Читать книгу End Game - Dale Brown - Страница 19

The helmsman controlled the midget submarine from a seat at the nose of the craft, working at a board that reminded Captain Sattari of the flight simulator for American F-4 Phantom jets he’d practiced on years before. The craft was steered with a large pistol-grip joystick; once submerged, it relied on an internal navigational system. The vessel was run by two men; the vessel’s captain sat next to the helm, acting as navigator and watching the limited set of sensors.

The four submarines in Sattari’s fleet had been designed by a European company as civilian vessels, intended for use in the shallow Caribbean and Pacific coastal waters. Converting them to military use had taken several months, but was not particularly difficult; the work primarily included measures to make the craft quieter. The acrylic bulbous nose and viewing portals had been replaced and the deck area topside stripped bare, but at heart the little boats were still the same submarines that appeared in the manufacturer’s pricey four-color catalog. They could dive to three hundred meters and sail underwater for roughly twenty-eight hours. In an emergency, the subs could remain submerged for ninety-six hours. A small diesel engine propelled the boats on the surface, where the top speed was roughly ten knots, slower if the batteries were being charged. The midgets were strictly transport vessels, and it would be laughable to compare them to frontline submarines used by the American or Russian navies. But they were perfect as far as Sattari was concerned.

He called them Parvanehs: Butterflies.

The captain glanced back at the rest of the team, strapped into the boats. Among the interior items that had been retained as delivered were the deep-cushioned seats, which helped absorb and dampen interior sounds. Three of the men were making good use of them now, sleeping after their mission.

Sattari turned to the submarine commander.

‘Another hour, Captain Sattari,’ the man said without prompting. ‘You can rest if you wish. I’ll wake you when we’re close.’

‘Thank you. But I don’t believe I could sleep. Are you sure we’re not being followed?’

‘We would hear the propellers of a nearby ship with the hydrophone. As I said, the Indian ship has very limited capabilities. We are in the clear.’

Sattari sat back against his seat. His father the general would be proud. More important, his men would respect him.

‘Not bad for a broken-down fighter pilot, blacklisted and passed up for promotion,’ he whispered to himself. ‘Not bad, Captain Sattari. Thirty-nine is not old at all.’