His command. His ship. And he didn’t have the foggiest idea who had attacked him!
“Make room!” Ottey shouted as he turned and dived into the lifeboat.
Jenssen had already conducted a head count. Everyone was aboard. As soon as the captain was buckled into his seat and the hatch was secured behind him, Jenssen activated the release. The lifeboat literally fell away from the ship, freefalling for two seconds before impacting solidly with the ocean below. The small craft’s bow dug into the crest of a wave and then sprang back up, free again.
As the vessel’s pilot, Jenssen activated the small electric motor and the lifeboat moved steadily away from the stricken LNG tanker.
“Activate the onboard EPIRB,” Ottey ordered wearily.
“Aye, aye, sir,” Meijer acknowledged.
Captain Ottey glanced around the craft, noting the solemn forlorn faces. Yes, everyone was here. Thank God for that!
“Steer east southeast, Mr. Meijer,” Ottey instructed the seaman. “I’d rather have the Malaysians pick us up than anyone else in this area.”
A few heads nodded quiet agreement. But mostly his crew was still in shock. It had all happened so fast!
He took another quick look around at their faces.
“Well, we’re going to be here for a few hours,” he pointed out with a small knowing smile. “Anyone got a deck of cards?”
Ω
Callene Lavonne McCluskie, President of the United States of America, rubbed her tired eyes as she leaned back in her well-padded seat. Obviously this was going to be yet another one of those long evening sessions of the National Security Council. Even now she could feel the beginnings of a migraine headache developing. Maybe, when she signaled for the next meeting break, she could get an aide to bring her something for the pain.
Around the oval shaped table from her in the White House Situation Room sat the Secretary of State Madison Wentworth, National Security Advisor Mendez, Director of National Intelligence Bannister, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Admiral Derrick Hardison, White House Chief of Staff Dallas Lacroix, and Secretary of Defense Thaddeus Pendergrass. The Vice President was out of town at a political fund-raising event.
What she didn’t know, what no one in the room even suspected, was the presence of a person under a cloaking spell, that of a senior wizard of Errabêlu. Clarke himself was sitting in a corner, quietly listening to—indeed silently directing—the course of the meeting.
The president opened her eyes again and made herself concentrate on the briefing underway. A US Naval Captain (what was his name?) was droning on and on, pointing at the projected display on the Situation Room wall, currently showing a regional map of the South China Sea.
“…a number of fishing trawlers sunk, inside China’s so-called nine-dash line. And then the downing of Flight 910 last week and the sinking of the Al Dafna two days ago have been accompanied by a significant increase of other acts of violence in the region. The Chinese have deployed a substantial percentage of their fleet to the area…”
She let him go on for a couple more minutes, expounding on the historical basis of the claims of the various countries bordering the South China Sea. But most of his presentation McCluskie had heard before, in briefings covered in the previous weeks.
“Madison,” she said to the secretary of state, interrupting the captain in mid-word. “Any change in the international picture?”
The secretary stirred, picking up her pencil from the table before looking at the president. “In the last two days, I’ve talked to half a dozen prime ministers and foreign secretaries, mostly from the UK, various countries in Europe and even Russia. Bottom line, no one wants to get involved. Oh, they’d support any UN resolutions we’d care to propose—”
“Fat chance of anything like that getting passed,” quietly muttered Pendergrass.
McCluskie ignored him, mostly because he was right. With China sitting on the United Nations Security Council, any UN resolutions concerning the South China Sea were doomed from the start. She signaled Wentworth to proceed.
“As I was saying, Europe and most of the rest of the world is perfectly willing for us to carry the ball on this one. And, in the meantime, I’m hearing protests and threats of diplomatic sanctions from a few counties in the region, most notably from the Philippines. They’re screaming at the top of their lungs.”
“Thad?” the president asked tiredly, turning to him. “What’s your take on this?”
