by Don Keith
The Tongan king shifted uncomfortably under the admiral’s glare.
“You must understand that there are many hurdles,” he explained. “We must clear many administrative and planning gates before construction can actually commence. These are ancient grounds with many religious restrictions that must be dealt with carefully. Plus, the people are demanding that they share in the prosperity from the construction, though few are qualified, of course. Soon now, though, we will be able to start, beginning with the required dredging, of course. As soon as we negotiate a work share for my people and explain the necessity for the project to the elders, we will be able to renegotiate a new completion timeframe that...”
When he interrupted, Yon Hun Glo’s voice was flat, dripping with menace.
“You are the ruler of this godforsaken little rock. You did not seem to require permission when you signed the agreement and accepted our money. Nor were any elders consulted. There will be no renegotiation. Two heavy-duty dredges left Quanzhou last week. They will arrive in ten days. A battalion of construction engineers will begin to arrive tomorrow. You will, of course, make certain they have adequate lodging and food for the term of their stay.”
King Tofuwanga sputtered, protesting, “You are violating Tongan sovereignty. You have no right…”
Yon Hun Glo interrupted. “You lost your right to protest when you accepted our money. You will cooperate and enjoy the fruits of our benefice or we will replace you with one of your cousins who, we are assured, will be more than glad to move into the palace. Do I make myself clear?”
King Tofuwanga looked sick. He nodded meekly and slumped in his seat.
“Now, take me back to the airport,” the Chinese admiral ordered. “I see no reason for any further discussions. The airplane will have been unloaded by now.” The Tongan monarch looked at him questioningly. “I brought a communications center to set up at the airport. And a company of Marines to guard it.”
The short drive back to Fua’amotu International Airport was made in complete silence. There was no handshake, no farewell, when Yon Hun Glo departed the coolness of the limo, strutted across the tarmac, and climbed up into the waiting transport.
As the Xi’an Y-20 climbed out and pointed its nose to the west, Yon Hun Glo was already calling his brother in Beijing.
“Elder brother, it is precisely as we expected. That foolish king has squandered every last one of the loans we have given him. No construction has begun. Even with much blasting, it will require more than a month before we have a harbor deep enough and wide enough for a squadron of submarines, let alone for large warships. I suggest we immediately reinforce our marine garrison to full strength just in case the king or someone else back there decides to make a foolish stand. Or some busybody ventures to come to his miserable assistance.”
Ψ
The bright orange UUV swung from the crane that reached out over the Deep Ocean Explorer’s stern. Dr. Rex Smith watched as the crane slowly came around and deftly lowered the UUV onto its cradle. Sandy McDougal, Mitch O’Donnell, and the factory tech rep for the underwater exploration vehicle pounced on the UUV as if it were so much prey.
Minutes later, O’Donnell stepped over to Smith.
“Doc, you ain’t gonna believe this. Looks like our little friend bounced into the bottom and ripped out the lower acoustic transponder.”
“Yeah, so tell me why you’re smiling,” Smith replied.
Mitch O’Donnell opened his hand to show him something. His palm was filled with glittering yellow metal.
“Because the cavity where the transponder came from was filled with this! Gold! Sandy is downloading the mission data now. We’ll know exactly where the UUV found this stuff in a minute.”
Realization washed over the researcher’s face, leaving him so dizzy he had to reach for a handrail to steady himself.
Ψ
Li Min Zhou was clearly just as comfortable in the office of the Chief of Naval Intelligence in the Pentagon as she would have been in her own unassuming office in Taiwan’s Military Intelligence Bureau in Taipei. As unafraid as she might have been in a firefight on a night mission into hostile territory. Even as comfortable as she had been in front of the inattentive Senate committee the previous week. But thankfully, at least one of those senators had been listening to what she had been trying to tell them.
“Admiral, I hope you will relay to Senator Murson how much I appreciate his setting up this meeting with you,” she said. “And I know you will find it is worth your time and attention.”
