The War in the West
Tango in the Night
Vincent de Boer; FSS Hotspur, Strait of Shaw, 100km Northwest of DonzeThe
Hotspur sailed like what she was, a rolling, wallowing lump of a ship. Casting off from Seaforth and transiting the Illumic, Vincent had been certain that the old hulk was destined for the bottom, but she'd survived probably the longest voyage she'd ever make in one piece and, despite himself, he'd come to develop a certain fondness for the old girl. The same couldn't be said for all the ship's company, though. The Merinan mariners had taken fairly well to
Hotspur, being rather more used to life aboard ships her age than de Boer's men, the two-dozen unwilling members of the Free States No. 1 Marine Commando.
Since setting sail, they'd called into a couple of ports, first in Kaedwen and then in Tamora, before turning south through the vastness of the Sea of Kyne carrying her precious cargo. They carried four launchers for the deadly Tamoran missiles, two fore'd and one each to port and starboard, plus one rather amateurishly fitted aboard the ship's helicopter, presently lashed to the quarterdeck. The shipboard launchers had been cunningly concealed within empty shipping containers out on deck - the ship was partially loaded, with some genuine cargo also stowed on deck in addition to the false launcher containers - the sides of which could be dropped to bring the weapons into action at almost a moment's notice. The helicopter's armament had been rather more difficult to hide, however, slung down the port side of the aircraft, though by turning her athwartship up against the superstructure, the weapon was more or less concealed.
Making full speed down the west coast of Albion, still flying her Kaedweni black-and-ochre,
Hotspur's first contact with the Merinan Navy was made early in the morning.
It was still dark, with a thick morning mist lying over the sea.
Hotspur was detected first, receiving a signal informing her that she was approaching an operational area, and demanding that she identify herself and disclose her intention. The signal was signed off by the Merinan National Navy destroyer
MNS Chiwara. Vincent was awakened by one of the Merinan crewmen, and hurridly summoned to the bridge.
The slight, wiry - and probably piratical - Barkhad Awali was the officer of the watch that morning, peering into the fog from the dimly-lit bridge.
"Mister Vince" He smiled broadly but coldly, like a shark "I am happy you here. The big ships have find us"
The man was quite plainly scared, which Vincent knew from experience took quite some doing, especially out on the sea. Vincent couldn't help but sympathize, there was something a little unsettling about the fog.
"Did you tell them" Vincent queried, composing himself "The line we agreed on? Where's the Captain?"
"One thing at time" The mariner smiled again "I tell only what you say. They say will come aboard and see for theyselves" He smiled even wider at this point, clearly quite pleased with himself "And is night now, look at me, I is the Captain now" Both men chuckled.
"Right enough" Vincent smiled back now. He knew his men would be ready to meet any boarding action, with cold steel if it came to it, and were equipped to win if it came to that. The issue would be if the Merinan ship came close but not alongside; within 7,000m their missiles would be useless, and their pair of 20mm cannon were not likely to make much impression "Do we know where they're at?"
"We have two contact on radar 15km south and east" Barkhad grimaced, suddenly all business "I say them 'we come you' and they say that them, but we not know which one" At that range, the
Chiwara would be able to hit them with its guns, though
Hotspur's missiles would almost certainly be able to sink them in return. It was probably too late to launch their helicopter, not that the pilot would want to be flying in the dark, or the fog for that matter. The second radar contact was also concerning; two Merinan warships weren't too much of an issue, though with more ships there were more chances for something to go wrong, but there was no way
Hotspur would be able to positively identify their targets before firing. If they left it long enough to be able to be sure they were firing at
Chiwara, then it would be far too late to do so.
"Are there any other contacts on radar?" Vincent considered.
"No, sir" The sailor replied, matter of factually, evidently making a similar calculation "Just this two. Am sure one is big ship. They not say what is other"
"I think" Vincent decided, starting to get his blood up "I know what we must do. I'll speak with my launcher crews; hold course and speed until I order differently"
And Vincent did go down to the foredeck, where No. 1 Marine Commando had their own weapons radar set up. This set was more powerful, clearly indicating the two vessels, both of which were closing. And fast. It was now or never. Too late to turn away or hide. Far too late to run. Time to fight. The night lit up as the first missile launched, illuminating nothing but a thick bank of fog all about with a throaty roar that reverberated through the creaking steel hull. After a few moments to acquire the second target, another deadly Tamoran missile was away.
The first projectile crossed the gap in a hearbeat, and came screaming out of the fog bank to strike the leading vessel amidships before they even knew they were under attack. Striking just above the waterline, a huge rift opened in her side and the sea began to flood in. The second ship took their moment to register their peril, the quick-thinking helmsman bringing her hard to port, nosing in against the direction of the unseen threat, but the second missile was already upon them, striking the bows and piercing her thin armour plating with ease. Within seconds the second vessel was ablaze, hundreds of kilograms of unused rocket fuel flooding her fore'd compartments.
Vincent heard the first bang, echoing through the night clearer than any fog horn, though the lack of a second, as the seconds passed like lead, gave him a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.
"Mister Vince, call back Mister Vince" An electronic imitation of Barkhad's voice crackled at him over the walkie-talkie in his webbing, shaking him back to reality.
"Hear you mate" The pressel on his device seemed to weigh a million tonnes "Send, over"
"Mister Vince" The man said again "
Chiwara say we under attack. They say submarine shoot kill at them. Want us run. What you want me do?"
"Fucking mega" Vincent couldn't quite believe it "Go with it. Get us out of here, full ahead!"
At dawn, a pair of Merinan Air Force jets swept in low, through leaden skies, to surveil the scene. It was one of devastation; a huge column of smoke plumed above the stricken
Chiwara, burning from stem to stern, while a handful of forlorn looking yellow life rafts bobbed beside her in the swell. Nearby, the bow of another vessel could be seen, floating upside-down amidst a black slick on the ocean, her nameplate below the grey-green water.
Most disturbingly of all, of their assailant there was no sign.
From later in the morning, float planes from the nearby
Aha Njoko began arriving to take off survivors. Diverted from a routine training flight, one aircraft carried a film crew from the Defence Ministry's media department, their camera's capturing the heroics of the airmen, putting their elderly craft down time and again in increasingly heavy seas, but also the terror in the eyes of the survivors, many of whom were brought aboard badly burned.
They also captured the moment that, hours after first being hit, the fires set off
Chiwara's fore'd magazines.
A stunning explosion tore through the burning hulk, eviscerating the battered remnant of her bows. She sank in minutes.
The haunting final shot from the cameras is taken as the last float plane labours skywards; the abandoned life rafts float forlornly amidst the detritus of the twin sinkings, slowly receding from view.