Coming from below, the direct-path shock lifted the bow. His chair pitched, its solitary base leg dampening the axial and lateral blow. He had left his mouth open, and the impact shut it. He clenched his teeth to stifle a curse as the wave’s reflection off the steep seafloor jolted his ship sideways.
Seven more warheads detonated, and Lei clamped himself to the chair with a death grip. As the last shock passed, he felt catatonic, and he stared at the monitor showing the darkened outside world.
The camera revealed the foggy base surges as shreds of blast energy escaped the water’s surface, rose in hot mist, and expanded outward.
Unsure how a commanding officer should react to self-inflicted blows, he heard himself addressing his bridge crew through his mental mist.
“Any injuries?” he asked.
As heads shook in silence, Lei remembered that the warheads of a second missile would soon explode. He ordered his ship and the flanking Craft Three to turn. Facing south, Lei rode eight more shock waves and their reflections.
When he gathered his thoughts, he realized that the third submarine had appeared on his screen, and he took action.
“Craft Four,” he said, “can you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. This is Craft Four.”
The response confirmed Lei’s expectations that the seawater had absorbed the electromagnetic pulses. Shipboard electronic communications remained robust.
“Craft Four,” he said, “designate the submarine to the far north as Sierra Three. Engage Sierra Three with one missile, but remain behind the breakwaters while launching. There may still be torpedoes in the water.”
“Craft Three,” he said, “follow me out of this accursed minefield. Course zero-eight-zero. All ahead standard.”
Text acknowledgements appeared on his screen from his ships, keeping his voice line clear for his commands.
“Crafts Four through Fourteen, remain behind the breakwaters until the Hai Ming can give confirmation that hostile torpedoes are no longer running.”
His executive officer spoke with urgency.
“Sir, Keelung demands to speak with you.”
Now? Lei thought.
“Patch them through,” Lei said.
“Lieutenant Commander Lei, this is Admiral Ye.”
“Sir?”
“The hostile submarine to the north, the one you’ve designated as Sierra Three, is surfacing and assumed to be in distress. I’ve taken the liberty of standing down Craft Four’s missile attack on Sierra Three.”
Lei glanced at his monitor and noted Craft Four’s aborted launch sequence.
“I see, sir. What are your orders?”
“You and Craft Three are to take station on Sierra Three. You are to prevent her from raising a communication mast, and you are to prevent her from submerging.”
Lei found himself dumbfounded but hesitated before asking the admiral how to carry out the orders.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I understand my orders.”
“If she raises a mast, shoot it down,” Ye said. “If she opens her ballast tank vents and you see sea spray, shoot holes in her pressure hull.”
Lei exhaled in relief of the admiral’s clarifications.
“I will see to it, sir.”
“If she takes no hostile action, keep your weapons tight,” Ye said. “The mainland is listening, and we don’t want them to know what we’re about to accomplish.”
“What do you need me to accomplish, sir?”
“Not you,” Ye said. “Helicopters are en route to the submarine. We will board her. Just keep her from submerging or communicating.”
“I understand, sir.”
“You’ll have to pass through the radioactive cloud of mist to reach the submarine quickly.”
Lei glanced at his screen, realized he was clear of the minefield, and agreed with Ye that the southerly wind would blow the radioactivity into his path.
“We’re rigged for contamination, sir,” he said. “I am concerned, however, that our cannons may be unable to penetrate submarine steel.”
“Based upon reports from the Hai Ming,” Ye said, “I doubt you will have to find out. I expect that we will find very few survivors, and I expect that the ones we find will be begging for medical assistance.”
“Craft Three and I are en route now,” Lei said.
“The Hai Ming has confirmed that your warheads have sunk the other two hostile submarines,” Ye said. “And all hostile torpedoes have stopped running. Send the remainder of your squadron through the minefield.”
The blast-created mist appeared gentle as Lei watched his bow cut through the water at flank speed, but he grasped its man-made danger.
“Do you have radiation levels yet?” he asked.
“Calculating initial levels, sir,” his executive officer said. “They appear to be hazardous for long-term exposure. We will require a salt water spray down.”
As the last contaminated wisp rolled over his bow, he swiveled his camera towards the expected location of the surfaced submarine and saw darkness.
“Train the starboard camera on Sierra Three,” he said.
“Training,” the executive officer said. “We have multiple eyes seeking it.”
Lei scanned the bridge and noted three other sailors looking for the submarine in their monitors.
“Remember that the Hai Ming’s estimate of the submarine’s location is imperfect. It could be off by more than a mile. Submarines work with acoustic data that creates such uncertainty.”
“Shall I illuminate our surface search radar, sir?”
“Restrict your radiation to within thirty degrees relative to the bow. Radiate.”
Lei flipped from his camera view to his radar and saw the return he wanted.
“That’s her,” he said. “Secure radiating.”
He adjusted course five degrees to point toward the submarine, and he flipped his monitor back to its forward camera view. The dark square of a submarine’s sail appeared. As his target grew larger, he noted a bow wake.
“What do you think,” he asked. “They’re not trying to run from us, are they?”
“I doubt it, sir,” his executive officer said. “But I can’t tell you why they are making way.”
Lei approached, and the submarine became clearer.
“That’s a Kilo class, isn’t it?”
“Probably, sir. We’ll know for certain after the boarding parties arrive. They’re five minutes out.”
Lei stationed his ship off the submarine’s beam and matched its course and speed. He kept his twenty-millimeter cannon trained on the sail, but no masts rose.
Instead, the first sign of life came from the forward hatch. It flipped open, and for an eternity, nothing happened. Then a human head appeared, followed by a torso that fell to the deck. Another human figure appeared, pulled itself over the first, and slithered forward, dragging useless legs.
A Blackhawk helicopter appeared from above and hovered over the open hatch. A soldier wearing a forced-air anti-contamination suit and carrying a rifle rappelled from the helicopter. He inspected the crippled mainland sailors for weapons as three soldiers followed him to the steel.
The fire team disappeared into the submarine.
Four more soldiers descended from the helicopter, followed by unarmed men carrying waterproof bags. The second wave of infiltrators slid through the hatch, their weapons over their shoulders.
A second Blackhawk replaced the first and released additional men to the deck. Lei noted that each remained unarmed, and he thought he saw a medical kit.
The bow wake subsided, and Lei swiveled his camera to check that the submarine’s propeller had stopped. Shifting his camera back to the conning tower, he heard welcomed news from his executive officer.