes into her before Tate knew the Oregon was anywhere near him. The planned sneak attack wasn’t sporting, which was exactly the point. Juan would have been very happy to send the Portland to the bottom without her firing a shot.
The radio traffic they overheard between the Deepwater and the Abtao changed everything. Juan recognized Durchenko’s voice from when he’d been held captive on the Portland. He couldn’t let the NUMA ship be taken by Tate. It would have changed everything. Juan ordered the Oregon into the fog using the ship’s LiDAR system to guide them through the narrow straits. As soon as they had a lock on the missile boat, he fired.
Unfortunately, so did Durchenko. Three of the Harpoons missed, but one of them made a direct hit on the Oregon’s missile launcher. It would take days to fix it even if it were in dry dock.
The rest of the damage report wasn’t much better. The same blast that took out the launcher also destroyed the controls for the torpedo countermeasures. And although the bridge in the superstructure was cosmetic only, the explosion from the Exocet also wiped out the radar atop it so any range-finding would have to be done manually. Luckily, the LiDAR was still operational, so they could disappear back into the fog after they’d given cover for the Deepwater to escape.
“Murph,” Juan said, “launch two torpedoes at the Portland.”
“Aye, Chairman,” Murph replied. “Torpedoes away.”
On-screen, Juan could see the torpedoes ejected from the launchers and splash into the water.
“Two minutes to target,” Murph said.
“Hali, what is the Deepwater’s status?”
“Her engines are severely damaged,” Hali replied. “Captain Jefferson says they’re limping along. No way they can make it all the way back to Punta Arenas without effecting repairs.”
“Tell her to take shelter where she can, and we’ll try to keep the Portland away from her.”
“Aye, Chairman.”
Hali was in secure radio contact with Jefferson. Although she couldn’t call out for help on the satellite link, she still had an operational short-range radio on board. The disabled satellite dish didn’t matter anyway. By the time any Chilean Navy ships could arrive, this would all be over, one way or the other.
Once the Deepwater was past the island, she could turn in any one of multiple directions, making it difficult for the Portland to find her.
But they had to give her time.
“Chairman,” Hali said, his tone urgent. “I just got a call from the Deepwater that the sonobuoy they installed in this channel is detecting two unknown high-pitched signals heading our way. At the speed they’re going, they’ll hit us in one minute.”
“Torpedoes,” Juan said. It was the drawback Murph had warned him about when he modified the sonar to counteract the sonic disruptor. They were blind to anything coming at them from under the water.
“Thirty more seconds for ours,” Murph said. “The Portland is backing behind that small island and has released countermeasures.”
Juan pounded his armrest in frustration. Those were exactly the tactics he would take himself, except he didn’t have the cover of an island to hide behind and he couldn’t deploy his audio decoys to lure the torpedoes away from the Oregon because they had been destroyed by the Abtao’s Harpoon missile.
Tate’s gambit worked. The Oregon’s torpedoes impacted harmlessly against the island, blasting chunks of rocks off the cliff that tumbled into the water in a minor avalanche.
