And then Sherman and the Texas would really be in trouble.
He wasn’t headed home anyway, he considered as he monitored the sub’s navigation systems, checking they were still en route to the correct location. There would be no rest for him or the crew; not yet anyway.
They were being sent into harm’s way yet again, although this time he would have to come south through the Yellow Sea and then enter into a holding pattern in the well-patrolled waters of the East China Sea. Not ideal, but he’d had recent experience in that area and was fairly happy he could avoid detection for the time-frame demanded.
At some stage, though, he would be required to pilot the Texas in close again to the Chinese coast, this time near Shanghai.
No, he considered with a smile as he confirmed the sub’s position and course, he couldn’t afford to relax for a moment.
But at the end of the day, he understood that was exactly how he liked it.
‘So where are we at?’ Captain Sam Meadows asked, cigar in his mouth and hands on his hips. Smoking was not really allowed onboard ships in the modern US Navy, but Meadows knew they had a lot worse problems to contend against and had thus issued his most recent ship-wide edict on the ruling — ‘Screw it. Smoke if you want.’
He knew it would give comfort to some of the men, and in a situation like this — left high and dry by the ‘Potomac desk drivers’, crippled in an unfriendly sea for over a week now — Meadows knew the men needed as much comfort as they could get.
They were getting even more from being kept busy with the ship’s various projects too, and Meadows awaited word on how things were progressing.
‘Good news with the desalination plant,’ his Executive Officer, Bill Duffy, said. ‘It’s not back to normal yet of course — probably impossible now — but we’re getting a good two hundred thousand gallons out of it, about fifty percent capacity. That’s good enough for a decent amount of drinking water, maybe even the occasional shower.’
Meadows nodded, puffing on his cigar. ‘Excellent,’ he said, and meant it. ‘That’ll improve morale no end.’
‘Yes sir,’ the XO continued. ‘Not so great news to report about our medical casualties I’m afraid though.’
‘Go on.’
‘We lost another two today, Petty Officer First Class Jim Franklin and Seaman Veronica Peaks. Takes the total to two hundred ninety eight.’
Meadows closed his eyes and rotated his neck around slowly, counting the cracks and pops as he did so.
Two hundred and ninety eight dead. Damn those fucking Chinese! What the hell were they trying to prove? Every day the ship floated out here was another day injured people might die. Why wouldn’t they agree for the casualties to be taken off? It was amazing to Meadows, the calculated callousness of the Chinese action.
And why wasn’t the US government responding? Word from Admiral Decker and his contacts in the Pentagon and the White House was that things were ‘difficult’, and a diplomatic outcome was being sought, and the men and women of the Ford would just have to ‘hold on’ a while longer.
Well, fuck them.
‘How we doing on the propellers?’ he asked next, anxious for good news.
Duffy shook his head sadly. ‘No big improvements there, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘It really is shot all to hell, a real mess. We can only access the area in full SCUBA gear, and I doubt that we have any realistic chance of being able to patch her up, even to make a single knot.’
Meadows exhaled a ring of smoke and nodded his head, determined not to show his disappointment to anyone, even his most senior officer. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay. I appreciate how difficult it is, but we’re not gonna stop trying. Despite what we’re hearing from on high, I can’t believe we’ve been left to the wolves. I think we’re doing a little bit more than we’re letting on back home, and I want this ship in a position where we can help. So keep trying.’
‘Yes sir,’ Duffy said with conviction. ‘We’ve got most of our armaments back online now, our engineers have recalibrated them to take account of our angle in the water and our lack of stability. Our missiles and our guns are ready to go anytime if we need to defend ourselves.’
‘Good,’ Meadows said. ‘That’s good.’ It was better than nothing of course, but the warrior in Meadows knew it wasn’t enough; he wanted to be able to move, to fight offensively, to take the fight to the enemy at the first chance he got. But for now, a self-defense capability was definitely better than nothing at all. ‘Arrange a memorial service for Franklin and Peaks for fourteen hundred hours, make sure next of kin are informed, as well as fleet command.’
‘Yes sir.’
And let’s just hope there aren’t any more, he didn’t add.
But he knew that this was wishful thinking; before this thing was over, there would be a lot more.
6
Two hours had passed since the incident with the teenage divers, and mercifully nothing else had happened to suggest discovery; Cole and his team had made good time along the Yongding, and Cole gave his navigation systems one final check.
They’d made it. They were at the rendezvous point.
Cole checked his watch, saw that it was just after three o’clock in the morning.
They had to keep going past the bridge slightly, and Cole put his hand on Collins’ arm, gesturing for him to slow, then cutting his hand to port.
Collins nodded and eased off the throttles, moving the small submarine towards the southern bank of the Yongding.
Cole peered through the inky green dark of the night-vision-enhanced river, searching for the turn-off. It was appearing on his instruments, but he wouldn’t be happy until he saw it himself.
And then there it was, appearing out of the gloom, and Cole squeezed Collins’ arm, the pilot turning the SDV into the narrow channel. Cole tapped twice on the inner chamber, advising his four other teammates that their journey was almost at an end, and watched as Collins maneuvered the craft into the small inlet.
The narrow inlet, barely a hundred yards long by twenty wide, served as a drainage basin before the enormous Huanggang Reservoir which lay to the south of the Yongding.
It was small, but deep; and because it didn’t go anywhere, a dam separating it from the internal waterway beyond, it had no marine traffic whatsoever, which made it ideal for Cole’s purposes.
As Collins centered the SDV in the middle of the inlet, Cole gave the signal to fill the ballast tanks. Disconnecting himself from the main air supply, he switched to his Draeger rebreather and left the SDV’s open cockpit, swimming quickly towards the rear.
He stopped at the side of the mini-sub, treading water as he removed a long metal panel from the fuselage, giving the thumbs-up signal to Navarone and Grayson inside, who shot the signal back, switched to their rebreathers, and started to maneuver themselves out of the SDV passenger compartment.
The SDV began to descend to the bottom of the inlet as the ballast tanks filled with water, and Cole swam over the top of the falling mini-sub, removing the panel from the other side.
Davis and Barrington were already eager and waiting, thumbs up, and eased themselves out into the dark waters, already breathing through their Draegers.
Cole looked back to the cockpit and saw Collins finally moving out of the sub, which had now come to rest on the bottom of the inlet, its impact throwing clouds of silt up through the already gloomy water.