The nylon chaffed his groin and pinched his scrotum, but he wiggled into a position where the apparatus could support his weight without disemboweling him. He waited within the shaking cabin, running through the Hai Ming’s acceleration numbers in his head to distract himself from the flight’s discomfort.
As the crewman slid open the door, the world appeared as a void. The helicopter surprised Jake by slowing and descending since the Hai Ming eluded his surveying of the water through his visor.
Through his helmet, he heard his translator.
“We will lower you in three minutes.”
Time slipped without reckoning, and the crewman signaled to Jake to step over the ledge. He slid his feet backwards into the nothingness, placed gloved hands on the deck, and sank his weight over the side. His winch cable became taut, and it held him. Then it lowered him into the rotor wash.
Jake panicked when he looked down and saw nothing. As he spun, the surfaced submarine’s black sail came into view and then slipped behind him. It circled into his sights again as he felt a hook yank his cable and pull him laterally. His translator’s voice in his ear startled him.
“Prepare for release to the deck.”
Not knowing if the gesture mattered, Jake gave a thumbs up. He tensed his thighs, and the submarine’s deck hit his boots. He collapsed to the steel, his palms smacking nonskid. He felt hands grabbing his harness, freeing him from the cable, and helping him stand.
Two Taiwanese sailors led him through a hatch, and he climbed down ladder rungs. Moist air yielded to the dusty aroma of a submarine’s innards. His soles reached the deck plates, and he felt at home.
He once again would command a submarine.
CHAPTER 26
Lieutenant Commander Lei watched the crouched sailor extinguish his torch and lift his visor.
“How’s it look?” he asked.
“That should hold until we get back to port, sir.”
Lei dropped to his knee and studied weld lines that cut into the fantail’s nonskid surface and held metallic planks over aircraft-delivered bullet holes.
“Spray seawater over it for five minutes while someone inspects for leaks below,” Lei said.
He patted the nodding sailor on the shoulder and turned toward the superstructure. Ascending the ladder rung by rung, he glanced into the clear sky. His wish for clouded obscurity remained unanswered, and he prayed that the ocean’s vastness would conceal his small stealthy craft from mainland surveillance.
The door’s latch felt moist as he pulled, and the climate- controlled air on the bridge felt cool and dry. Electronic humming called his attention to his console’s display.
Red triangles showed bothersome patrolling aircraft on the mainland’s side of the Japanese Ryukyu islands. Their spying radar systems sought him, but on-board sensors assured him that his ship’s skin absorbed and deflected their invasive electromagnetic energy.
Blue triangles on the eastern side of the islands showed friendly combat aircraft which, combined with the mainland’s respect for Japanese airspace, kept his airborne chasers at bay.
The narrow gap south of Okinawa presented the only path north of Taiwan for mainland aircraft to enter the Pacific Ocean via international airspace. The frigate Cheng Kung, seaworthy and lethal despite missile hits during the aerial assault at Suao, plugged that gap.
Raiding the damaged Kilo submarine had yielded the cryptology keys to predict the locations of mainland submarines east of Taiwan. The adversary’s submerged armada pointed east toward the incoming American aircraft carrier, freeing Taiwanese minesweeping vessels to sanitize the egress route Lei’s squadron had blazed.
Wondering if the mainland would respect the détente established across the elongated hydrophone-bolstered Ryukyu Island choke point, Lei entertained thoughts of a quiet dinner with his officers.
The general quarters alarm startled him.
A glance at his shrugging, youngest officer who managed the bridge confirmed that the combat information center had raised the alarm.
Caressing his cheek, he remembered he had left his headset at his console. He turned and darted down the ladder to the ship’s tactical nerve. As his eyes adjusted to the fluorescent lighting, his navigator stood from the room’s central armchair.
“Submerged contact confirmed, sir.”
“Where?” Lei asked.
Calculations ran through his mind as he crouched beside the navigator at a monitor. After the hydrophone array gained a positive contact on a submerged submarine, Lei expected that it would transmit active every minute while hearing reflections off its victim’s hull.
Lei’s squadron needed to launch a missile while the targeting data remained fresh and relevant.
“Here, sir. Northeast of Takarajima Island.”
“Craft Four is the closest,” Lei said.
The navigator tapped buttons and rolled a track ball. Attack arcs from ships in Lei’s squadron converged on the mainland submarine, proving that Craft Four had the ideal shot by ten miles over Craft Five.
Hesitating a second to convince himself fate called upon him to exercise his launch authority, Lei took one deep breath.
“Instruct Craft Four to engage the submerged contact with one missile.”
Lei watched his navigator lift a receiver to his ear to relay the order.
“Craft Four acknowledges, sir. Estimated launch time is in thirty seconds. Final targeting coordinates to follow the next active return from the hydrophone system.”
“Draft a message for Keelung and for the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force. Feed them the targeting coordinates, launch time, and expected detonation times directly from our tactical feed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Calmness overtook Lei, and he felt weightless as he climbed the stairs.
“Where are you going, sir?”
He looked over his shoulder to his confused navigator.
“Outside,” he said. “Secure general quarters.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“This will be the first and last mainland submarine to test our defenses,” he said. “The wind will carry the fallout safely away from us, and I thought I’d enjoy the sunset.”
Dumbfounded, Admiral John Brody closed the door and stood in the hallway while pondering the report that had confirmed his irrelevance as the Chief of Naval Operations. One tiny Taiwanese warship had delivered the blow, sinking a Chinese submarine and proclaiming a defensive barrier he had considered impossible.
Masterminded by a presumptuous Frenchman, equipped with weapons-grade fuel by Rickets, and determined to scratch out an optimum endurance strategy, Taiwan had established a détente against the mainland. His navy — the strongest fleet since the dawn of mankind — had contributed nothing.
The best analysts in his navy confirmed his worthlessness. The tactical nuclear arsenal aboard stealthy patrol craft provided an anti-submarine Maginot Line. Complemented by air defenses, the line drew a zone of safe passage through the Philippine Sea.
Unfettered, minesweepers swept, naval escorts returned to port for reloads and repairs, and sea lines of communication promised a renewed waterborne economy. The bravest commercial fleets were negotiating shipping rates with Taipei to revitalize the island nation.
The final sticking point for guaranteeing the vitality of trade — the Chinese submarines remaining on the wrong side of the line. Time and secrecy mattered, and the Frenchman — with his unimaginable mélange of brilliance, reputation, and luck — had been gifted the makings of a trap to ensnare all the submarines at once.
His bullish pride bleeding from a picador’s lances, Brody lowered his head as he lumbered towards Rickets’ office.