“Were you able to do anything for him, Doc?” Amanda asked.
“Well. I started him on plasma and whole blood. That’ll slow things down a little as his red cell count falls and his circulatory system disintegrates. I also gave him a max load of morphine. That might take the edge off the pain for a while.”
“Is there anything more they can do for him on the Enterprise?”
“Yeah. Give him a bigger dose of morphine.”
Dr. Golden went forward to work with those he might actually be able to help.
Christine Rendino and Ken Hiro hunkered down on the deck a yard or so back from the stretcher, the Intelligence Officer readying a small tape recorder. Amanda and Arkady stepped back to the rail, instinctively drawing closer together.
Beyond looking on, they would have no role to play in this.
“How do you want to work this, Lieutenant?” Hiro inquired grimly.
“Let’s start with the basics,” Christine replied, switching on the recorder. “Tell him that he’s been rescued. Tell him where he is, and tell him that we’ll do everything we can to help him. Then ask him for his name and rank.”
“Right.” Hiro began to speak in Mandarin. Spacing his words and carefully minding his pronunciation, he tried to reach the consciousness of the dying man. By millimeters, the Red seaman turned his face toward his interrogators, his swollen eyes opening a fraction.
The skin of his steam-scalded face had lifted in a pattern of bursting blisters. However, the real damage was deeper, in the spreading dark network of subcutaneous bleeding. His capillaries were collapsing from radiation damage. His cellular structure had been shattered by the high-velocity storm of heavy atomic particles that had torn through them.
The submariner knew that his life was ending, and although he was in the presence of his enemies, the Cunningham’s officers sensed that he was glad not to be alone.
“Ask for his name again, sir,” Christine prompted with quiet urgency. “Tell him we want to notify his family.”
Hiro repeated his query. This time, there was an answer — a whisper barely audible over the backdrop of ship’s sounds.
The Duke’s exec frowned and rocked back on his heels.
“What did he say, Commander?”
“He says that his family already knows that he is dead.”
35
In the Flag Plot of the USS Enterprise, Commander Nolan Walker looked up jubilantly from the communications copy he held.
“Definite confirmation of the kill from the Cunningham, sir. A Han-class attack boat. Wreckage and a survivor recovered. No doubt about it!”
The only response was a noncommittal grunt from Admiral Tallman.
“Is there a problem, sir?”
“No, not a problem, Commander. But let’s not get too cocky about it, either.”
“One boat down barely twenty-four hours after we start the hunt seems pretty good to me, sir.”
“Oh, it was. That bunch out on the Duke did good work. The thing is, though, we just hooked one of the trash fish. The keeper is still out there. We’ve got to get him in the net before we can do any bragging down at the bar.”
Tallman turned back to the strategic display on the main chart table. “Notify Seventh Fleet that we have a solid kill. Then let’s figure out what we’re going to do next.”
36
The Captain of the Nationalist frigate was the last man aboard the final medevac helo out to the Enterprise. The injuries he had suffered during the sinking had been minor. They would heal within a few days. However, the hole blown in his soul and spirit would linger for a far longer time. This morning, Amanda might have guessed that the Chinese officer was close to her own age. Tonight, he looked like an old man.
“I thank you again, Captain Garrett,” he said in carefully precise English, “for the rescue of my crew and for the kindness you have shown us. Also, for avenging the loss of my ship.”
“I’m just glad we were there. Captain Kuo,” Amanda replied, shaking his hand gently. “I hope we can meet again someday, when times are better.”
“Perhaps. When times are better.” He drew himself up in the borrowed khakis he wore and gave Amanda a parade ground sharp salute. Then he turned and started for the waiting Oceanhawk. A few minutes later, the helo was off the deck and climbing into the evening sky.
Amanda followed the aircraft with her eyes for a few moments, then headed inboard.
The battle tensions had dissipated in the Combat Information Center. The watch had changed and the new duty crew had settled in at their stations. Dix Beltrain was still on hand, though, shifting his attention between the chart table, the Alpha screen, and a sandwich snatched from a sack of battle rations.
“What’s the dope, Mr. Beltrain?”
Dix took a second to force a swallow and to stuff the sandwich back into its bag. “Currently steering two nine oh, Captain. Making turns for eight knots. Helm control is on the bridge. We are continuing to work a quartering search within the initial search zone. No contacts or possibles noted, or on the board.”
“Let’s see the tactical.”
She joined him at the chart table and looked on as the younger officer’s fingertips brushed over the computer graphics on the horizontal screen.
“Seventh is working on the assumption that the sub we killed was covering the boomer, and that it and the other escort are somewhere in this immediate neighborhood. The Enterprise group has crossed over to the west of the Ryukyu island chain below us. They’ve established an ASW line and are sweeping slowly north. Range is about thirty-five miles now.”
“Who are these guys up north?”
“A Japanese SDF force built around the helicopter cruiser Shirain. They’ve crossed over the island line as well and are working down toward us along the Ryukyu trench. We’ve got about a fifty-mile separation with them.”
Beltrain traced a curve across the screen. “From here to the east, all the deepwater channels through the Ryukyus are being covered by attack subs. The Takashio … the Asheville … and the Jefferson City. The shallow channels are being covered by Orion sweeps. The Reds are stuck in a bucket and we’re right in there with!”
“What kind of direct support do we have?”
“The big E has two Vikings working the area and we’ve got two of their SH-60s using us as a control node.”
“Any nibbles anywhere?”
“Quiet as a graveyard.”
Amanda nodded. “Well, Dix. What do you think the bad guys are up to?”
“They’re down to two options, ma’am. One, they’ve gone deep and are sitting powered down on a thermocline, hoping that we’ll just run over the top of them and go away. Two, they’re retreating toward the Chinese coast.”
Amanda was tired. The postconflict letdown was under way and she was beginning to feel it. Automatically, she took an extra couple of seconds in her decision making to compensate, carefully turning the problem over in her mind, seeking any overlooked facet.
“If they’re lying doggo,” she said finally, “we’ll let the guys with the towed arrays go after them. We’re going to work on the assumption that they’re running west.” Amanda gauged distances on the screen hex grid. “Let’s say they’ve been moving out at their best good quiet speed ever since the engagement. Six knots?”
“Let’s make it eight, ma’am.”
“Okay, eight. That would put them out here about sixty miles to the west of us. How are we looking on fuel?”