by Don Brown
“With all due respect, Captain, I think I’d follow up with this,” the XO volunteered.
Fire or talk. This was the question. Another quick prayer under his breath—”God give me wisdom.”
“Captain, we’ve received nothing from our government confirming that,” Kruger said. “What are the terms of this agreement you claim our governments have reached?”
Another static burst. “Our government tells us that we are to release the Shemnong to the custody of the United States Navy, with one caveat.”
“An obvious trick, Captain,” the weapons officer said. “We’ve received nothing from Washington verifying any agreement.”
“I don’t know, Captain,” the XO said. “He said they’re willing to turn over the Shemnong. That’s what we came for.”
“Yes, sir, but he said there’s a caveat,” the weapons officer insisted.
Kruger held up his hand in a “don’t talk” gesture. He depressed the transmit button again. “Captain, what is this caveat?”
The transmission static over the speaker was nothing short of maddening.
“This is the captain of the Kee Lung. Under the agreement hammered out by our governments, we shall relinquish the Shemnong, but you shall—”
“Dangit!” Kruger screamed. “To the captain of the Kee Lung! You are breaking up!”
“My apologies, Captain. We were forced to institute electronic jamming to prevent the Shemnong from alerting the PRC that we have captured her.”
“Sounds fishy,” the weapons officer said.
Kruger held up his hand to quiet Klifton. “You were saying, Captain, that there is a caveat to our taking control of the Shemnong.”
Static. “Under the terms of the agreement, you are permitted to take the Shemnong, with one caveat.” More static.
Kruger cursed.
“He’s stalling,” the weapons officer said.
Kruger pressed the transmit button. “What is the caveat, Captain? My patience is running thin.”
Static. Crackling. “Our government has a vested interest in preventing weapons on board the Shemnong from falling into enemy hands. Therefore, a contingent of ROC Marines shall stay aboard the vessel to ensure that no one delivers these weapons into the hands of the Communist PRC military forces. Our Marines shall be authorized to use deadly force against anyone who attempts to dispose of these weapons in any manner not authorized by our government.”
Kruger winced. “Did I hear that right? Did he just threaten us?”
“Yes, he did, sir,” the weapons officer said.
“Sounds like a reasonable proposal, Skipper,” the XO said. “Sounds like the perfect solution. We take the ship. Their Marines stay aboard with the weapons. No harm, no foul.”
“Maybe, XO, but if that’s true, why haven’t we heard from Washington?”
“Maybe because they’re stalling, sir,” the weapons officer said.
“Please elaborate, Mister Klifton.”
The weapons officer pivoted around, his back to the fire-control panel, so he was now facing both the CO and the XO. “Think about it, sir. First off, he claims that he’s still jamming the Shemnong so they can’t radio a distress signal to the Commies. I can understand that he’d have to maybe jam them at first, but now they control the ship. And they’re still jamming?”
“Captain,” the communications officer spoke up.
“Lieutenant Morrison.”
“Sir, it does make sense that they’d keep jamming. It’s possible that someone could be deep in the bowels of the Shemnong with a transmission device. So they have to jam to prevent that.”
“Or perhaps,” Lieutenant Klifton said, “they’re jamming so that we can’t get off a distress signal if they attack us. They attack us, take us out, and then blame it on the Commies. Remember. We’ve heard nothing from Washington. That’s the problem with this whole thing. They come up with a story that on its face sounds reasonable enough … just reasonable enough to fool us into thinking it’s true, giving them time to program the missile codes for their Harpoons into their fire-control computers.”
Silence on the bridge.
“Captain,” the XO said, “it makes no sense that the Kee Lung would attack us. After all, it was this very ship, the Kee Lung, that requested that we send a US Navy doctor to the Shemnong. And the president approved sending Commander Jeter out there. So why would they, on the one hand, request a US Navy doctor, and on the other hand, attack the very ship that sent the doctor?”
