by Don Brown
“The Americans have proposed flying the body to Hong Kong, sir.”
Tang sat down and placed his hands on his desk, palms down. He looked straight ahead, saying nothing, showing no emotion, almost as if he hadn’t heard the answer.
“The Americans,” he said. “The Americans seem to have involved themselves to stifle our ascendency to military superpower status. Since the Americans have attacked our aircraft and now have killed sailors on the Shemnong—”
“Mister President,” Shang said, “may I remind you that the Americans are blaming your brother’s death on the Taiwanese.”
“Do not interrupt again, General Shang. Since the Americans have attacked our aircraft and now have killed sailors on the Shemnong, we must strike back with full force!” Tang looked at Admiral Zou. “Admiral, I am ordering the Navy to sink the Vicksburg and to do so immediately.”
Zou looked over at Shang, as if deferring to him to respond.
“Mister President,” Shang said, “executing that particular order right now might serve to compromise our overall mission.”
“Why is that, General?”
“The Vicksburg and the Shemnong are steaming to the east, toward the Philippines. If we bring more air power against the Vicksburg at this time, then we would be forced to move the Shi Lang farther to the east to pursue her. Part of the problem with that is that our search planes from the Shi Lang have just discovered the Taiwanese naval task force sailing toward Itu Aba. Right now, the Shi Lang is in the path of that task force. If we send her off to the east in pursuit of the Vicksburg, then the Taiwanese have a straight shot at Itu Aba and can retake the island.”
Tang started screaming at the top of his lungs again. Then, as if freezing in the midst of his tantrum, he stood still, went silent, and sat back down again. As he sat at his desk, his face became placid, as if under the influence of some spell. The calm and tranquil Tang returned. “So your position, General, is that sinking the Vicksburg would not constitute the wisest allocation of our military resources in the area at this time?”
Shang hesitated. “That is a fair assessment, Mister President.”
“And you agree, Admiral.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just how many ships are in this Taiwanese naval task force?”
The admiral answered this one. “Six, Mister President. Three Kee Lung – class destroyers and three troop transport ships.”
“Very well,” Tang said. “Order the Shi Lang to sink them all.”
Admiral Zou nodded. “With respect, sir, we recommend letting the flotilla sail a bit farther south into our trap before we attack.”
“Very well”—Tang wagged his finger in the air—”but we cannot let the Americans off the hook. What was that other ship that we spotted in the sector? A submarine tender, I believe?”
“The USS Emory S. Land, sir,” Admiral Zou said.
“I want that ship captured, just like they captured the Shemnong,” Tang said. Shang and Zou looked at each other. “Can we capture this ship without compromising our attack on the Taiwanese fleet?”
“I will defer to Admiral Zou on that one,” Shang said.
Zou nodded. “The sub tender is lightly defended by small arms. Machine guns. That sort of thing.” He waived his hand in the air. “The only real danger would be if they happen to have Stinger missiles on board. We could capture her with a helicopter assault from the Shi Lang.”
Tang rocked back and forth in his chair, nodding, as if contemplating his options. “Then this is my order. Seize the Emory Land.”
“Yes, Mister President.”
CHAPTER 26
USS Emory S. Land
South China Sea
As the sun climbed into the midday sky, Ensign Stephanie Surber, in her forward watch post on the USS Emory S. Land, sipped one of the bottled waters she had stored in the small cooler on the deck.
In a way, the hot sun and the intermittent cool wind gusts proved to be a bit of a surrealistic distraction from the blanket of … well, to Stephanie … it felt like a blanket of fear. The lead ships of the Carl Vinson Strike Group were still several hours away, and until the USS Shiloh arrived on the scene, every officer and crew member on board the Emory Land knew that in the event of an attack, the tender would be outgunned.
A knot twisted her stomach. Even as she searched the skies and seas for whatever was out there and saw nothing, she could not dispel the foreboding. All around her, crew members walked the main deck, sporting somber faces as they prepared for another sub replenishment at sundown, this time with the new Virginia-class submarine, the USS North Carolina.
