The air in the control room thickened, and Jake realized that the simple act of drone deployment had given half his crew their first major taste of undersea surveillance.
He waited until the drones reached two miles from his ship to make his next move.
“Henri,” he said. “Raise the buoy and get a download.”
A servomotor whispered above his head, extending the length of the buoy’s tether.
“The buoy is surfaced and linked,” Henri said.
“Send incoming data to Subtics.”
The red squares of the Chinese task force inched closer to Thitu. A notable exception from Jake’s view was the Shang-class nuclear submarine suspected to be part of that task force but hiding beyond the reach of friendly detection systems.
“I see the new data on the task force,” he said. “Can you get me video of the railgun?”
“Yes. I’m streaming it now.”
Live video from the beached landing craft showed the concrete obelisk taking root in the shoal, its compact solidness standing in defiance of any threat.
As the freighter raised its anchors and departed, the module’s lid rose, exposing its air defenses and its railguns. The opened gap exposed opaqueness through the camera’s night vision, but Jake knew the firepower the shadows hid. Cutting edge technology pointed northwest towards Thitu and the task force that threatened it.
The image became clearer as the camera adjusted for ambient moonlight, and the muzzles appeared as black lines pointing outward. They then rose upward in elevation, preparing to send shells within miles of their maximum distance.
A voice from the control room speaker startled him. As he recovered his bearings and reached above for a handset, he recognized it as Renard’s.
“Wraith, this is Fox Den, can you hear me?” Renard asked.
“Fox Den, this is Wraith. Go ahead,” Jake said.
“Nothing urgent,” Renard said. “In fact, all thus far is going per plan. However, I needed to inform you that the festivities are about to begin.”
“The task force is taking the bait?” Jake asked.
“It appears so. I don’t have the authority to make that determination, but I expect that landing craft will be deployed soon against Thitu and that you’ll hear friendly retaliation within an hour.”
“Good to know.”
“I recommend that you remain ready to lower your buoy and seek maximum stealth if you hear the guns fire. Chinese satellites and any available surveillance aircraft will soon be looking in your general direction, if they aren’t already.”
“Got it,” Jake said.
“Good luck, my friend,” Renard said. “As always, I trust you will optimize my planning and improvise where needed.”
Jake bid his friend and mentor farewell and faced his crew. A dozen pairs of eyes looked back at him for confidence. He felt a twinge of doubt, due to the pending uncertainty of combat, but he forced his features to take on a rugged look of fearlessness as he sat back on the foldout captain’s chair.
“Get ready, gents,” he said. “The fun is about to start.”
CHAPTER 13
Wong tapped coordinates into the Chengdu’s tactical data system, ordering the task force’s other four surface combatants into their submarine search geometry. Through the destroyer’s mast-mounted night vision camera, Thitu appeared as a warm glow on the horizon, and his system showed his task force surrounding it.
“Flash traffic, sir,” his executive officer said.
A glance at his phone told him that Captain Zhang wanted confirmation of his gunnery orders. He ignored the task force commander and slid the device back into his pocket.
“Noted,” he said.
The executive officer released a wry smile, marking the first time Wong had seen the corner of the man’s mouth rise.
Watching the tactical display, he saw the frigates and corvettes fan out and encircle Thitu, supported by three helicopters that completed an octagon around the island.
A voice boomed over the bridge’s loudspeaker.
“Chengdu, this is Jinggang Shan. Over.”
“Anyone who answers Captain Zhang will spend eternity in the brig,” Wong said.
The voice rang out louder.
“Chengdu, this is Jinggang Shan. Answer me!”
Admitting his cruel joy to himself, he suppressed a smile.
“Damn you, Wong! What do you think you’re doing?”
He reached up for the radio and turned it off. Returning his attention to the tactical view, he tapped his finger against a liquid crystal display, ordering all available assets to shift their active sonar frequencies and duty cycles to avoid interfering with each other.
“Set active sonar at half power,” he said. “Set the ping interval to allow a maximum search range of twenty nautical miles.”
The deep chirp of three-kilohertz sound resonated through the ship’s hull.
“All ahead two-thirds,” he said. “Begin submarine search legs.”
As the deep chirp resonated again, the deck tilted under him, and he held a railing for support. With the Chengdu maneuvering itself on a preset zigzag course within its defined search area, a sailor carried out Wong’s order with the press of a button.
For a moment, fear gripped him, and minutes elapsed like hours. Ten minutes into the search, he called each commanding officer, including those of the helicopter air crews, for status.
Nothing.
Sensing his executive officer next to him, he verbalized his frustration.
“I’m starting to suspect that I was wrong,” he said. “The Razak may have simply vanished.”
“Don’t give up hope yet, sir.”
Wong repeated his fruitless plea to the unit commanders ten minutes later. Then, as a half an hour of futility seemed like an exhaustive eternity, he capitulated.
“Secure from submarine search legs,” he said. “Position us for gunfire support.”
When his ship reached fifteen miles from Thitu, he ordered an ovular course, alternating broadsides to the island. As he noticed the other vessels in position, he sent a tactical message to the Jinggang Shan declaring the task force’s readiness for gunfire support.
On his display, he noticed landing craft exiting the floating dock and sprinting towards the island. He noticed an absence of air assault craft, a sign of respect for the Philippine forces’ bolstered air defenses. Orders from the floating dock flooded his display, telling him where to lay down gunfire.
“So it begins,” he said. “Prepare for gunfire support!”
Bowing his head and bracing himself for a beating, he turned on the radio. Worse than knowing what awaited him was the sick twisting in his stomach questioning if he deserved it.
“Jinggang Shan,” he said, “this is Chengdu. Over.”
The replying voice sounded deeper than Zhang’s. Wong felt momentary relief but knew it was the captain’s way of extending the anticipation of the agony.
“Chengdu, this is Jinggang Shan. Standby for the task force commander.”
“Jinggang Shan, this is Chengdu. Standing by. Over.”
The new voice that replied carried an eerie calmness of vengeance in mid-satiation. Excess formality compounded Wong’s inner agony.
“Chengdu, this is task force commander. With whom am I speaking? Over.”
He knew that Zhang recognized his voice but relished the buildup to the final blow that would likely cost him command of his ship. Even if his connections back home could save him, he doubted he deserved being saved. He had gambled by disobeying an order from a superior officer, and the Razak had not appeared.