“We considered using helicopters,” Nathan said. “But they would have to refuel in both directions. And there’s no secure place to do that. So, we decided on a ship. But what ship? Now, thanks to Kelsey here, that piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.”
“And the ship is?”
“A roll on/roll off ferry named the Setiawati,” Nathan replied.
“It means loyal and faithful,” Parker explained. “She looks like hundreds of other interisland ferries, her engines are in good shape, and she can transport both the commandos and their vehicles.”
Nathan gestured toward some empty seats. “Please join us.”
The commandos chose chairs and Ryson wound up next to Parker. Her perfume was distracting. “So, how does Squadron 7 fit in?”
“Seven will provide escorts coming back.”
“And going in?”
“You’ll sail separately,” Nathan said. “From all appearances the Setiawati will be doing what ferries do. Meanwhile you, and your boats, will be on patrol.
“Then shortly after dark, the day after tomorrow, the task force will come together at Bataan in the Philippines. Captain Dancy?”
The commando cleared his throat. “Our lot will roll off the ferry in the vehicles you saw outside, and drive to the prison. Mr. Dalisay and Commander Greer will guide us.
“Once we have the POWs in protective custody, we’ll turn all the rest of the prisoners loose. They’ll run every which way, making it difficult for the authorities to know what’s going on. Then, using the same vehicles, we’ll return to the ship.”
“And that’s where your boats come in,” Parker added. “I think it’s safe to say that both the Filipinos and the Chinese will give chase. And Setiawati will be easy to catch.”
Ryson could imagine it. Planes, boats and even ships would be sent to intercept the ferry. “Tell me something,” Ryson said. “Are both the vehicles and the ferry expendable? If so, we can load the soldiers, the POWs, and the ferry crew onto my boats.”
Nathan looked at Parker. “What about that?”
Kelsey shrugged. “It would cost the government something like a million U.S. to buy the Setiawati. You’d have to speak with my father.”
“Realizing that you’ll most likely lose the ferry either way,” Ryson put in. “It will represent a rather large, not to mention slow, target.”
“There’s that,” Nathan agreed. “I’ll look into it. In the meantime, I suspect you’ll want to discuss tactical concerns with Captain Dancy, Commander Greer, and Mr. Dalisay.”
“That makes sense,” Ryson agreed. “Is the ferry captain around? We should bring him into the loop.”
“I will serve as captain,” Parker put in. “I have an unlimited master’s license.”
A mariner with an unlimited master’s license could command any ship regardless of type, tonnage, power or location. And the fact that Parker had such a ticket was impressive. And an important asset where the family business was concerned. Parker was sitting only inches away and Ryson could see the curiosity in her eyes. She was waiting to see how he would react to a female captain. “Perfect,” Ryson said. “Let’s get to work.”
***
Borgo Catholic Cemetery, Manado Indonesia
The rising sun threw three black shadows across the yawning grave, as the wooden coffin was lowered into the ground, and a Catholic Priest named Father Wijaya led the mourners in the Lord’s Prayer. Then he added some words of his own.
“Her true name was Maria Avilar. But when it came time to choose another name, one which would offer hope, Maria chose ‘Mary.’ The name of Mary, mother of Jesus, blessed be her name. Now, with the mother Mary in mind we recite her prayer, knowing that Maria would be pleased.
‘Hail Mary,
Full of Grace,
The Lord is with thee.
Blessed art thou among women,
and blessed is the fruit
of thy womb, Jesus.
Holy Mary,
Mother of God,
pray for us sinners now,
and at the hour of our death. Amen.’”
Greer wasn’t Catholic. Or anything else for that matter. But the words moved him. And as he went forward to kneel by the grave, tears trickled down his cheeks. Mary, because that was how he continued to think of her, had been struck by a shard of metal that entered her body from behind, and came out through her chest.
Greer had been battling to keep the plane in the air and fly them to safety. So, rather than distract him—Mary died quietly—with her hands clasped in front of her.
