“Keep an eye on it. Let me know if you see any change up forward, any more of that shell plating working loose.”
“Uh, Cap’n, chief engineer called up here again.”
“Fuel state again?”
“Yeah, I mean yessir. But not just that. Warning me to take it easy, and select a course that doesn’t strain that shoring.”
Dan watched the next sea bear down on them. Bigger than the last? Maybe about the same. “I can’t do that and maintain station. Keep a thirty-degree angle to the prevailing seas. Use the screws if you have to.”
The OOD nodded, and Dan monkey-groped hand over hand toward the ladder down. He paused at the radar repeater to check on Curtis Wilbur, twenty miles distant. SubPac had detached Pittsburgh for independent duty. His task group was down to two. The only allied forces left in the strait.
None of the news was good. Rit Carpenter had reported that the leak in their sonar dome, damaged during the grounding in the Med, was back. Worsened by the missile hit, no doubt. Savo had her sonar tail deployed. But she was increasingly deaf, handicapped in fighting the submarine threat. Dan was also getting low on fuel. Within a day, or at most a day and a half, they wouldn’t have enough to reach Guam.
Worse yet, the enemy was on the move once more. Air activity over the mainland had increased. Combat air patrols had moved out over the northern strait. Clashes with the U.S. Air Force had taken down aircraft on both sides. Chinese numbers, though, were beginning to tell. According to Fang, Taiwanese intel reported the activation of a follow-on plan to Sheng Chi. By all accounts, it was a second cross-strait assault. But this time, not aimed at Taiwan or some remote island.
This time, they were heading for Okinawa.
A bridge too far? He clattered down the ladder toward Combat. Surely the Japanese would defend one of their home islands. Combined Japanese and U.S. air power would make a second landing impossible.
But the lack of response from Tokyo was worrying.
Back in his worn leather seat, he drowsed for an hour. Until Matt Mills reached across and shook him. “Captain. Cuing reports surface-to-surface missiles in the air. Multiple contacts.”
They watched, helpless, as symbols popped into existence on the display. At least a dozen, with more behind them. A repeat of the bombardment that had opened the assault on Taiwan. But these weren’t aimed at that battered island. He almost asked Wenck to shift to ABM mode, then didn’t. Out of Block 4s; nothing they could do about it.
After some minutes Mills murmured, “Look at that patch of near-shore jamming again. They’re trying to cover movement.”
Dan massaged his eye sockets. Aegis’s doppler function broke moving objects out of clutter, such as ground return. But the jammers on shore were boresighting his frequencies. Gaining familiarity with his system, and following his freq-hopping. Occasionally, now, even matching it, which broke the SPY-1 beam into inchoate, sparkling glitter.
His team was fighting it, though, and now and then managed to break through. When they did, the system could connect the dots to generate a track even through heavy interference.
What it showed now was a flotilla setting out from Hangzhou Bay. Surface vessels, with heavy air cover. Simultaneously, Mills reported an HF request from Kadena Air Force Base, asking Savo for ABM protection.
Dan sighed. “Tell them I’d like to help. But we’re out of rounds.” He blinked up at the display, realizing now why the Chinese had occupied Socotra. It would protect their flank as they invaded Okinawa. Beijing was playing six moves ahead. Everyone else was reacting late, with outdated plans and inadequate, uncoordinated forces.
And, of course, losing. “What did you just say, Matt?”
Mills got a funny look. “They say they’re under bombardment. Incoming missiles are targeted on them.”
“Right, I see that. How about their Patriots?”
“All rounds expended. They’re scrambling aircraft off the strips. Sending them north, to the main islands, or back to Guam.” He tensed, frowning, listening to his headphones. “They’re passing a nuclear alert now.”
“Keep an eye on those launch sites,” Dan told him. “We could be next.”
He sat back, rubbing his forehead. If Savo was targeted, about all he could render was the sailor’s mythical final salute: bend over, and kiss his ass good-bye. Zhang was pushing hard. Following up on destroying the battle group. Okinawa… a second link shattered in the inner island chain. They’d thought a U.S. base there would protect it. Now, it seemed, the Chinese juggernaut might grind that trip wire into the mud.
Heavy fighting on Taiwan, to the south. In Korea. And an invasion of Okinawa, to the north.
Meanwhile, Task Group 779.1 was hanging out here, twisting in the wind. He couldn’t hold the strait, nor help in the struggles in the air and on the ground. About all he could hope for was to get his ship and crew out alive. And each hour that passed made that less likely.
Plunking down next to him, in the seat Fang had warmed nearly continually for the last two days: a spectral-looking Cheryl Staurulakis. The exec muttered, “So what do we need to do? Want me to draft a message?”
He felt as tired as she looked. “How exactly would we phrase that, XO?”
“Empty magazines. Battle damage. Low-fuel state. Inability to continue mission.”
“Then what?”
“Request permission to retire.”
“Believe me, Cheryl, they’re asking themselves, back at J-3, whether to send those orders. They don’t need me squeaking in their ears.”
He saw the question in her gaze. Almost, the contempt. “It’s no shame to say we’re out of ammunition. Out of fuel. Sir.”
He shifted in the chair. “I know what you’re thinking. But this isn’t macho posturing, XO. Fleet has to realize the risk. The fact they haven’t pulled us back means we’re still here for a reason. To demonstrate commitment.”
But he couldn’t help thinking about another cruiser. USS Houston. Surrounded in the Sunda Strait, outnumbered, without air cover, she and HMAS Perth had fought together to the bitter end. Gone down with guns blazing in the dark.
He shook himself. They were still better situated than the doomed and heroic Captain Albert Rooks. They still had antiair rounds, and Dan doubted the Chinese would waste a nuclear warhead on one ship. Which was why he’d stationed Curtis Wilbur forty thousand yards away.
The radio beeped. “Ringmaster, this is War Drums. Over.” The signal was faint, all but overlaid by noise jamming. But it was Min Jun Jung, no doubt about it. Dan grabbed the handset, noting the time: nearly midnight. “War Drums, Ringmaster. Over.”
“This is War Drums. Are you taking on these units coming out of Shanghai? Proceeding roughly one two zero.”
“This is Ringmaster. That’s a negative.”
“War Drums. If we were to take them on, could you provide a diversion?”
“He’s attacking them?” Staurulakis muttered, incredulous.
Dan said. “No surprise there. What surprises me is that the… This is Ringmaster. Interrogative. Do you have Japanese participation in your attack? Over.”
“That’s a negative. They decline to participate. Over.”
“Jesus,” Mills murmured. “They’re writing off Okinawa?”
Dan shrugged. “If they can’t defend it… But we’re going to have to make a choice too.”
“You can’t seriously be thinking about supporting his attack,” Staurulakis said.
“I’m considering it, XO. Yeah.”
“With what? The five-inchers?”