Page 55 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier

All eyes fixed on the laser. Nothing could be seen or heard. The laser light was invisible and silent, though the superheated air rippled like a mirage.

Six seconds passed. It felt like an eternity.

Nothing happened.

The digital clock sped past 17.6 seconds.

“What about the LaWS?” Max asked.

“No effect,” Eric said. “Maybe they have some kind of reflective coating?”

“Missiles now at four miles—”

Murph’s voice was cut off by the roar of two of the Kashtan’s missiles auto-launching. The system was programmed to launch at targets reaching within four miles of the ship.

“Kashtans should impact in five point four seconds,” Murph reported.

Two heavy thuds like mortar rounds sounded high overhead.

“Chaff deployed,” Eric said.

“Kill the Klaxon,” Max said as he did the math in his head. If those Kashtan missiles missed their marks, the incoming rockets would hit theOregonin just over twelve seconds.

Five seconds passed like five hours.

“Incoming missiles breaking up,” Murph shouted.

The op center broke out in cheers.

“Sonar detects two splashes,” Eric said, breaking the celebration.

“Debris?” Max asked.

“No. Two high-speed screws detected—tangos one and two coming in hot.”

Murph tapped his screen. “Estimated time of impact…thirty seconds.”

“Activate automated anti-torpedo systems,” Max said.

“Paket activated,” Murph said. The Russian-built anti-torpedo system featured ten-foot-long mini torpedoes. Another wall monitor camera pulled up the Paket launchers. Two Paket torps burst out of their tubes and hit the water.

“Pakets away,” Murph said.

“Manual override, Wepps. Put two more fish in the water.”

Murph grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He smashed two firing buttons on his panel and two more Paket torpedoes launched into the water.

“Helm—evasive maneuvers, now!”

Eric slammed the throttles. The giant freighter’s deep-V monohull reared like a racehorse out of the gate and charged forward through the dark blue water, its massive frame stabilized by T-foils and fins fixed to the keel.

A mirror image of Murph’s monitor popped up on another wall screen. Four virtual Pakets depicted in green raced toward two incoming red icons.

The clock counted down. At just over fourteen seconds the first Paket collided with the first incoming torpedo.

“Tango one destroyed,” Murph announced.

But the second Paket missed its target.