Then, after the plane hit the water Dalisay, in what could only be described as an act of heroism, managed to cut through Mary’s seatbelt and drag her free of the sinking plane. She was wearing a PFD. And that, plus Dalisay’s efforts, kept her afloat until sailors on the Fractus were able to hoist her body out of the water.
Now, as Father Wijaya, Dalisay and four gravediggers looked on, Greer spoke to her. “I am so very, very sorry. I urged you to come. I said you would be safe here. And I thought you would be. But there was something more on my mind as well. A desire to learn all about you, to spend time with you, and to look into your eyes. I’d like to believe that you felt something similar.
“I hope you’re out there somewhere, in a place where you’re happy, and I will be able to find you.”
Greer stood, nodded to the grave diggers, and turned to Father Wijaya. “I’d like to make a donation Father. Please make sure that someone tends to Mary’s grave, and those of the people buried around her. If you’ll give me an address, I’ll send money from time-to-time.”
Wijaya produced a business card. And Greer gave the priest most of the emergency pay the navy had given him. The money was sorely needed. Although Catholicism was one of the six approved religions in Indonesia, less than three percent of the country’s population were Catholics, and budgets were tight. A fact which accounted for the toppled monuments and the rampant weeds that threatened to overwhelm the graveyard.
“It shall be as you say,” Wijaya said, as he accepted the money. “Once Maria’s headstone is finished, I will make sure that the workers install it properly.”
Greer thanked the Father, and with Dalisay at his side, made his way back to the waiting taxi. The ferry was going to depart at 1500. And both men would be on it.
***
Aboard the ferry Setiawati, Manado harbor, Indonesia
The ferryboat’s main cabin was packed with naval personnel, both American and Australian. The purpose of the gathering was to announce assignments, coordinate missions, and resolve problems. The first problem was the fact that the American hydrofoil captains were pissed off, because they’d been left out of Operation Free Eagle, and the Aussies were going to get all the glory. And Ryson was aware of that thanks to a download from Master Chief Jo Jensen.
So as Ryson made his way to the front of the half-hostile crowd, he knew he had his job cut out for him. “Good morning … By now you know we’re prepping for a very important mission. Please allow me to remind you that it is top secret, and do not share any of what you are about to hear with anyone other than your XOs.
“At 1500 hours this afternoon a ferry loaded with Australian commandos and their vehicles will depart Manado bay, and proceed north to carry out a highly classified raid.
“All four of the Australian boats will depart as well, traveling separately and in pairs, to convey the impression that they are on patrol. Later in the day the Armindales will meet the commandos after their raid has taken place, take them off a beach, and bring them here.
“Meanwhile the PHMs will continue to carry out their regular duties. Lieutenant Commander Vos will be in command. When this meeting is over, I will meet with the Armindale captains to discuss tactics. Do you have any questions?”
Arms shot up. One of them belonged to the Nimbus’s skipper, Lieutenant Commander Marlo Moreno, who described herself as “loud and proud.” Ryson pointed to her. “Yes, Marlo.”
The truth was that Ryson had a secret bias in favor the PHMs, due to their speed and the fact that they were armed with Harpoon missiles. But, after studying the matter, he ‘d been forced to conclude that the Australian boats were better suited for the mission at hand.
“Without diving into the classified details,” Ryson said, “I can tell you this. The Pegs have a range of 1,380 miles. And the Armindales have a range of 3,452 miles.
“Plus, each Armindale can accommodate twenty passengers, each carries two RIB boats, and each has stern mounted ladders. That will make it easier to board the commandos—especially if some are wounded. Does that answer your question?”
Moreno could read between the lines. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the objective was a long way off. And the Aussie boats were bigger. Bigger and slower, Moreno thought to herself. But she knew better than to say that. “Sir, yes sir. Thank you.”
After the PHM officers left, Ryson sat down and invited the Australians to do likewise. They included Vos’s XO, Andy Tyson, who would command the HMAS Perth.
