According to Chin, set-up and testing would take the remaining daylight hours. But by midnight, Vos hoped to have the all-weather system up and running. Then the Tor system could defend the island from airplanes, helicopters, cruise missiles, drones, and precision guided munitions. And she’d be able to sleep.
The C-RAM system was on multiple trailers and a small tractor had been sent to tow them off the barge. Vos had chosen to locate the C-RAM system at the opposite end of the curving land mass and well away from the Tor setup.
Ryson’s plan called for keeping at least one PHM at or near the island at all times, ready to fire on long-range surface targets if necessary. But, should the Chinese engage the hydrofoil, and send fast boats into the lagoon, the Counter rocket, artillery and mortar system would defend itself and the anti-air Tor installation. It was, Vos thought, a clever strategy.
But cleverness would only get Squadron 7 so far. If it decided to exert itself, and bring the necessary amount of force to bear, China could swat Samir like a fly. And the results wouldn’t be pretty.
***
Aboard the HMAS Rockhampton off the east coast of Palawan, in the South China Sea
There weren’t any good choices. Just bad choices. If Ryson took his flotilla down the west side of Palawan island they’d be vulnerable to the Chinese forces stationed on Mischief Reef. And if he ventured further to the west, in an attempt to give the Spratly Islands a wide berth, he might encounter a Chinese task force—because the ChiCom bastards pretty much “owned” the South China Sea.
So, Ryson had chosen to cruise down the east coast of Palawan. At the moment the boats were entering the Cuyo West Passage, with the Cuyo islands off to port.
Once through the narrow passageway they would enter the Sulu Sea where Filipino naval units could be waiting. Then assuming it survived, the flotilla would make the transition into the neighboring Celebes Sea, and proceed to Manado. Or not. Time would tell.
Things went well at first. The sea state qualified as “slight,” with seas that were roughly two feet high, and running to the northeast. The sky was mostly clear, with broken clouds, some of which threw asymmetrical patterns onto the cerulean water.
Contrails clawed the sky, and served to remind Ryson of the war above. Were the planes Chinese? Or Allied? There was no way to know.
As for surface ships, there were hundreds of radar blips. And that was normal in an area frequented by fishing boats representing half a dozen nations.
That situation continued for the better part of an hour. And Ryson was napping in his chair when ET Sykes spoke over the intercom. “There’s some unusual activity taking place south of us, Captain. I thought you’d want to know.”
Ryson opened his eyes and sat up. Christian frowned. “What sort of activity?”
“Some of the fishing boats are bunching up, while others are spreading port and starboard,” Sykes replied. ‘It’s weird.”
“I’m coming down,” Christian said, and left the bridge. Ryson followed. Sykes was in the CIC, sitting next to a radio operator. And sure enough, most of the blips on his screen were swarming, while a few were motoring away. “It’s a scrum,” Christian said.
Ryson frowned. “A what?”
“A scrum. As in Rugby. It means an orderly formation of players used to restart play. We’ve seen it before. At least one in ten Chinese fishing boats are equipped to gather intelligence, and fight if necessary, which they are preparing to do. We call them ‘X-boats.’”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m positive,” the Australian answered. “Look … See how the boats are forming a funnel? The whole idea is to guide us into the middle of the scrum where the X boats are waiting. If we change course, they’ll reform to block us.”
“But we can fight our way through,” Ryson suggested.
“Yes, probably,” Christian agreed. “But some X boats have hydraulically operated gun turrets that pop up from below.”
“On fishing boats.”
“Yes. Most of those fishing boats are roughly the same size as the Rockhampton.”
“Shit.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Notify the other boats. Tell them to form a line ahead.”
The same order had been given during the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805, when ships on both sides of the conflict formed columns prior to what became a melee.
The purpose of the maneuver was to ensure that the second and third boats could make use of their heavy machine guns to the port and starboard, while the Rockhampton’s bow-mounted M242 Bushmaster autocannon blew a hole through the enemy line.
