Shrill high-frequency chirps echoed through Kye’s bones as he walked to his sonar operator.
“What do you see?” he asked.
“Nothing unusual, sir. These are our training waters.”
“Correct. There’s a sunken vessel we use for simulating a bottomed submarine. Show it to me.”
The operator pointed at a constellation of green lines.
“Correct,” Kye said. “Now, who is your relief?”
“Sir, I’m the only qualified sonar operator. The other was taken by the crew of a deployed vessel.”
“I understand,” Kye said.
He reached for the ship’s announcing circuit and clicked the handset.
“Command Master Chief, report to the bridge.”
Two minutes later, a man in his early forties with a leathery face appeared. Unlike the rest of Taechong Twelve’s crew, the senior enlisted man appeared nonplussed by Kye’s dominating style. Though he had not fought with Kye on Taechong Nineteen, he was battle-ready, having long ago lost partial use of his arm during a skirmish with a South Korean patrol craft.
“I was watching over the installation of the diesel, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Is there a man on the crew who has expressed interest in learning how to operate our sonar system?”
“None have expressed interest. But one of our cooks has said that he would take any position to escape galley duty.”
“Is this cook attentive? Can he learn?”
“He shows good aptitude for a conscript.”
“Bring him here and have him start learning. Inform the warrant officer who failed in installing my diesel that I am placing him on galley duty in his stead.”
“Consider it done, sir.”
The veteran turned to leave the bridge.
“Master Chief?” Kye asked.
“Yes, sir?”
“We will soon practice firing the cannon and torpedoes in the weapons range. Am I going to discover that the team is lacking in knowledge and depth in these critical areas?”
“Lack of knowledge? No. I refused to let my best gunner and torpedo launcher experts be pilfered by the deployed crews. And I personally can back up any of these men should they fall in battle.”
“Are you a good shot with the cannon?”
The veteran smirked.
“Sir, if you asked the captain of a Pohang class corvette that I hit with nine rounds a decade ago, I assure you he would say that I am.”
As the sun set, the departing tugboat drifted towards the horizon, and sea spray pelted Kye’s cheeks. Making fifteen knots on one engine, the Taechong Twelve drove towards the weapons range.
He heard the door open and the officer of the deck yell.
“Sir, the engine room reports that the second diesel is online and ready to support all loads. He requests all stop to shift propulsion to both diesels.”
“Very well. Bring the ship to all stop. Shift propulsion to both diesels.”
The officer yelled the order through the open door, and the ship slowed.
“Propulsion is shifted to both diesels, sir.”
“All ahead two-thirds.”
The gunboat accelerated and then held its speed.
“Bring the ship to all ahead flank.”
The officer acknowledged and shut the door. Moments later, the undulations below Kye’s feet increased, and he grabbed a rail for support.
Minutes later, the door opened again.
“We’ve crossed into the weapons range, sir,” the officer said. “We have the water space assigned to us, verified empty of other shipping traffic, and we are weapons free against all training targets.”
His mind flashed with images of semi-sunken ships that served as targets for gunnery and torpedoes. Seeing no hurry to practice firing, he kept his focus on his gunboat’s handling.
“Very well. Continue to the far end of the range. Then conduct a turn with a hard rudder. Maintain ahead flank. Then turn again with a hard rudder the other way. I want to see what this ship can do.”
Two hours later, successful ship handling and weapon exercises convinced Kye that his adopted crew was ready. As he leaned over the navigation table, he reflected upon his accomplishment.
Leaderless, with their commanding and executive officers cannibalized to staff seagoing combatants, the men of Taechong Twelve had languished in port. Gutted to a skeletal staffing with many enlisted leaders and conscripts stolen away for battle, the crew had awaited a spark. He credited himself with providing that spark and whipping the vessel and makeshift crew into shape in a day.
He summoned his officers to the table and angled a mechanical pencil over a chart showing the Sea of Japan.
“An enemy submarine launched a commando raid off our coast and abducted the hero admiral who led the glorious attack against the Cheonan. Now, that submarine has been harassing our ships for three days. There have been attacks here, here, and here. The first was against me when I commanded Taechong Nineteen.”
He tapped the pencil against the location where a missile had crippled his prior ship.
“Our admiralty believes that the mission against us is intricate. It involves the abduction of the hero admiral, followed by the submarine remaining at sea to entice our fleet to search for it, followed by ambushes from the attacking submarine.”
“The enemy has deployed another submarine since the abduction, sir,” an ensign said. “Does the admiralty believe it’s joining in the attack?”
“Unknown,” Kye said. “The admiralty is divided. Some believe it is assisting with ambushes. Others believe it is taking advantage of the distraction created by the first submarine and preparing to launch an amphibious attack against us elsewhere. This is why coastal installations are on high alert. Yet still others believe that the second submarine is nothing but a diversion to dilute our search for the first and to cause us extra panic.”
“Do we have orders, sir?”
“No. But we have complete freedom to do as I wish. Nobody thought this ship would be ready, but after a day of hard work and training, I am leading you all into combat.”
The faces around him appeared stern, the men hiding their mixes of bloodlust and fear.
“Since I am free of the responsibility of a prescribed search area, I plan to make use of that freedom. I also intend to make use of the weather. Tomorrow will involve mixes of rain and fog, which will reduce the ability of the enemy’s radar systems to find us.”
“I’m not sure I follow you, sir,” his navigator, a lieutenant, said. “In the enemy’s eyes, we’ll be but one bee in a hive of attackers. Why should attempts to hide work in our favor?”
Kye nodded, impressed that the lieutenant caught the apparent flaw in his logic.
“We’re not hunting with the hive,” he said. “We’re going to maneuver ahead of the enemy and strike at its weakest point.”
“Weakest, sir? I consider them weak now. They’re in our waters, taunting us, and our fleet is fighting back. You yourself would have destroyed them, were it not for terrible luck.”
“That’s not their weakest point,” Kye said. “The weakest is on their return home, when they think they have achieved victory and believe they are safe. Their guard will be down. That is where we will strike.”
He stabbed the pencil into chart, looked up, and saw concern in his men’s eyes. Given the location where he jabbed the paper, he excused their fear.
“Here,” he said. “Just inside the enemy’s waters, where they control the air.”
The lieutenant gulped, and Kye heard the tightness in his voice.
“Since we have no anti-air missiles, I recommend that we bring shoulder-launched anti-air weapons with us.”