Red Tide, стр. 10
Thirty states belonged to NATO and squabbles were common. Israel wanted its Super Dvora Mk III patrol boats, rather than the Pegasus IIs, to lead the way. And after some high-level negotiations they received permission to do so. Ryson’s nemesis Segal would be pleased.
Ryson’s squadron was next, followed by some up-gunned British Scimitar patrol vessels, and a hodgepodge of vessels representing Greece, Italy and France.
An equally diverse selection of destroyers and frigates were to follow, along with two transports, both packed with troops. Admiral Canby knew he couldn’t occupy the entire sweep of the Black Sea’s coastline, but he sure as hell planned to seize the Russian naval base in Sevastopol, and return it to Crimea.
Ryson’s train of though was interrupted as Lieutenant Commander Stacy Sterling stepped out of the wheelhouse. She was the USS Mammatus’s CO, and Squadron 3’s XO. She had green eyes, a spray of freckles that crossed her nose, and navy-short hair. “The Israelis are going in, sir … And it sounds like the Russian boats are waiting for them.”
“All right,” Ryson said. “Let’s keep the formation tight. And, Stacy …”
“Sir?”
“Keep at least half of your Harpoons in reserve. Just in case.”
Sterling knew what Ryson was thinking. Everyone was aware that the Omsk was out there somewhere. And, if the Mammatus had to engage the cruiser, the boat’s Harpoon anti-ship missiles were the PHM’s only hope of putting a dent into the Russian behemoth. Sterling grinned. “Yes, sir. You can count on it.”
Ryson followed Sterling into the wheelhouse. There were three high-backed seats. One for Sterling, one for her coxswain, and one for a guest. Ryson in this case.
Communications were being monitored by a tech in the Electronic Equipment Room, located midship, but the chatter could be heard on the bridge as well.
A lot of the radio traffic was focused on the Italian boat that had run aground, the effort to rescue a seaman who had fallen off the stern of a Scimitar, and a civilian freighter which was trying to enter the Black Sea ahead of the navy vessels. Never mind the fact that it would be sunk.
One-by-one the problems were solved. The Mammatus was ready to follow as Segal’s boats roared into the Black Sea. Like other PHMs, the “M” could operate in the hull borne mode for low-speed travel, or “fly” with the foil extended.
And at the moment, the Mammatus was hull-down, and gradually increasing speed from 8 knots, to about 29 knots, when the boat would become foilborne. The Peg Twos had a great deal in common with the original boats, but there were significant differences too. Not the least of which were superconducting propulsion systems that consisted of two engines, sometimes referred to as “prime movers,” along with generators, and the electric motor controllers that were connected to the ship’s propeller shafts.
In order to deliver greater reliability, two drive motors were connected to each foilborne propeller. So even if one drive motor failed, the boat could still operate at foilborne speeds of up to 36 knots per hour.
Sterling made the announcement that the Mammatus was foilborne, followed by her boat’s motto, which was: “Omnes interficere.” (Kill them all.)
A cheer went up over the intercom and Ryson grinned. Morale was high, and that was good. The Mammatus was blasting along at 52 knots by that time, and the main deck was high above the sea. Rather than what a novice might expect, the ride was rock steady. Just one of the reasons why hydrofoils were good gun platforms.
But steering required considerable skill. The boats were designed to “fly by wire.” And the analogy was apt, since the foils had aileron-like flaps, similar to aircraft wings.
The flaps were coupled to the helm via redundant systems of computers, gyros and accelerometers. Once a course was dialed into the ACS (Automatic Control System) the Mammatus could steer herself. But always under the watchful eyes of the coxswain and a deck officer.
Under combat conditions however, it was impossible to follow a set course. And that meant Petty Officer Po, Sterling’s coxswain, would have the ticklish job of steering the boat as the ACS tried to second guess him.
Squadron 3 was spread out by then with all four boats foilborne and traveling abreast of each other. The Peg Twos carried scaled down versions of the AN/SPY-6 integrated air and missile defense radars used on destroyers.
Electronics Technician Deen was hunkered down in the PHM’s tiny CIC, his eyes flicking from screen-to-screen. He described the action. “We have six, repeat six, bogeys inbound from the northwest,” Deen said. “Based on the feed from the fleet drone they are Russian Raptor patrol boats. Range ten miles and closing.”
Sterling went off intercom in order to query the ship’s AI, which the crew referred to as “Aunt Ida,” because of its soothing female persona. “Give me a readout on Russian Raptor patrol boats.”
Ryson could hear the response. “Russian Raptors are 55 feet long, powered by 2000 hp engines, and equipped with a full suite of cutting edge nav and com systems. Raptors are armed with a remotely operated 14.5mm machine gun located aft of the wheelhouse and high enough to fire over it. Two 7.62mm machine guns are mounted in the stern. Say ‘Details,’ for additional information.”
“No missiles,” Ryson observed. “Good.”
Ryson selected Squadron 3’s frequency and spoke into his mike. “This is Scepter Six. We will engage the incoming targets with guns. After they pass through our formation, pull a one-eighty and reengage. Be careful who you shoot at. Over.”
There was a flurry of confirmations followed by radio silence. But there was no end to the traffic on the fleet freq, where Admiral Canby had some major problems to deal with, including a troop ship that sat dead in the water.
But that was Canby’s problem. Ryson was fighting a battle with himself.
He had to let Sterling command her