High Flight

by David Hagberg

  The legend over the door to the ship’s Combat Information Center below decks was simple and to the point: “Find ‘em, shoot ’em, kill ’em.”

  “Let me see that message again, Red,” Hanrahan said. “Maybe we can get out of it after all.”

  The Thorn’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Willis Ryder—Red to his friends—handed over the flimsy that comms had sent up less than ten minutes ago. “Looks airtight to me, skipper.”

  “Nothing’s that black and white.”

  The message from Seventh Fleet Operations was simple and direct. It ordered the Thorn, which was 250 nautical miles south of Tokyo Bay, inbound for Yokosuka, to intercept the Yuushio-class MSDF submarine Samisho, submerged and possibly heading south. Absolutely no loopholes. But the third, fourth, and fifth paragraphs were the most disturbing to Hanrahan.

  3. IT IS BELIEVED THAT THE SAMISHO WAS THE MSDF SUBMARINE INVOLVED IN THE TATAR STRAIT SINKING OF THE RUSSIAN NAVY FRIGATE MENSHINKSKY. THEREFORE THE SAMISHO IS TO BE CONSIDERED POSSIBLY HOSTILE XX RPT XX THE SAMISHO IS TO BE CONSIDERED POSSIBLY HOSTILE.

  4. ONCE YOU HAVE INTERCEPTED THE SAMISHO YOU WILL FOLLOW HER UNTIL OTHERWISE DIRECTED.

  5. YOU ARE TO MAINTAIN A DEFENSIVE POSTURE AT ALL TIMES. YOU WILL RETURN FIRE ONLY IF FIRST FIRED UPON XX RPT XX YOU ARE AUTHORIZED TO RETURN FIRE ONLY IF FIRST FIRED UPON. GOOD LUCK MIKE XX TOM SENDS XX EOM

  “I’m not going to get into a shooting match with the Japanese Navy,” Hanrahan said.

  “Skipper, I don’t think anybody wants that.”

  “You read the brief. Unless Intel screwed up the sequence of events, the Samisho tricked the Russians into taking the first shot. That will not happen to us.”

  “We’ve got the advantage. The Russians had no idea that he might try something funny. All we have to do is find him and stalk him.”

  “That’s right, Red,” Hanrahan said distantly. He was rereading the message.

  He and Ryder could have been brothers. Both men were husky, both had red hair—though Ryder’s was a thicker, brighter red—both had freckles, and both were very bright. The main difference between them was that Hanrahan was sometimes indecisive while Ryder was sometimes too quick. Together they made a good team.

  Hanrahan looked up, a sly grin twisting the corners of his mouth. “If I read this correctly, we’re supposed to find the Samisho and stick with her wherever she goes until we’re relieved. Seventh says she sailed with full stores, which means we could be out here for another ninety days.”

  “They won’t keep us out here that long, Captain.”

  “Doesn’t matter, because I have no intention of chasing that boat all over the Pacific.”

  “Sir?”

  “Red, it’s my intention to be back in Yokosuka within forty-eight hours, mission accomplished.”

  “Captain, I’m one hundred percent behind you. But I will not participate in a sham search. If I’m ordered to find the Samisho I’ll do everything within my power to do it. Otherwise I’d just be wasting your time, my time, and the time of a damned fine crew.”

  “That was a pretty speech, X,” Hanrahan said frostily. It pissed him off that his executive officer didn’t have more trust in him. They’d sailed together long enough.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Tell me what you want, and I’ll get to it.”

  “We’re going to find the Samisho, Red, as rapidly as we can. And then we’re going to herd her back to port.”

  “She might not want to turn tail,” Ryder said. “She’s a quiet boat. She could try to sneak around us.”

  “I don’t think so,” Hanrahan said. He picked up the growler phone, and punched the number for the Combat Information Center. “This is the Commanding Officer. Sonar picking up anything yet on passive?”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Let me talk to Don.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  Lieutenant Donald Sattler was CIC officer. He was an Annapolis graduate and a fine man. They didn’t come much better in Hanrahan’s book.

  “Good morning, Skipper. Sonar’s picked up nothing yet, but we just started.”

