by Stephen Makk
A cheer went up from the men and women aboard.
THE NEXT DAY NATHAN summonsed Innes and Alves to the control room.
“XO, Kaminski, let’s go to the torpedo room. You have the Conn, Weaps.”
“So Innes, this is CPO Hugo Alves, you two will be dive buddies. Alves, this is Lieutenant Commander Sayers, my XO and this is Lieutenant Kaminski, Navigation officer. She sits on it. On my war committee.”
Nikki leaned back so no one else could see her face, and grinned at Nathan. He realised what he’d said, and managed to suppress a smile.
“So Alves, let’s get up to speed on these bugs. We just need an overview; Innes will need whatever detail you can provide.”
“Ok sir, let’s get them out of the boxes.” They placed the four bugs on a stillage.
“Innes, after we’ve finished, see the COB, ask him if damage control can use this wood. If not, throw it over the side when we rendezvous with the replenishment vessel.”
“Sir.”
The bugs were about ten feet long with stainless steel end caps, one end with a large but thin eight-sided nut. On the other end was what looked similar to an old-fashioned water tap handle. The main body length was dark and hexagon shaped, and it looked like it was made from some composite material. Nathan ran his hand over it. It wasn’t metal, it was a composite like carbon fibre.
“Ok sir, here’s the overview,” said Alves. “The bugs were built by the nerds of underwater deception, L-3 Chesapeake Sciences Corp and Raytheon. They work by magnetic induction like the cold war devices, but are much more sensitive. They’ve got them to the point where, if you were tapping a message out on your touch screen cell phone, from ten yards away, they could read your message before you’d sent it.”
“Lord help us,” said Larry Sayers.
“How deep can they operate?” asked Nathan.
“That won’t be an issue, as you’ll see. But 650 feet.” Alves walked to the ‘tap’ end of the bug. “To deploy, we place them parallel to the cable, but twelve or fifteen feet away, eighteen will do. The outside surface will adhere to all types of sand or sediment, so we heap it on and that helps to disguise it. That way any diver or ROV inspecting the cable probably won’t see them. Then we unscrew this tap.” He unscrewed the tap and pulled out a thin wire cable.
“This cable is thirty feet long, we pull it all the way out and place it wherever we want. It can be parallel to the cable or at right angles or anywhere else. It just has to be straight.”
“So what’s it do?” asked Nikki.
“It’s got two purposes, well three, really. The geeks at L-3 came up with a thing we call Cuckoo Fish. It’s like a small torpedo and is deployed from a torpedo tube. It swims to the bug and can read the bug’s recordings via the cable. It then returns to the submarine and swims back into the tube. It’s retrieved, and the recording read. Cuckoo Fish can travel 12 miles. So, the submarine can stand off six miles from the bug and retrieve the recordings. The thing can also be deployed from a fishing boat too, if that’s a better platform.”
“That’s some piece of kit,” said Nathan.
“Also, Cuckoo Fish can talk to the bug and get it to insert a message into the cable. So if we know their codes and procedures we can fool them into thinking our message is real. It’s not just a message. The Chesapeake Science sickos put an artificial intelligence into it. Depending on what the Chinese say or ask HQ for, it can reply to them, with whatever we tell the AI to say to deceive them. We can lead them a merry dance.”
“So this AI can be updated by Cuckoo Fish?” asked Nikki.
“Yes, Ma’am. It can tell them that the year of the rat’s come early or Mao Tse-tung’s come back to life. We can listen to what they say, and feed them shit back.”
“That’s one evil motherfucker we’ve got there,” said Nikki.
“You said there were three uses?” asked Nathan.
“Yeah, this end of the bug contains 97lbs of PBXN-103. The same warhead as the Mk 46 Torpedo, sir. As long as the bug is in less than 300 feet of seawater, we can detonate it by satellite. It will sever the cable.”
Nathan smiled. “So we find water less than 300 feet deep and we’re good to go.”
Alves took on a sheepish look. “Not really, sir.”
