by Stephen Makk
Paul could only think of one option. “In that situation, evacuate Tigress, avoid contact. Over.”
Cal watched the foliage for a time, it moved; his man was moving forward.
Bastard.
“Walt, movement ahead, I’m withdrawing to line two.”
“Copy. Line two.”
Walt started his withdrawal to defensive line two; he moved carefully, this bad guy had an assault rifle. He turned and served the trees, looking for tell-tale movement. All clear. He kept low and moved back across to the next line of foliage.
The FBI operator spotted his leg and caught sight of the Remington ACR.
“Charlie one, Charlie two. I caught sight of one of the Chinese guards. He has an ACR. Over.”
“Charlie two, Charlie one advancing with care I probably have one in front of me. I’ll have no Chinese operators in Virginia. There’s an MSS agent in that cabin.”
Walt moved on his hands to get himself further back into cover. He slipped down suddenly, exposing himself.
Crack crack. Two rounds slammed into the earth near his leg. He brought his weapon to bear, aimed at the bushes, and fired.
“Contact, contact,” shouted Charlie two under fire.
Charlie one broke cover and dashed towards Charlie two.
Cal spotted the bad guy running through the bushes.
“Contact contact,” crack crack, crack. He hit the man in the lower back, and he went down. Cal ran forward and put his foot on the man’s back. “Stay down, asshole!” He heard crack cracks from Walt’s position. The guy on the deck was in bad shape and had no handgun. He picked up his M4 and ran with it, throwing it down after several yards. He saw Walt.
“I hit the fucker, but he got me in the leg.” Cal burst through the foliage. “Down, down motherfucker.” The man dropped the rifle and held his leg.
“What? You’re American?!”
“Whad’ya expect, asshole? Who are you with?”
“FBI.”
“What?” Cal moved forward.
“Check my papers top right pocket.”
“Hands up.” He checked the papers.
“What? Walt. These are two FBI mothers.”
Cal ran back to the other man and fished his papers out.
“Fuck, we’re on the same fuckin’ team. Bastard, we’re CIA.” Cal and Walt carried out what medical help they could provide.
“Guard this is Backstop. Guard this is Backstop, come in.”
“Backstop, Guard here.”
“Guard, the bad guys are both hit, not lethal but urgent. They’re FBI, sir. Advise.”
Shit, this couldn’t be any worse. Actually, it could, Paul supposed, they could be dead.
“I’ll bring in medivac.”
Cal walked back towards the log cabin; he opened the door.
“Hello, hello we’re friends. CIA.” He inspected every room. There was no sign of Tigress. Shit.
PANTING, WITH LEGS aching, Zhi ran along the trail in the forest that she’d covered on her walks, brushing aside leafy branches and leaping over tree roots. It was hard going. She’d heard the firefight and knew it was over now. Get away, that was all she could do. Zhi was making good progress and had put a fair distance between them now.
Paul, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Could she have done things differently? When you get attached, when you care, it makes things all the more difficult.
Paul, I’m so sorry.
Her immediate task was to get to the gas station she knew was down the main road, it was several miles yet, but she could make it. From there, she’d make a call to the Great Wok in Harrisonburg, and ask to speak to Ju-long. It was her only chance. He was on the same side, he’d get her away.
THE PARACEL ISLANDS. South China Sea
ANOTHER BRUISING EXPLOSION to port, and the boat lurched. The depth was increasing, 1,200 feet, 1,300. Every foot put them further away from the torture. The mortars would be spread by depth, it was all about getting below the maximum depth.
The boat rocked as another mortar blew to port. The boat sank under power and negative buoyancy. Down and down, away from the devil’s drum kit.
“Sonar. The last three explosions were all above us. We’re now at 1,700feet.” Another explosion. This was weaker and further away. Another yet further above.
“Planesman, maintain 1,900 feet. Sonar, location of Tango one?”
“Sir, all I can say is to our west.”
“Steer north, start a slow turn to our west.”
“Aye sir, north coming west.” The booming mortar attack had come to an end.
The boat came around to face its foe.
