Page 52 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest

“Debris?” Max asked.

The underwater sonar track appeared on a big wall monitor. All eyes turned to it. A cluster of twenty green blips appeared—and moving fast.

“Computer counts twenty…heading our way…high-speed screws—seven-zero knots!”

“Torps,” Juan said. “Sound battle stations.”

“Wait…Look,” Ross said as the Klaxon alarm rang.

The green dots split up into smaller triads, and the triads, in turn, split up. They began moving in strange patterns.

“They’re swarming,” Juan said.

“AI torpedoes?” Max asked.

“Stoney, get us out of here,” Juan said. “Wepps, anti-torps.”

Linda Ross punched the firing button for theOregon’s new advanced torpedo defense systems. The miniature torpedoes were fire-and-forget, AI-guided munitions. They would select their own targets and take them out either singly or in groups faster than any human could react.

As Ross launched the torpedoes, Stoney slammed his throttles forward and jerked the joystick. Seconds later, the engines launched into full power. TheOregonlunged forward and then staggered into a steep turn like a drunken racehorse. Everyone in the op center strained against their safety harnesses, their buckles fastened when battle stations sounded.

“Wepps, get a fix on that vessel,” Cabrillo ordered.

“Trying…”

“Not good enough.”

“Can’t get a radar lock,” Linda said. “No radar signature.”

“How’s that possible?” Hali asked.

“Cloaking,” Juan said grimly. It was the only explanation possible.

“How isthatpossible?” Max asked.

“A question for another time.”

Cabrillo glanced at the weapons monitor. His cloud of defensivemini torpedoes broke up the same way the incoming attack torpedoes had done. It was an underwater AI chess match now.

“Wepps, get an estimated trajectory of the missile launch location. Load the starboard Melara 76 with high-explosive rounds. Set to airburst mode. Estimate a bracket for wide-area effect.”

“Guess we’re shooting shotguns after all,” Max said, beaming.

“Yeah, blindfolded and in the dark,” Juan said.

“Solution plotted. Firing.”

TheOregon’s refit had stripped away massive amounts of weight, machinery, and maintenance issues when it eliminated the bow-mounted 120-millimeter smoothbore cannon and the multiton rail gun, both of which required massive hydraulics to lift and operate.

In their stead, Juan had placed four proven naval deck guns hidden inside of what appeared to be standard forty-foot shipping containers permanently located on deck. Two of the containers held long-range OTO Melara 127-millimeter naval guns. The two others housed medium-range versions in 76-millimeter. Both systems were capable of firing a wider variety of munitions at much higher rates than theOregon’s previous guns. When activated, the sides of the shipping containers dropped and the roofs drew back automatically.

The Melara 76 boomed overhead like kettledrums from hell, firing two rounds per second.

“Incoming torps,” Stoney shouted. Juan glanced up as alarms shrieked. Five of the green blips had slipped through theOregon’s defenses—

And five explosions erupted beneath the hull.

“Damage report.”