by Joe Weber
He looked at his scrawled words. "The man has twenty-two years of experience around ships, and he said there wouldn't be any reason to lower the crane to go to sea."
Susan tried to quell her growing excitement. "Do they know where it's going?"
"Not yet," he admitted and tore off the slip of paper. "But they've got a number of military reconnaissance aircraft scouring the Pacific."
"Steve"--Susan suddenly changed the subject--"did you see the report about the Japanese man who was shot while a television crew was filming him?"
"Yes," Steve confided and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I saw it on television first thing this morning."
The Japanese protester had been standing on a packing crate yelling through a megaphone at San Francisco commuters. A group of male Caucasians were taunting him from across the street. When the young man shouted, "Japan must never apologize for the war! We don't owe America anything, and we will not pay any reparations!" a single shot rang out and the crowd scattered, leaving the wounded protester writhing on the sidewalk. He died three hours later at San Francisco General Hospital .
"Do you think," Susan asked, "that relations between Japan and America are irretrievably doomed?"
"I wish I could give you an answer," Steve temporized, "but in my opinion there's a high probability that our two nations will never get along."
"Do you really think that's what the future holds?"
"Yes, I really do." He glanced down. "I doubt if the Japanese, who are a fairly pure race, and the hodgepodge of people we call Americans, will ever be close to each other."
Susan looked at the entrance when an Asian businessman walked in.
"Many of our core values," Steve went on, "including our ideology and a number of other things, are diametrically opposed to the Japanese . . . and then we have the matter of their sneak attack and the two atomic bombs we dropped on them. So I don't see much hope for a warm, friendly relationship between our two societies."
"I'm afraid you're right. And, as I said before, I think we'll go to war. The people of both countries--for the most part--don't like or trust each other. If I had been born and raised in Japan, I probably wouldn't trust Americans either."
They remained quiet until Susan checked her watch. "Well, now that you've brightened my morning, are you ready to go to the Port Authority?"
THE WHITE HOUSE
The President was conferring with his Chief of Staff when an aide brought Japanese Ambassador Koji Hagura and Special Envoy Yamagata Isoroku into the Lincoln Sitting Room. The quiet space was the President's favorite environment to contemplate difficult situations. He felt more organized and disciplined in the historical surroundings, and often said he got most of his best ideas in the room.
The men had dismal looks on their faces, and the Chief of Staff had coffee stains on the front of his white shirt and blue silk tie.
"I'd like you to sit in on this," the President said hastily when Scott Eaglehoff started to leave.
"Yes, sir."
Evening was settling over the city as the formalities were exchanged and the men took seats.
"Mr. President," Hagura began glumly, "I apologize for bothering you and your staff at this hour; however, due to the present difficulties our two nations are experiencing, my government has instructed me to initiate an immediate dialogue with you and your staff."
The Ambassador's polished etiquette and decorum were clearly evident, but the occasional half-smile was missing. Although Special Envoy Isoroku was more woodenly expressionless than the President had ever seen him, the young diplomat didn't seem as depressed as Hagura.
"We are extremely pleased," the President replied when he noticed Eaglehoff give him the take it easy look, "to sit down with you and Mr. Isoroku. We have serious problems that we're confident can be resolved if we work together."
Hagura allowed the slightest of smiles.
"What would you suggest we do first," the President continued in a conciliatory manner, "to rectify the situation and gain the trust and confidence we once shared?"
Hagura pursed his lips. "Our first concern. is the placement of the U. S. carrier groups in the South China Sea."
You should be concerned, the President thought. "We can understand how you feel, Ambassador Hagura, but the United States must take the steps necessary to protect our vital interests as well as those of our allies."
Hagura showed no emotion and neither diplomat made an attempt to communicate. The Ambassador knew he was in a position that was controlled by the Americans. He struggled to maintain his patience and not display any sign of irritation. The worst thing he could do was lose his self-control, thus losing face on behalf of his country and his government.