Nathan frowned. “Work has been carried out on satellite images and dives carried out by the Republic of China navy and the Taiwan Navy. They found that the Chinese cables are shielded. They’re clad with an electrified braided metal sleeve that prevents them being read by a bug type device.”
Larry shrugged. “So what are we doing here with these then?”
“The cladding ends within 300 feet of the termination point.”
“So let me get this straight,” said Nathan, folding his arms, his eyebrows raised, “we need to deploy this bug less than 300 feet from some of the most heavily defended and fortified places on earth.” He shook his head. “In shallow waters, where we don’t like to operate. With the fucking PLAN sat above us?”
Alves nodded. “It’d be easier to place a webcam in the Party Chairman’s wife’s bathroom,” said Larry.
“At least we could sell pictures of her butt to the newspapers.” Nikki laughed. “You couldn’t make it up, could you?” she smirked. “You know what this reminds me of? President Kennedy’s speech, ‘We choose to go to the Moon,’ let me butcher it.” She grinned. “We choose to go to the Spratlys in this year and do the other Islands. Not because they are easy, but because they are hard. Because that goal will organise and measure our ability to face down the regional bully. Because that challenge is one that we are willing to accept, one that we are unwilling to postpone, and one that we intend to win.”
Nathan looked at her with an approving grin and a newfound respect. “I like it. Well said, Nikki. Ok, thanks CPO Alves, we’ll be off to plan our operation. You run through the bug’s details with Innes and plan your dives.”
“Sir.”
The three officers left the torpedo room picked up coffees on the way to the Wardroom.
“Ok,” said Nathan, “all we have to do is figure out how to put our head in the lion’s mouth, without the lion knowing it’s there and biting it off.”
Larry snorted. “Yeah, shouldn’t be too difficult.”
Nathan drew the palms of his hands over his temples.
“Ok Nikki, get the Mischief Reef data up on the tablet. Let’s get on with Operation Clipper.”
FEDEXFIELD. LANDOVER, Maryland.
“WE’RE LUCKY TO BE AHEAD, Dad. If that last throw had been complete, the Packers woulda been in.”
“I know. Hon, I’m going to the restroom, do you want me to get you anything to drink or anything else?”
“Get me an iced tea, oh and a dog, no mustard.”
Stockhaisen got up and left Peekaboo in her seat. It was good to be sharing this with her again, after their reconciliation. The Redskins had practically raised her. He made his way to the concourse, and to Taco Bell. There, leaning against the wall with a beer in his hand and another he was drinking from, was his CIA contact Paul Wicks.
“Hi.”
“Hi, there you go.” A beer was placed in his hand.
“Anything new, Paul?”
“Not much. You?”
“This South China Sea issue is eating my time at the moment, it just gets worse the more you look at it. Incidentally, I’m being leaned on for more information about the source of the intel.” The stadium crowds passed the two men by.
“Who by?”
“Joint Chiefs.”
Paul smiled. “So, nobody important.”
“Do you have a bone I can give them?”
He didn’t want to, and couldn’t tell Stockhaisen who it was. Oh, it’s just some honey from the MSS I’m banging. He could see Stockhaisen was waiting to be fed. “All I can say is it’s someone in the Ministry of State Security.”
“Ok thanks.” Stockhaisen shook his head. “Another of that lot. They seem to be getting busy rec
ently.”
Paul tried to appear semi interested, but kept a carefully neutral expression as Stockhaisen continued.
“Yeah, I was at an FBI contacts meeting the other day. One of the items on the list was that there’s an MSS agent active in the DC area right now. A woman. They’re doing a trawl for her.” Paul stiffened in horror.
“DC? I would think that there’s plenty of foreign agents around DC.”
“Yeah probably, they think it’s worth a trawl anyway.” Stockhaisen sighed. “Background checks on ethnic Asians, contacts with known players. That sort of thing.”
Paul’s mind raced. “There’ll be a lot of Asians in the DC area. How do you know she’s Asian?” Stockhaisen gave him a look.
“They’re thick with the East African countries, via the mineral trade,” said Paul. “How do you know they didn’t borrow or recruit a black girl?”
