Free Spiral by Andy Remic Page B

Captain.’
    The two men stared at each other, frowning. And then, like a scene from some digital firework display across the control wall, the Tyke-linked scanners arrayed before them - each signal linked to individual Tyke scouts spinning through the voids of dark ocean all around - seemed to explode in front of their very eyes ... the red lights scattered, spun through shades of attack report from green and blue to yellow - and then, like a visual tidal wave, the lights were swept out and into darkness and death.
    Kolgar stared, numbed, at the scanners. All were black.
    Every single Tyke had been simultaneously destroyed.
    ‘Reports?’ he asked, his voice a dry croak.
    ‘None,’ came the soft, disbelieving reply.
    A hundred scouts had been destroyed; and not a single transmission to give the submarine a clue to their attackers had been registered; not a single warning given. Nothing.
    Kolgar could taste sweet vodka on his tongue and he longed for a drink.
    Later, barked his intelligence.
    ‘Contact Spiral Tac. Tell them we have an emergency.’
    ‘Transmitting.’
    They waited ten seconds - a long ten seconds of tense wondering filled with uneasy sweat and thoughts of death as every seaman in the Control Centre waited for a reply, looking around and up into the imaginary dark waters around their sub, imagining dark enemies with incredibly superior technology - the sort of technology that could make a massive warship disappear, the sort of technology that could evade their most sophisticated scanning equipment, and the sort of technology that could annihilate a hundred scattered scouts without giving away any indication of method or weapons.
    There came the blip of reply.
    ‘Three TacSquad officers will be with us in just over two hours from the nearby stationed British destroyer Castle. They are deploying as we speak in an underwater Shark Attack Craft, very, very fast. They recommend that we sit still and do nothing - merely report if our situation changes.’
    Kolgar nodded, and wiped the sweat from his forehead on the back of his sleeve.
    The scanners remained dark, quiet; this was no help when you suddenly believed the enemy to be invisible.
    The Moscow 16 received the Shark Attack Craft into its huge belly like a subterranean Leviathan swallowing its prey. Decompression chambers hissed, pumps whined, and within a few minutes the ramps engaged and two military-suited women and a man walked down the ramp and saluted Juri Kolgar.
    ‘I believe you have a problem,’ said the tall, red-haired female. She had cold blue eyes and high cheekbones that highlighted rather than diminished her incredible beauty. Her hand moved slowly, confidently, to Kolgar’s and they shook. ‘Commanding Officer Reyana Treban at your disposal. I am an expert in aquatic machinery and covert tracking systems, and was part of the design team that invented the Tyke Tracking Systems.’
    Kolgar nodded. ‘I have heard of you, Lady Treban.’
    ‘You may address me as Reyana. I have no time for rank when we need to work together in an emergency situation. This is Alice Metrass, bio-weapons expert, and James Rothwell, who has an incredibly detailed working knowledge of practically every submarine utilised by most world governments.’
    Formalities were speedily dispensed with, and Kolgar led the trio straight to the Command Centre.
    ‘We have your reports, as issued by our connective ECubes; they inform us that a hundred Tykes were destroyed within a few seconds of one another, and not a single scout reported back anything as to their situation?’
    Kolgar nodded.
    Reyana seated herself at a console, and began to type; she integrated with the sub’s computers and for a while all was silent as data flashed across the screen. Eventually, she stroked her cheek, eyes distant. ‘I think we are in grave danger.’
    ‘You found something?’
    Reyana nodded. ‘It was hidden in a data structure; you did receive the reports, but they were scrambled