Hellfire

FIVE

On the fantail, one of the men Erica had been flirting with muttered, “Bitch.” He turned to stare out at the sea. A flash of light caught his attention. He perked up immediately. “Hey, fireworks!” He had just tapped his buddy on the shoulder to get him to turn around when the first missile struck.

After flashing through the air at almost impossible speeds, it penetrated the skin of the ship just above the waterline. From there, it continued through the ship for twenty feet before the delayed fuse detonated the warhead. This particular fuse was guaranteed to ensure the missile exploded deep inside a ship where it could create the most damage rather than simply piercing the outer compartments.

The compartment it finally entered was the main engineering space. This compartment housed the four boilers that were connected to steam turbines, as well as the reduction gear and the beginning of the propeller shaft.

Three engineers were in the compartment, although the normal watch required only one. One was working on a bilge pump, garnering some overtime. The man on watch was monitoring the gauges and dials that spelled out every detail of the ship’s engineering plant. A third was studying his emergency procedures book in preparation for the next Coast Guard classification exam.

They had just a split second to hear the soul-shattering noise of metal crumpling and twisting before the warhead detonated. The engineer on watch stood, and had taken one step toward his console when the warheads detonated.

Four point five kilograms of heavy explosive converted the metal immediately around it into molten fluid and shrapnel, and catapulted those droplets in all directions at once. They ripped through everything in their path, piercing more metal, until one shard punctured a fuel line.

The body of the missile continued on through the compartment, shoving the rest of the flaming debris in front of it. The remaining propulsion fuel in the weapon’s main body was ignited by a fireball, and contributed to the devastation.

The men in the compartment were flashed into charred corpses. They never knew that something had gone very, very wrong.

Although the engine compartment itself was surrounded by watertight compartments, it was not designed to withstand this assault. Additionally, none of the damage control hatches had been secured. The expanding ball of fire and hot gasses blew them off their hinges, and superheated steam, burning fuel, and fire poured to the upper decks, consuming everything in their path.

The explosion rocked the ship, not hard enough to throw people off their feet but enough to alert them that something was seriously wrong. Immediately, alarms began screaming at every console. The propeller shaft, no longer attached to the rest to the ship, with both of its shock-mounted seals breached, careened through the aft section of the ship. The drag of the water on the propeller began pulling it out of the ship, and it broke the watertight seals, allowing seawater to pour into the ship.

The fire was already burning through the decks and into the upper compartments, and smoke was billowing out of the stacks. On the fantail, a first few seconds of stunned silence gave way to immediate panic. As the sea poured into the hull and the ship took on a list, men and women clad in swimsuits crawled over each other in a mad stampede to move forward.

Jack and Erica, who were inside the ship at the time of the impact, were thrown against a bulkhead. The stampede of people now coming down their passageway was an angry, panicked mob.

Gaspert was operating on reflex, as any sailor must do in the first few critical seconds in order to prevent complete disaster. He shouted orders to damage control teams and ordered the rest of the crew into their preplanned roles in controlling the passengers and preparing for abandon ship. But it was difficult to round them all up and get them to their assigned lifeboat stations, much less ensure that they all had their safety gear on. Ninety percent of the passengers were in one of the three dining areas, and some were five decks away from their life preservers — even if they had remembered how to use them after the quick five-minute brief by their assigned abandon ship crew member.

Gaspert got on the ship’s intercom and tried to head off the hysteria. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a serious problem on the ship. No one is injured, but you must remain calm and follow the orders of my crew exactly as they are given in order to ensure your own safety. Please stay where you are. Senior crew members, take charge and execute general plan number two.” Plan two was the contingency developed to cover just this situation. It involved an immediate flood of crew members to break up groups of passengers into smaller, more controllable elements. Regardless of their assigned damage control station, the passengers would be dispatched to one of several areas.

Montego Bay was listing hard to port now, and the officer of the day was rapping out an oral message over the distress channel, informing all vessels in the area as well as Coast Guard stations in California and Hawaii of their exact situation. They were closer to Hawaii than California, but not by much. In fact, their nearest source of assistance was the Russian battle group, followed closely by the American one.

As the ship lurched hard to port, Gaspert finally accepted the inevitable. They were going to be abandoning ship. The operations officer on the USS Jefferson came on the distress channel and they began coordinating rescue operations.

The general stared aghast at the screen. The disaster was all too evident, especially given the call over the marine circuit from Jefferson to Montego Bay.

“What have you done?” he shouted at the captain. “A civilian ship!”

“You interfered with our operations,” the captain responded. “This is your fault, General. Do not expect me to take the blame for this.”

Gorshenko stared at the screen, his gut churning. Finally, he said, “I think there will be enough blame to go around, Captain. Now contact the Americans and offer your assistance.”

Gaspert ran aft down the starboard weatherdeck, pausing briefly at each lifeboat station to make sure that his crew had the situation in hand. There was surprisingly little panic. His crew had been firm, confident, and forceful. The passengers were assembled, in most cases already loaded into the boats, and a few were already in the process of being lowered to the sea.

The damage to the stern was too severe to permit him to cross to the other side of the ship, so he returned forward, and cut through the main stairwell to the other side. There, the situation was a bit more difficult, since that side of the ship was high. The angle made it difficult to lower the lifeboats without banging into the side of the ship, but again, the crew was managing astoundingly well.

