“Washington will never go for it. Admiral. That’s a direct attack on PRC naval assets. It would look like we’re starting a war with China.”
“I don’t care what it looks like, I care about getting our subs out.”
“I’LL try, sir, but I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Admiral,” an ensign said, knocking on the door.
“Immediate message for you, sir.”
Donchez took the steel clipboard.
“Is the SAG on the way?” He meant the admiral in command of the surface action group comprised of the Reagan, two nuclear cruisers, two Aegis cruisers, five destroyers, four fast frigates, two fleet oilers, a supply ship and a hospital ship. Rear Admiral Patterson Wilkes-Charles III, the SAG, was a capable surface officer, but, in the opinion of both Donchez and Rummel, unaggressive and more concerned with his career than with the mission at hand.
“He’ll be here in another five minutes, sir,” the ensign said.
“So, Fred, you think the SAG will launch aircraft on my authorization without getting permission from Washington?”
“Patty? Patty the shrinking violet? Never, sir.”
Donchez looked down at the message, read it, shut the metal clipboard cover and shoved it at Rummel.
“Look at paragraph four.”
Rummel glanced at the message, a status report from the Tampa. The first three paragraphs consisted of a report of ship’s material condition, ship’s position and the miserable weapon situation. Rummel skimmed down to the fourth section of the message:
4. CREW SITUATION POOR. TWENTY-NINE (29) MEN AND OFFICERS KILLED BY CHINESE GUARDS DURING REPOSSESSION OF SHIP. COMMANDING OFFICER CDR. S. MURPHY IN GRAVE CONDITION AFTER EMERGENCY SURGERY. SURVIVING MEMBERS OF CREW IN SEVERE SHOCK AND UNABLE TO PERFORM DUTIES. SHIP OPERATIONS BEING CONDUCTED BY SHIP’S EXECUTIVE OFFICER, ENGINEER, SINGLE SECTION WATCH AFT WHO WERE GIVEN SPECIAL TREATMENT DURING CAPTIVITY, AND SEALS. CREW SHOCK CAUSED BY TORTURE — CREW GIVEN CHOICE OF STARVATION OR EATING CORPSES OF MEN EXECUTED DURING CAPTIVITY. ALL ATTEMPTS TO FEED CREW CAUSE VIOLENT HYSTERICAL REACTIONS. DUE TO STARVATION AND DEHYDRATION AND PSYCHOSIS, CREW WILL NEED MEDEVAC TO HOSPITAL FACILITIES IMMEDIATELY UPON REACHING INTERNATIONAL WATERS.
“Jesus,” Rummel said.
A whooping noise rang out. Rummel answered a sound-powered phone making the noise. He listened for a moment, hung up.
“NESTOR circuit open. Admiral. SecDef is standing by.”
Donchez reached for the red handset of the UHF satellite secure-voice NESTOR radio and began to speak. And as he did, a thundercloud passed over his face.
The fuselage of the two-seat YAK-36-A Forger trembled as the pilot throttled down the main cruise engine and started the lift engines. Up ahead, barely visible in the rain-swept fogged plastic of the aft canopy, the dark gray shape of the carrier Shaoguan materialized out of the clouds, the deck of the ship seeming impossibly small in the vast waters below. The lift engines were apparently working because the vibrations of the main jet were quieting. The VTOL jet coasted to a halt about thirty meters over the deck of the carrier, the lift engines now roaring in the tiny cockpit. After a moment suspended motionless, the jet came straight down in what seemed a barely controlled crash, slamming into the steel deckplates and bouncing twice, its weight finally settling down on the wet non-skid paint of the flight deck. The whine of the lift jets died to a low howl, then cut off, leaving the cockpit eerily quiet.
The comparative stillness was interrupted only by the rain on the windshield, the sound of the wind and the ringing of sore ears.
A crowd of men came running toward the jet, each wearing oversized helmets, each performing a different function, one attaching a kind of tractor to the nose wheel, a second connecting a cable to a connection in the nose, two more tying the wings to the deck while another rolled a ladder to the cockpit. The canopy of the jet slowly opened, admitting a salty wet sea breeze. The man on the ladder pulled, and after a moment the man in the rear seat of the plane stood, his muscles aching from the ride. He allowed the technician on the ladder to help him down the rungs, and in a moment his boots rested on the solid deck of the Northern Fleet vessel Shaoguan.
An officer in a rain suit ran up and saluted, pointing to the superstructure on the starboard side. The door in the island opened and the officer and the man from the newly arrived jet ducked inside. The noise of the wind and the rain died down when the officer shut the door.
“Welcome to the Shaoguan, Leader Tien Tse-Min.
I have been authorized to escort you to your quarters—”
“No time. I need to speak to the Fleet Commander.”
The officer walked quickly to a ladder on the starboard side. Five flights up and down a passageway guarded by an armed P.L.A soldier, Tien was led up a heavy steel door. Inside the fleet commander’s suite, Tien pulled off his sweat-and rain-soaked helmet and tossed it on a couch, then went to the chart table on the port side of the room. Behind the massive table stood Fleet Commander Chu Hsueh-Fan. Chu stared out at Tien from under bushy gray eyebrows, his black eyes rimmed by a network of wrinkles, his mouth set into a tight line, the muscles of his jaw clenched. Tien did not need any further signs to understand that the fleet commander did not want him there. Too bad. He was to be in charge of the search-and-destroy operation, and the sooner Chu realized that the better.
“Beijing came up on the tactical net.” Chu bit off the words.
“I have orders to assist you to find the American submarines.”
“Fleet Commander, excuse me, your orders are not to assist me. Your orders are to deploy the fleet as I request and find those submarines.”
Chu glared over the chart at Tien Tse-Min, hating the idea of deferring in a military matter to a political crony of the Chairman. But now that he was here there was nothing Chu could do except perhaps stand back and let the political commissar ruin the operation.
Chu reminded himself that if the operation failed, it was to Tien’s account, not his own. And yet, finding the two submarines coming out of the gap was the core of Chu’s job, it was a mission he had trained decades for, it was his profession, his life’s work. But then, if he interfered with Tien, all that would be over.
And even if Tien thought he was in command, perhaps he could guide the political officer’s actions and still get the American subs. Even if Tien got the credit, it would be a small price to pay.
Besides, three decks below, in the ready room of the Fourth Antisubmarine Forger Squadron, Chu’s son, Aircraft Commander Chu HuaFeng, waited to board his aircraft and seek out and kill the submarines. No matter what happened, he would try not to let a mistake by Tien endanger his son. His son was a warrior and a pilot, but he wasn’t invulnerable.
His thoughts collected, Chu spoke, his voice level.
“Leader Tien, I — and my fleet — are at your disposal.”
Tien nodded.
“Very well, then. I will be cleaning up. After a hot meal I will return to review the deployment of the fleet.”
Tien turned and left the Fleet Commander’s quarters.
As the door slammed, Chu shook his head and went back to his chart.
CHAPTER 27