The Fist of Allah (VI)
Near the Rangataran coast
The
Fist of Allah slowly crept underneath the warm waters of the Bay of Rangatara. Through the periscope the jungle-green coastline was just an emerald sliver drifting atop the never-ending blue of the sea.
They had been here for three days now, circling slowly as if they were waiting for their prey.
On the bridge of the submarine the mood was tense. All the officers were imminently aware that they were still being chased by an unknown submarine. The thought that at any moment they could be torpedoed if another captain so felt like it was distressing, even if the thought that such hadn’t happened already went some way to reassure them that this probably wouldn’t happen anytime soon.
“What are we doing here?” Mohammad Jihad leaned easily against the open door to the bridge. Regardless of the knowledge of their pursuers the catlike mujahedeen seemed perfectly comfortable in the claustrophobic confines of the submarine. Captain Mohammad wondered whether that was because he felt completely secure in the knowledge that Allah would protect him, or because he was just utterly insane. With every passing day she began to lean more toward the latter option.
“We are watching”, the captain replied at long last. “And waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
Captain A'shadieeyah Mohammad crossed her arms and stared intently into space. “For the opportunity.”
***
Captain Kuźmierczyk paced up and down the bridge of the PeZookian submarine
Orzel, heedless of the discomfort that caused his officers. He’d felt uneasy ever since the Crazy Ivan. There was something he was missing, he was sure of it. Their opponent was up to something, and he had no idea what it was.
“Sonar”, he called out for. “Anything?”
His sonar officer shook his head, a gesture made to look odd by the massive headphones clasped over his ears. “Nothing in particular. Quite a few noises, but very distant. That’s probably the Cascadian COG steaming up and down the coast.”
“That’s not what they’re after”, Kuźmierczyk shook his head. “These jihadis are smart cookies. Too smart to be suicidal. It must be something else...”
“Well, I’m not picking up anythi-” the sonar operator stopped mid-sentence. “Wait, hold on…”
***
Captain Mohammad peered through the periscope and smiled maliciously. It was true. There, in the distance near the coastline, something was moving. To untrained eyes it would look like only a fuzzy speck of black against the blue and green of the background but Mohammad was an experienced submariner, trained by some of the CSR’s best experts in recognizing ship’s silhouettes from afar in conditions far worse than these.
“It’s him”, she nodded as she pulled down the periscope.
“You are sure?” asked Faris al-Ghazi, her second-in-command.
“There can be no doubt about it. That is the traitor’s fuel barge. That is Omar Haytham.” Captain A'shadieeyah Mohammad leered viciously. “Gentlemen”, she announced, “The time has come. All crew to their battle stations. Load tubes two and three.”
“No mercy?” asked Al-Ghazi.
“No mercy”, the captain said grimly.
***
The Cascadian carrier
CRS Defiant coasted through the East Velarian Sea, some forty nautical miles from the coast. She and the amphibious ships she was escorting were surrounded by an intricate web of outwardly spiralling defences: first the Phalanx guns, the RAM-launchers and the quad-pack Evolved Sea Sparrow missiles. Then the close escorts: the guided missile cruiser
CRS Yukon, the air defence destroyer
CRS Nathan Mackensen and two nuclear attack submarines of the
Seawolf class.
Beyond the escorts sailed the outer pickets: three frigates of the
Patrick Jefferson class and the forward DESRON formed by the destroyers
CRS John Q. Adams and
CRS John Hunt. High above patrols of
Lightnings and
Sea Shrikes of
Defiant’s embarked air wings powered through the wet air, accompanied by an ECF-2 Skyeye AWACS craft.
It was a formidable armada, a fleet that packed more firepower than the entire arsenals of many Velarian states, a shield protecting the citizens of the Cascadian republics. Its weapons ensured the peace would hold; its multitude of sensors offered it an almost godlike vantage over the surrounding waters.
But to notice what was about to happen now she wouldn’t need her high-tech. The Mk. 1 Mod 0 human eyeball would be quite sufficient.
The quiet peace of the bridge of the
Defiant was brutally shattered by an eye-searing flash as a titanic explosion lit up the horizon in the far distance. Searing flames boiled upward. The sky seemed to catch on fire. Then the roar of the explosion slapped across the deck of the
Defiant in a gust of displaced hot air. Captain Whittaker watched in amazement as a scorching mushroom cloud rose skyward in the far distance. “What in the blazes was
that?”
***
The crew of the
Fist of Allah was too professional to yell or whoop, but even so a noticeable sense of excitement and satisfaction dominated the bridge. Weeks after the betrayal that had very nearly resulted in their untimely demise at the hands at the Zorian destroyer, the mujahedeen sailors had their revenge. Omar Haytham was dead. And what a magnificent death it was.