Then there was the HMS Kalbarri’s skipper LT. Carl (Foxy) Fox who, according to the rumors Ryson had heard, was very popular with the ladies.
Ryson had already been to sea with the HMAS Eucia’s boyish Captain, LT. James (Jim) Atworthy, as well as the HMAS Rockhampton’s commanding officer Mike Christian, an officer known for his pranks.
During the next hour the group reviewed all sorts of things, including the need to triage wounded commandos on the beach, and put the most serious cases on Eucia, which would have a doctor on board.
Then there was the matter of rations. There would be extra mouths to feed on the journey home. Towing rigs would need to be ready just in case. Extra loads for the RPGs and missile launchers would be required too. Along with additional ammo for the Armindales’ M242 Bushmaster autocannons. It went on and on.
Finally, at about 1000 Ryson returned to the Agger where he took a three hour nap. Then it was time to get up, shave, shower, and get dressed. His personals and a change of underwear went into a black AWOL bag. There was just enough time to hustle down to the cafeteria style restaurant on Agger’s Promenade deck and gulp three cups of coffee while eating a French dip sandwich.
From there it was a short trip down to the landing stage where Master Chief Jensen and a RIB boat were waiting. She saluted. “Good afternoon, sir. Which boat do you want to travel on?”
“The Rockhampton, please.”
Jensen gave the information to the coxswain and spoke into a handheld radio. Ryson eyed the sky as the boat bounced through a light chop. The sun was hidden behind a layer of clouds. And that was a good thing. The less the enemy could see the better.
The Rockhampton was moored under the Manado Marine Terminal with the rest of Squadron 7’s boats. Thanks to an advance warning from Jensen, Lieutenant Commander Christian was waiting to greet Ryson as he came aboard. The Aussie had brown eyes, dark skin, and a ready smile. The open palm slaute was rendered British style. Ryson delivered an American salute in return and the men shook hands. “I’m glad you chose the Rockhampton, sir. You’ll be happy to know she’s faster than the other Armindales.”
Ryson frowned. “Really? How much faster?”
“Three-miles-per-hour, sir.”
Ryson laughed. “The enemy has no idea what they’re up against.”
The conversation was interrupted as a sailor appeared. “Excuse me, sir. The ferry is getting underway.”
Christian nodded. “Thank you, Smitty.”
Ryson thought about the ferry and the woman in command of it. After negotiations between Admiral Nathan and George Parker, a contract had been agreed to. The Setiawati would be sacrificed. And the Austrailian government would pay Parker Marine $900,000 American.
But while the ferry could be replaced, Kelsey Parker couldn’t, and Ryson hoped to keep her safe.
***
Aboard the ferry Setiawati
As the ferry departed Manado’s harbor, and made her way out to sea, Greer was leaning on a wooden rail watching the city dwindle in the distance. The rescue mission was underway. And that was good. But there were plenty of unknowns. Were the pilots still in the same prison? Dalisay’s sources said, “Yes.” But what if they were wrong?
And how would the raid go? The prison was an hour’s drive from the commandos’ landing point. Of course they would be traveling in British-made Simba personnel carriers, identical to those used by the Phillipine army. And the troop trucks bore Phillipine army insignia as well. So that would be helpful.
But what about the return trip? The Filipinos would know about the attack by then, and send every available unit after the raiders. We’ll have air cover though, Greer thought. And that could make the critcal difference.
Suddenly Greer felt tired. The ferry had six first class cabins, and he was sharing one with Dalisay. He made his way down a ladder, and back along the side of the main cabin, to the point where Cabin 2 was located. He knocked, paused for a moment, and opened the door. Dalisay wasn’t there.
It felt good to stretch out on the clean coverlet, pull a pillow over his left ear, and fall asleep. Mary was waiting for him.
***
Aboard the Interisland Steamer Alcona, passing through the Northwest Danger Shoals, into the South China Sea
The Alcona was classified as a “self discharging cargo vessel.” That meant she was equipped with a deck-mounted, hydraulically-operated crane which could load and unload cargo without assistance from the shore. And that would be absolutely necessary on the island of Samir. The ship had been built in 1978 in Germany, and had seen service all over the world since then.