“Sir, we have an active ping. SJD-9 sonar. He’ll get a medium strong return.”
“Keep turning. Weaps, firing solution and war shot status?”
“Sir. Firing solution laid in. Tube three, Mk 48 CBASS loaded. Tube five Harpoon.”
“Flood tube three.”
“Sonar. We have sonobuoys dropping in. His Helix is hunting.” The Helix helicopter would be searching. He’d be readying his Yu-7 torpedoes, no doubt.
“Tube three flooded sir.”
Nathan wanted to get closer to Tango one. He’d hold for now.
“War shot, war shot,” said Sonar, “fish in the water. Yu-7 searching. Searching, searching. Fish has acquired us, dropping, pinging.”
“Stream the lure.”
The lure fell away towed behind the boat; the TB29/A1 sang its song of deception, attempting to draw the fish away.
“Range to Tango one?”
“Four miles sir.”
“Open outer doors tube three.”
“Outer doors open. Fish is ready in all respects.” It was earlier than he’d like to but...
“Launch tube three.”
“Launch. Fish running, fish is hungry sir.”
“Yu-7 still has us, sir.”
“Ready countermeasures, portside.”
“Fish closing. Pinging, pinging.”
“Dance the lure.”
“Dancing.”
“Yu-7 range 3,000 feet. Fifteen hundred.”
“Up bubble 20. Blow one. Come to starboard.”
“Range 300. Fish is looking at the lure, it’s pulling left. Now returning to us.”
Oh God, come on, get away, get away.
This was it; the enemy fish was running in fast. It was time for the last throw of the dice.
Chapter 13
“EJECT COUNTERMEASURES port side.” Two canisters ejected into the depths, hissing bubbling, emitting drive propeller sounds. Come to me, come to me, here I am. A huge thud and the boat violently heaved to the right. To the aft was a rushing sound. The boat pitched and heaved in the turbulence. The COB was violently thrown to the deck. The sail was pushed hard to starboard by a rising gas cloud. The crew fell to the right.
“Damage control.” Shouted the COB.
The intercom barked. “Leaks in buoyancy feed pipes R2 and 3. Rear manifold leak. We’re on it.”
“Weaps, fish status?”
“Fish climbing, range point three miles, request wire cut. It was pulled back during that hit.”
“Cut it.”
“Wire cut. Fish pinging, pinging. Range point one two miles. Tango one deploying countermeasures.”
The fish homed in and accelerated in its terminal phase.
“Fish pinging. Running in.”
“Sonar. Hot datum Tango one.”
The control room cheered.
“Secondary explosion on Tango one. Nothing, nothing. Sinking sounds, debris impacts on the surface. They’re gone sir. It’s vanished. The whole thing is gone.” Nathan picked up the microphone.
“All hands. We have a hot datum on Tango one. It’s gone, by our fish and secondary explosions. Many souls were in her. Gone. Rest in peace. Commander out.”
Nathan looked around the somber control room. Heads were held low. It was time to get back into it.
“Kaminski, chin up. We have ass to kick out there. This boat’s a hunter. Le
t the undertaker sort out the spoils. Course to release point?”
“Yes, sir. Three two six degrees.”
“Heading three two six. Depth 120. Speed 14 knots. We still have Tango two out there. He’ll know what happened. He’ll be mad as all hell. But he knows what he’s up against. He’ll be afraid, very afraid.”
“Aye sir.”
USS Stonewall Jackson the meanest, most dangerous beast in this pond set forth; she was a-hunting. However, the Yuan class boat was hunting too. Only one would survive.
JACKSON MADE HER WAY through the warm, dark South China Sea.
“Position?”
“Twelve miles to run sir,” said Kaminski.
“Weaps, do you have the targeting ready for the strikes on Woody and Duncan Islands?”
“Yes sir, all ready. The data’s good and ready for upload.”
“Slow to ten knots. Let’s get quiet.”
The boat cruised on. Nathan got himself a coffee from the galley; he got a tray with one each for the rest of the control room.
“Thanks sir,” said the COB.
