Area Denial (Maelstrom Rising Book 7)

by Peter Nealen

  Scratch a Communist, find a gangster. Well, assholes, two can play at that game.

  The pirate tried one last wiggle. “What if we refuse?”

  Hank’s smile had all the warmth of an arctic winter. “Then everyone in this camp dies. Same thing if you start going after targets that we don’t want you to. There are some no-go criteria in that packet, too.”

  A part of him wouldn’t mind if that ended up being necessary. He could imagine what these scum had already done, what they’d been willing to do if they’d taken the Serendipity. Despite the situation, despite the justifications of war, he felt dirty, dealing with pirates. He’d be perfectly happy if he got to slaughter them all and go back to Vetter with the bad news. Sorry boss. Didn’t work out. Had to kill ‘em all.

  He had a feeling Vetter would understand. He wouldn’t be happy, but he’d understand.

  But the pirate couldn’t resist the pull of greed. He looked down at those cargo manifests again, and then up at Hank’s rifle. His eyes strayed outside, and though he couldn’t see the corpse they’d brought ashore from inside the hut, Hank was pretty sure that the view was still pretty stark in his mind’s eye. Then he looked up and nodded.

  “We have deal.”

  Hank nodded in return, and motioned Althea to her feet. He still wasn’t going to relax—or turn his back on this scumbag—until they were well away from the Malaysian coast.

  He still didn’t like this. But from what he’d seen in dealing with the Chinese “fishing fleet,” there weren’t many Chinese outside the mainland who weren’t in some way a part of the CCP’s crimes. Fortunes of war.

  He knew all too well what a slippery slope that could prove to be. He had to hope that Vetter wouldn’t let them slip too far.

  That’s your responsibility, too. You’re a section leader. You’re on your own more often than not. You went along with this plan, because there wasn’t a better one. But you’ve got to make sure you’re listening to your conscience. “Just following orders” isn’t an excuse anymore.

  For as short as it really was, it was a long trip back out to the yacht.

  Chapter 21

  Following the meeting with the pirates, the war went back to waiting and boredom.

  There were certainly ops to run, though most of them amounted to little more than reconnaissance and surveillance as they kept an eye on the Chinese in and around the Spratly Islands. The Jacqueline Q kept roaming between Second Thomas Shoal and Mischief Reef, never far from the Bell Challenger and the Rosalinda, though there were inherent risks in keeping the same cargo ships loitering around the islands. Of course, the Chinese did it, but that might just make them more aware of the discrepancy when a ship that had no particular business in the area didn’t keep going toward Japan or South Korea.

  But there were few confrontations in the week that followed. Vetter’s instructions had been to let off the pressure a little, give the pirates time to start hitting Chinese freighters and start drawing the PLAN away from the islands. There was a delicate balance to be struck, and Hank suspected that the Triarii were still feeling out where that balance lay. Push too hard, and they could overextend and take more losses than they could afford. Don’t push hard enough, and the Chinese would only further entrench their position in the South China Sea, and then the entire operation would be a loss.

  Unfortunately, that meant hours and days out on the ocean, watching and waiting. And while most of the Triarii were getting much better tans, it wasn’t helping temperaments. Hank felt like he was running out of things to do to keep his Triarii busy.

  The empty bunks where Kandinsky, Adams, and Finn had slept weren’t helping anything, either.

  Hank dragged himself up to the command center, feeling far older than he really was. Lovell was on watch, his feet up on the table, lifting his eyes from the book in his hands to glance at the screens before meeting Hank’s eyes and nodding.

  “Well, that’s a sight I never expected to see.” Hank shoved Lovell’s feet off the desk and dropped into the second chair, scanning the drone feeds and the latest intel dump to come over the Triarii’s mesh network. That had been a royal pain to set up, as it needed buoys to act as repeaters. It was slower than satcom had been, but the repeaters were a lot cheaper, and it wasn’t as subject to ASAT weaponry. The old constellation—no one had ever quite admitted to taking most of the US’ communications satellites out of action, but everyone knew that the Chinese had probably used air-launched ASAT missiles when the US was thoroughly absorbed in the aftermath of the power grid going down—still wasn’t back up. In fact, Hank hadn’t heard about more than a couple of space launches since the war had kicked into high gear.