“Good point, XO,” Kruger said, “except they requested the Navy doctor before they knew we were going to demand their ship. My guess is they wanted Dr. Jeter to come aboard and photograph the atrocities and document them so they would have a third-party witness against the Chinese. Now the dynamics have changed.”
“But, sir,” the XO continued, “why don’t we just send a message to Washington asking them to verify?”
“Lieutenant Morrison?” Kruger directed the question to his communications officer. “How long would that take?”
Morrison shrugged. “Hard to say, sir. Part of the problem is the Taiwanese are jamming the area. We might be able to get a message off, we might not. Right now it’s spotty. Like waiting for an opening in the clouds, and then waiting for another opening in the clouds for the response. They’d have to cut off their jamming, or we’d have to move out of the area to get a reliable signal off.”
Kruger shook his head. “We don’t have time for that.”
“Skipper, may I add one other thing?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Klifton.”
“Sir, you ordered me to ready the Mark 45 cannons. And we’re ready to fire those. But you didn’t order that we arm the Harpoons. The Mark 45 is a great naval gun, sir, and we might disable the Kee Lung on the first shot, and we could do a lot of damage if we hit their magazine rack. But Captain, our Harpoons aren’t targeted on the Kee Lung. And if they hit us broadside with even one Harpoon, it’s all over. No one would know what hit us. They’re jamming the signals. They pop us with a Harpoon and we’re toast. Remember what those two Iraqi Exocets did to the USS Stark, sir.”
The weapons officer spoke wisdom far beyond his years. And young Lieutenant Klifton was right. Kruger had indeed neglected to order the arming of the Vicksburg’s Harpoons. When he ordered that the less-powerful Mark 45 cannons be trained on the Kee Lung, he had envisioned using just enough firepower to coerce the Taiwanese into complying with the American demand to release the Shemnong.
He had hoped to avoid sinking Kee Lung.
What if Lieutenant Klifton was right? What if this was a stall game? The proposal sounded reasonable enough, so why nothing from Washington? A point-blank hit from a Harpoon missile at this range, and the Vicksburg was history.
“Captain?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Klifton.”
“Permission to speak freely.”
“Absolutely.”
“Sir, in 1987 more than forty American sailors died on the USS Stark from that Iraqi missile attack. And we are way too close for any of our anti-missile defenses to work. If they fire first, Captain”—he nodded in the direction of the Kee Lung—”we won’t survive a close-in Harpoon attack.”
Kruger let that sink in for a second. “And if we fire first …”
“Correct, sir. At this range, only the first to fire a Harpoon would survive.”
Kruger paced across the bridge and wiped his forehead. Lieutenant John Klifton was the sharpest of his young officers on board. He had command written all over him. He was right. “Very well, Lieutenant Klifton. Enter firing coordinates for two Harpoon anti-ship missiles. Target, ROCS Kee Lung. Arm missiles. Prepare to fire on my command.”
“Captain!” the XO blurted out.
“XO, I’ve got four hundred lives I’m responsible for, including yours. Unless I hear from Washington, we are going to take out the Kee Lung.”
“But, sir.” This was the XO again.
“Lieutenant Klifton, do you understand
your orders?”
“Aye, sir,” the weapons officer spun back around and began punching buttons. “Entering firing coordinates now, Captain. Stand by to arm Harpoons.”
Bridge
ROCS Kee Lung
South China Sea
twelve minutes past midnight
How long since last contact with the Americans?” Captain Won Lee asked.
“Five minutes, Captain.”
Won Lee checked his watch.
His ship remained at Battle Stations, on highest alert, ready to destroy a warship that he had never believed would become a target of a Taiwanese missile. An attack against an American vessel was never contemplated during his time as a midshipman at the ROC Naval Academy at Kaohsiung City. In fact, many ROC Naval Academy grads wind up doing post-graduate work at the US Naval War College, with a focus on potential enemy navies: Russia, Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos.
But now …
The American silence was a warning.
Won Lee could wait no longer. He had his orders from Taipei. He had to protect his ship from a first strike by the Vicksburg.