"Mr. Ambassador," Scott Eaglehoff said in a friendly tone, "I would like to make a suggestion, if you don't mind." Hagura solemnly nodded his head.
"I think it is extremely important," Eaglehoff said with conviction, "for the President and our Secretary of State to meet with Prime Minister Koyama and Foreign Minister Katsumoto as soon as possible.
"We feel a great sense of urgency," Eaglehoff continued firmly, "about the escalating friction between our two countries, and we trust that it is a priority to your government and to the Prime Minister."
Out of habit, Koji Hagura raised an eyebrow. "We deeply share your concerns, and Prime Minister Koyama is prepared to offer the first step toward normalizing our relationship with the United States."
The President was caught off guard, but he didn't outwardly convey his elation. This was by far the toughest game of international stud poker he'd played since taking the oath of office, and the outcome was indeed unpredictable. He and Eaglehoff shared a quick glance and remained quiet.
"Our Prime Minister"--Hagura looked at the President while Yamagata Isoroku stared straight ahead--"has suggested that he and Foreign Minister Katsumoto meet with you and Secretary Tidwell in Anchorage, Alaska, as quickly as the necessary security arrangements can be worked out.
"Our leaders," the Ambassador went on in a grave and formal manner, "have agreed to a collective plan we feel will be in the best interest of both great countries, and Prime Minister Koyama wishes to personally present it to you."
"That sounds like an excellent beginning." The President smiled broadly and turned to his Chief of Staff. "Scott, I'd like you to work out the details with Ambassador Hagura, and then let's get under way as soon as possible."
Chapter 25.
STRAIT OF MALACCA
Kitty Hawk steamed slowly downwind eighteen miles northwest of Langsa, Sumatra, while the pilots and naval flight officers emerged from their quiet, air-conditioned ready rooms to preflight their aircraft. All appeared to be in order, business as usual, but a strange sense of foreboding had spread among the officers and sailors.
As the aircrews spread out among the F/A-18 Hornets, A-6 Intruders, S-3 Vikings, E-2C Hawkeyes, and F-14 Tomcats, the tempo of operations rapidly increased. Helicopters, planes, white tractor tugs, and flight crews crisscrossed in a surrealistic ballet of moving aircraft and imminent danger. People ducked under moving wings and simultaneously dodged wheels and other obstacles while they went about their hazardous jobs.
The studious-looking aircrews, encumbered by their green flight suits, boots, g-suits, torso harnesses, oxygen masks, and helmets, scrutinized their airplanes for any structural damage and checked the security of the external fuel tanks, missiles, and bombs. Next, they looked for fuel or hydraulic leaks, then peered into jet intakes to assure that nothing would be sucked through the engine's fragile innards.
Because of the aircraft carrier's relatively slow speed, everyone on the flight deck was breathing the dense, acrid black smoke from the funnels used to vent the exhaust gases from the ship's oil-fired boilers.
When the external checks were completed, the aircrews climbed into their cockpits and began the familiar task of helping the plane captains strap them to their ejection seats. This was an extremely important ritual for each
person because their lives might depend on the explosive seat to propel them clear of a doomed airplane.
After they were secured to their ejection seat, each crew member went through the routine of checking the multitudes of dials, switches, buttons, knobs, circuit breakers, levers, and gauges. One small item missed, whether it was overlooked or out of place, could spell instantaneous disaster for the aircrews or the individuals who worked on the perilous flight deck.
Once the prestart checklists were completed, the pilots started their engines and checked all the systems for any anomalies. After satisfying themselves that all the temperatures and pressures were normal, the aviators carefully checked their flight controls and waited for the carrier to turn into the wind and increase speed.
Shortly thereafter, the conventionally powered Kitty Hawk and her array of escort ships commenced a sweeping turn to prepare for the first launch of the day. The flotilla of escort ships executed the course reversal at precisely the same time as the flattop.