  “What? There aren’t any chicks on this tub, so I’ve got to keep busy somehow. And I never got into porn. Poor man’s substitute, when you can pull whatever trim you want.” He glanced at the cover. Red Star over the Pacific. It was slightly outdated, but Hank had read it. It was a decent primer on how the Chinese had gotten into the position they currently held, while most of the rest of the free world—such as survived—had blithely turned a blind eye. “Though I gotta say, this is pretty dry, even for me.”

  “I just didn’t realize you could read.” Hank didn’t take his eyes off the screen, his voice a flat deadpan.

  Lovell blinked slowly. “Now, that’s harsh, boss.”

  Hank grinned equally slowly. “Well, when you’ve generally shown a greater tendency to think with your little head, rather than the one on your shoulders…”

  “Still a little uncalled for, because unlike some I could mention, I never got into trouble because of my game.” Lovell shrugged a little sheepishly when Hank turned a skeptical eye on him. “Okay, not too much trouble. Still, I wasn’t the one who got caught in bed with a liaison officer.”

  Hank winced. He remembered that little incident all too well. It had been Tony Velasquez’s one misstep, and he’d still been hearing about it months later. To Velasquez’s credit, it hadn’t just been a fling, at least, not to him. The liaison officer was another matter. It probably wouldn’t have been an issue, if they’d just been a bit more discreet about it.

  Of course, Tony was dead now, in the ground for months. Along with so many others.

  “Granted, I mean ‘in bed’ in the loosest of terms,” Lovell continued. “In the evidence locker, of all places…”

  “I was there, Amos, I remember.” Hank glared at his senior squad leader as Amos Lovell grinned lecherously.

  “Oh, I almost forgot.” Lovell sobered, once more becoming a professional. He was on watch, after all. “Message came in about an hour ago. It seems like our little diplomatic mission has borne some fruit.”

  Hank leaned in and pulled it up. It was brief.

  Pirates hit the CSC Friendship and CSC Leader yesterday. Both ships surrendered. That makes five in the last two days. Message traffic on Chinese ‘commercial’ channels is up, and so is PLAN comm traffic. Shandong has held position to north of Subi Reef, but has dispatched Hohhot to southwest for counter-piracy duty. Movement is happening, but so far insufficient to put next phase of plan into action.

  Recommend pushing Chinese shipping directly resupplying artificial islands. Avoid direct combat if possible, but we need to start to strangle these outposts. Message ends.

  Hank raised an eyebrow at the ending. The message was a glorified email, but Vetter had worded it like an old-school wire message, where every word was a precious commodity.

  “Did you read it?” Hank was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

  “Yep.” Lovell put the book down. “Does this mean we get to be buccaneers, or saboteurs?”

  “Not sure yet.” Hank rubbed his jaw as he watched the plot, thick with icons that marked ships coming and going through the South China Sea. There were a lot. They were operating on one of the most heavily-trafficked sea lanes in the world. That was part of the reason they’d managed to avoid contact with the PLAN when they’d wanted to. There was a lot of noise
out there, a lot of ships to lose themselves among. “I’d lean toward saboteur.” He waved at the screen as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Vetter doesn’t want us getting too tied up.”

  “Speaking of getting tied up.” Lovell’s grin came back. “Are you gonna look up that Althea chick when we get back to the Islands?”

  Hank sighed wearily. Sometimes Lovell really did have a one-track mind. “No.”

  “Why the hell not?” Lovell managed to sound offended. “Dude, she’s hot. Especially in that bikini. I sure wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers.”

  “She’s a spook. She’s not interested in me, she’s interested in what she can learn from me.” Hank tried to turn his attention back to the information on screen.