  “I want both choppers up as soon as possible.”

  “They’ll be airborne within five minutes.”

  “How’s it look out there?”

  “Surface conditions are good, and there’s very little traffic, which means our search pattern won’t be cluttered. The sharp thermoclines are below eight hundred feet, so unless that sub-driver has gone deep, or has decided for some reason to run silent, we’ll have a pretty good chance of nailing him.”

  “In passive mode.”

  “That’s right, Captain,” Sattler said.

  “As soon as the choppers are up and on station I want sonar to go active. I want to find the bastard and I don’t want to screw around doing it.”

  Ryder raised his eyebrows.

  “He’ll not only know that we’re up here, Skipper, he’ll know that we’re looking for him,” the CIC officer said.

  “That he will, Don. I want this mission brought to termination as expeditiously as possible. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Sattler replied. “If he’s out there, we’ll know it real quick.”

  “Conn, sonar.”

  Lieutenant Minori answered the comms. “Conn, hai.”

  “I have sonar contact, range fifteen thousand meters and closing. It’s an American war ship. They’re pinging us.”

  “On the way.” Minori hit the ship’s intercom. “Captain to sonar on the double.”

  Kiyoda reached sonar just behind Minori, his uniform blouse unbuttoned, his eyes still bleary from sleep.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s an American Spruance-class destroyer, kan-chodono,” Chief Sonarman Tsutomu Nakayama said. “Bearing zero-five-five, and closing. Under fourteen thousand meters now.”

  “Still pinging?” Minori asked.

  “Hai. But I don’t think she has us yet.”

  “What’s our depth, Ikuo?” Kiyoda asked.

  “Seventy meters. We have a sharp thermocline about two hundred meters under our keel. We could make a try for it.”

  Kiyoda shook his head. He was watching the display on the screen. “Too late for that. Reduce speed to four knots, turn left to new course one-seven-five.”

  Minori picked up the growler and relayed the order to the helm. The left turn put them at right angles to the oncoming destroyer, but it would get them out of the way in the minimum time.

  “Designate contact as sierra-zero-nine. Sonar conditions good, topsides fairly flat,” Nakayama said. “There’s a better than even chance he’ll find us, kancho.”

  This was too close to home waters for Kiyoda’s liking. If he instigated another incident now the MSDF would know his location and would send a chopper with a dipping buoy to order him home. They would come after him if he did not comply, but he was not going to run away from a challenge without some response. Finesse, he thought, was everything.

  “We’re on new course one-seven-five. Recommend we begin a slow dive to three hundred meters,” Minori said. “With all that noise they won’t hear us blowing our tanks.”

  “Matte, kan-cho,” the sonarman said, holding up a hand for Kiyoda to wait. He jabbed a finger at a spike on the screen.

  “They have us, kan-cho. His blade count is increasing.”

  “It’s him and he knows we’ve got a lock,” Sattler reported, from CIC.

  Within two minutes Able chopper would be directly above the submarine and would drop a dunking sonar, which would make ID and location one-hundred percent certain.

  “What’s he doing?” Ryder asked.

  “He turned beam on and slowed down. Probably trying to sneak off.”

  “We’re bringing in more resources. The skipper wants him boxed in and respectful.”

  “I hear you,” Sattler replied.

  “Conn, sonar. They’ve placed a sonobuoy in the water, range about five hundred meters, bearing one-eight-ze
ro,” Nakayama said.

  “They will have launched one or both of their LAMPS III helicopters,” Minori told Kiyoda. They were forward in the attack center.

  “Very well, Ikuo. Bring the boat to battle stations,” Kiyoda replied calmly. He buttoned his uniform blouse and accepted a cup of tea from the steward.

  Minori relayed the order, and a Klaxon sounded through the sub. Within moments every watertight hatch in the boat was closed and dogged.

  “Report battle stations ready,” Minori said.

  Kiyoda picked up the ship’s comms. “Weapons, conn. Load tubes one, two, and three with standard HE torpedoes, and load tube four with a Harpoon.”

  Weapons Control Officer Lieutenant Shuichiyo Takasaki repeated the order. “Yo-so-ro.”