“I suppose it’s possible,” replied Stockhaisen, “but not too likely. Anyway, that’s for the FBI to sweat over.
Third quarter’s about to get moving, the Packers will be going for it. My daughter’s up there, and I’ve got to pick up an iced tea and a dog. I’ll see you.”
“Yeah, see you.”
Stockhaisen left and Paul stood leaning against the wall. The FBI is out looking for an MSS spy, a woman? He knew it had to be. It had to be her. Paul scowled, Zhi Ruo, why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t she be a translator, work for a bank or a think tank? Damn it.
She was providing valuable information on China’s South China Sea operation. He couldn’t let the FBI swallow her up, she’s too valuable.
Paul returned to his seat but wasn’t watching the game. He wrestled with his dilemma. How to protect her? He tried his best to avoid the five hundred pound gorilla in the room. Was it just the information that she could provide? Or was it more than that? Paul knew she was drawing him in.
THE SULU SEA.
NATHAN STOOD IN THE sail. Some lights illuminated operations during the replenishment operation but they were kept to a minimum. He could make out the bulk of the fleet replenishment ship to starboard. The diesel line had just been disconnected and was being winched back to the ship. It would be two hours yet till dawn. They were sixty kilometres east of Palawan Island. Lieutenant Commander Lemineux stood with him in the sail, operating a handheld flash signaller.
Nathan shouted down the sail. “COB, how’s the manifest look?”
“Sir, if the diesel’s transferred then we’re all good.”
A senior rating climbed into the sail from the deck. “The diesel connection valve is sealed, sir.”
“Very good. Get yourself below, we’ll be leaving soon.” He turned to Lemineux. “Flash them thanks for the fill up, see you post op.”
“Sir.”
Lemineux flashed out the message, then the two men then climbed into the sail, and Nathan sealed the upper and lower hatches. He went into the control room.
“Flood one and two. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Dive, dive, dive. Down bubble fifteen. Make your depth eighty. Speed seventeen, bearing; Kaminski?”
“Two five four sir.”
“You heard the lady.” The deck angled down. Above on the night dark surface, the growing bow wave climbed the sail. The boat slid into the dark depths unseen, and unheard. USS Stonewall Jackson began Operation Clipper, her mission into the dragon’s den, Mischief Reef.
Chapter 4
THE BOAT PASSED THROUGH the Balabac Strait South of Palawan Island, and headed on a bearing of 315 degrees. It would be 140 miles to the Reef, some seven hours away. She was now in the disputed South China Sea.
With two hours to go, the boat’s passive sonar picked up a contact.
“Sonar. Surface contacts coming south, sir.” His best Sonar operator was on watch, CPO Dan Benson. The crew called him the Virginia Visionary.
“What does the oracle say, CPO Benson?”
“I’m running it through the library now sir. But I’ll bet a Dairy Queen to a rancid pork belly that it’s a mix of warship and cargo ship.” Nathan knew he’d probably be right; if the library computer went down, you could count on the Virginia Visionary.
“Here we go sir, large freight vessel, probability 85%, and two Type 052C or D. Luyang-II class Destroyers. Probability 93%. Range 160 miles. Bearing three two three degrees. Their heading is one four zero degrees.”
He thought he knew what was afoot. “Kaminski, where do you think they’re going?”
She plotted their positions on the electronic chart. “Sir, it looks like they're heading right for Mischief Reef.”
He’d guessed right. “That’ll be it, a supply or delivery operation with warship escort. Must be important to warrant sending two Destroyers out from Zhanjiang naval base.”
“Weaps, what does the dummies’ guide tell us to be aware of?”
The Weapons Officer consulted the electronic database. The dummies’ guide to PACRIMFLT was the nickname for the guide to Pacific Rim Fleets. Its real name was almost meaningless.
“She’s got an SJD-8/9 active/passive search and attack sonar. Short-range defense is two 730 close-in weapon systems. That’s 5,000 rounds a minute. That’ll be her defense if we launch a Harpoon strike. She operates a Kamov Ka-28 helicopter, NATO codename Helix.”
