“Cancel the security sweep,” Amanda replied in disgust. “Harconan’s here on the bridge with me, sightseeing.”
MacIntyre muttered a curse. “I’ll be up there personally with a detail and a set of irons.”
A sudden downpour lashed the bridge windows and the lights of the oncoming Indonesian frigates faded out of visibility.
“Negative, Elliot. It’s too late! The cat’s out of the bag and we have more important things to worry about. Cut all deck
and running lights!”
With each accelerating beat of her propellers, the Shenandoah was gaining speed and devouring distance. Amanda shot another glance at the
tactical. “Range now three miles and closing rapidly. Advise all attack elements!
Engagement imminent! Stand by to open fire!”
“This should prove most interesting,” Harconan said, strolling back to stand at her shoulder. “You’re taking us in to point blank range.”
“And I intend to get a lot closer,” she snapped back. “CIC, stand by to invert running lights.”
“What do you plan to do?” Harconan mused. “Ram him?”
“That’s the idea.”
“What?” It was Harconan’s turn to be taken by surprise. “You can’t be serious?”
“Why not? When I set the design parameters of this ship, it occurred to me that
the ability to stage the occasional accidental collision at sea could prove
useful. The ship we modeled the Shenandoah on was ice strengthened for Arctic operations, so we built the concept. This Shenandoah has a hull like an icebreaker. She’s double-framed and cross-braced and her bow plating is three inches thick, made
out of DY-100 steel salvaged out of a nuclear sub hull.”
“Magnificent,” Harconan murmured. “Simply magnificent!”
*
On the bridge of the frigate Fatahillah, the skipper peered nervously into the night. Even with his night glasses he couldn’t pick up the lights of that damn bulk carrier in this murk.
“Radar, range and bearing on that freighter?”
“Bearing zero three five off the starboard bow, angle off increasing. Range
indefinite.”
“Indefinite? What do you mean indefinite?”
“We have the bearing but the range keeps breaking up. We seem to have a scope
malfunction, sir. Conducting diagnostic now. Target should be out at about
three miles.”
Should be? About? This was a ship handler’s nightmare! Blundering about in sloppy weather with a squadron in column behind him and a Greek freighter standing on towards him and all with a dicky radar.
“Damn it, Radar. Get me a range on that merchant ship!”
By the international maritime Rules of the Road, the bulk carrier should be passing safely to starboard of him, but who could say what a crazy freighter captain might do?
By common sense, he should also reduce speed until the plot clarified, but he couldn’t do that without first contacting the task force flag and throwing the whole column into disarray.
This couldn’t possibly get worse.
“Radar, where the hell is that range?”
“I’m sorry, captain, but we’re still getting inconsistent ranging in the forward arcs of both the surface
search and navigational radars.”
Both systems? But how could both systems possibly malfunctioning in exactly the same way at exactly the same time?
*
“Helmsman, now!” Amanda cried. “Turn in on him! Hard over! Set collision bearing!’
The brass wheel spun and glinted in the binnacle light. “Helm is hard over, Captain! Target ship is now bearing zero off the bow!”
They were about to unleash one of the most ancient and devastating of all naval attacks.
“CIC, this is the bridge. Invert the running lights! Sound collision alarm! Stand
by to ram!”
*
“Ship off the starboard bow! Bearing zero four five!” one of the Fatahillah’s lookouts yelled.
Through the water-streaked bridge windscreen, a pair of red and green ship’s running lights that had suddenly become clear.
Something was wrong, the frigate’s captain thought feverishly. By the International Maritime Rules of the Road, the merchantman would be showing a red running light to port and a green to starboard.
But by her lights, the bulk carrier had suddenly turned away from the task force and out of the channel and was steaming hard for the northern coast of Lingga Island.
The frigate’s commander lifted his night glasses. “Have the Radio Room hail that …”
His binoculars centered. He could make out a shape between those lights now, an angular outline. But it wasn’t a ship’s stern as it should be. It was a bow.
The sanity of the Fatahillah’s captain trembled. The bulk carrier’s running lights were reversed. It wasn’t steaming away; it was bearing down on them!
“All engines ahead emergency!” The scream tore from his throat. “Hard left rudder!”