The beefy bald-headed man shrugged but avoided eye contact with her. “Simple enough. The Chinese have been pushing this hoax about owning all of the South China Sea for decades. They have enough naval assets now that no one wants to monkey with them about it. And all of their neighbors are Third World at best, so it’s no contest. We’re the only ones that might object and have the means to do something about it.” He paused, looking up and frowned. “The question is whether or not we will.”
President McCluskie managed not to wince. One of the campaign promises she had made, over and over again, was to get the USA out of the business of war and other international conflicts. Yet here, less than a few months into her administration, she was squarely faced with another hotspot on the world stage and it was threatening to drag the United States into the conflict.
Madison tapped the eraser end of her pencil on the table. “We can’t just give China a free pass, Madam President. Right now, that corner of the world is pretty much independent. But if China controls access to the South China Sea, the whole of Southeast Asia will have to kowtow to Beijing. In a few years, every country in the area will be satellite states, under China’s thumb, both economically and politically. Definitely a bad thing.”
McCluskie nodded grimly and glanced over at Admiral Hardison.
“Derrick, what assets do we have in the area?”
The admiral did not much care for the current political occupant of the White House nor did he care to be addressed on a first name basis. Yet he was the consummate professional, prepared to answer this and any other military question that might be asked and without a hint of annoyance.
“The USS Ronald Reagan and Carrier Strike Group 5 is off the coast of Yokosuka, Japan, currently undergoing FRS Carrier Qualifications. They could be underway in twelve hours. The USS Carl Vinson and Carrier Strike Group 1 departed Pearl three days ago, and are near Wake Island right now. They can be in the South China Sea in five days. If necessary, the USS John C. Stennis and Carrier Strike Group 3, which is just to the west of San Diego, can be there in nine days. And there is the USS Port Royal, an Aegis cruiser in Fremantle, Australia and the destroyer USS Halsey in the Malacca Straight west of Malaysia that are also available.”
McCluskie took another look at the map and frowned. “Send the Vinson and the Halsey. But let me be clear on this. I want the strictest Rules of Engagement possible. I don’t want some lowly sailor starting World War III by accident. Understood?”
Hardison managed not to flinch. “Quite clear, Madam President.”
In the corner, Clarke chuckled quietly. There would be Oni present, both on the Chinese vessels and onboard the Vinson. The president’s wishes were superfluous in this situation. Ah, the thrill of a good impending battle! The destruction, the mayhem, the death! He rubbed his hands together gleefully.
This would be good. And he personally would be there too, together with his substantial force of Oni, lying in wait for that rogue wizard to show up, the pesky nuisance. And maybe, just maybe, Clarke could put that Chinese wizard, Wu, in his place as well. Two birds with one stone!
TWELVE
South China Sea
100 miles southwest of Balabac Island, Palawan, Philippines
Wednesday, 12:02 p.m. PHT
April
Day 131
Captain Bryon Labarre, USS Halsey (DDG-97), wandered the dark narrow spaces of the ship’s CIC, occasionally looking over the shoulders of the console operators, visually checking the ship’s status and readouts for himself. The
ship was at Condition 2, just one step below General Quarters. As such, it was as fully prepared for action as he could make it.
Another check on their position. Now 8.3N, 116.4E, roughly thirty miles west of the southern tip of Palawan, solidly in the Palawan Passage and heading nearly due north.
They were making turns for twenty-six knots—not the fastest that the ship could go by any means, but fast enough that she was burning fuel at a high rate. The good captain intended to plough through the South China Sea just as quickly as reasonably possible, to join up with the USS Carl Vinson and Carrier Strike Group 1 as fast as they could manage it. Alone, his ship and crew were very much exposed to whatever the Chinese might care to throw at them. Safety lay in numbers, which in this part of the world, was with the Vinson Carrier Group, and he intended to keep his ship safe.
For the hundredth time in as many minutes, Labarre wondered what Washington was thinking, ordering his ship to run the gauntlet through the South China Sea all by itself. Yes, he had faith in both his ship and his crew, but the captain had kept up with the news and he knew about the sinking of the Al Dafna and the downing of Flight 910.