He had to act—now.
“Weapons officer. Reset countdown. Launch Harpoon missiles in T minus thirty seconds. On my mark. XO, announce missile launch.”
“Aye, Captain,” the XO said. “Now hear this. This is the executive officer. By order of the captain, stand by for missile launch in T minus thirty seconds …” He looked at Won Lee.
“Mark it,” Won Lee said.
“T minus twenty-nine, T minus twenty-eight …”
Bridge
USS Vicksburg
South China Sea
100 miles east of Da Nang, Vietnam
twelve minutes after midnight
Captain, Harpoon missiles targeted and armed!” the weapons officer announced.
“Very well!” Kruger said. “XO, on the 1MC. Announce missile launch in ten seconds. On my mark!”
“Aye, Captain.” The XO opened the 1MC. “Now hear this. This is the executive officer. Stand by for missile launch in ten seconds. This is not a drill!”
“On my mark,” Kruger said, “launch Harpoons in nine … eight … seven …”
“Captain! FLASH message from National Command Authority!” the communications officer said.
Kruger snatched the message from Morrison’s hand.
FROM: National Command Authority
TO: Commanding Officer, USS Vicksburg
VIA: Commander, Seventh Fleet
Commander, Carl Vinson Strike Group
Commander, CRUSDESGRU 10
PRECEDENCE: FLASH
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET
SUBJ: Negotiated Terms with ROC Navy for Seizing PRC Freighter
M/V Shemnong
“Belay missile launch!” Kruger yelled, having read only the subject line.
“Belaying missile launch! Aye, sir!” Lieutenant Klifton said. He began hitting switches to override the computerized launch command.
Kruger’s heart pounded as he prayed that his override command wasn’t too late.
“Missile launch belayed, sir! Countdown at T minus one second and holding, sir. Awaiting further instructions.”
Kruger exhaled. If the captain of the Kee Lung knew that he had just come within one second of being blown to smithereens …
“Very well, stand by, Lieutenant Klifton.”
“Standing by, sir! Aye, sir!”
Kruger started at the top of the message.
FROM: National Command Authority
TO: Commanding Officer, USS Vicksburg
VIA: Commander, Seventh Fleet
Commander, Carl Vinson Strike Group
Commander, CRUSDESGRU 10
PRECEDENCE: FLASH
CLASSIFICATION: TOP SECRET
SUBJ: Negotiated Terms with ROC Navy for Seizing PRC Freighter
M/V Shemnong
1. Be advised that the United States of America and the Republic of China (Taiwan) have negotiated terms for naval forces of each nation to transition custody of PRC freighter M/V Shemnong.
2. Under the terms negotiated, boarding party from USS Vicksburg, including navigational personnel and master-at-arms personnel, shall board Shemnong and take command from ROC (Taiwanese) forces currently controlling the vessel.
3. Armed Marines from the Republic of China (Taiwan) shall remain aboard Shemnong until further notice to carry out their mission of guarding certain weapons and weapons systems which ROC forces have captured and which are stored on the deck of the ship.
4. ROC Marines shall not interfere with US Navy transport of Shemnong to Naval Station Guam. US Naval forces shall not interfere with ROC Marines’ mission on board M/V Shemnong.
5. ROC Marines shall remain aboard M/V Shemnong until further notice, pending continued negotiations between the United States of America and the Republic of China (Taiwan) concerning disposition of weapons captured by the Republic of China (Taiwan) currently aboard M/V Shemnong.
6. Upon receipt of this FLASH message, the Commanding Officers of USS Vicksburg and ROCS Kee Lung shall begin to arrange for expedited immediate transfer of control of M/V Shemnong to USS Vicksburg.
7. Time is of the essence, and transfer of control of M/V Shemnong shall be complete no later than one hour after receipt of this directive.
8. Upon assumption of custody of M/V Shemnong, USS Vicksburg shall immediately begin escort of M/V Shemnong to Naval Station Guam, cruising at the freighter’s maximum speed, until relieved by other US Navy warships.
