Richard P. Henrick
Attack on the Queen
Stand up, all you who refuse to be slaves!
With our blood and flesh, a great wall will be built.
The Chinese nation now faces its greatest danger.
From each comes forth his loudest calclass="underline"
Stand up! Stand up! Stand up!
Millions as one, braving the enemy’s fire, march on.
Braving the enemy’s fire;
March on! March on! March on!
BOOK ONE
WAY OF THE WARRIOR
When the situation is serious, the guerrillas must move with the fluidity of water and the ease of the blowing wind. Their tactics must deceive, tempt, and confuse the enemy. They must lead the enemy to believe that they will attack him from the east and north, and they must then strike him from the west and south. They must strike, then rapidly disperse, covered by the black veil of night.
1
“Sir. you asked to be awakened at sixteen hundred.”
“Very well, comrade,” answered a soft, scratchy voice from the stateroom’s black void.
As the junior ensign who delivered this curt wake-up call stepped back from the doorway to resume his duties, Capt. Shen Fei’s eyes popped open. A thin sliver of light emanated from the outside passageway and Shen glanced up at the softly glowing luminescent dials mounted in the partition at the foot of his bunk. A single practiced glance was all that was needed to determine that the Lijiang remained on a southwesterly course, at a depth of forty eight meters, and a forward speed of twenty-three knots. He was thankful that his two-hour nap had been sound, and he took a second more to continue the pleasant dream he had been enjoying. His lovely Mei-li had prepared a picnic on the banks of the River Li, the same tributary that his current command was named after. A native of nearby Guilin, Mei-li appeared in all her natural beauty, with the limestone hills of her birth, the perfect setting. It was a gorgeous midsummer afternoon, and after a delicious lunch of dumplings, they sat back to watch a passing fisherman work his cormorants. Then, completely out of the blue, Mei-li made the first amorous advance and an incredibly sensuous session of lovemaking followed. Unfortunately, it was just as this act was about to be consummated that the ensign’s voice called him to duty.
Shen Fei’s heart was heavy with longing as he sat up groggily and swung his bare feet onto his cabin’s linoleum deck. Dressed only in his skivvies, he lazily stretched his muscular arms overhead, while wondering how his dream would have ended if it had been allowed to extend to its natural conclusion.
He stood and switched on the stateroom’s central light, knowing that such dreams were as close as he’d be able to get to his new bride for the next couple of months. They had only just begun this patrol, and summer would have turned to fall by the time they returned to Chinese soil.
His stomach’s protests brought the forty-three year-old naval officer back to present reality. He was ravenously hungry, having skipped lunch. After completing a hasty toilet routine, he quickly dressed himself in a well-worn pair of blue coveralls and headed for the wardroom.
Shen’s comfortable, one-piece garment was known as a poopy suit. It had been given to him by the crew of the USS Hyman G. Rickover, an American, Los Angeles-class attack submarine. The official seal of this warship, complete with its COMMITTED TO EXCELLENCE logo, W3S Cmbossed OH 3 colorful patch that was sewn above his left breast pocket. For a Navy officer of the People’s Liberation Army, the PLAto wear such a uniform while on official duty was unheard of. Yet Shen was proud of this practical gift, and he’d never forget the events leading up to the memorable day he actually spent at sea aboard the American warship.
Shortly after graduating at the top of his class at the Dailan Naval Academy, Shen was invited to continue his postgraduate work at the United States Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. This in itself was a great honor, and Shen readily accepted the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
The exchange program that allowed his unprecedented visit was brand new, and Shen did his best to be a worthy representative. His fluency in English enabled him to participate in an international forum, whose unclassified focus was naval engineering advances in the Third World.
In the weeks following the forum’s conclusion, Shen was given his own dormitory room and free access to the Naval Academy’s excellent library. Since his passion was history, he devoured book after book on America’s long standing naval tradition. The exploits of John Paul Jones ignited his imagination, and he spent many a long night discussing the great Revolutionary War hero with his fellow midshipmen.
The father of one of these students happened to be a senior officer in the United States Navy’s Office of Public Information. With his invaluable assistance, Shen was invited to visit the Norfolk Naval base in Virginia, where the USS Hyman G. Rickover was waiting to take him on a day trip.
One of only a handful of Chinese officials ever allowed to embark on such a sophisticated warship, Shen would never forget the great hospitality that the Rickover’s officers and enlisted men graciously extended. Unable to tour the engineering, radio, or sonar spaces because of security limitations, Shen was most satisfied just to get a chance to know this crew of brave Americans, and the proud tradition they represented.
He returned to China an outspoken exponent of closer PRC American relations. An audience with their new president allowed him to personally describe his enlightening experience aboard the Rickover. Chen listened intently to each detail, and left Shen with a promise to do his best to champion the cause of peaceful cooperation with the United States.
Now that Shen had become the youngest commanding officer in the PLA Navy’s submarine fleet, new realities tempered his once youthful enthusiasm. Security concerns kept him from staying in close contact with his former friends in America. He had new responsibilities, the most important of which was guaranteeing China’s sovereignty. Though the Cold War was over, new international battle lines had been drawn in the areas of trade and commerce. Foreign meddling in China’s international workings couldn’t be tolerated, and even though the United States might have had good intentions, this was an area of control that couldn’t be compromised.
The tantalizing aroma of freshly prepared food led Shen down the cable-lined passageway to the nearby wardroom. The soft hum of the ventilation blowers and the muted drone of the nuclear reactor’s coolant pump provided the background score for this short transit.
These sounds, which disappeared from a submariner’s conscious senses through constant exposure, unconsciously soothed Shen and crew. All is right, they reminded them.
An ensign, his white coveralls stained with grease, approached him from the aft hatch. The young sailor alertly bowed his head slightly, and stepped aside so that his captain could pass down the narrow walkway.
The PLA Navy had long ago abandoned the custom of saluting on a vessel as cramped as the Lijiang. The warship’s eighty-five-man crew coexisted in a relatively informal, classless atmosphere, though the boat’s fifteen officers did have separate quarters and their own wardroom. This rather luxurious wood-paneled compartment acted as both a place to eat meals and a meeting room for briefings, studying, or just relaxing.
As Shen approached the wardroom, he could hear the familiar soft strains of an erhu solo coming from the compartment’s Japanese stereo.
Seated at the far end of the rectangular table, enjoying this melodious music and engrossed in a platter filled with dumplings was Guan Yin, the boat’s commissar. A balding, potbellied native of Shanghai, the Lijiang’s political officer never skipped a meal, often utilizing the wardroom as his unofficial office. Without missing a bite, the commissar nodded, while Shen took his customary place at the opposite end of the table.