Then, if it became necessary, Ryson would order boats two and three to move sideways in opposite directions to free their bow guns. Meanwhile sailors, with help from the commandos, would hose the “fishing” boats down with small arms fire including RPGs.
As for air support, they were still too far away from Manado, and would have to handle the situation by themselves. Would Chinese planes take part in the ambush? That was a scary thought.
Ryson could see the fishing boats through his binoculars by that time. The Chinese trawlers were nearly identical. Each had a white superstructure, a blue hull, and a high flared bow. The boats were deployed in the way Christian said they would be. Except for one thing— two trawlers were traveling toward each other from opposite sides of the U-shaped formation. After a careful examination Ryson realized that the boats were dragging nets! Why?
There was only one possible answer: the Chinese had anticipated Ryson’s plan, and hoped to ensnare one or more Allied boats by fouling their propellors. A plan that would bring the Armindales to a stop and, if things went well, allow the enemy to board and take more POWs! Thereby transforming what would have been a propaganda disaster into a propaganda victory.
Ryson turned to Christian. “Pass the word … The flotilla will form a line abreast. All Stinger teams will target the trawler to port … Which is to say the one moving east to west with a net in tow. Fire when ready.”
Christian looked surprised, brought his binoculars up to confirm the net, and passed the order to the other boats. The Rockhampton’s crew was already at battle stations so it was a simple matter to send the Stinger teams forward.
The distance between the Armindales and the trawler was closing fast. Missiles lashed out, six in all, and most were on target. Ryson saw a flash on the superstructure, just aft of the bridge, another on the hull and two near the waterline.
The second flight of Stingers was even more effective. All of the missiles hit. Including two that slammed into the bridge. Ryson could imagine the slaughter inside. The blood-splattered bulkheads, the bodies sprawled on the deck, and no one at the wheel.
But there was no further time to consider the trawler’s fate as the rest of the Chinese fishing boats swarmed the Armindales. The net strategy had failed. But the enemy had sheer numbers on their side. And, by pressing in and around the Allied vessels, the Chinese could immobilize them as effectively as a fouled prop would.
Jets of black smoke issued from exhausts as boats vied with each other to reach the Armindales. Just as Christian predicted, some of them were armed with pop-up machine guns which immediately opened fire on the Australian vessels. “RPGs! Stingers!” Ryson shouted over the din. “Kill those guns!”
Meanwhile, the auto cannons mounted in the bows of the Armindales, plus their recently installed .50 machine guns, were hard at work. Fishermen, some armed, but most not, were cut down by the dozen. Grenades exploded, fires appeared, and boats were holed.
But even that wasn’t enough. Fishermen in aluminum skiffs and rubber rafts jostled each other in a crazed competition to board the enemy patrol boats first. “This might come in handy, sir,” Master Chief Jenson said, as she gave him a twelve-gauge pump gun and a bandolier of ammunition. And she was correct.
Ryson heard a sailor yell, “They’re about to come over the port side! We need help over here.”
Ryson stepped out of the wheelh
ouse, saw a face appear over the bulwark, and fired. The blast of double ought buck blew half of the boarder’s skull away and threw his body back onto a much-abused tender.
More boats were coming alongside. Ryson fired seven rounds into the nearest skiff and saw three men fall. Then it was time to step back, get reoriented, and reload. A sailor lay dead on the deck. Christian had taken the helm himself, and was shouting encouragement to his crew. “Kill the bastards! Kill them all!”
A quick check confirmed that the other patrol boats were still side-by-side next to the Rockhampton, using their fifties to good advantage, and leaving a trail of broken boats and dead bodies bobbing in their wakes. “The stern!” someone yelled over the intercom. “They’re coming over the stern!”
“I’ll go,” Ryson said, leaving Christian to con the boat. Ryson arrived in the stern to find that Sub-Lieutenant Devin was already there, pistol in hand, firing at a fisherman armed with a wicked looking knife. A .9mm bullet hit the man between the eyes and he toppled over backwards.
