The Vanguard Vixen

Error and Terror

The W7's digital communications system was a platform with which Captain Luke was familiar. He knew that if he kept his call short, his communication should be secure. The vixen had specifically told him not to turn on the ship's communications, lest it be tracked. He however had to make this call.

He had promised to call his daughter when he was in a better situation. Living aboard his former ship, always on the run and on the lookout for patrols, or pirates had not been good for her. He had seen that, and he had sent her inland. Captaining a stolen warship was no ideal situation either, but the warship had been built to be both deadly and luxurious. Half the time, you didn't even realise you were on water.

Dialing her private number, he waited, clutching the receiver to his ear. He expected her to pick up on the first ring. But the line just kept ringing.

Six rings. Seven. Eight...

Luke gazed out at the darkened ocean, his inability to reach his only child doing  nothing to quell his uneasiness at what might be coming after them.

Nine rings. Ten rings. Pick up!

He paced, waiting. What was going on? Hayley carried her phone with her at all times, and she had expressly told Luke to call her.

After fifteen rings, he hung up.

With growing apprehension, he picked up the receiver and dialed again.

Four rings. Five rings.

Where is she?

Finally, the connection clicked open. Luke felt a surge of relief, but it was short-lived. There was no one on the line. Only silence.

"Hello," he prompted. "Hayley?"

Three quick clicks.

"Hello?" Luke said.

A burst of electronic static shattered the line, blasting in Luke's ear. He yanked the receiver away from his head in pain. The static abruptly stopped. Now he could hear a series of rapidly oscillating tones that pulsed in half-second intervals. Luke's confusion quickly gave way to realisation. And then fear.

"Damn it!"

Wheeling back to the controls on the bridge, he slammed down the receiver down in its cradle, severing the connection. For several moments he stood terrified, wondering if he'd hung up in time.

*****

The top-secret Vanguard nuclear submarine, Victoria, had been stationed in the ocean for two days. Its primary function was to listen and remain undetected, and to achieve this, the vessel's forty-two tonnes of turbine engines were suspended on springs to dampen any vibrations. Despite its need for stealth, the sub had one of the largest footprints of any reconnaissance vessel, stretching over three hundred feet from nose to stern and displacing nearly seven thousand tonnes of water when fully submerged. It could also cruise at a remarkable thirty knots.

The Victoria's usual cruising depth was just below the thermocline, a natural temperature gradient that distorted sonar reflections from above and made the sub invisible to surface radar. With a crew of one hundred and fifty and a maximum dive depth of over one thousand feet, the vessel was the epitome of submersible technology and the backbone of the Vanguard Navy's oceanic operations.

In the sonar room, a technician sat at the oscillator screen, one of the best in the world. And he had discovered something.

He was already on the phone to the Admiral.

When the Admiral arrived in the sonar room, he let her listen to a live sonar feed over a small set of speakers. She listened expressionless.

"What are the coordinates?" Admiral Nora demanded.