Both of the ship’s Seahawk helicopters were airborne, one fifty miles to the north, the other thirty miles to the west, to provide maximum radar coverage through their datalinks. So far, there had been no sightings, no indications on radar that the Chinese were anywhere in the area.
However, Labarre had a burning sensation in the pit of his stomach, a sort of sixth sense which he possessed when things were not as they seemed. The radars were all strangely quiet, void of any of the normal civilian air traffic. He would feel a lot better when his ship reached Philippine waters.
Such was his state of awareness that he felt rather than saw an Operations Specialist, Petty Officer 2nd Class Zandra Knouse, straighten at her station and then lean forward over her screen. He found himself standing behind her almost instantly.
“What is it?” he asked.
Knouse held up a hand, to buy a moment longer to look at the screen before reaching a conclusion.
“Air contact, sir,” she dictated tensely. “Bearing Too-Seven-Fife degrees! Range Wun-Two-Zero miles! Flying fast and low and on a general intercept. Can’t tell what it is yet.”
But Labarre didn’t need to guess. He knew what it was. “Sound General Quarters!” he snapped at the deck officer.
The shrill sound of a whistle could be heard through the 1MC, followed by the voice of the Executive Officer from the Bridge.
“Condition One! General Quarters! General Quarters! All hands man your Battle Stations! All hands man your Battle Stations!”
Captain Labarre made a mad dash up the ladders to the bridge, arriving just in time to hear a rating as he reported missiles in the air.
The XO, Commander Alvaro Hosea, snapped an instant response. “Launch counter-missiles!”
Out the front bridge windows, two of the hatches in the forward deck for the Mark 41 Vertical Launch system slid open. From the first open hole, a column of smoke and fire suddenly erupted as a Standard Missile, a SM-2, lifted into the air arching over to the southwest. A moment later, a second missile fired, following along in the wake of the first.
“Captain on the bridge!” another rating, Petty Officer 3rd class Mason Gunning reported.
“Prepare a second launch!” Labarre ordered, as he assumed operational control from Hosea.
“Four tangos now in the air, sir!” reported a voice from CIC over the overhead speaker. “ETA now three minutes!”
“Launch three counter missiles!”
“Launching!”
One by one, three more SM- 2 missiles soared into the air from the ship.
“Tango one, destroyed,” announced another rating from CIC less than a minute later.
“Stand-by the Cheese-Wiz and Chaff!” ordered Labarre, referring to the Phalanx CIWS (Close In Weapons System) and the SRBOC (Super Rapid Bloom Onboard Countermeasures Chaff and Decoy Launching System).
“Tangos two and three destroyed! New Tango, same bearing and range, designated Tango Five!”
“Launch two more birds!”
“Missed on Tango four! Intercept failed!”
“R2-D2, engaging!” snapped another voice, also referring to the CIWS.
The rapid b-r-r-r-p roar of the CIWS was unmistakable, even from the confines of the bridge.
“Chaff, firing!”
Without warning, the ship lurched heavily, knocking every standing person to the deck. The roar of an explosion tore through the compartment, momentarily deafening everyone. Dimly, the clamor of alarm bells and sirens could be heard.
Climbing to his feet, Labarre lurched forward, taking control of the now unmanned helm, the sailor lying on the deck. With a rapid turn of the wheel, he swung the ship to an easterly direction. They needed to get as close to land as they could. On the lee helm console in front of him, he yanked back the speed control, dropping the ship down to ten knots. The Halsey was damaged now, but how badly, he did not know. And until he did, the ship needed a slower speed, lest they flood below deck compartments with the ship’s bow wave.
“Damage control parties, report!” he shouted, barely hearing his own voice over the din.
Ω
Day 122
“Mom? Dad?” Daneel 1 called, his cube floating into the room, the holographic image of his head projecting out the top.
Paul and Capie were working in the kitchen, starting on both breakfast and the day. Since Daneel 1 never interrupted that routine in the morning, both Armsteads instantly knew that there was a problem.