“Sir, I can’t be sure yet, but, I have a hint of a possible contact to the west. It’s intermittent. I’ve been heading it for several minutes now. It could be a biologic.”
“Keep on it Benson. What’s your instinct tell you?”
He looked over and shook his head. “My guess is that it’s not biologic; but it may be.”
They waited for long minutes in silence.
“Sir. I’m finding it too repetitive to be biologic, I think it’s a contact.”
“Keep on it, can you get a heading?”
“Yes sir, it’s heading this way.” After a few minutes, he was ready to call it. “Sir, I think it’s Tango two, I’m getting a spiky waveform, pre screw count.”
A few minutes went by. “Revs up. It’s Tango two, confirmed.”
“Weaps lay in a firing solution, what’s in tube one?”
“Mk 48 CBASS.”
“We’re in open water sir,” said the XO, “we’re sitting fat, dumb and happy.”
“Speed fifteen; we may as well be nearer the launch point. I’ll turn into him when he gets closer.”
“Sir,” said Kaminski, “could you look at the chart?” He almost told her he’d look at it later, but something told him no. He walked over and looked.
“Sir, look. These charts are super accurate; the Republic of China Navy has made sure of that.” She pointed to an underwater canyon. “Look, two seamounts with a snaky canyon leading away to the north. They call it Mogui de tongdao. The Devil’s Passage. We can use it. But Nathan, we need to get an accurate position fix now, before we go in.”
“Ok Nikki, I’m sold. Come to 180 feet, float the comms buoy.” The boat rose and took a position fix from a satellite.
He looked; most of the ridge tops were 980 deep with the central passage floor being 3,000. It was narrow, just 500 feet wide.
“Flood one. Make your depth 1,300 feet. We’re heading into the Devil’s Passage.”
A few minutes later, Benson called out. “Tango two’s coming in behind us. He’s speeded up. Seventeen knots.”
“Seventeen knots, we’ll match him.” USS Stonewall Jackson entered the Devil’s Passage.
“Talk me through, Lieutenant Kaminski.”
“Come to three four zero.”
“Follow her calls, Planesman.”
“Aye sir.”
She took out her digital stopwatch. “Come to zero.” The planesman steered to the right. “Come to eight degrees.” The boat leaned to the right.
Ping.
“Sir, the Yuan class is pinging to get his position and to pick us out.”
“Come to three four zero.” The boat leaned hard to the left.
Ping.
“Now ready for hard right zero four zero. On my count... four, three, two, one, now.” The boat leaned to the right, and the crew held on to whatever they could.
Ping. The boat made its winding way down the passage, pursued by the Chinese submarine. It couldn’t get a shot off, due to the twisting narrow canyon way.
“Sir, we have a side channel coming up to the left, just after the next turn right.”
“We run up it and hide?”
“That’s what I was thinking sir.”
“Do it.”
“It’ll be tight, sir.”
“We don’t have much choice, do we?”
Ping.
“Come to four five degrees. Four, three, two, one, hard full left.” The boat turned tightly, the crew hung on. Had he turned early enough? Or had he left it too late? The heading came to two seven zero. They were still there.
“Sir,” she said, “he’s still following the main passageway. We can rise up and over the north wall. Come over the left ridge wall to the north, then dive back into the passageway behind him.”
“Ok, call it. You have the helm, Kaminski.”
Adrenaline flushed her stomach. “Blow one. Up to 980 feet.” The boat rose.
“Level the boat. Come to zero degrees,” she called. Nikki waited, now it was back into the passage behind him. “Come to seventy degrees.” She waited. “Flood one, turn hard to zero degrees. Open and trim vents fore and aft. Make for depth.” The boat dived into the Devil’s Passage again.
The boat had passed up and over the left hand ridge and dived back in behind the Yuan Class. She hoped.
Ping.
“The ping is up forward,” said Benson. “He’s running to the north in front of us.”
“I have control,” said Nathan, “well done Nikki.”
The Jackson followed the Yuan north up the twisting channel.
“We’re coming to a straight run,” said Kaminski.
“Range to target?” said Nathan.
