“Ha-ha! I think not. Can we talk about your crossfield amplifiers on the forward transmitters?”
“Uh, Doctor, I’d love to, but right now I’m kind of preoccupied.”
“It’s important. If you want to keep your Aegis on the line.”
“Sure, but can we make it some other time? Soon, but right now.”
“I’ve been trying to have a conversation for some time, Captain. As I’ve said before, several of your radar parameters are degraded. Others are merely nominal. Your operator proficiency is actually dropping, it seems to me.”
Dan said, “I don’t think you’re saying my operators aren’t trying hard enough. Or are you?”
Noblos shrugged. “The reasons are not my concern. But I’ll advise you now: I’m drawing up a recommendation that your BMD mission area certification be suspended.”
Dan said evenly, “Thanks for the heads-up, Bill. But as I just said, can we make this some other time? Right now I’m trying to run a board and search.”
Noblos smiled coldly. “Absolutely, Captain. Whenever is most convenient for you. Just let me know.”
Noblos felt his way to the door, knocking something off the nav table. Dan filed him away and got his binoculars back on the nearing ship, gripping the radio handset awkwardly too. “Five hundred yards,” the OOD reported. “Matching course and speed. Ten knots, one niner five.”
“All right… whoa!”
Under their lights, the freighter had swung her rudder hard, rotating her stern out toward Savo. It neared and neared, looming. Pardees ordered his rudder left, but Dan cautioned him that might smash their sterns together as both ships pivoted apart. “Steady as you go. He’s gonna just miss you.”
The 21MC: “He’s not going to cooperate.”
“Yeah, he just turned away… Let me talk to him.” Dan pulled down the gray handset, clicked to the International Bridge to Bridge, squeezed the Transmit button. “Motor vessel Patchooli, this is commanding officer of U.S. warship. Request to speak to captain.”
“This captain M-V Patchooli. Go on.”
“This is U.S. Navy warship. What flag do you sail under, Captain?”
“Bangladeshi flag vessel.”
“Bangladesh does not acknowledge your registry. What is your true ownership and home port?”
The answer came back scrambled and cut off, but might have been “Pakistan.” Dan cradled the handset, frowning. Pakistan, not Bangladesh? Well, he wasn’t going to wait around with his thumb up. “Patchooli, this is Navy warship. We are boarding under provisions of UNCLOS Article 108 and the Convention on Facilitation of International Maritime Traffic. Come to course one-nine-zero at five knots and stand by for boarding on your port side aft.”
“No, Captain. You are in violate of 1988 SUA convention. Boarding us without permission is piracy under international law.”
“Jeez,” said Staurulakis from the dark. He wondered how long she’d been there. “This is new. A smuggler quoting international law.”
Dan grinned. “A real ‘sea lawyer’… Okay, let’s try this again.” He lifted the handset once more.
This time he got a different voice back. An oily, smooth spokesperson with a much better command of English. She said, “This is Patchooli. I am speaking for the master. You are in violation of international law. We are beyond territorial seas. A warship may ask us questions, but you may not board us without our permission.”
Dan cleared his throat impatiently. “This is Navy warship off your port side—”
“This is Patchooli. Maritime law insists you must identify yourself properly.”
Dan said unwillingly, because the woman did have a point, “This is U.S. Navy warship Savo Island. I say again, Savo Island.” He gave her his hull number and said, “Request you cease maneuvering and slow for boarding.”
“This is Patchooli. The Convention for the Suppression of Unlawful Acts Against the Safety of Maritime Navigation makes it a criminal act to unlawfully seize or exercise control over a foreign flagged ship at sea. You have no right to stop us. Therefore we will not heave to.”
Dan snorted. In the not too distant future, every ship would have to sail with a full legal team. Beside him the officer of the deck murmured, “A shot across his bows?”
“Just give me a minute, okay, Noah?”
The 21MC. “Bridge, CIC.”
Pardees hit the lever twice to say “Go ahead” and a petty officer said, “Sir, we have a distress call going out from our guy alongside. He’s saying he’s under attack by pirates.”
“What the fuck?” Staurulakis stamped her boot.
“Mitscher’s answered up asking for his position.”
Dan said, “Get Mitscher on a secure circuit. Advise them there’s no attack, just this little prick jerking our chain. Tell this asshole, stop screwing around and cooperate.”
He slid down from his chair and crossed the pilothouse, bumping into someone but not apologizing, just shoving on through until he’d undogged the starboard door and was out on the wing. He looked across to where the searchlights still illuminated the freighter. It was headed away. Froth at the rounded stern showed he was cramming on power. A heavy, oily smoke bit his nostrils, and the beams above became solid shafts, turning coffee-brown as they plunged into obscurity.
Did this idiot really think he could make smoke and run away? He shouted into the pilothouse, “Come around to follow him. Bump up to ahead full. But don’t get too close, and watch his stern.” That was where they’d see motion first, if the freighter tried to squirm away again.
Back on the radio. “Motor vessel Patchooli, this is Savo Island, astern of you and closing. You are placing yourself in danger by attempting to avoid a legal boarding. This is your second verbal warning. Log that, and the time,” he told the junior officer of the deck. His ROEs were clear: he had to offer a graduated series of nonlethal warnings before resorting to lethal force. But verbal cautions didn’t seem to be having much effect. He picked up the sound-powered circuit and snapped the dial to Gun Control. “CO.”
“Guns here, sir.”
“I may need a star shell. And break out a couple rounds of BL&P just in case. But so far, weapons tight. Can do?”
“Aye aye, sir. Mount 51, load one illumination round to the transfer tray.” The forward five-inch gun suddenly tilted its barrel up, then snapped it down again. It rotated left and right, testing the train mechanisms.
“Report on 21MC when ready.” Dan snapped off as his own bitch box said, “CIC, bridge: he’s going out on HF.”
“Say again?”
“M/V Patchooli is going out on high frequency to ‘any vessel this net,’ reporting attempted piracy.”
This was too much. He told Pardees, “Six short blasts,” and waited as the horn droned out. He followed it with another warning over VHF as the cruiser, responding to increased power, surged up alongside the fleeing freighter. Huge black clouds were pouring from its stack, and a bow wave glowed in the searchlights’ beams.
“Am I missing anything here?” he asked the exec.
“External loud hailers. So they can’t say their radio malfunctioned.”
“Okay, right.” He had Nuckols repeat his warning on Savo’s loudspeakers. The other still didn’t alter course. She was making about fifteen knots, which had to be close to her maximum speed, but Savo could easily double that. Dan kneaded his face. Where did this fool think he was going?