  “So what? It’s not like she’s going to get anything out of you, especially if you know that going in.” Lovell tilted his head to one side as he studied his section leader. The two men had known each other for almost three years, and while they might have very different personalities—and very different outlooks—they’d been through hell and back together. That didn’t always result in fast friendships. In fact, when this was all over, both men would probably go their separate ways without ever speaking again, or even crossing paths. But while the war lasted, while they were brothers in arms, there was a bond there that was undeniable. “Brother, you barely talk around us. If she’s hoping to get information out of you, she’s bound to be disappointed. Why not enjoy yourself when you can?”

  Hank shrugged. Not being particularly religious, he couldn’t really articulate his reluctance, but the idea of a one-night stand had always made him a little queasy, for much the same reason he’d avoided strip clubs after the first couple of times his squad leader had dragged him into The Main Attraction, just outside Camp Pendleton.

  At least, he couldn’t articulate it in a way that Lovell would really understand, or accept. “Don’t have time.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” Lovell leaned back in his chair. “I know for a fact you don’t have more to do on R&R than the rest of us.” At Hank’s sardonic look, he shrugged. “Okay, so you’ve got some more to do. But not so much that it takes up all the time we’ll have. This is a slow war. It’s not like we’re back in Arizona or Texas, where we were on call all the time.” He sighed, looked up at the ceiling, and ran a hand over his face. When he suddenly leaned forward, he was uncharacteristically serious.

  “Okay. Look. At the risk of damaging my reputation as a shameless, unfeeling tomcat, let me lay this out for you. I’ve known some female spooks. I’ve banged some female spooks. A lot of them have been cold-hearted, manipulative bitches.” He made a concessionary shrug. “Okay, most of them have been. Most of the rest had their heads full of snakes. Major daddy issues.”

  “Are you going somewhere with this?” Hank was watching Lovell skeptically.

  “Yes, believe it or not, I am. My point is, I am something of an expert in the female of the species, especially the crazy sort.” A bit of that patented Lovell irreverence snuck through as he grinned. “The crazy ones tend to be the most fun, at least for a while. But my point is…” He held up a hand before Hank could interrupt. “My point is, I know crazy and manipulative when I see it. And either Althea is a pro on a level I’ve never seen in my life, or she’s genuinely interested. Maybe it really is just for a fling, but she’s interested.”

  He leaned forward some more. “Look, Hank. You’ve been…more withdrawn than usual since…” He swallowed hard, as Hank’s gaze sharpened. “Since Arturo was killed. It’s eating at you, still. We can all see it. Nobody but maybe Cole is going to say anything to you. But we can all still see it anyway. You’re wound awful tight.” He hesitated again for a moment, as if wondering at the wisdom of saying what he had to say next. “We’ve all seen the way you’ve set even the Tiradores at a distance. Hell, you’ve put Tomas’s squad at a distance. You’re here to kill Commies, I get it. We all are. But you’ve gotten…well…awfully single-minded about it.” He took a deep breath. “I just think that a roll in the hay with Althea would do you some good. Bring you around to the good things in life, if only for a little while, huh?”

  Hank took a deep breath of his own. He’d turned to stare at the screens, rather than let Lovell see the effect his words had.

  “I appreciate your concern, Amos.” He knew he was shutting the conversation down, and he could almost feel Lovell’s disappointment. “But I don’t think a one-night stand with anybody is the answer.” He lifted his eyes to meet Lovell’s. “I think that killing Commies and accomplishing the mission is the answer.”

  Lovell nodded slowly, conceding defeat. He picked up his book and pointedly went back to reading, as Hank equally pointedly went back to checking the intel updates.

  He knew that Lovell wasn’t entirely wrong, despite his proffered solution, which Hank still didn’t think was the right one. Althea was attractive, sure, and despite keeping his guard up, he’d enjoyed the conversations they’d had on the Serendipity on the way to the Malaysian coast. She was probably quite good at her job as a spook. She was warm, engaging, and good at drawing people out, and despite the fact that she hadn’t quite managed to draw him out of his shell, she’d certainly tried.

  As tempting as she might be, though, he wasn’t going to go there. To open himself up, even in a guarded, meaningless way like Lovell was proposing, was not in the cards. Yes, he’d withdrawn somewhat. Watching a kid who’d looked up to him like a father get cut in half by a .50 cal tended to do that.