  Kiyoda turned and smiled. His officers were watching him expectantly.

  “Now let’s see what the Americans are made of,” he said. “Come right nine-zero degrees to new course two-six-five. Make our speed two-five knots. Give me a continuous firing solution on the target.”

  “Hai, kan-cho,” Minori said, his eyes glittering.

  Two thousand five hundred feet above the surface, the Lockheed P-3C Orion ASW patrol aircraft was flying a grid pattern at one hundred eighty knots. She’d been in the vicinity at the beginning of her patrol when the Thorn asked for help.

  “Have you got him yet?” the pilot asked.

  “I can count her rivets,” the ELINT officer, Ensign Carl Gifford, reported. “We picked her out with the MAD on the first pass. Very clear picture. She’s about two hundred feet down, but she’s accelerating and turning inboard toward the Thorn. Skipper, unless I miss my guess, that sub-driver is setting up for an attack.”

  MAD was their Magnetic Anomaly Detector, which never missed. It was one of the more powerful ASW tools aboard the Orion.

  “Their chopper should have it,” the pilot, Lieutenant Fred White, said. He hauled the big plane around for another pass. “Call the Thorn and tell them what we’re showing. Recommend that they break off until we can get a reading from Fleet.”

  “Aye, aye, Skipper.”

  White turned to his co-pilot, Lieutenant j.g. John Littlemore. “Call Operations and lay it in their laps. I for one don’t want to get into a shooting match with the Japs. I think that sub-driver is nuts.”

  Seventh Fleet Northern Patrol Duty Officer Captain Walt Townsend put down his telephone and studied the big board across the room. An electronic map showed an area twelve hundred miles in diameter with Yokosuka at the center and Okinawa at the extreme south. For some reason the crazy bastard conning the Samisho wanted to prove a point by heading south. MSDF Submarine Fleet HQ was silent, and the buck had been passed back to Operations.

  Was it worth an incident like the one up in the strait with the Russians, he asked himself? Not likely. Least-ways not just yet.

  He called Communications. “Send a flash designated message to Mike Hanrahan aboard the Thorn. Tell him to break off immediately. He’s to follow the Samisho and report her movements. Nothing more.”

  “Come left to new course two-one-zero. Make our speed ten knots.”

  “Smart move, Captain,” Ryder said after he’d relayed the orders. “He’ll know that we no longer want to provoke him but that our intention is to follow him if he wants to continue south.”

  Hanrahan shook his head in irritation. “Ninety days, Red. That’s how long we could be playing cat and mouse with that bastard.”

  “Never happen.”

  “You’re damned right it won’t, because every chance I get I’m going to lean on him.”

  Ryder started to object, but Hanrahan held him off with a scowl.

  “I’ll expect your support, X. Completely.”

  The comment stung, but Ryder nodded tightly. “You’ve got it, Skipper.” He didn’t add You’ve always had it.

  “He’s turning away, and his blade count is coming down.”

  Minori keyed the comms. “Which way did he turn, Nakayama?”

  “Tori-kaji,” to port, the sonarman reported. He sounded excited. “Yes, his new course is two-one-zero. I’m estimating he’s making turns for ten knots.”

  Minori turned to Kiyoda. “Kan-cho, it looks as if they do not wish to take the bait.”

  “Very well, secure from battle stations. Make our course two-one-zero, our speed eleven knots.”

  “I suggest we initiate a shallow-angle dive to three hundred meters,” Minori said.

  “Negative,” Kiyoda replied mildly. “That destroyer was inbound to Yokosuka. My guess is that her patrol was complete and she was going home. But now she has had a change of orders. She will follow us, and I have no wish to lose her.” In one respect Kiyoda was almost sorry that the American warship had broken off the engagement. The Russian frigate had been easy, but a Spruance-class destroyer was a far more sophisticated weapons system. The challenge would have been interesting. And if he had sunk or damaged the American vessel the repercussions Kamiya-san had predicted would certainly have come to pass. But much sooner than he thought. So it was better that no shots had been fired. But for more than one reason. This was neither the time nor the place, and the American captain was too fresh, too alert, too much in control. In the right waters, at the right time, and after repeated provocations, the situation would be different.