Alarm bells sounded all over the ship!
Men thundered across the deck as the XO’s voice resonated over the 1MC: “General Quarters! General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands to Battle Stations!”
Stephanie dropped the bottled water and scrambled to the .50-cal on the starboard side. Her heart pounded like a string of sixteenth notes on a snare drum. Her assistant, Gunners Mate Third Class Charles Jonas, sprinted to the gun from the stern. “I’ll get the belt, ma’am!” he screamed.
“Okay, okay!” She reached the gun and swung it around. “Let’s get this baby loaded!”
“Yes, ma’am!” He popped open the transit box on the deck beside the gun.
“Now hear this! This is the XO! Enemy aircraft detected on radar approaching from the southwest. Blips spotted appear to be helicopters. Man Battle Stations!”
Z-10 attack helicopter (codename Tiger Five)
South China Sea
altitude 1,000 feet
ten miles southwest of USS Emory S. Land
Lieutenant He Chong, who was fifth in command at the historic attack on Itu Aba Island and thus bore the handle of Tiger Five, pushed down on the throttle from the lead position of the seven-helicopter V-formation squadron from the Shi Lang.
Now He Chong was in command of his own mission. The Chinese Command called this mission Operation Counterpunch.
The target of the mission, the USS Emory S. Land, a Navy submarine tender, would become visible in a few minutes. As the attack force thundered through the sunny sky, He Chong felt an anxious excitement.
This was his first shot at command, the result of the fact that the squadron leader and assistant squadron leader had not yet returned from being decorated for heroism by the president.
The anxious feeling that now gripped him came from the fact that the third and fourth in command at Itu Aba, including his close friend Lieutenant Pang Wenjun, both died just hours ago in a mission to retake the freighter Shemnong from the American cruiser USS Vicksburg.
The call to command, to lead the assault against the Emory Land, to capture her rather than destroy her, had not given him any time to grieve for his friend. That would come later.
But Pang’s death had reminded him that the Americans are a formidable foe. And even though the Emory Land did not contain the sophisticated air-defense missiles that the Vicksburg had employed to shoot down two of China’s attack helicopters and two fighter jets, the Americans should not be underestimated.
His mission was to attack and disable the Emory Land’s primitive air defenses, using enough force to allow Chinese Marines to seize control of the ship. But he was not to sink the ship. He could accomplish this by firing two lightweight missiles at the ship.
The air armada approaching the Emory Land consisted of four attack helicopters and three troop helicopters. The armed Marines and sailors would board the ship once her air defenses were disabled.
He Chong checked the chronometer on the control panel. It was time.
“Tiger Five to all units. Launch anti-ship missiles in ten seconds. Prepare to move in on my orders.”
Forward section, main deck
USS Emory S. Land
South China Sea
Now hear this! This is the XO. Radar shows two missiles inbound! Port side! All weapons fire! Brace for impact!”
Crew members all over the ship scr
ambled for cover. The machine guns and the 20- and 40-millimeter antiaircraft cannons on the port side began a thunderous barrage, firing shells into the air in the general direction of the incoming missiles, hoping to strike pay dirt.
“Petty Officer Jonas!” Stephanie yelled.
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Let’s get this .50-cal moved over to the port side. We’re gonna need all the firepower over there that we can muster!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Time to impact!” Another voice over the 1MC. “Fifteen seconds!”
“Don’t know if we’ve got enough time to get it mounted there, ma’am.”
“Just do it!” Stephanie said.
“Aye, ma’am,” Jonas said. “Got her dismounted. If you can grab the ammo belt, ma’am!”
“Got it! Let’s go!”
“Stay low, ma’am!”
“Just move!”
Heads down, they ran to the port side through the thunderous roar of antiaircraft fire spewing out in the direction of the incoming missiles.
“Time to impact, five seconds!” the XO’s voice boomed over the 1MC.