Finally, convinced that he could do no more, Gaspert returned to his own lifeboat. All the passengers and crew were loaded, and they were waiting for him. He took his place, then activated the winch that would lower them to the sea. Once that was done, he turned to the next senior man present. “Report.”

“Twenty on board, three slightly injured, two seriously. One unconscious, having difficulty breathing. I think it may be a heart attack. The other serious is a broken leg.”

Gaspert surveyed the passengers and saw pale, frightened faces staring back him. One man was stretched out flat on his back, eyes closed. A few of the passengers who knew first aid were hovering over him, apparently ready to start CPR.

The boat hit the water, coming down harder than it should have. Gaspert and another crewman cast off the lines and shoved the boat away from the dying ship while the engineer started the engines. Within moments, the engine sputtered and caught and they were under way. All along the starboard side and, Gaspert hoped, on the port as well, the other boats were doing the same thing.

A series of explosions rocked Montego Bay and rained debris on them. Gaspert shouted, but the noise was deafening. Between the fire and the explosions, no one could hear him.

That was when the real value of the training became apparent. No orders were necessary — the helmsman simply jammed the throttles forward and turned them at right angles to the ship, putting as much distance between them as possible. The other boats followed his lead, and soon they were far enough away that they could resume trying to navigate.

A hundred yards from the cruise ship, the noise was significantly reduced. Gaspert shouted, “Astern!” and pointed toward the aft end of the ship. That would be the mustering point. His boat led the way, and the others followed, moving slowly and keeping a safe distance between them. There was no point in surviving abandon ship only to collide with each other.

As they reassembled astern, the radio reports started coming in. One by one, each boat reported a full and complete muster. As he listened to the numbers rolling in, Gaspert felt sick. Not a single boat had everyone on it that it was supposed to.

Overhead, helicopters were on the horizon, a string of them making a beeline for them. Gaspert breathed a prayer of thanksgiving then turned to the navigator. “Assign each boat a sector. I want every square inch of this water searched, consistent with safety. And get me Jefferson on the radio.”

From the moment the decision was made to go to EMCON condition Echo, an odd silence settled over in TFCC. The religious were praying, and everyone else focused his or her thoughts on just one objective, offering it up to whoever might be in charge of things, if indeed there was anybody. Both the religious and nonreligious pleas and prayers were remarkably similar.

Please, please, don’t let it hit the cruise ship. Let it be a dud, a typical example of Russian engineering. Let there be a fishing boat, anything, but please, please not the cruise ship.

The prayers went unanswered, as did the pleas and threats. Deprived of its rich, tempting target radiating energy on so many bands, the seeker had cast about until it found another source. Not nearly as enticing, certainly. A meager meal compared to the aircraft carrier and her escorts. But, approaching the missile equivalent of starvation, the secondary target would have to do.

It did not require much of a change of course for the missile to intercept Montego Bay. It twitched slightly in that air, tipped over, descended to barely above the waves and bore in.

“Flight deck, TAO! Set flight quarters for rescue-at-sea operations!” Hanson rapped out a series of orders to the other ships, turning them toward the cruise liner and ordering them to flight quarters.

“Jefferson, this is the captain of Montego Bay,” a tightly controlled voice said. “I am preparing to abandon ship. We’ve taken two hits in our stern. We have a main space fire out of control. I estimate I have approximately ten minutes to get everyone off the ship and into the water, one way or another.”

The admiral picked up the handset. “Roger, Montego Bay, copy all. I have all units en route to your position to render assistance. Just get them in the water, sir — we’ll take care of you.”

Just then, a rough foreign voice broke in. “We, also, can help.” Hearing the Russian accent froze everyone’s blood.

“That will not be necessary,” the admiral replied, ice in his voice. “If you attempt to interfere with rescue operations under my command, we will open fire. And if we do, it will be far less despicable than attacking an unarmed cruise ship. Now clear this circuit before you get more people killed.

“Montego Bay, Jefferson. We’re deploying rescue helicopters with SAR swimmers, as well as small boats, in your direction. Estimate the helicopters overhead in approximately five mikes. The small boats are proceeding at flank speed and estimate fifteen mikes. What other assistance can we render at this time, sir?”

There was no immediate answer, although a cacophony of commands, screams, and shouts came over the circuit. Evidently the captain had keyed the mike but could not yet take the time to speak to them.

Finally, Gaspert said, “We shall expect you shortly, then. Request you search the area for individuals in the water while I organize the lifeboats into some form of convoy. Suggest one of your small ships stay upwind to create a lee for lifeboat launches. When we’ve got them all in the water, we’ll proceed in your direction at best speed.”

“How long to get the platform deployed?” the admiral asked Hanson.

“Twenty minutes, maybe less.”

“Make it ten.” The admiral turned his attention back to Gaspert. “We will be prepared to receive your boats when you get here.”

“Medical teams, casualty teams,” Gaspert continued. There was more background chatter over the circuit, and from what the admiral could gather, the damage control efforts were being abandoned completely. “We are leaving the circuit, will contact you from the radio in the lifeboat as soon as possible. Montego Bay, out.”

The Russian returned to the circuit. “We did not intend to fire on the cruise ship.”

“Nor on us,” the admiral said acidly. “Funny, that doesn’t make it any better. Now clear the circuit, sir, or I will open fire.”