“What’s wrong, Daneel?” Capie asked, looking apprehensive as she set the carton of eggs down on the kitchen countertop.
“Errabêlu is up to something,” the Scottie declared. “We have Daneel 2 monitoring news reports from Earth via a microportal through Ascraeus Mons. It looks like a war is brewing between the United States and China in the South China Sea.”
Paul lowered himself into a chair. “What makes you think so?” he asked, steeling himself for the answer.
Daneel proceeded to relate a synopsis of events of the previous three weeks, including the sinkings of fishing vessels, the Al Dafna, the shooting down of Flight 910 and the attack on a US Navy ship, the Halsey.
“Those poor people,” Capie moaned. “More death and destruction to lay at the feet of some wizard or other.”
Paul nodded in complete agreement. “Daneel, the navy ship. How bad was it?”
“At least forty dead when a missile struck amidships, Dad. The ship managed to make it to Palawan’s territorial waters.” Daneel 1 paused, the image on top of the cube sighing. “There’s more. A US aircraft carrier group is heading for the South China Sea. They’ll be there in a couple of more days.”
“There’ll be a war, won’t there?” Capie asked, briefly closing her eyes in pain.
“It seems that way,” Paul admitted, slamming his hand down on the kitchen table. “And we are so close! Another few months and we’ll be ready to take on Errabêlu by storm! All we needed was a little more time!”
“This could be the start of the nuclear war that Uncle Sam told you about,” Capie attested with a frown. “Both China and the United States are nuclear powers. This thing in the South China Sea could be the trigger.”
Paul was scratching his head, deep in thought. “Yeah, maybe. However, the war is not supposed to happen for several years yet. But then maybe Errabêlu is pushing up their timetable, because of us.” He looked up sharply at Daneel 1. “How many Scotties are online with talismans?”
“Two hundred seventy eight, including the ones working on Mom’s MBE project but not the 49 in the nursery,” answered Daneel 1.
Paul pursed his lips. “Two hundred is a nice round number. I think I’ll take two hundred.”
“I can be ready to go in an hour,” Capie declared as she took the carton of eggs and shoved it back into the cooler.
Grimacing, Paul shook his head at her.
“Really not a good idea, CB.”
She screwed a scowl on her face. “Paul Armstead, don’t you give me that flack about being a woman and it’s too dangerous!”
“Who? Moi? Wouldn’t think of it. But what were you saying last night about all the experiments you’ve got running and how critical they are?”
“No fair using my own words against me!” she scowled at him. “Okay, you have a point. Now is not a good time for me to go running off to Earth.” She sighed. “You have to promise me to be careful. I’ve grown attached to you.” She leaned up against him, laying her head on his chest and hugging him. “You’re not easy to replace, you know.”
He returned the hug, tightly. “I’ll have two hundred magical Scotties with me,” Paul pointed out. “As well as a chutzpah. I’ll be fine. What can possibly go wrong?!”
Ω
One star Rear Admiral Oren Cipriano leaned back in his command chair on the Flag Bridge of the USS Carl Vinson and read the Priority message in his right hand for the second time. The USS Halsey was now, thank God, safely in Malanut Bay on the west coast of the Philippines’ island of Palawan. From the description of the damages, the ship had barely made it, with a hole in her hull large enough for a Greyhound bus to drive through. Cipriano’s hat was off to its commander for pulling the fat out of the fire and saving his ship and most of his command.
Cipriano shook his head in anger and disbelief. The Halsey should not have been ordered through the South China Sea, not without support. Just what was Washington smoking these days?
On the other hand, Beijing must be stoned out-of-their-mind on the same stuff, to attack a United States warship on the high seas.
He glanced again at the other message he held, this one in his left hand. Carrier Strike Group One’s first set of orders from the Pentagon three days ago had included highly restrictive Rules of Engagement, the most restrictive he had ever seen in his twenty-eight years of service in the Navy.
The Genie and the Engineer 3: Ravages of War Page 12