“Thad is one of the good guys,” Jon Ward told her. “He understands better than most what we are trying to do down here. Now, what can I help you with?”
She looked him straight in the eyes when she answered. No-nonsense lady, Ward thought. But he instinctively checked the antique ship’s clock on the wall anyway. His schedule was full, overbooked.
“You are doubtless aware of many of my previous activities, Admiral. You know I hold the rank of senior field officer in the Taiwanese Marines. That I am an expert in demolition, all weaponry, and hand-to-hand combat. That I have combat experience in actions that made the news and far more skirmishes that never will. Officially, they never happened, but be assured our team won most of them, and I was fortunate enough to survive all of them so far. You may not know, however, of my activities on behalf of the Taiwanese National Security Bureau as an operative embedded high in the intelligence infrastructure of the so-called People’s Republic of China.”
She did not miss the slightest of tics near Ward’s right eye. “Or maybe you do. Then you might also know I spent some time at the behest of the Chinese Ministry of State Security in North Korea, learning all I could, theoretically for China but also for the benefit of Taiwan and your own CIA.”
Ward smiled.
“That, I concede, I did not know,” he responded. “But Colonel Zhou, I was already duly impressed with your credentials. And with the intelligence you have previously and so generously shared with us. You have benefited the cause of freedom and peace in many invaluable ways. In all honesty, as much as I appreciate Senator Murson, your file...” Ward pointed to a thick folder on his desk. “...your resume is the reason I agreed to meet with you today. As you can imagine, we are quite busy. So, what brings you to the Pentagon today?”
“Desperation.”
“Excuse me?”
“Because of my previous work, and because I still have people I can trust in high places within the Chinese Communist Party as well as the government in Beijing, I believe I have a unique understanding of and insight into the dynamics of what is going on there now. Crucial moves and developments with frightening ramifications are taking place. Conflict within the Party and the military. Infighting that will result in actions that will violently destabilize the rest of the world. Steps that are being taken and initiatives being set in motion even as we sit here discussing my resume and enjoying your nice view of the Potomac River.”
Li Zhou leaned forward, a grim expression on her face. “But you see, I am having great difficulty convincing anyone within your government or mine of the dangerous nature of these developments. A series of events I have been warning about for years now. They will have consequences for your navy, your government, as well as mine, and very soon. And the rest of the world, too. I know what these moves will be, the reasons for them, and who is making them. And I know what will happen if…”
The phone on Jon Ward’s desk suddenly buzzed loudly.
“Admiral, pardon the interruption, but General Bond is on line two,” his assistant said. “And you have the ten o’clock with the under-secretary at his place. It’s a twenty-minute walk.”
Zhou looked hard at Ward, her eyes piercing. Then she whispered, “Dong Doa. South China Sea.”
Though spoken quietly, the effect of the words on Jon Ward was profound.
“Tell the general I will call him later. And reschedule all my appointments.” A brief pause, then he added, “For the balan
ce of the day.”
Ψ
Joe Glass walked the few steps from his office in the historic Building 661 to COMSUBPAC’s headquarters.
Glass did not take for granted the submarine history that infused every inch of SUBBASE Pearl Harbor. From his office on the second deck in Building 661, his predecessor many times removed had witnessed the unbelievable destruction of 7 December, 1941. And other squadron commanders in the long line had sent the fleet boats out to perform their mighty role in winning World War II. Then others had dispatched their submarines out of the base on Oahu to Cold War missions that were still classified today. It was a proud legacy, one that now rested heavily on Joe Glass’s broad shoulders.
He glanced up at the Submarine Escape Tower. It actually had not been used for escape training in many years and was now a historic landmark with a meeting room at the very top that offered some of the best views of Pearl Harbor. Glass crossed Morton Street, yet another reminder of the place’s legacy. The byway was named for Dudley “Mush” Morton, the legendary skipper of the World War II boat USS Wahoo, who helped rewrite the book on how to use subs to defeat a fanatical enemy. Glass hopped up the stairs to COMSUBPAC’s offices. The cement bunker of a building was every bit as historic as Glass’s Building 661. And even more secretive.