“Get that baby mounted, Petty Officer!” she screamed.
“Working on it, ma’am!”
“Three …
“Two …
“One …”
Powerful blasts shook the ship, knocking Stephanie facedown onto the steel deck. Alarm bells rang out.
“Fire!”
“Fire!”
Stephanie looked up. Crackling flames and billows of black smoke poured from the port superstructure of the ship.
“Grab the fire hoses!” someone yelled.
“I got it! I got it!” someone else screamed.
“Hurry!” a chief petty officer shouted.
The ship’s portside antiaircraft batteries had gone silent. Mixed with the crackling sound of flames and screaming voices, the sound of helicopter rotors now could be heard in the distance.
“Here they come!”
“They’re coming!”
Sick bay
USS Emory S. Land
Gunner woke up to the sound of alarm bells, then heard the call to General Quarters over the 1MC. He was thrown from his cot when the missiles hit the ship and exploded.
He was all alone in the ship’s sick bay. Gunner pushed himself up off the floor. “AAAAaaahhh. Oh, man.” He snatched both IV needles out of his arms and pulled himself up.
He looked around for his clothes, then remembered his seabag underneath his cot. It was gone. He finally saw his khaki uniform draped over a chair beside one of the examination tables. His shoes were on the floor next to it. Fighting pain and a sudden rush of wooziness, he slipped on the pants, the shirt, then tightened the belt. He stepped into his shoes and tied them.
Gunner scanned the room. There! A small-arms locker in the opposite corner! He opened the safety-latch door and took out a .45-caliber pistol and an ammunition clip and stepped out into the empty passageway.
Forward section, main deck
USS Emory S. Land
South China Sea
Sailors were pointing off the port side of the ship. Visible through the clearing smoke, seven helicopters, stretched in a straight line, were flying in toward the Emory S. Land.
“Let’s get this .50-cal mounted, Petty Officer!” Stephanie shouted.
“Aye, ma’am!”
“Ensign Surber!”
Stephanie turned around and saw Senior Chief Vasquez, the senior gunner’s mate that the XO had assigned to mentor her. “What is it, Senior Chief?”
“Ma’am, there’s no point in mounting the .50-cal! They’ve taken out our 20- and 40-millimeter antiaircraft guns. That .50-cal’s like taking a pea shooter to a gunfight at OK Corral. There’s nothing we can do! Highly recommend that you get belowdecks, ma’am!”
As Petty Officer Jonas finished mounting the .50-caliber machine gun on the port side, Stephanie shot back at the senior chief, “In other words, I’m supposed to run and hide because I’m the president’s daughter? No way! I’m a naval officer, and I’m the weapons officer of this ship, and I’m going to stand and defend my ship no matter the odds!”
“But ma’am!” Vasquez pleaded.
“Sorry, Senior Chief!” Stephanie snapped. “I’m overriding you!”
“Yes, ma’am!” The senior chief hurried away, rushing through a hatch into the ship’s superstructure.
“Petty Officer Jonas! Prepare to fire! Be ready with that belt!”
“Aye, ma’am!”
“Just a few more seconds!” She swung the machine gun to her left, aiming at the lead chopper. “Ready?” Her hands shook as the choppers flew closer.
“Yes, ma’am!” Jonas said. “Ready!”
“Okay! … Three … two … one …” She squeezed the trigger. The .50-caliber responded, firing a string of lead into the sky. She held on tight to the shaking gun and didn’t let up on the trigger.
And then … the helicopter on the far right burst into flames. Seconds later, it plunged into the sea!
“Yes!” Stephanie screamed, pumping a fist in the air. “We got one, Jonas! Woohoo!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“Let’s get another one!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
She squeezed the trigger again.
Two of the choppers began returning machine-gun fire! A stream of bullets flashed across the water in a line and up onto the deck of the ship, pinging and ricocheting all around Stephanie. She fired back, overcome by the fervor of the moment and in such an adrenaline-rush that her instincts had taken over.