But more men were swarming up to replace him. The stairs, Ryson thought. They were critical to getting the POWs aboard quickly, and now they’re working against us.
Ryson fired the shotgun again and again. Boarders fell but were soon replaced as more fishermen appeared. That was when a basso voice said, “Make way for the second commando.”
A huge soldier appeared. He was armed with what would normally be a crew served machine gun, but looked like a toy in his arms. And when he fired a hail of bullets wiped the stern clean of intruders.
“That’s how it’s done, son,” the commando said to a teenage sailor. “Now lend a hand. Let’s take a peek over the stern railing.”
Ryson couldn’t see what the two of them saw. But after firing some long bursts, the commando gave a thumbs up. “They won’t be bothering you again, sir … This lot is finished.”
The commando’s words were prophetic. The boats broke free of the trap at roughly the same time and continued south. None suffered major damage. But there had been casualties, and Ryson wasn’t looking forward to the butcher’s bill. Still, he thought, as he looked back at the burning fishing trawlers: We won. And that’s what we’re supposed to do.
CHAPTER NINE
Yulin Naval Base, Hainan Island, China
Senior Captain Peng Ko eyed himself in the mirror. His uniform was perfect. A horizontal row of ribbons represented each of his major achievements. That was one of the many things Ko liked about the military. A single glance was enough to assess what another officer had accomplished and his position in the naval food chain.
In Ko’s case he was wearing a ribbon that signified the Order of August the First. The highest military award a Chinese sailor or soldier could receive. A rare honor indeed.
But that wasn’t all. Ko was also wearing a ribbon representing the Medal of Heroic Exemplar. The second highest decoration awarded by the Chinese government.
Would Admiral Yong Chao be suitably impressed? He should be, Ko mused. Since he has neither one.
The thought produced a wave of guilt. “The superior man has a dignified ease without pride.” That was what Confucius said. And it was true.
You must humble yourself, Ko thought. And remember your many failings lest you repeat them.
Thus chastened, Ko made his way out into the Sea Dragon’s main passageway. It was two sailors wide and ran almost the full length of the semi-submersible’s 667-foot-long hull.
Sailors saluted as they passed Ko and the air was filled with the familiar odor of amine. A compound used to remove carbon dioxide from the air. A ladder led up to Conning Tower 2 which was unmanned while the cruiser was in port. A sentry was on duty at the foot of the metal gangway.
The cavernous sub pen was dark and gloomy in spite of the sunshine outside. Pools of light led to a bank of elevators, one of which whisked the officer to the surface.
A black Hongqi (Red Flag) H7 sedan was waiting for him along with a uniformed driver. The sailor snapped to attention, delivered a salute, and opened a door. The interior was on a par with anything that Mercedes or Audi offered, and the air was delightfully cool. The engine purred as the car followed the highway into the resort city of Sanya.
And it was there, in a high rise, with a sweeping view of the sea, that Admiral Chao and his staff were quartered. A bright-eyed ensign was waiting to receive Ko and escort him through a maze of corridors to a spacious office with a wall of windows. Unlike some senior officers, who liked to make subordinates wait, Chao was ready to receive his guest.
The officers had met on two previous occasions, both of which had been ceremonial. That meant they had no personal relationship to speak of.
But, as Chao came forward to shake Ko’s hand, the navy officer was impressed by the other man’s relative youth and vitality. “Captain Ko!” Chao said enthusiastically. “I’ve been looking forward to this meeting. I read your proposal, and I like it.”
Ko felt his spirits rise. So far so good, he thought. It sounds like he’s willing to approve the plan.
Chao led Ko into a conference room with a sweeping view of the South China Sea. A tea pot was waiting for them, along with cups, and a bowl of peanuts. Chao had a reputation as a Zhengzhi jia (politician) as well as a skilled administrator. Both talents were on display as the admiral poured tea and made small talk.
But once the social niceties were out of the way, Chao wasted no time getting down to business. “As I said, I like your proposal which—like the attack on Singapore—is very imaginative. Not to mention daring! Only thirty-six miles from Okinawa … That’s the part that worries me however. How will you reach the island of Tonaki without being detected? Forgive me Captain, but your proposal was a bit vague in that regard.”