The commodore was immediately ushered into COMSUBPAC’s second-floor corner office. Again, even more history. The old wooden desk at the far end of the spacious room was the same one that Vice Admiral Charles Lockwood had sat behind as he ordered his submarine crews off to sink more than half the Japanese shipping sent to the bottom in the war. But to also incur the highest casualty rate of any branch of the military in the war.
The current COMSUBPAC, Rear Admiral Barney Fritz, rose from behind the desk and came around to shake hands with Glass.
“Joe, glad you could come over so quick.” He waved toward a seat at the conference table. An orderly had already placed cups and a pot of coffee there. The SUBPAC Chief of Staff, Captain Rich Moore, filled three cups and then sat down across from Glass.
Joe took a sip. “Ah, Admiral, you serve the best cup of coffee on the island.”
Fritz chuckled as he plopped down at the head of the table.
“Joe, you know damn well it’s just Waialua Coffee. You can buy it in the commissary.” His face turned serious as he shoved a sheaf of papers across the oak table to Glass. “Okay, I got a job for you. Rich thinks I’m sending you on a South Sea Island vacation, but I’m sending you down to American Samoa for some big doings. You are to set up an advance base for your squadron in Pago Pago.”
Rich Moore picked up the thread. “That gives us an alternative to Guam and a bigger presence in the South Pacific. PACOM thinks we need to do something to counter all the Chinese moves down there. It’ll make the islanders feel better that we are there to protect our sea lanes to Australia and New Zealand. Plus, we have some new reasons to think they do, indeed, need some protecting these days.”
Admiral Fritz set down his cup and leaned forward.
“We’re going to be testing a brand-new idea for forward basing. The idea is to use the Chesty Puller, one of those expeditionary sea-base ships, as a stand-in for a sub tender. It won’t be able to give you everything a tender can but should be able to fix most things. Plus, it won’t advertise the presence of subs over there. And by the way, you’re going to have to share your new home with the battalion of Marines and squadron of Marine rotary types that COMPACFLT is sending for local security. The heavy brass up at Camp Smith seem to think they’ll need some firepower down there.”
Fritz took a breath and reached back to grab a file from a stack piled up on his desk. He checked the cover sheet and slid it over to Glass.
“Joe, I’m detailing a couple of ORCA UUVs from UUVRON ONE to you. You can operate them out of there, too. Some of this is still in the planning stages as we learn more...as you learn more...but I’m thinking of shuttle-running your boats out of Pago Pago. You can work out the details with Ops.”
The ORCA unmanned submarines were a brand-new toy, bigger and more impressively equipped than any previous robot vessel. While not officially part of the fleet yet, they were obviously now available for this particular task.
Joe Glass took another sip of his coffee. He did not even taste it this time. He idly scratched his chin. His instincts were screaming.
“Admiral, my radar screen is lit up like a son of a bitch. Can you tell me what’s going on out there?”
“If I knew more, I’d tell you. That’s one of the benefits of your new job, you know. You get all the info. Like drinking from a fire hose sometimes. One thing I do know is that your old friend Jon Ward smells something rotten. You already know it’s China, but this time...well...it ain’t all for propaganda and bluster. Especially after what they did to Tarbox...”
“Enough said.”
“You have plenty of reading to do there. But if it makes you feel any better, I have the same bad feeling in my gut about all this. Something’s up. And you, of all people, know that usually means submarines are best placed to do a lot of the heavy lifting.”
Glass downed the last of the java and stood.
“We got it.”
Ψ
It was near the end of another very interesting day on the Deep Ocean Explorer research vessel. A balmy tropical breeze blew across the deck, but nobody on the ship was topside to enjoy the weather or the brilliant sunset.