“Stephanie! Get down! Get down!” The XO’s voice startled her. She turned, and he rushed in and tackled her like a free safety blitzing the quarterback.
She hit the deck hard, and his body was on top of hers, just as another round of bullets pinged across the steel deck from the attacking aircraft.
“Stay down!” he ordered, pinning her down with his powerful arms. And then his body jumped, as if a bolt of lightning had struck him.
“Noooo!” she screamed as his blood started flowing down onto her arms. She tried pushing herself up, but his weight was too heavy. “XO! XO! Bobby! Please! XO!”
“Stay down, ma’am!”
She craned her neck over to the left and saw Jonas, crumpled in a heap on the deck, face down in a pool of blood. Senior Chief Vasquez was crouched low in the open passageway leading into the ship’s superstructure, just a few feet away. “Stay down!”
More bullets pelted the deck, whizzing the air above her head. A second later, she felt a tug and then a yank on her right ankle. She felt herself sliding, butt down, across the deck. Senior Chief Vasquez dragged her to the open passageway and yanked her inside the superstructure.
“Seal the hatch!” someone yelled.
The steel door slammed shut just as more bullets pelted the outside of the ship.
Z-10 attack helicopter (codename Tiger Five)
South China Sea
altitude 300 feet
two hundred yards west of USS Emory S. Land
From the point formation just off the port side of the American ship, Lieutenant He Chong hovered the Z-10, his thumb on the machine-gun trigger.
The Americans had stopped firing back. The American sailors were using high-powered water hoses to spray water on the flames still flickering on the left side of the ship. Black smoke billowed from the vessel, but the American sailors seemed to have the fire under control.
One of the troop transport choppers hovered over the bow of the ship while People’s Republic of China Marines were sliding down ropes from the chopper onto the deck of the Emory Land.
He Chong and the one other remaining Z-10 attack helicopter—the one that had not been shot down—hovered off the port side, ready to deliver the coup de grâce with anti-ship missiles fired from point-blank range if the ship resisted.
This battle was not over, not yet anyway.
But as he watched the Chinese Marin
es fanning out along the main deck, with defenseless American sailors throwing up their hands, Chong sensed the thrill of victory fluttering in his chest.
Chong’s mind wandered. This mission, of which he was the air commander, had been personally ordered by the president. In just a matter of minutes, if the Marines could secure the Emory Land …
He dismissed that thought. There would be time for accolades later.
Continue to focus. This mission was not over.
CHAPTER 27
Bridge
USS Emory S. Land
South China Sea
From the center of the bridge, with his hand glued to his .45-caliber sidearm, Captain Auclair Wilson, commanding officer of USS Emory S. Land, looked out at the six Chinese Navy helicopters hovering around his ship.
In a matter of minutes, the situation for the Emory Land had grown beyond urgent.
Either of the two attack choppers could fire a rocket or machine-gun bullets into the bridge at any moment, and there was nothing he could do about it. His ship had become defenseless.
Looking down at the main deck, he saw Chinese Marines carrying AK-47s and sub-machine guns swarming all over the deck. His crew was largely unarmed. It was only a matter of time before the Chinese made their way up to the bridge.
Soon the forty-five-year-old captain would have to make a decision: Fight to the death or surrender his ship.
“Lieutenant Rogers. How’s that FLASH message coming to Seventh Fleet?”
“Can’t get the message off, sir,” the communications officer said. “Frequencies are still jammed.”
Wilson cursed. “Can you verify if we got the earlier message off?”
“Still can’t say with any certainty. We depressed the send button, but the Chinese were already jamming, and we never got a response.”
Three sharp raps on the closed bridge door.
“They’re here!” someone said.
“Draw arms!” the captain ordered. He pulled his pistol and pointed it at the steel door.
“Captain!” a voice shouted from the other side of the door. “It’s Senior Chief Vasquez. I have Ensign Surber!”