  “Shall we unload the torpedoes from one, two, and three, and the missile from four?”

  “No,” Kiyoda said. He felt dreamy, as if he could envision everything that would occur over the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. He felt as if by dreaming the future he could make it so. It was powerful.

  “Hai, kan-cho,” Minori said.

  Kiyoda focused on his executive officer. “The weapons will remain in place.”

  “Very well.”

  “We are not finished, Ikuo. We have only just begun.”

  “I’ll need to present a good front when I get to Tokyo,” McGarvey said. “I’ll have to do my homework.”

  “The sooner you make your move the sooner they’ll react,” Kennedy replied tiredly. They were a few minutes from Portland International Airport. Socrates was sound asleep, and McGarvey envied the man for it.

  “I’ll need a carte blanche from you.”

  “I think the only thing you don’t know about us yet is our bathroom habits.”

  “I need to know everything there is to know about the 2622.”

  Kennedy managed to smile. “Maybe you can sell a few for us while you’re at it.”

  Linda went back to wake Socrates so that the engineer could strap in for landing. McGarvey watched her lithe movements. She reminded him of his daughter Elizabeth. Maybe after this was over he would retire.

  The world had indeed changed. And, he supposed, in some measure he’d been and continued to be an instrument of that change. The fact was such thoughts did nothing to dispel his bleak mood. What was he looking for, he asked himself? What?

  FIFTEEN

  “Let me introduce you to Arimoto Yamagata.”

  Kennedy shook hands with the Japanese. “You’re with JAL, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right,” Yamagata said. “I’ve spoken with Mr. McGarvey. A very sharp individual. I thought I’d come out here to see Portland for myself.”

  Their host, Marvin Saunders, was one of the heavy-hitters in real estate development in the Portland-Vancouver area. He’d put up two major downtown office buildings with mostly Japanese money. He’d been involved with the Japanese businessman who’d tried to buy into the San Francisco Giants. And he’d built four separate neighborhoods in and around the city that catered to Guerin middle- and upper-level managers. He’d invited the Kennedys and a dozen others to his palatial Lake Oswego home to meet someone he said was interesting. Given Saunders’s connections with the Japanese, McGarvey thought it would be worthwhile for Kennedy to accept, but Yamagata had come as a surprise.

  “I wonder if you know that David was one of our top astronauts before Al Vasilanti lured him out here t
o build airplanes?” Saunders said.

  “Yes, of course.” Yamagata smiled. “In addition to baseball cards, Japanese schoolchildren collect astronaut cards. Yours is still a favorite.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Kennedy’s wife Chance said.

  “And this lovely lady is David’s wife, Chance Kennedy.”

  Yamagata turned his complete attention to her, his smile softening. “I’m very pleased to meet you. Your name is rare, isn’t it?”

  “My mother wasn’t supposed to have children. So when I came along my father said I was ‘one chance in a million.’”

  “Charming,” the Japanese said. “Do you work in the industry alongside your husband?”

  Chance shook her head. “No.” She was a slightly built woman with large round eyes and a lot of blonde hair. She looked unhappy.

  “One in the family is enough,” Kennedy said.

  “Perhaps that’s wisest,” Yamagata said. “Did Mr. McGarvey come with you?”

  “No,” Kennedy said.

  “Will you be sending him to Tokyo after all?”

  The question was startling because of its directness. “Yes, we think so. But it may not be for another day or so. We’re a little busy at the moment because of the crash.”

  “I understand.”

  “Don’t tell me that Guerin is finally going to start selling in Japan,” Saunders said. “Move over Boeing.”

  “Something like that,” Yamagata replied before Kennedy could say anything. “Which is why I’m in Portland. I was told to come here and be charming.”

  Saunders laughed. “He wasn’t here fifteen minutes and my wife wanted to run away with him. I’m going to have to watch her like a hawk. But seriously, I think it’s a damned good idea that’s been on the back burner too long. We’re in a global economy whether we like it or not. And with the Japanese offer of a free trade agreement—hell, I don’t see any other choice for Guerin except to expand to the east. It’d be a great partnership.”