9. The Commanding Officer, USS Vicksburg, shall proceed with execution of these orders immediately.
END OF MSG.
“Unbelievable.” Kruger handed the message to the XO. “Reopen hailing frequency.”
“Aye, sir. Hailing frequency open, Captain.”
Kruger depressed the transmit button. “This is the captain of USS Vicksburg. We’ve just received orders from Washington, which are consistent with your proposal. We’ve got a deal, Captain!”
USS Emory S. Land
South China Sea
fifteen minutes past midnight
Amazing what a hot shower, a shampoo, a clean set of khakis, and discrete sprinkling of baby powder down the neck and back could do to restore energy from the depths of fatigue.
As her workday had come to a grinding end, fatigue had given way to adrenaline, which had given way to fatigue again, all of which had been blanketed with alternating emotions of anxiety, sorrow, anger, bitterness, and hope.
Of course, as they had taught her at the academy, no one expected a naval officer to be void of emotion. Facing situations involving life, death, and danger, as naval officers would be required to face, would invoke emotional responses in anyone.
But the only emotion that an officer should ever show in public was cool-handed professionalism, which had been a difficult challenge for her during this day.
Through it all, for the most part, she had kept a cool hand except for one stupid moment with the XO.
Now, at a quarter after midnight, she was about to face her final test of the day. And after that, she could retire to her stateroom and shelve her professionalism.
As she walked down the passageway, a hospital corpsman, a second-class petty officer, came to attention. “Good evening, ma’am,” the corpsman said.
“At ease, Hospitalman Collins,” Stephanie replied, still unaccustomed to guys old enough to be her big brother—and sometimes old enough to be her father—calling her ma’am.
“Yes, ma’am.” The petty officer transitioned from full attention posture to parade rest.
“How’s he doing?”
“Doc was by earlier, ma’am. He was dehydrated, but should be fine soon. Doc says we need to keep him confined for several days, keep the IVs going. He should be up and about in a few.”
“Has he been responsive?”
“Oh, yes, ma’am. In fact he argued with the doc about ordering him to sick bay. He’s as feisty as his reputation.”
She tried suppressing a snicker. Another crazy emotional response in a day of crazy emotions. “You think it would be okay if I just step in for a moment to see him?”
“Yes, ma’am. He was awake just a minute ago.”
“Hmm,” she mused. “Check and see if he’s still awake.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Collins opened the door to sick bay and went in.
Stephanie checked her watch. Almost twenty after midnight. Zero-five-hundred was coming soon. She needed to hit the rack. Otherwise she would be no good to the commander tomorrow.
Petty Officer Collins stepped back out into the passageway. “He’s awake and he’d be happy to see you, ma’am.” Collins pushed open the door.
“Thank you.” Sick bay was a brightly lit utilitarian space with six medical cots, three on each side of a narrow passageway running down the middle. Five of the cots were unoccupied, their white sheets and pillows unwrinkled. The man in the sixth cot smiled at her. He had a sunburned tan and salt-and-pepper hair. An IV hung on each side of his cot, each feeding a plastic tube and needle sticking into an arm.
“Behold, the lady who saved my life,” he said, his hazel eyes looking up at her.
“Good evening, sir. Or perhaps I should now say good morning.” She felt a sudden nervousness. “I’m Ensign Stephanie Surber.”
“Yes, I know who you are. I once met your father.”
“I recognize you too, Commander. I saw you on television with President Williams when you got back from North Korea.”
Gunner grinned. “I’m lucky I wasn’t court-martialed for that.”
She smiled. Even sunburned, blistered, and stuck with tubes in his arms, the man had a certain charm. “Sir, I hardly think that anyone who goes behind enemy lines like you did in North Korea and brings back American prisoners who had been there more than sixty years should be court-martialed.”
He chuckled. “You’d have done the same thing. I got lucky.”
“You’re too modest, sir. Anyway, I know you need to rest. But wanted to stop by and check on you. How do you feel?”