“Point three miles sir,” said Benson.
“Weaps, lay in a firing solution.”
“Target allocated Tango two. Fish laid in. Tube one, Mk 48. Fish is ready in all respects. Good track.”
“Launch tube one.”
“Tube one launched, fish is running and hungry. Closing, running in, fish now pinging. Running in pinging. Cutting wire. Tango two has blown, emergency blow. He’s climbing. Going up. Fish is turning upwards. Closing.” The Devil’s passage was a frightening, deep, dark place to be. “Tango is climbing hard, full speed. Fish climbing in pursuit. Both climbing fast. It’s a race. He has a buoyancy advantage. We’re running fast on him, but it’s close.”
“Sonar. Hot datum Tango two. Hot datum.” The hull split and a huge gas bubble escaped. The Yuan class fell back and sank deep into the Devil’s Passage. Nathan looked at Nikki and puffed his cheeks.
“I don’t want to do that ever again.”
“SIR, WE ARE AT LAUNCH point for the drone strike,” said Kaminski.
“Ok, speed three knots, up bubble ten. Rig trim to ascend fore and aft forward one third. Come to periscope depth.”
“Weaps, initiate TLAM strike. Woody and Duncan Islands. Call it, Drone strike.” Weaps spent several minutes on his console setting up the op. He looked to his Commander.
“TLAM strike is go. The plan of Drone strike is loaded. Activating all birds Sir.
“VPM tube one. Gannet, returns Gyro up, green board, route A, target T1.
Osprey, returns Gyro up, green board, route B, target T2.”
Nathan shook his head; Weaps had to get all-dramatic.
“Pelican, returns Gyro up, green board, route C, target T3.
Penguin, returns Gyro up, green board, route D, target T4.
Gull, returns Gyro up, green board, route E, target T5.
Puffin, returns Gyro up, green board, route F, target T6.”
The Tomahawks reported their status one by one.
“All birds up and ready Sir.”
“Open outer doors, VPM one.”
“Outer doors open Sir.”
Nathan checked his wristwatch again. He counted the seconds down.
“Execute drone strike on my com
mand.” Fifty seven, fifty eight, fifty nine.
“Go, go, go.” The missiles were launched with a whooshing sound from back aft.
“On the surface, Gannet reports launch, good burn,” said Weaps. “Motor in, wings deployed, gaining altitude. All crew, we have a bird out hunting.” One by one all six reached the surface, ignited their motors and soared into the night.
Gannet approached Woody Island, it descended and flew low over the runway, making a pass to calibrate its navigation systems. It turned and flew back down the runway and headed for the drones parked off the runway centre.
Gannet slammed into the parked UAVs, the warhead blasting and shredding the parked drones. Osprey followed close behind. Secondary explosions followed as the drone’s warheads exploded. Woody Island lit up as flames towered into the air. Fire trucks attempted to tackle the blaze but were beaten back.
At Duncan Island, it was a similar story. The bulk of the built-up area was to the east. Pelican came in from the north flying over the landscape and calibrating its navigation computers. It turned hard to the west and flew down a causeway. Pelican slammed into the drone storage area. The blast devastated the area flames leapt into the sky. Penguin, Gull and Puffin soon added to the carnage.
IT WAS OH TWO FORTY hours. USS Stonewall Jackson hung at 110 feet deep off Bamboo Wanjiaotou point, east of Yulin naval base Hainan Island, the main Chinese nuclear submarine base. Operation Joshua, the bugging of underwater communication cables, was underway. Innes and Alves had been out there for ninety minutes.
“We have a signal from the sail sir,” said the COB.
“What?” They hadn’t been out long.
A while later after decompression, Nathan walked back to the lower hatch. It opened and some water spilt on the deck. Innes and Alves climbed down and the two seamen helped them with their rebreathers and the rest of their gear. If this had been a success, then they’d gone further than anybody could expect.
“What went wrong? How did it go?”
“Fine sir. The bug’s in place. I think they were so confident, they only had one trip wire laid out.”
“So all’s well?”
“Yes sir. Operation Joshua’s completed.”