Instead, they were all huddled around a bank of monitors down in Mission Control, raptly watching as Dr. Sandy McDougal played back the tapes from Sea Raptor’s last mission.
“Wow! I’ve never seen such a well-developed field of fumaroles!” McDougal exclaimed. “Some of them are almost two hundred feet tall. Truly amazing at this depth, too. This is way deeper than we would normally expect such massive and well-formed deposits.”
Mitch O’Donnell interrupted the scientist’s pondering. “Yes, Doc. Impressive. But look at the gold! There must be literally tons of it down there! There’s enough to make us all gazillionaires!”
Rex Smith stood off to the side, frowning. “I hate to dash your enthusiasm, but there are a couple of issues here. Other than the question of ownership and who has a legitimate claim on this find, the gold is six miles below the surface of the ocean. I am not aware of any technology capable of mining anything that deep.”
Smith allowed the team a few more minutes to gawk at the tapes and ponder his concerns. It was time to get back to work. The researcher turned to Bill Bix, Deep Ocean Explorer’s captain.
“Bill, we need to get parts to fix the Sea Raptor. Make best speed to Pago Pago. Hopefully, we can get the parts flown in from Sydney in the next week or so.”
But everyone else in the room was fixated on the small mound of pure gold dust Mitch O’Donnell had placed strategically in the middle of a chart table.
Ψ
Commander Chet Allison stepped back from the Type 18 periscope and glanced around Boise’s control room. It appeared the battle-stations ship control team and fire control party were on-station. Allison stepped back up to the eyepiece again. Best to give everyone a few minutes to get settled in and ready to go.
The view outside was boringly nondescript. No visual contacts, either on the surface or in the air. The only object in his periscope view was a faint gray-and-green line on the far eastern horizon. That would be Dong Doa Island. Only a few months ago, the spot had been known as North Danger Reef. In reality, it consisted of only a very few square feet of dry land, even at low tide. Then the Chinese began hauling in dirt, rocks, and tons of cement. They had turned the reef into a bustling navy base, complete with a deep-water harbor and an airfield capable of handling high-performance combat aircraft. Allison’s intel brief had been frustratingly sparse on several key points, but the most concerning one to him was what kind of search sensors might be in place to protect China’s newest base.
Allison grabbed the 21MC microphone and pushed the button. “ESM, C
onn, report all ESM contacts.”
The reply came almost immediately.
“Conn, ESM, currently hold three contacts. Echo One equates to a Chinese Type Three-oh-five Alpha phased array air defense radar. Echo Two equates to a RES-1 Chinese air and coastal defense radar. Echo Three equates to a REL-6 Bravo air surveillance radar. Currently hold no emitters equated as a threat.”
At least the Chinese did not appear to be expecting underwater guests. Just the typical search radars were up and scanning.
“Ship is manned for battle stations,” Master Chief Dan “Hoss” Blocker called over his shoulder. Blocker was the chief of the boat and battle-stations diving officer.
“Thanks, COB,” Allison answered as he lowered number two scope and turned to the battle-stations fire control party assembled in the control room. The group of young faces looked up at him expectantly as he explained what they were going to try.
“This is going to be just like we have walked through and practiced a thousand times,” Allison told them. “We are going to stay at periscope depth and slip in nice and close to the harbor mouth. We’ll grab whatever pictures we can. Satellite imagery shows the Tarbox tied up at the wharf directly across from the harbor entrance, but we need confirmation from this angle. If we can positively verify that it is the Tarbox, we will move back out to launch range, and then we will launch the MRUUV that’s loaded in tube one and send it into the harbor. Weps, make sure the harbor mission is loaded on the UUV.”
The Mission Reconfigurable Unmanned Underwater Vehicle (MRUUV) was an unmanned underwater vehicle about the size and shape of a torpedo. It had been specifically designed to be launched and retrieved from a submarine’s torpedo tube. As the name implied, it was very versatile, easily converted from one mission to another.