Page 34 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

Klaxon alarms blared throughout the ship signaling general quarters.

An electronic voice shouted in the ship-wide speakers, “General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands man your battle stations! All hands man your battle stations!”

“Speed!” Cho shouted over the keening Klaxon.

“Computer says…1,911 knots.”

“Impossible.”

“Eleven seconds to impact.”

Cho bellowed at his combat team, the finest in the fleet.

“Helm! Get me flank speed! Emergency power! Fire Control—torpedo decoys, now!”

The destroyer lunged forward like a panther, ducking its steel shoulder deep into a steep turn as the ship’s four big turbo-diesels roared belowdecks. Techs grabbed their station desks or risked getting thrown out of their chairs.

“Eight seconds to impact.”

“Decoys away!”

“Sonar, get me a target fix on that tango,” Cho said. “Fire Control, put three Red Sharks on that tango—now!”

The chief’s gaze was fixed on his screen. Even across the room, Cho could see the speeding torpedo track racing toward his boat, blazing a curving red trail across the black screen as it tracked his fleeing ship.

Rage washed over Cho. The Klaxon roared overhead.

“Somebody kill that alarm!”

The instantaneous silence was immediately interrupted by the roar of three vertical launch tubes firing in succession, sending three Red Shark anti-sub rockets into the air. Within moments, the Red Shark rockets would release their homing torpedoes into the water.

“Can’t shake his track, Captain!” the chief shouted.

The fire control station reported dutifully, “Decoys failing.”

Cho cursed.None of this was possible!

He snatched up the mic for the ship’s intercom and punched a button.

“All hands, prepare for impact! Prepare for impact! Prepare—”

?

“Impact!” The North Korean sailor grinned ear to ear, his hands still clutching his headphones. “Sonar indicates a large explosion, sir.”

Captain Pak nodded, his own sly smile curling his thin mouth. There was no way theKing Jeongjo the Greatcould have survived such a strike. Even if the warhead hadn’t detonated, the kinetic energy of a nearly six-thousand-pound torpedo traveling at over nineteen hundred knots would have ripped through the destroyer’s hull like a railroad spike through a wet cocktail napkin.

All faces turned to their captain.

“Today we have made history. Today we have scalded the whimpering dogs,” Pak said. “And the Great Leader will wave our banner of glorious victory over our enemies.”

The bright young faces burned with pride.

And just as quickly, that pride was slapped away.

“Sonar reports one…two…three splashes, sir!”

Pak stiffened, fearing the worst.