They were currently in the midst of a sprint leg, with the Polk rushing to the northeast to regain the distance it had lost during the last drift. The sound of their own sonic signature was the predominant audible noise, and Bodzin and his team bided their time until the next drift phase began. Content to sip his cocoa while his men nibbled on their candy bars, the Folk’s senior sonar technician listened as Jaffers’s voice broke the hushed quiet.
“Hey, Wilford, did you catch sight of those SEALs in Jimmy’s Buffet tonight?” Jimmy’s Buffet was what the sailors had named the galley.
The team’s junior member answered while rotely isolating the hydrophones of the medium-range BQ-21 broadband sonar. “You bet I did, Jaffers.
Those guys were really wolfing down the chow.”
“They looked to me like a bunch of condemned men eating their last meal,” remarked Jaffers, who was monitoring the BQ-7 long-range sonar.
Wilford isolated the BQ-21’s lowest frequency range and quipped, “Hell, what else do they have to do but eat, sleep, shit, and exercise.”
“Those guys are going to be earning their keep soon enough,” Bodzin interjected, his eyes scanning Wilford’s waterfall display. “Brother, you couldn’t pay me enough to crawl into one of those SDVs and attempt what Command is asking of them tonight. As I was on my way up here, I passed through the missile magazine on Two Deck, and the SEALs were already jocking up for their raid night ramble.”
“Williams says that he was down there earlier, and saw some of the SEALs working with a virtual-reality helmet,” said Jaffers. “He asked what they were looking at, and some English dude explained that the SEALs were touring the interiorand exterior-deck layout of the QE2.”
“I sure didn’t see any high-tech hardware when I passed by,” Bodzin observed. “The SEALs I saw were getting ready to tango the old-fashioned way, with grease paint, K-Bar knives, Sig Sauer 9mm pistols, and MP-5 submachine guns. Bubbas, if we ever do get in a position where we’ll be able to launch that SDV and get them to the Queen, I sure wouldn’t want to be one of those unsuspecting terrorists.
Hell, I was scared just watching them put on their war paint, and they’re on our side!”
Almost to underscore this comment, the Folk’s captain unexpectedly entered sonar. Benjamin Kram wasted no time joining Bodzin behind the main console.
“Good evening, Mr. Bodzin,” he greeted.
“Evening, sir,” Bodzin replied, genuinely surprised by this visit.
“Welcome to the sound shack. Can I get you a Kit Kat bar or some cocoa, Captain?”
“No thanks, Mr. Bodzin. I wanted to take this opportunity to emphasize the importance of these next couple of hours. The latest TACAMO update informs us that the midnight rescue attempt is still a go.”
“So I understand, sir,” said Bodzin.
Kram took a minute to scan the various waterfall displays before expressing his number-one concern. “I gather that there’s still no sign of that Chinese Han!”
“That’s affirmative, Captain. But you can rest assured that if he’s out there, me and my boys will tag him, especially now that we can use the towed array and cover more water through sprint-and-drift.” Kram continued his examination of the glowing monitor screens, and Bodzin noted the abundance of age lines that creased the captain’s face. Kram looked unusually tired, his tension obvious as he worriedly remarked: “What I don’t want to face is a situation where we’re about to release the SDV, and still have to worry about that Han showing up and taking a potshot at us. If they’re out there, it’s imperative that I know about it long before we ascend to flood the dry-deck shelter.”
“I hear you loud and clear, sir. Between our detection capabilities and those of the Baikal, Casablanca, and Talent, we’re bound to tag them if they’re still in the area. We were able to get a firm tonal lock on them the last time, and unless the Chinese have been able to correct that sound leak, I don’t see how it’s possible for them to be close enough to cause us any alarm, and us not be able to hear them.”
It was but a short transit that took Comdr. Mark East brook from his cabin into the HMS Talent’?” control room. As expected, the crowded compartment was dimly lit in red, and Eastbrook halted at the hatchway to let his eyes adjust. As his pupils widened, he spotted the single planes man seated behind the boat’s wheel. The diving officer was positioned alongside the massive bank of instruments that controlled the Talent’s ballast, with the sub’s dual periscopes positioned to his right.
In between the helm and the firecontrol and navigation consoles lining the starboard bulkhead, a high-backed leather chair was mounted into the deck. His XO was seated here, with an excellent view of the boat’s tactical systems. Robert Lyall was concentrating on a report from the coxswain, and was caught by surprise as Eastbrook joined them.
“How goes it, Number One?”
The XO answered while alertly standing. “We’ve completed the back-down maneuver as ordered, Captain.”
“And the results?” Eastbrook asked.
The XO dejectedly shook his head, prompting Eastbrook to give his second in command a supportive pat on the shoulder. “Hang in there, Robert. In this game, patience is everything.”
“Perhaps the Han figured out what they were up against and backed off,” offered Lyall hopefully.
“They’ve come much too far for that, Number One. If I know our Chinese friends, they’re lurking out there somewhere close by, just waiting for an opportunity to mount an ambush. As we painfully learned during World War II, it will be up to the Talent to guard the back door, and insure that the Han won’t try entering the formation from our baffles. Too many U-boats caught our convoys napping in just such a manner, and if I know the bloody PLA Navy, it would be just like them to apply a tactic taken directly from the pages of history. The only trouble now is trying to figure out which bloody history book they’ll be taking that lesson from.”
36
Commissar Guan — Yin had little doubt that the moment of truth was almost upon them. Ever since the Lijiang had taken up a defensive position directly beneath the QE2, an atmosphere of tense expectation had prevailed. All this seemed to come to a head several hours before, when Lee Shao-chi approached Guan in his cabin, and politely asked him to postpone that evening’s regular Komsomol meeting. Guan was not about to refuse the request of a man whose tactical brilliance was responsible for maneuvering them into their current position.
Guan was in his stateroom reading a pamphlet written by Chairman Mao entitled, Yu Chi Chart (On Guerrilla Warfare), when Lee entered and informed Guan of his unorthodox decision to attempt penetrating the submarine convoy. Lee displayed the same confidence that he showed during their successful transit of the Bering Strait, as he went on to explain how he intended to pull off this daring maneuver.
“He who is shut inside is a pheasant. He who enters to arrest is a hawk.”
This was the poetic example Lee offered to justify his dangerous plan.
By stealthily scouting the surrounding seas, Lee was able to determine that there was a total of three submarines that had been sent along to secretly escort the QE2 during her crossing. Regardless of the fact that Dennis Liu and his forces had apparently succeeded in wresting control of the ocean liner and had altered her course, these submarines continued to stubbornly tag along. They would have to be eliminated before the Lijiang could even think about surfacing and making good the rendezvous.
Though one against three would make most odds makers put their money on the opposition, this wasn’t the case with Lee. He merely looked at this tactical disadvantage as an additional challenge that would have to be compensated for with guile and cunning.