Red Tide, стр. 92
First, the Contrail, and now this. Ryson felt a gigantic hole open up in the pit of his stomach. Vos. What about Vos? Grief threatened to overwhelm him. Not now, Ryson thought, not now. Focus.
Then, as quickly as it began, the barrage was over. And when a minute passed without another barrage, Ryson concluded that the Sea Dragon’s launchers were empty.
Suddenly, and unbidden, the song Highway to Hell by AC/DC began to blast over the squadron’s radios. Moy looked at Ryson as if to say, “Kill it?”
Ryson shook his head. He could see the low-lying smudge ahead. “We’re going in!” Ryson shouted over the music. “Into the lagoon! Engage with guns!”
That was when a shell from the Sea Dragon’s railgun hit the HMAS Kalbarri, and broke the Australian boat in half. Ryson swore, as the Arcus led the Fractus, the Stratus, and the Nimbus in through one of two passageways which provided access to the lagoon.
All of the PHMs were foilborne and began to fire the moment the Sea Dragon came into view. The HMAS Rockhampton, meanwhile, was still to the south and trying to catch up.
Ryson watched in horror as the Sea Dragon’s bow turned toward what he thought of as Passageway Number 1, while the cruiser’s railgun began to track the Fractus.
A single shot was all it took to kill the PHM. The rock and roll music stopped.
Slowly, but surely, the Sea Dragon was gaining speed. And Ryson’s orders were to keep her bottled up. That was the moment when an artillery shell hit the Arcus in the stern. Artillery, Ryson thought. The possibility never occurred to me. I’m a fucking idiot.
“The steering’s gone!” the helmsman shouted, as the PHM roared toward a sandy beach. “We’re going in!”
The words were followed by a jolt as the foils hit the bottom, held for a moment, and collapsed. Water flew up all around as the hydrofoil came down twenty feet short of the beach. Ryson was thrown forwards, hit his head, and fell to the deck.
His head hurt, and Ryson felt dizzy, as he stumbled out of the wheelhouse. The Nimbus was still in it, and turning a wide circle, as commanding officer Marie Moreno went at the Chinese cruiser with her gun blazing. Ryson saw hits all over the deck and around the remaining conning tower. But the shells had little effect.
Ryson felt his heart sink as shore batteries fired, waterspouts rose all around the hydrofoil, and a shell fell on the boat. The resulting explosion sent a blast wave surging across the lagoon. Ryson felt the warm air collide with his face. It’s over, he thought bitterly. Dozens of lives lost for nothing.
Then the HMAS Rockhampton roared into the Lagoon with a bone in her teeth. Ryson wanted to order skipper Lieutenant Mike Christian to break it off, to save his crew, when he saw the boat’s starboard torpedo launcher. “Oh, my God,” Ryson shouted. “Mike’s going to do it! He’s going to take a shot at the bitch!”
As Ryson watched, a Mark 48 torpedo shot out of the launcher and splashed into the water. A trail could be seen as the long, sleek weapon sought its target.
Ryson couldn’t see the Rockhampton’s port side from where he was, but assumed that the other torpedo was racing toward the Sea Dragon as well, and traveling at 52 knots.
Taken together the weapons were packing 2,000 pounds worth of explosive. And the range was so short that it would be almost impossible to miss. And Mike didn’t.
The Mark 48s slammed into the Chinese cruisier about half way down its 667-foot length, going off within seconds of each other. Ryson cheered as the blast wave from overlapping explosions sent waves rippling across the lagoon.
Pillars of fire jetted up through two of the hatches through which missiles were launched; the enemy ship shook as if palsied, and uttered what sounded like a groan. Then the cruiser broke in half.
The Sea Dragon couldn’t sink. The water wasn’t deep enough for that. So, she came to rest on the bottom, as ant-like crewmen poured up and out of Conning Tower 1.
Ryson was still celebrating when an artillery round went off one hundred feet away and tiny bits of shrapnel peppered his body. Moy was there to grab and drag him away. “Come with me, sir … Mike will pick us up from the other side of the reef.”
There were Chinese installations a thousand yards to the left, and an equal distance to the right. Moy was careful to split the distance between them. Small arms fire threw up geysers of sand as Chinese soldiers advanced from both directions.
But the Rockhampton was bow-on to the beach by then. And the Armindale’s port and starboard fifty-caliber machines guns were more than sufficient to keep the Chinese soldiers at bay.
Ryson stood by as Moy urged his sailors into the surf and took a count to make sure that all of them were accounted for. Only then did the officers follow. The water was blood warm.
RIB boats arrived to pluck the Arc’s crew out of the water and carry them to the Rockhampton. Once everyone was aboard, and RIBs were stowed, the Armindale backed away—guns firing.
Ryson made his way to the bridge. Lieutenant Mike Christian had a huge grin on his face. “You were right, sir … Torpedoes work.”
Ryson laughed. “And you made the most of them, Mike … I’ve never seen a finer sight. Your entry into the lagoon, and the run that followed, is worthy of a painting.
“I suspect the Australian government is going to hang medals all over your body. Now, if you could put me with a radio tech, I have some calls to make. I hope