“The
dajjal, the traitor, is slain”, the captain pronounced solemnly. “May Allah, the most gracious, have mercy on his soul. Allāhu Akbar!”
“Allāhu Akbar!” echoed the bridge crew enthusiastically.
“Shall I set the course?” asked Al-Ghazi.
“Yes. Set a course for those who come to us.”
***
Alarm lights were flashing on the bridge of the
Orzel. The submarine was deep below the waves so it was not unduly inconvenienced by the explosion, but it was hard to miss the obliteration of the fuel barge. The rumble of the titanic blast easily would carry tens of miles, and the sensors of the PeZookian submarine were now picking up a massive and expanding pool of burning fuel.
“Christ almighty, what have those people
done?” an aghast captain Kuźmierczyk wondered. He had little time to wonder, however.
“Enemy submarine is changing course!” one of the bridge crew announced. “They are on the move and accelerating!”
What on Earth are these people up to? the captain wondered. He shook his head. He didn’t have a choice. “Send word of this to ELF. And follow them!”
***
“This is going to be an ecological disaster of pretty significant proportions”, Whittaker’s XO murmured under his breath. He and the captain studied the footage that was transmitted live from a hastily scrambled helicopter. The sea just off the coast was transformed into a raging inferno as the waves carried burning fuel closer and closer to the shore. In the midst of the fire the last remnants of a squat-looking ship were sinking into the maelstrom of flame. A column of black smoke rose toward the sky.
“Do we have any ideas what the devil just happened people?” demanded Whittaker.
“Looks like that Akori fuel barge we picked up a few hours earlier”, the XO shrugged. “They were within Rangataran territorial waters however. Said they were under way to Hadhramara.”
“So, was this an attack of a stupid accident?” the captain asked.
“Sirs! DESRON leader reports they are picking up faint sonar echoes”, a lieutenant interrupted, holding one of the bridge’s telephones in her hand. “
John Q. Adams is asking for permission to move in and investigate.”
“A submarine?” Whittaker frowned. He’d been briefed on mujahedeen activity on the high seas off East Velaria. This could be one of those ships. But they were an awful long distance from the Dragonsnake Basin. And why had they attacked a native fuel barge?
Whittaker made a split decision. This was a major incident, he couldn’t just let it slide. Besides, his fleet could handle a single small submarine. “Signal the fleet. Scramble ASW assets, we are moving in to intercept.”
***
The enemy was picking up an awful lot of speed, captain Kuźmierczyk noticed. They were up to sixteen knots and still accelerating, their screw making such a noise that
Orzel couldn’t help but hear it. He couldn’t make heads or tails of their behaviour.
Then, suddenly-
“They are turning!” his sonar officer called out. “Shit- Crazy Ivan!”
“Quick stop, all reverse!”
“What are they doing? What the hell are they
doing?”
“I’m picking up screw noises ahead sir” the sonar officer announced, who was finally able to hear beyond the screw noise of the submarine they had been chasing. “Uh, make that a
lot of screw noises up ahead… Captain, we’re headed directly for the Cascadian battlegroup!”
Right that moment Captain Kuźmierczyk realized exactly what his opponent had been doing. Their noisy acceleration had prevented his boat from noticing the oncoming ships. They’d been leading him to exactly where they wanted him to be-- right in the path of an entire Cascadian combined operations group, a fleet which by now surely would have picked up the rapidly accelerating submarine and would be out for blood.
And now they’d pulled a bait-and-switch, leaving him like a deer looking into the oncoming headlights of an angry destroyer squadron, packs of ASW helos, Lord knew how many advanced attack submarines… And what were the chances the Cascadians would be able to tell his Type 212 from the enemy Type 209?
“Surface! Surface and extend the radio mast!” Kuźmierczyk felt like tearing his hair out. They’d
tricked him. Played him like he was a green cadet right out of sub school.
“Fuck!”
***
Three hundred meters beneath the surface of the Bay of Rangatara the
Fist of Allah slid past the
Orzel after making the steepest 180-degree turn any submarine could possibly hope to make.
“I am picking up pump noises”, the sonar operator aboard the
Fist beamed at the captain. “The infidel submarine is surfacing captain, just as you predicted!”
“Allah provides”, smiled A'shadieeyah Mohammad. “Helm, bring us into the thermocline where the fleet will not notice us. God willing it will take them much time to come to an accord… Set a course for Hadramhara!”
By the time the PeZookian submarine captain convinced his Cascadian colleague of just what had transpired, the
Fist of Allah was far away, and on a course to drop its unusual passenger on the shores of Hadramhara…
Result: Sayonara, motherfuckers! The
Fist of Allah has shaken its tail and is getting the hell out of Dodge!
"
- PeZook
