Just then, Chang Tso-Lin saw the fighters inbound on his ship. Why fighters? Hadn’t the admiral assured him that Marshall P’eng was within the antiair protection envelope? If that was true, then there was no need for fighter cover.
Unless Ho is right. The admiral wishes to destroy us, but he dare not risk antiship missiles at this range. He may need them for dealing with the Chinese ships, and using the fighters prevents him from putting his own ships at risk?
But why? We are allies! Or at least I believed that we were.
Perhaps he will try to claim China did this, and use that as an excuse to establish firmer control of the region. There are political forces at work here that I do not understand, will never understand. But I do know when someone is trying to kill me.
“Then we must avenge this act of war,” Chang said firmly. He was certain that Ho did not know what he was starting. If indeed they had been betrayed by the Americans, then the only honorable path was to avenge that betraval by the Americans. And it would begin with Marshall P’eng. Now and here.
But instead of the righteous light of anger in his soul, he felt dishonorable and incompetent. How could he have so misjudged the American admiral? He thought he knew the man, had seen the spirit of ancient warriors in his soul. But to be betrayed like this, well, there could be no doubt.
“You will tell the people how we died,” Chang said. “Tell them my men served bravely, and in defense of a free and glorious Taiwan.”
He replaced the mike in the holder, and clicked off the circuit. There was nothing else discussed — while Ho Kung-Sun may not have intended this reaction, Chang Tso-Lin had no choice. He turned to his watch officer. “Break the helicopters off — have them return to us. And as they do, target them with our antiair missiles.”
The watch officer’s jaw dropped, but true to his training, he did as he was told.
The speed leader on the Marshall P’eng suddenly changed directions and length, as did those of the helicopters in support of the antisubmarine engagement. Coyote watched for a moment, wondering whether it was a computer glitch of some sort, then turned to Ho Kung-Sun. “What is your captain doing?”
“What he should have done a long time ago,” the Taiwanese major answered, savage glee in his voice. “Perhaps I will survive, perhaps not. But it makes no difference. I will die in defense of my country.”
“What?!” Coyote’s head snapped back and forth between the screen and the major. “What are you babbling about? What did you tell him?”
“I do not babble. I merely speak the truth. And I have so informed my captain.” His voice was proud. “No longer will we be subject to your treachery.”
“Treachery? What the hell are you talking about?”
Just then, the first missile left the rails of the frigate, headed toward a helicopter.
The SH-60 helicopter pilot was puzzled as he headed back for the carrier. He clicked on its ICS mike. “I just don’t get it. We were getting close, we had her. And they break us off?”
“Why the hell do they do anything?” his copilot answered. “Another five minutes, and we would have had her solid.”
The sensor operator spoke up from the back. “I figure we have her pinned down, so the frigate wants to go in for the kill. Take all the credit for it, you know? That would make them look like the big guys around here, even though we really did all the work.”
“You think? Well, it’s not like we were the only ones, though. That little Sea Sprite driver is a tenacious little fellow. You give him enough time, and I think he may have gotten the sub off alone. And that frigate’s no slouch, either. Face it, guys. They could have handled it without us.”
“But not as quickly.” the sensor operator said.
“Yeah, that’s true.” The pilot clicked over to call the carrier and request a green deck. Just as he did so, he saw a long, white con trail streaming out from the deck of the frigate. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Then training and reflex took over, and he put the helicopter into a hard bank and headed for the surface of the ocean. “We got incoming!” he yelled over tactical. “What the hell is going on around here? They shot at us — the Marshall P’eng just shot at us!”
Chang studied the display, then listened to a report from his lookout. The missile had missed, but not by much. A second one was off the rails, headed for the other helicopter. “Retarget the lead helo,” he ordered. “And continue in toward the carrier.”
“What’s the loadout on the helo?” Coyote demanded. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“Strictly antisub, sir,” the air operations officer said.
“Guns, though,” Bird Dog noted. “That could do a lot of damage to a frigate, sir.”
“Get those helos back on board,” Coyote answered. “I want to talk to the captain — there’s something screwy going on here, and I have a feeling our little major is behind it.”
Major Ho drew himself up to his full height. “You are behind it, Admiral. Not me.”
Lieutenant Goforth stared in horror at the picture unfolding on the screen. He had not followed all of the conversation between Chang Tso-Lin and Ho Kung-Sun, although he found something in their tone definitely disturbing. Now, everything was becoming unreal — break off from the prosecution of the submarine when they almost had it? And shooting at the American helos? He felt the blood drain from his face and a cold chill sweep over him. What next? Would they execute him as a spy?
He turned to face Captain Chang, trying to frame the question. But the words simply wouldn’t come, although the captain watched him carefully. Finally, he managed to say, “Captain, sir, there has been a serious misunderstanding. I must speak to my admiral immediately, sir.”
The captain shook his head. In remarkably clear and precise English, he said, “Talk is cheap, Lieutenant.” He pointed at the tactical display. “Your admiral has betrayed us. Perhaps losing his helicopters will teach him not to kill all gooks.”
Goforth’s jaw dropped. Captain Chang smiled bitterly. “Surprised that I speak your language? I thought so.”
“No, sir — yes, sir, I mean but — but, sir — what makes you think that’s what he’s trying to do?”
“Major Ho Kung-Sun explained.” Captain Chang Tso-Lin turned his back on him, evidently through with the conversation. “I had thought better of your admiral. I thought we understood each other in a very special sort of way. After he revealed the U.S. submarine to me…”
“He what?!”
“It does not matter now,” Chang continued.
Goforth turned back to the screen and saw the missiles headed directly for the two helicopters. Then, forgetting everything he had had drummed into his head about the Taiwanese culture, as well as every bit of military protocol from his own service, he grabbed Chang by the arm. “Look — those Tomcats. They are here to protect us, sir. Watch — you see what they do.”
The captain shook his head, although Goforth thought he saw a trace of sorrow on his face. The translator turned back to the American. “I cannot take the chance.”
Goforth took a deep breath. “You say it matters what we do, not what we say.” He pointed to the screen again. “Then watch what they do, sir. They’re here to protect you — not to attack. Just watch for a few seconds before you decide. Please, sir.”