“Let me guess.” said Nathan, “APR-E3 torpedo.”
“Yes sir.”
“I know it. Fast, but its short range is its weak spot; max three kilometres. He’ll have a dipping sonar and sonobuoys of course. Kaminski, set me up an intercept point on their path. North of Mischief.”
She worked on her chart, pulling up the touch screen calculator. “Three two eight sir, speed twenty knots.”
“Thanks, come to bearing three two eight, speed twenty knots.”
“Let me know when we’re five miles from them.”
USS Stonewall Jackson cruised on beneath the azure South China Sea.
“Sir, we’re five miles from them, under their track,” said Kaminski.
“Slow to six knots, come to bearing one four zero. Flood forward one. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth. Down bubble fifteen.”
The boat sank deeper and deeper into the depths. Outside was a cold crushing wall of pressure. He looked at the depth gauge; 650 feet, 950 feet, 1,100, 1,450 feet. The steel hull groaned, it seemed to start aft and move forward.
1,500 feet.
“Slowly vent one forward, one third fill.” Nathan was slowing her descent.
At 1,600 feet, the hull protested again with a forbidding low groan.
“Slowly vent one forward, one two third fill.”
1,700 feet. The hull connected with the seabed and came to a stop and the crew hung on as the force pushed them forward as the boat came to a stop. She settled on the seabed at 1,750 feet.
“Keep a good ear out Benson, I want to know when they’re three quarters of a mile from us.”
“Aye sir.”
Benson was one of the few with a job to do during those tense minutes. Nikki revised he possible plot. It checked out, but she started again. The weapons officer hung his head and waited. The room hung thick with tension. In the unlikely event of one of the Destroyers emitting an active sonar ping, the boat would look like a rocky outcrop or a sunken wreck on the Ocean floor.
“Sir they’re coming up on three quarters of a mile.”
“Speed?”
“They’re making 15 knots.”
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft. Up bubble fifteen degrees. Speed 18 knots.”
The boat left her resting place and rose, invisible, in a cloud of billowing silt, heading upwards under the passing ships.
Nathan glanced at the depth gauge, 260 feet.
“Open and trim vents fore and aft. Half fill. Up bubble ten degrees.”
“Aye sir.”
“What’s the heading to the cargo ship?”
“One three seven, range point six miles, sir.”
“Come to one three seven, speed eighteen knots.
”
“One three seven, eighteen aye sir.”
“Position of the two Destroyers?”
One port, one point one miles. One starboard point nine miles.”
Over twenty minutes, Stonewall Jackson moved into a position well astern of the ship.
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft two thirds, make your depth 50, come to. What’s the bearing, CPO Benson?”
“One three four sir.”
“One three four degrees.”
“Depth 50, one three four aye sir.”
“Countdown the range, Benson.”
“Point four miles sir.”
USS Stonewall Jackson closed on the cargo ship.
“One point two miles.”
Nathan was tempted to go up and take a snap through the periscope, but he resisted the urge.
“Three hundred yards. Revs dropping, she’s slowed.”
“Open and trim vents fore and aft, down bubble twenty. Speed nine knots.”
Would that be enough? He imagined the ship’s prop smashing into the hull.
It had to be. Nathan waited, gripping the Conn’s rail.
“Increase revs,” there was a wait, “range?”
“Eighty yards.”
“Rig trim to ascend fore and aft one, up bubble ten. Ease off on the revs. Range?” asked Nathan.
“Eighteen yards.”
“Make your depth thirty.”
Nathanraised the periscope and looked into the monitor. It was where he wanted it, raised, but still below the surface. He selected live view mode.
“We’re too close sir,” said Benson.
Nathan held his hand up but remained looking at the periscope view on the monitor. Stonewall Jackson moved up close behind the ship’s stern. Long seconds later he said, “There she blows. Ease off on the revs.” There was a pause. “Not so much, increase speed slightly.” He waited for several seconds, “ease off slightly, slowly now. There, that’s it. Ease off the revs a tiny bit. Take a look at this monitor CPO Benson.”