"Good man."
"Are you going to tell headquarters?"
Morton grinned in the darkness of the hide. "Why? It would just confuse them some more." He was still angry at the confusion, and the fact that the SEAL Team appeared to have been left dangling in the breeze.
"When do you want to move out?"
Morton listened for a moment to the crackle of gunfire. If anything, it was increasing in intensity. "Immediately," he decided. "Tse's men don't have the expendables for a sustained battle, and we can't afford to wait. Tell your people to saddle up. We're moving out now."
"Roger that, Skipper."
Another helicopter flew overhead from the east, banking north, toward the sound of the gunfire.
Morton wondered if the SEALs were going to be in time.
A mournful whistle sounded to starboard. Garrett and Lawless both turned, raising their binoculars. The Russian GKS vessel was still moored in the harbor; through the binoculars, Garrett could see several officers on the ship's weather bridge staring back at them through binoculars of their own. One of the Russians raised his cap in salute.
Lawless replied with the same gesture. "Seems kind of strange being buddies with those guys, doesn't it?" he said.
"Times change, Captain. And we're still facing their technology, if not their animosity."
"You got that right. Uh-oh, they're flashing us. How's your Morse?"
"Rusty, sir, but passable." He trained his binoculars on the flickering pulse of the Russian vessel's semaphore lamp. "Looks like… 'you… have… tail.' "
"What the hell?" Lawless said, lowering the binoculars.
"A Chinese sub, Skipper. Has to be. Following in our baffles. We can't hear her, but that GKS over there has some pretty sensitive listening gear. They may have a sonar track on our shadow."
"Figures they would have a sub waiting to follow us out."
"This could be a problem, sir."
"Not so long as we're still at peace, Mr. Garrett. And please God we stay at peace until we're clear of this damned harbor…. "
Garrett turned in the cockpit, raising his binoculars and scanning the waters aft of the Seawolf. He couldn't see anything. And yet… "Do you think a submarine could follow us through this channel submerged, sir?"
"Queensly asked me that. I wouldn't care to try it myself. But it's possible."
"Let's see. The main channel's marked at twenty to twenty-five meters' depth. Seawolf carries an eleven-meter draft, and our sail adds ten meters or so on top of that. It would be damned tight for us."
"What about an Akula?" Lawless said.
"About the same. Ten meters' draft. The Akula's sail is pretty squat, though. Maybe five, six meters? They'd have a bit more room to play in."
"Not much. Especially with harbor traffic this heavy, I wouldn't want to try it."
"No, sir. But I'll tell you what does worry me… "
"What's that?"
"A Kilo, sir. Six and a half meters' draft. Five meters or so on the sail. And only seventy-three meters long."
"Hmm."
"If I was skipper of a Kilo, and my orders were to keep tabs on the Yankee-dog Seawolf submarine in my harbor, I might gamble that by following in his baffles, submerged, I could trust him to clear the surface traffic out of the way."
"He'd have to tuck in real close."
"Yes, sir, he would."
Both men trained their binoculars aft again, searching for a periscope, a swelling on the surface of the harbor, anything that might hint at an unseen companion astern.
"Lookouts! Keep a close watch astern. We may have a tail."
"Aye aye, sir!"
"I'll tell the sonar crew," Lawless said, picking up the handset.
"Even knowing," Garrett said, "I don't know what we can do about it."
"Try prayer," Lawless replied.
It sounded reasonable. There wasn't a whole lot else available to them right now.
17
The war began in earnest at approximately 1730 hours, Tuesday, May 20, and it began in the office of Li Guofeng.
Admiral Li was a survivor, one of the old guard of the PLA who'd somehow retained position and rank through the swirl of purges, reorganizations, and administrative house cleanings that had been the norm for any long-term military career within the People's Republic. He still favored plain olive-drab working uniforms without the gold braid and finery of rank, a holdover from the days of Mao when rank, theoretically, at least, was considered counterrevolutionary and bourgeois.
The man who'd just entered his office held similar taste and similar tenure. General Zhang Yun Hai was the commander of the Fujian District ground forces and, as such, was one of the most powerful men in the PLA. Since Fujian was opposite the Strait of Formosa from the old enemy, Taiwan, the local militias and PLA forces received the best of men, equipment, and military appropriations, second only to the Beijing District itself. It had long been established that the final reunification of China would begin from Fujian, with local forces invading Taiwan. Too, if the rebels in Taipei were ever foolish enough to attempt an invasion of the mainland itself, the blow would surely fall there.
Technically, the two men were at the same level of rank, but Zhang was nominally Li's superior by virtue of a year's seniority. Li was in overall command of PLA fleet assets in Fujian and here in Guangdong and was charged with the defense of the PRC coast from Hainan to Fuzhou. They shared command with a third man, General Lung Ziyi, who was in charge of the Fujian District's PLA air units, but Lung was in Beijing now, and Zhang was in control of the local air force.
Neither of them trusted Lung, a newcomer and a decided sycophant with the political cadres in the capital.
They sat in Li's office, drinking green tea and studying the map spread out on the desk between them. Several aides were with them, marking the locations of enemy and neutral vessels and aircraft in the area.
"But can we get the Americans to break off the negotiations?" Li was saying. "World opinion will stand against us if we attack while in the midst of negotiations."
"Beijing should not have allowed the negotiations in the first place," Zhang said. "It is diverting us from our true will, our true course of action."
"They vacillate, unsure which way the winds are blowing. We need to help things along."
"Agreed. But—"
He was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Come!" Li said.
An orderly on the admiral's staff stepped inside and saluted. "Comrade General! Colonel Wong to see you, sir. He says it is most urgent."
Li exchanged glances with Zhang. "Send him in."
Colonel Wong Hui Ling was on the HQ staff for the Fujian Military District and as such reported directly to General Zhang. However, during Zhang's visit to Guangzhou, he'd stationed himself in the Fleet Communications Center, where he was monitoring the situation along the coast. A small, thin, acid-faced man, he was known to be extremely ambitious… and therefore dangerous politically. The trick was to keep him so busy with important and heavily detailed work that he didn't have time to play politics.
"Comrade Admiral," Wong said, saluting. "Comrade General, an important radio message just came in. It's from Tong'an."
"Ah!" Zhang said. "They have taken the bait?"
"So it would seem, sir. Elements of the Xiamen Guard and local militia have engaged a strong force in the hills above Tong'an. We believe them to be Taiwanese commandos."