Although the carrier provided an airborne knockout punch, it rarely operated alone. Armed with Sea Sparrow missiles to shoot down high-flying threats or surface-skimming targets, and automatically fired Vulcan Phalanx cannons for close-in protection, the floating airfield was still vulnerable to attack and relied heavily on the escort ships.
While the Aegis guided-missile cruiser Cowpens took up station off the starboard side of the 80,000-ton carrier, the plane-guard guided missile cruiser William H. Standley eased into position two miles astern the Hawk.
The Belknap-class cruiser would be responsible for working in harmony with the carrier's designated plane-guard helicopter. Together, they had the responsibility for search and rescue missions during flight operations. The small Sikorsky SH-60 helicopter, which had a specially trained rescue swimmer on board, would fly near the starboard side of the flattop.
The pace on the flight deck increased even more as the aircraft began to taxi forward toward the catapults. The flight-deck personnel had to avoid the searing heat from the powerful jet exhausts while they sidestepped the propellers from the screeching turboprops of the E-2C Hawkeye. Others kept an eye out for the jet intakes, which could suck an unwary deck-hand into the gaping openings leading to the engines.
Operating in international waters, the air group could launch warplanes in international airspace without permission from local authorities, hostile governments, or capricious politicians. The mammoth Hawk, as a sovereign United States territory, is capable of projecting tremendous power with a flexible mobility unknown to other countries.
Although the huge aircraft carrier is highly visible during daylight hours in clear weather, the ship can disappear in bad weather, especially on stormy nights. The aircraft can launch and recover, in almost any conditions, with the ship's radars and communications systems completely shut down to conceal the carrier's position.
The Group Two E-2C early-warning command-and-control aircraft was positioned on the number-two catapult while the carrier's four screws accelerated the flattop to thirty knots. The all-weather surveillance and strike-control airplane would launch first in order to relieve the Hawkeye that was currently orbiting high above the carrier group.
The yellow-shirted catapult officer gave the Hawkeye aircraft commander the full-power signal, returned the pilot's snappy salute, then gave the deckedge operator permission to shoot the straining airplane.
After the E-2C blasted down the catapult and clawed for altitude, the Tomcats, Hornets, Vikings, Intruders, and a radar-jamming EA6-B Prowler taxied forward to be launched.
From a standing start, each jet rocketed the length of the catapults in approximately 21/2 seconds, reaching speeds up to 170 knots as they flew off the bow.
From his large, comfortable chair perched on the left side of the flag bridge, Rear Admiral Isaac Landesman scanned the expansive flight deck and then focused his attention on a single Grumman F-14 Tomcat as it approached the number-two catapult track.
When the primary emphasis in carrier aviation strategy shifted from the Cold War open-water tactics to littoral concerns, some of the F-14s were fitted with racks for Mk-80 series bombs. The newly configured fighter/bombers were quickly dubbed "Bombcats" by the aircrews.
The swing-wing, twin-engined Mach 2 air-superiority fighter, which had been plagued with a mechanical problem during the frenzied launch sequence, was finally fixed and ready to fly its mission.
With the variable-sweep wings extended for maximum lift, the pilot shoved the synchronized throttles forward to military power, then into afterburner. The nozzles on the aft section of the powerful turbofan engines squeezed the superheated thrust into a screeching, white-hot tongue of flame that scorched the jet-blast deflector.
After a thorough check of the engine instruments and a full sweep of his flight controls, the young aviator gave the catapult officer a casual salute, braced his helmet against the ejection-seat headrest, and held his breath.
Suddenly, the sleek fighter squatted down and shot forward while the pilot and his radar-intercept officer were instantaneously shoved back into their ejection seats. The heavy g-forces rendered the crew helpless until the Tomcat hurtled off the bow and into the air.
Landesman reached for the ringing phone that was his direct link to the command-and-control facilities. "Landesman."