It was the right question, and Ko’s respect for Chao went up a notch. “You have a keen eye, Admiral … That question lies at the very heart of the concept. And it was my hope that I would have a chance to provide an answer during a meeting like this one. Partly because the idea is somewhat unorthodox.”
“As is the Sea Dragon herself!” Chao said enthusiastically. “I’m ready to listen.”
“Well, as you know sir, the Sea Dragon is 667 feet long. And, as you also know, there are container ships longer than that. The idea is to find a neutral cargo vessel of the correct length, with a legitimate reason to stop in Japan, and convince the owner to let the Sea Dragon travel alongside for a while.”
Ko stopped at that point so Chao could extrapolate. And, when a big smile appeared on the other officer’s face, Ko knew he had scored. “The Americans will see one radar signature,” Chao said. “Then, at the right moment, the Dragon will slip away. And because of her low profile she’s likely to escape unnoticed.”
“Exactly,” Ko said. “But I need the cargo ship in order to make the plan work.”
“And you shall have it,” Chao said. “A great many countries owe China a great many favors. We will call on one of them.
“Now that I understand the magic involved, I would like to share an idea of my own, an embellishment if you will. Something that will set the Allies back on their heels.”
Ko felt the first stirrings of despair. Where Admiral Wen refused to accept the Sea Dragon as a useful weapon, Admiral Chao had embraced it, but was about to make an already difficult mission more so. Or was he wrong? Give Chao a chance, Ko thought. Don’t jump to conclusions. He forced a smile. “How interesting! Please tell me more.”
“Imagine this,” Chao said. “Once the Sea Dragon is in position, we will launch one hundred Dongfeng 26 missiles at Okinawa! The Gweilo (pejorative term for white people) will see them coming. And they’ll throw lots of defensive weapons into the sky, including missiles and decoys. As a result, most of our weapons won’t reach their targets.
“Meanwhile you will fire your railgun and missiles at carefully chosen command and control targets on Okinawa, causing tremendous damage. The Americans will use their satellites to backtrack your missiles to Tona
ki Island.
“Their first reaction will be to assume some sort of technical glitch, or computer hack, because the launch site is only thirty-six miles away! But as you continue to fire, they will conclude that yes, Tonaki Island is where the missiles and shells are coming from.
“Then, they’ll target your location to the extent they can, remembering that our DF-26 missiles, combined with your missiles, will have destroyed key radars and offensive systems. But, before they can fire on you, the Americans will have to get permission from the Japanese. And that will take time since there are over 400 Japanese citizens living on Tonaki.
“Meanwhile,” Chao added, “it seems likely that Japanese warships will be sent to the scene. And that, Captain Ko, is when you and your submarine escorts will sink as many of those vessels as you can before running home.”
Chao had been leaning forward with elbows on the table. Now he leaned back. “So, Captain, what do you think?”
Ko was impressed in spite of himself. Chao’s plan was daring to say the least and, assuming everything worked the way the admiral imagined it would, the admiral would receive the Order of August the First within days of the attack. But the devil would be in the details. And, as with any complex plan, there were lots of details.
But Admiral Chao was an admiral. And there was only one thing Ko could say. “I like it, sir … Let’s get to work.”
***
Da Nang, Vietnam
Three days had passed since the meeting in Sanya. There had been more meetings. Lots of meetings. Because Operation Hammerfall had a lot of moving parts. And there were some, especially within the army, who questioned the wisdom of firing one hundred expensive missiles as a diversion.
But Admiral Chao was not only fully invested in the plan, he was a skilled bureaucrat, and more than a match for grumpy generals. And, some subtle messaging from the Sea Dragon’s Chief Engineer to his brother-in-law President Lau, didn’t hurt either.
So, the plan was approved. And Ko and his chief engineer were on a trip to Da Nang, where they were going to inspect the container ship Java Dawn, and interview her captain.
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