“So be it,” he said. “Chart me one course at the maximum speed of our escort trawler, and another at three knots.”
The lieutenant gave a quizzical look.
“Three knots?”
“A worst case scenario in case we need to slow and pretend that we are throwing fishing nets over the side. Chart it.”
As the young officer angled dividers across the paper, Kye glanced at the penciled icon showing his escort trawler. The fishing vessel followed him at a distance of half a nautical mile.
Unsure if he would need the trawler’s service, he considered it an insurance policy. Per his plan, if his adversary approached him, he would offer the trawler as a decoy. The permutations of how such a scenario might play out had danced in his mind since deploying, and he had convinced himself that he had considered the gamut of possibilities. He was ready for the unknown, although all outcomes were a crapshoot.
“Sir,” the lieutenant said. “The storm is moving at ten knots on course zero-six-one. We can’t intercept it at three knots.”
“What minimum speed do we need?”
“Six knots, sir.”
“Very well. Then just chart the course for the trawler’s maximum speed of fourteen knots, but have us arrive at the storm’s leading edge.”
The lieutenant dipped his head, opened dividers, and walked the instrument across the paper.
“Course one-three-eight, sir.”
“Very well.”
Kye hailed his executive officer.
“Yes, sir?”
“Slow to five knots and bring the trawler to one hundred meters aft of our stern and fifty meters off our port quarter.”
Fifteen minutes later, with his ship’s radars dark to avoid revealing himself as a combatant, Kye had no information about his proximity to his escort ship.
“Get me a report from the trawler,” he said.
“I will contact it now, sir,” the executive officer said.
Kye pressed his palms into the navigation chart.
“The trawler has a radar fix on us,” the executive officer said. “It is at the ordered relative position, one hundred meters abaft of our stern, fifty meters off our port quarter.”
“Very well,” Kye said. “Now set task force course to one-three-eight, speed fourteen knots.”
“Course one-three-eight, speed fourteen, aye, sir. I will inform the trawler.”
Kye feltTaechong Twelve roll into the undulating swells. After thirty minutes, sunlight cracked through the clouds. Ten minutes later, the rain stopped. Keeping his active radar systems secure for stealth, he stepped to the Electronic Support Measures display and queried its operator.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Grumman scanned array radar,” the operator said. “There’s a Boeing airborne early warning aircraft bearing two-two-three.”
“What’s the signal strength?”
“Level three, sir. Strong enough for us to be tracked, but no signs that our enemy is devoting any extra energy to following us.”
“They have all they need to vector aircraft towards us or to launch missiles if they so choose,” Kye said. “But this is expected. We knew that the enemy would be monitoring the air and sea. This is where we blend in with merchant shipping.”
“Sir, there’s also an intermittent AN/APG-67 radar ranging from low signal strength to imperceptible. It’s bearing zero-six-six now. Probable enemy Fighting Eagle combat aircraft.”
“Agreed,” Kye said. “That’s the combat air patrol. They’ll be flying in unpredictable patterns and aiming their radar in unpredictable directions. Ignore that radar unless you get a strong signal strength.”
As he walked to the port bridge wing, he addressed his second-in-command.
“Keep our ship’s radars dark, but get me a full radar sweep of surrounding shipping from the trawler.”
“Yes, sir. It’s a dark and stormy night. Minimal moonlight. Visibility is poor, even under the clearest sky. I would say no more than twelve miles, as long as we remain at darkened ship.”
“Agreed, but remain attentive. The last thing we need is to stumble upon an enemy fisherman. Listen for local radio traffic about updates to fishing locations. Watch where the trawlers are attempting to find their catches.”
After the executive officer acknowledged, Kye walked to the bridge wing. Behind him, he saw navigation lights as the trawler emerged from the storm’s wall. The fishing ship’s proximity highlighted its immensity, and he estimated that the vessel displaced ten times the water displaced by Taechong Twelve.
He returned to the bridge, and his executive officer yelled to him.
“Sir, we’ve just crossed into contested waters.”
“Very well. Re-station the lookouts. Also, station two Igla missile teams on our fantail.”
“I’ll see to it, sir.”
“Have the trawler maintain course and speed,” Kye said. “I have the conn.”
The executive officer shouted.
“The captain has the conn.”
“Helm, all stop,” Kye said.
He then stepped out to the port bridge wing where a young sailor was slipping sound-powered phones over his head. Leaning into the railing, Kye felt wetness on his palms as the trawler’s white and green running lights bobbed in the swells and approached his port beam.
Darkness then swallowed the waterborne reflections of starlight as the trawler’s length eclipsed Kye’s view.
“All ahead standard,” he said. “Make turns for fourteen knots.”
The lookout repeated his order into his phones, and the gunboat pushed forward.
During an hour of transit, Kye gave a dozen small rudder commands to prevent a collision with the massive fishing vessel. The vigilance wearied him.
“Sir,” the lookout said. “The executive officer reports that we have crossed into enemy waters.”
“Very well. Have him come here.”
Moments later, his second-in-command stepped through the bridge door.
“Sir?”
“Do you have an officer on staff you trust to keep us within fifty meters of the trawler?”
“Yes, sir. Lieutenant Park is skilled in ship handling.”
“Bring him out here and have him take the conn. There are matters to which I must attend.”
After relinquishing control of the gunboat’s maneuvering, Kye returned inside, grabbed a short-range bridge-to-bridge radio, and hailed the trawler.
“This is Kye, get me your captain.”
The underling who handled the trawler’s radio followed orders, and moments later, Kye heard the voice he wanted.
“This is the captain.”
“We’re in enemy waters,” Kye said. “Be ready to be approached or hailed.”
“I remember your instructions on how to respond to enemy challenges. I am ready.”
“Good. There may be moments where we cannot risk communicating between ourselves, even on a bridge-to-bridge radio channel.”
“Your idea of feigning that you are a watch stander on my forecastle should prevent any listener from questioning the presence of a second ship with me.”
“To minimize suspicion, I will call myself the forecastle watch hereafter,” Kye said. “Regardless, from here forward, my crew will request updates from you as needed. You will not initiate communications with my ship. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“Also, if I begin erratic maneuvering, you will maintain course and speed, even if a collision between our ships is imminent. From here forward, you must appear to be a solitary fishing vessel, and the burden of concealing my ship rests entirely with me, unless I order you otherwise. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
“You’ve shown great bravery coming with me this far. Continue it, and I assure you that your courage will be relayed upward through my fleet’s channels. Kye, out.”