But in spite of the dents in her hull, the creeping rust, and the peeling paint, the old girl still had virtures. The crane was one of them. Her capacity to haul deck cargo was another, and a draft of only thirteen feet was the third.
Such were Lieutenant Commander Linda Vos’s thoughts as she made her way forward along the port side. Past the well tarped deck cargo, past the windlass, and into the Alcona’s V-shaped bow. Vos was wearing a pair of aviators and civilian clothes. Her short hair blew in the breeze as she inhaled a deep draught of the sea air.
Vos was as happy as she could be anywhere other than on the bridge of her own ship. Because, even though her current assignment was sideways from the Squadron’s long list of secondary objectives—it was laser focused on the unit’s primary purpose—and that was to find the Sea Dragon.
Plus, Vos liked to organize things. And there would be a whole lot of organizing to do, assuming that Captain Albert Finster remained sober enough to con the Alcona through the Danger Shoals, and into the South China Sea.
The ship’s destination was an Indonesian possession called Samir Island. It was no more than a speck on the nautical chart taped to a cabin wall. But size didn’t matter. Not in this case. What mattered was Samir’s location west of the island of Palawan, and south of Mischief Reef, which was controlled by the Chinese.
As conceived by Commander Ryson, a base on Samir would allow the boats of Squadron 7 to extend their patrol areas, and increase the odds of spotting the Sea Dragon. And that explained why General Haskell had been willing to approve the considerable expense involved.
That was the good news. The bad news was that, once the Chinese took notice of what the Allies were doing, they would send planes to attack Samir. And possibly ships as well.
But Ryson had anticipated that. Also in transit to Samir was a barge loaded with camouflaged weapons, including an American C-RAM (Counter Rocket Artillery and Mortar System), and a tracked missile system called the Tor SA-15 Gauntlet.
Ironically enough the Tor system was Russian made, and one of six units found aboard a Russian ship bound for Karrachi, just days after hostilities began.
The problem would be the need to secure an adequate supply of 9M330 missiles. Squadron 7 would have thirt
y-two of the little bastards. After that? Well, good luck.
A male voice broke into Vos’s thoughts. “Excuse me, ma’am … Lunch is served.”
Vos turned to find Lieutenant Chin standing behind her. Chin was an American Combat Systems officer who, along with his techs, would be in charge of both the C-RAM and Gaunlet systems. Vos smiled. “In other words the sandwich buffet is open.”
Chin grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Should I visit the bridge? And check on the captain?”
“No need,” Chin replied. “First officer Loe has the con. The captain is in his cabin.”
“Drunk?”
“I assume so,” Chin answered. “Fortunately Loe seems to be quite competent.”
“I agree,” Vos said. “Let’s grab some tucker. I’m hungry.”
Hours passed and the Danger Shoals were behind them. The two foot waves were just enough to cause the ship to curtsy as they rolled under the bow, and the high overcast made it less likely that the Alcona was being tracked from orbit.
Vos was on the bridge, as was Captain Finster, when the island appeared in the distance. The atoll was a low-lying smudge at first. But eventually a grove of palm trees appeared, along with a tight grouping of metal clad buildings. The complex had been constructed by an Indonesian fishing company ten years earlier and abandoned after the start of the war.
The South China Sea accounted for at least 12 percent of the global fish catch each year, and more than half of the world’s fishing vessels were operating there. So the fishing company’s goal had been to shorten the time fishing boats spent offloading their catch to reefer ships, and maximize the time they spent competing for fish. Not that different from Commander Ryson’s plan, come to think of it. In any case, the presence of some buildings and the 30,000 gallon water bladders would be helpful, and Vos planned to take full advantage of what she found.
Finster belched and the smell of alcohol misted the air. “I’ll anchor offshore,” Finster said. “Then you can go in and take a look around.”
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