“I know much music,” said Sun-Hi before pausing and glancing around conspiratorially. “I know much forbidden music.”
“Prove it. Pick something that’ll piss ’em off.”
Jonah didn’t have to say another word before Sun-Hi dove into the crew’s music library. The captain stole one last sip of the tea before leaving her to the search. Within moments, the upbeat synth and guitar strains of The Vapor’s Turning Japanese blared over the internal public address system of the submarine. He grinned — she’d picked well. The song was the exact right amount of fuck you he was going for.
Sun-Hi turned to him and grinned. “I think you good captain,” she said. “I do not think you get us all killed like Vitaly say.”
It figured the Russian would say that — shoot someone in the chest a couple of times and they never let you live it down. “You do well on this and I’ll teach you to drive the boat so I can finally throw Vitaly overboard.”
“Really?”
“No. And don’t tell him I said that.”
Jonah let the crew sleep for one final hour, only summoning them to the command compartment as the Scorpion made its final approach to the Japanese fleet. Alexis frowned as she leaned over Sun-Hi’s shoulder, examining the communications console with weary, experienced eyes.
“No telemetry. Radio isn’t so much as ticking over. Is our antenna working?”
Vitaly shrugged his shoulders in puzzled resignation. “Diagnostics say no problem. Low-frequency OK, too.”
“We should be in visual range at this point,” said Jonah.
“Vitaly — bring us up to periscope depth. Our new friends could be observing a radio blackout, given how pissed off the North Koreans are right now. Probably don’t want to be implicated by proxy.”
Vitaly grunted his aye as the submarine gently tilted, raising a long optic stalk above the waves. Jonah swiveled the periscope, his view simulcast to several video monitors around the command compartment.
A gasp went up around the compartment as the first image flashed upon the screen. An amphibious assault ship burned stem to stern in a massive pillar of flames. A thick column of acrid smoke rose from the gutted hulk into the sky above. Jonah panned the periscope slowly to starboard, halting the movement as the viewer fell upon the helicopter carrier. The flat-topped naval vessel listed hard, half her red-painted belly, propellers, and rudders stuck above water. The port edge of her tilting, empty flight deck dipped into the cold ocean with each tossing wave. Every helicopter had snapped from its lashings and slid into the sea, leaving behind thick black rubber skid marks and long, gouged scratches.
“What the fuck?” muttered Jonah, trying, but failing to keep his shock in check.
“My god — I haven’t seen anything like this since—” began Hassan.
“Since the Battle of Anconia Island,” said Dalmar, finishing his sentence. “Where we won the day at great cost.”
“Where are all the lifeboats? All the sailors?” said Alexis. “There should be an ocean of survivors around us.”
“Maybe they rescued already?” said Sun-Hi hopefully. “Or they’re all dead,” growled Dalmar. Jonah shot the pirate a look to silence him — Sun-Hi’s fellow refugees could still be aboard the stricken carrier.
Jonah stared at the remains of the destroyed fleet before him. The scene bore an uncanny resemblance to pictures he’d seen of the Battle of Bubiyan, when twenty-one fleeing Iraqi vessels were destroyed in a last-ditch attempt to reach Iran and save themselves. It was a classic Gulf War turkey shoot, lightly armed surface vessels against high-speed British attack helicopters — the fleeing Iraqi sailors never had a chance.
“We should get the fuck out of here,” said Alexis. “Like, yesterday.”
“Belay that,” said Jonah, narrowing his eyes in concentration. “Surface and make for the fleet at half speed. Vitaly, give me a full radar sweep as soon as you’re able — I need to know if there’s anybody else in the neighborhood.”
“Is there a hole in your screen door?” Alexis pointed to the burning ships on the monitors. “Half the Japanese Navy just got shot to shit! We should fucking go, right goddamn now!”
“She is correct,” Dalmar boomed. “We are too late for this battle.”
“My orders aren’t up for debate,” snapped Jonah as he pointed to the monitor. “Vitaly — how close are we?”
“Five minute out,” said Vitaly. “We come alongside carrier soon unless we change course. Radar sweep complete — no other surface ship within sixty mile. Does not mean we are alone. Could always be airplane, hiding submarine …”
“A few planes and a sub couldn’t have done this much damage,” said Marissa. “Whoever hit them must be long gone by now. Christ, what a goddamn mess.”
“Do you think …?” began Sun-Hi, her voice warbling as she attempted to control her worry.
Marissa didn’t let her finish. “I’m sure all of your friends were transferred to Japan as soon as we left. Right, Jonah?”
“No way they were still on that ship,” agreed Jonah with a grimace. “They’re all safe and sound. I’m sure of it.” Marissa was right about the damage — it looked as though World War III had started and they’d missed their invite.
“Could the attackers be coming back?” asked Alexis.
Marissa interjected her theory, almost before Alexis could even finish speaking. “It has to be the Chinese. There’s no other explanation — who else could mount an attack of this scale?”
“Mother Russia maybe responsible,” added Vitaly. “We cause international incident when we try to escape, no?”
Jonah shook his head, unconvinced. “I don’t buy it. No way an entire fleet gets taken out over a hundred-meter territorial dispute. Surface the Scorpion. I’m popping my head topside to take a look.”
“Perhaps we have underestimated North Korea,” said Dalmar. “I think they are not as weak as they appear.” But Jonah let the theory fall to silence.
“Talk to me, Jonah — why aren’t we running?” asked Hassan as the submarine rose the last few meters to crest the waves. Jonah ignored the doctor as well, fixated on the screen as calculations churned through his racing mind. He reached over to the storage cabinet and silently retrieved a hand radio and a pair of powerful binoculars, slinging both around his neck as he grabbed onto the lower rungs of the command compartment ladder.
The crew stared at him as he began to ascend the conning tower.
“Thanks for filling us in on your plan as per usual,” Marissa shouted at Jonah’s heels as he climbed upwards. He couldn’t fault her. She wasn’t angry, not really. She was just hungry and exhausted and scared like the rest of them, including him.
Jonah glanced back to the command compartment just long enough to see Hassan place a comforting hand on Marissa’s shoulder, telling her the argument wasn’t worth it. Removing his hand, the doctor yanked a wool cap over his tousled black hair and scrambled up the ladder after Jonah.
The conning tower hatch popped with a hiss, stale interior air mixing with the winter cold. Jonah shivered, bracing his feet against the rungs as he muscled the half-open hatch with his shoulder, fighting frozen hydraulic mechanisms. The conning tower exterior was already covered with a growing sheen of thin ice, the ocean spray freezing against the subzero steel of the Scorpion’s hull. The biting air felt good, though, snapping him out of his hungry lethargy.