He tented his fingers, pondering. North Korean? The abortive attack on Pusan a few years before had reduced Pyongyang’s fleet considerably. And the Chinese, if they were smart, would hold their older units close inshore for a last-ditch defense. Their nukes were much noisier than their conventional boats. So this was probably either a Kilo or a Song.
He pulled up the order of battle on his screen and studied the specs again. Both were well armed and capable, but a Song would be especially dangerous. The first class actually designed and built in China, it was estimated to carry wake-homing torpedoes, antiship cruise missiles, and the Russian-licensed, high-speed rocket torpedo called the Shkval-K.
A chill ran up Dan’s back. He knew that weapon. If the Chinese could get close enough for a shot before they were detected, they could take out his blocking units. Turn the Sea of Japan, the East and South China Seas, into strategic havens, then expand control outward. Savo herself had interim anti-Shkval spoofing gear installed, but it was untested against the real thing.
“Keep clear of the torpedo danger area. Pass that to both Japanese units.” Singhe nodded. Dan hit the key on the 21MC, the “bitch box,” by his elbow. “Sonar, Combat… Rit, you there?”
“Here, Skipper. I know what you’re gonna say, and I’m on the net with the guy, okay?”
“What’s he got? Anything identifiable?”
“I’m not making a lot of sense out of his return. Might be screw noises.”
Dan double-clicked to sign off, and turned the dial on his own headset feed to catch the end of Singhe’s transmission. Should he vector Mitscher closer to Chokai’s sector? But it could be a feint, to draw them north, while a larger force intruded from the west. He and Singhe discussed this, and she agreed.
Time stretched on. The gray-blue sea-line tilted slowly in the camera’s view. The crane, a weird mechanical simulacrum of a human arm complete with elbow, rotated into position. Sparks cascaded as the welders went to work. Dan panned right and stepped up the magnification, but Mitscher was far over the curve of the horizon. Someone at the Aegis console put the output on audio, and the popcorn rattle of the outgoing pulses bounced off the overhead. He glanced over to see a familiar brown-haired head, a round face lit green by the screen. He rose, patrolled the consoles, chatting or patting a shoulder. Ending up behind Petty Officer Beth Terranova. But just then a lean form sidled through the doorway: Bill Noblos. The civilian scientist folded his arms as Dan bent over the petty officer. “Terror, how we doing?”
“Our output parameters are within normal limits,” she said softly to the screen.
“Great. But I meant, how are you doing.”
“I’m here, sir. Personal… output parameters… are within normal limits.”
He put out a hand to pat her shoulder, but lowered it without doing so. She might not appreciate a man’s touch right now. He couldn’t imagine what she was feeling, in the aftermath of rape. Surely, still afraid, since they hadn’t caught her assailant. Probably angry, too. “Uh, have you… have you talked to the NCIS agent yet?”
“No sir. I know she’s aboard. But I haven’t seen her yet.”
How could they expect her to keep working? But she had to. Chubby cheeks and all, she was their best Aegis operator. “We’ll get this nailed down, Terror. I promise. And I really appreciate your sticking to your station right now. We need our best eyes on these screens.”
“That’s Petty Officer Terranova, all right,” the civilian scientist said. “She’s about the best you’ve got, Captain.”
The way Noblos drawled it, it wasn’t really a compliment. As if he’d meant to imply, But best of a not very impressive team. But she didn’t respond to either man. Dan caught a warning shake of the head from Wenck. As he headed back for the command desk, Noblos took his place, and started discussing system calibration.
Back at the table, Dan took the clipboard a radioman held out. Scanned the message. Taiwan was sending a liaison. A Commander Fang, Republic of China Navy, would arrive by helicopter from Taipei no later than midnight. He passed the clipboard to Singhe. “ROC liaison. On his way.”
“That’s good. Link us up with their sensor network. Better access to air cover, maybe, too.”
Dan nodded. “And a couple of their frigates? Perrys, or Knox-class — those are great ASW platforms. Some patrol missile boats, to screen us. And fuel — we could peel off one unit at a time for a run to port. Or even get a tanker out here.”
He sucked air, heartened, then shook his head at himself. He must really be tired. His emotions were all over the place.
A clatter by the door. He glanced over to see Wenck and FC3 Eastwood setting down a gray container. The closures clacked as they opened it and began extracting components. He flinched at a sudden pop pop pop. Jesus! It was only bubble wrap. He needed to untensify. Cut back on the coffee. Get more sleep. They could be out here for a long time. He needed to pace himself. And everyone else, too.
“Jeez, look at this shit.” Wenck shook a switch tube, wincing as something rattled inside. “This is the best they could give us?”
“What’s the problem, Donnie?”
“They’re busted already. We’re burning through these fuckers like crap through a goose, and they send us shit.”
“Give me stock numbers. Hermelinda will put a top priority on it.”
“She already did. This is what we got.” Wenck pursed his lips as if to spit. “I’m not a fucking magician, Dan. I mean, Captain. We can’t keep ALIS running if the fucking radar goes down.”
Dan’s earphones said, “TAO, ASW. Chokai reports negative MAD contact, negative screw noises on Datum Alfa.”
He hit the 21MC. “Sonar, CO. Hear that? What’s your call?”
Zotcher: “Sounds like a false contact. Whales?”
“I’m thinking, classify with a Mark 46.”
“Your call, Skipper. You da boss.”
After Stuttgart, he didn’t feel like taking any chances. Compared to losing another ship, a torpedo was cheap. “ASW: attack on last suspected datum.”
“ASW, aye. Pass to Chokai, carry out attack.”
Wenck stood over him, looking grim. Dan looked up. “Donnie. What we got?”
“Beth.”
“She need a break?”
“The agent wants to meet with her. Can we spare her?”
“I guess,” Dan said reluctantly. “For an hour. If you’ll be on the console.”
“Eastwood can take it. I gotta swap out these cards, get the system back up.”
“I can take the console,” Noblos offered, stepping out of the shadows. “One could argue I’m qualified.”
Dan all but lifted his eyebrows — the civilian had never offered to help before, other than by offering condescending advice — but just said, “That’d be great, Bill. Yeah, if you could take a trick.”
“I just can’t do a fire order. Not being part of your command structure.”
Yeah, that was more like the Noblos he knew. Dan said wearily, “The TAO will give any fire orders, Bill. Just run the radar for us. We’ll take care of business from there.”
“Coffee, Cap’n?” Longley, by his elbow with a carafe and a plate of cookies. What the hell time was it? He’d missed another meal. The thick black coffee steamed in the cold air. The cookies were chewy and dense, peanut butter, a meal in themselves. Make a note: compliment the bakers, next time he was on the mess decks. Food was a combat-readiness issue too.