"Admiral," the senior watch officer said, "Square Dance Seven-Zero-Three reports at least five Japanese Aegis destroyers, along with various support ships, have entered the strait . . . and Square D confirms two Chinese guided-missile destroyers are about to enter the strait."
Square Dance was the call sign of an S-3B Viking antisubmarine aircraft that was on a low-level reconnaissance flight to check out the military traffic in the southern section of the Strait of Malacca.
"Keep me informed of any new developments," Landesman advised and placed the receiver back in its bracket. He then called the ship's captain and invited him to the admiral's bridge.
While the carrier and her escorts slowed and changed course, the short, stocky former attack pilot went into his private dining room for a late breakfast with Captain Carl " Jinks" Witowski.
After both men were seated and served the first course, Landesman spoke softly to his longtime friend. " Jinks, we've got five Japanese destroyers in the strait with us. We've got to make damn sure we don't do anything to provoke a bad situation."
Hawk's popular skipper nodded in agreement. "I just heard about it as I left the bridge," the lean, graying fighter pilot confided while he tasted a freshly baked pastry. "The Japanese have slowly extended their patrol areas well beyond their original thousand-mile limit, but this is unprecedented. We'd better stay on our toes."
The Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force was originally obligated to provide Japan's security out to a 1,000-mile limit, but they had roamed well past the limit in order to develop an effective force to protect the shipping lanes and defend their homeland.
"What really concerns me," Landesman said with a touch of frustration, "is being caught in this type of situation--where we have a military power vacuum."
"I couldn't agree more," Witowski conceded. "With Clark and Subic closed, and fewer of our ships in the RimPac, I don't know how we're going to effectively keep a rein on the ambitions of Japan, China, India, and to some degree, what's left of the Soviet Navy. Everyone wants to get into the act, now that we're spread too thin."
Landesman slipped a message across to Witowski. "I received this just before the launch. The Australians are sending two missile destroyers and three frigates to augment Lincoln and her escorts, and Taiwan has dispatched three Cheng Kung-class frigates to operate with Indy."
Witowski studied the detailed message and handed it back to Landesman.
"That's good," the skipper replied, "but I sure as hell hope Tokyo and Washington can work things out. I don't like placing Kitty Hawk in this kind of predicament."
"Yeah," the Admiral grumbled under his breath. "I don't like the idea of
having this carrier running around in a crowded, brown-water shipping lane. It's a sitting duck in a small pond."
SINGAPORE
Steve and Susan felt pangs of disappointment when they walked out of the Port of Singapore Authority building. After countless questions and researching a number of documents, they had gained little more than what they had already learned about the former owner of the Matsumi Maru number three. Someone had cleansed the evidence of the previous ownership.
"Well," Steve said at last, "it wasn't a complete loss."
Susan covered her eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. "That's true. We basically know where number three and number seven dock, but we don't know when number three will make port."
"When Matsumi seven collided with the destroyer Ingersoll," Steve replied while he waved at a passing taxi, "all of the Matsumi Maru fleet was owned by one person, or so we believe."
"And you think"--Susan finished his thought--"that maybe someone is still around who might be able to give us the former owner's name or some information that will lead us to him."
"We don't have anything else to go on," he mused and opened the door to the cab, "so we might as well go to the harbor."
They remained lost in their own thoughts during the drive to the thirty-six-square-mile port along the Keppel Harbor. The sprawling deepwater channel, which is home to miles of docks, warehouses, berths, and associated facilities, runs between the main island of Singapore and the islands of Sentosa and Pulau Brani.
Steve asked the taxi driver to slow down while he and Susan took a windshield tour of the major shipping gateways of Telok Ayer, Keppel, Sembawang, and Pasir Panjang. After surveying the world's busiest container port, they finally returned to the array of Keppel wharves, which contain major docks and large storage spaces.
After paying the cabdriver, Steve looked around the immediate area. "Since this section of the port is Southeast Asia's primary transshipment point, I would think that someone knows where the Matsumi Maru number seven is docked."