  Maybe, if he survived the war, he could look into becoming human again.

  Maybe.

  Chapter 22

  The moon was down, and the stars over the South China sea glittered hard in the night sky, as the wind raised some serious chop. Given that the Zodiacs were motoring into the wind, it had already hampered their progress, and put them some thirty minutes behind schedule.

  Hank checked his watch as he kept an eye on the nav board. They were far from any landmarks, and while he’d had plenty of time to brush up on nautical navigation, it meant that bearing and time were absolutely essential. And the time was already off. That much he was sure of.

  The other two Zodiacs were still in formation, holding a few dozen yards to either side. They were still hard to see, black against black, occasionally disappearing into the troughs between the waves, even on NVGs. But they were still there. So, at least that hadn’t gone wrong.

  The whole section hadn’t come along, only Hank, Doc Travis, and LaForce’s Second Squad. If they needed more shooters, then things had well and truly gone south. If they had to fire their weapons at all, things had gone south.

  Another wave came up and Hank had to alter course to take it head on. He’d been on a Zodiac that had been hit from the side by a good-sized wave, and it hadn’t been fun. Broaching a boat that weighed well over three hundred pounds was a miserable exercise, and if they had to do it tonight, not only did they risk losing their payload—even though it was snap-linked into the lines on the inside—but they risked getting pushed farther off course and possibly missing their time on target.

  He rode the wave up and over the crest, turning back onto azimuth as he coasted the boat down the back slope and into the trough. It wasn’t nearly as smooth as he’d hoped, but a Zodiac never was. Winkler and Evans, up in the bow, were still getting plenty beat up, as the boat bounced with every choppy wave, even as they went over the swell. They’d been up there for two hours already. Winkler had gotten soaked with enough spray that he’d probably washed the blood off his face from the faceplant he’d endured when he hadn’t timed his movement to the waves, shortly after they’d left the Jacqueline Q.

  Without GPS, it was hard to tell for certain how far behind they really were, but it was still doable. While Winkler and Evans were keeping an eye outboard, watching for ships and other boats, Huntsman was in the back with Hank, tracking their position on the nav board with stopwatch, compass, and an old-school “speed w
and” knotmeter. It seemed difficult and crude to men brought up in an era of GPS satellite navigation, where a glance at a screen could tell you exactly where you were in an instant, but it had worked for a long time before the GPS constellation had been put up, and it was still working after that constellation had become unreliable.

  Hank still didn’t know for sure how much of that was because satellites had been taken out physically, or how much was due to either jamming or cyber warfare. It didn’t matter, in the long run. They were back to old-school dead reckoning.

  “Port two degrees,” Huntsman murmured. They were getting a little too far to the north. Hank corrected. He was the coxswain, and had too much to do to focus on the fine points of navigation. That was at least a two-man job.

  A moment later, without lifting his head from the nav board, Huntsman reported, “Should be in sight of the target in the next five minutes.”

  Hank nodded to acknowledge, even though Huntsman couldn’t see him. He didn’t need to.

  Holding course and speed, albeit with adjustments due to the waves, he kept them moving, only glancing aside from his own compass to scan the horizon and the other two boats to the flanks. He could see the lights of other ships in the distance—it would be hard to avoid them in the South China Sea, given the sheer volume of shipping passing through there, though the ocean is awfully big, especially from sea level—but he was watching for one particular set of lights.

  There. That should be the Fortunate, a bulk carrier out of Shenzhen, currently bound for Johnson South Reef with supplies for the PLAN marine garrison there. She’d already stopped by Cuarteron Reef and Fiery Cross Reef, which had been what had highlighted her on the Triarii target list. She hadn’t been on the list Hank had given the Malay pirates.

  There were quite a few ships supporting the Chinese artificial islands in the South China Sea that weren’t on that list. And with the PLAN and the Chinese Coast guard still slowly reacting to the pirate attacks off Malaysia, the Triarii were trying to fill in the gaps. Most of the strikes on Chinese shipping were being launched by the torpedo boats, but there were still enough targets that tonight’s mission had been laid on, despite the risk.