"I think they militia," Zhu said. "Only pieces of uniforms. No police. No immigration. More like fishermen."
"They're not real squared away in the discipline department," Morton said, taking the binoculars back. "Looks like they're having a party over there."
Zhu shrugged. "There nothing they can do while battle is fought," he said. "They wait for outcome."
"Are those women they have on board?" Morton asked. Several people were gathered on the forward deck, and three of them wore brightly colored garments that looked anything but military.
"Local girls, maybe," Zhu said. He grinned. "They think, 'Might as well have fun while we wait.' "
"And we might be able to use that to our advantage," Morton said. "Come on, Sergeant. Let's get back to the others."
Quietly, they slipped away through the underbrush and back up the hill.
The gods of war had just handed the SEALs a golden opportunity, and Morton was determined to take advantage of it.
"Captain!" Ward announced. "Unit one has acquired the target."
"Outstanding," Garrett said. That meant the torpedo was now picking up the target's acoustical signature with its own on-board sonar homing system. "Bring the unit left to bearing on-target."
"Bringing torpedo left seven-nine degrees, to bearing on-target, aye." The third class at the weapons console brought his joystick hard over to the left. After firing, Garrett had ordered the course of the torpedo offset behind the Kilo-class submarine up ahead, with the result that the torp was now passing astern of the target. Turning now, the torpedo was bearing once again directly on the target, but coming in from astern.
"Unit one now bearing on target," Ward announced. "Unit one has acquired target."
"Range to target."
"Range to target estimated at twelve hundred yards." About thirty seconds to target. "Torpedo Room, Conn! Cut the wire! Close outer door on Tube One. Reload Tube One with Mark 48 ADCAP."
"Conn, Torpedo Room. Cut the wire. Close outer door on Tube One. Reload Tube One with Mark 48 ADCAP, aye aye."
"Conn, Sonar! Master Four-one has just fired a torpedo! Correction, two torpedoes now in the water!" There was a pause. "Torpedoes are changing aspect. Looks like a snapshot astern."
Garrett grinned. Ward looked at him from the weapons console and tossed a jaunty thumbs-up. The Kilo had heard Seawolf's torpedo coming in from a stern quarter and just loosed two fish of its own — the technical term for an unaimed shot was "snapshot" — back along the course taken by the incoming torp.
"Conn, Sonar. Master Four-one is now making revolutions for twenty knots. Snorkeling has been secured. He may be trying to descend."
"Good luck to him in thirty meters of water," Garrett said. The enemy skipper had a shockingly limited number of tactical options open to him right now. He could try to outrun Seawolf's incoming torpedo, though the Mk 48 had three times the Kilo's speed. He could try turning into the torpedo, hoping it hadn't yet armed. He could pop noisemakers to decoy the torpedo. He could hope that his snapshot would frighten the firing submarine into changing course, thereby cutting the wire early… not realizing that the wire was already cut and the torpedo was on its own.
"Conn, Sonar. Target has released countermeasures. Our unit has just gone active."
Which had just convinced the Kilo's skipper that his only hope now was to outrun the torpedo, unless he could decoy its sonar with a noisemaker. Seconds dragged past….
"Conn! Sonar! Unit one has detonated. Sir… " There was a hesitation.
"Go on, Sonar. Don't keep us in suspense."
"Sir, we're getting breakup noises. We got him!"
Several of the men in the control room grinned, and two mimed a high-five. Their training and discipline kept them from giving a cheer, though, and Garrett was proud of them.
"Sonar, Conn. Reel in the towed array." They were about to be pulling some high-speed maneuvers, and they would lose the towed array if they tried it with the cable dragging astern.
"Conn, Sonar. Retrieving towed array, aye aye."
"Helm, steer directly for Master Four-one."
"Steering course three-five-five, directly for Master Four-one, aye, sir."
"Conn, Sonar," he heard at last. "Towed array is retrieved and stowed."
"Very well. Maneuvering, make revolutions for thirty knots."
"Make revolutions for thirty knots, aye aye."
He saw Tollini's left eyebrow creep higher on his forehead and the glances exchanged by other officers and men in the control room. Thirty knots was damned fast for water this shallow. It also all but guaranteed that the enemy would hear them in these confined waters, while at the same time making it impossible for them to hear the enemy.
"Conn, Sonar!"
"Sonar, Conn. Go ahead."
"Sonar contact, designated Sierra One-eight-five, bearing two-six-four, range approximately forty thousand yards. Possible Kilo, moving at two-zero knots." A hesitation. "Sir, we're losing him in our wash."
The ghost to the west had just come out to play.
Morton slipped quietly into the water beneath a big mangrove tree overhanging the edge of the bank. He'd donned his Draeger rebreather, mask, and fins, and was carrying his H&K. The water was almost opaque, but he'd taken a compass bearing on the target from the shore and swam now in the indicated direction with a slow, steady beat of his fins, guided by his wrist compass.
Unseen around him in the murky water were the seven SEALs of First Squad, along with two Taiwanese commandos, Sergeant Zhu, and a corporal named Chen Huiexin. Moments after beginning the swim, he sensed the looming shadow of the PLA militia patrol boat ahead and above; putting out his hand, he touched the rough, barnacle-encrusted steel hull.
He waited, checking his dive watch, counting down the seconds, sensing his comrades gathering about him and around the hull. At the agreed-upon moment, he moved to a point just left of the patrol boat's single screw and lifted his head above the water.
He found himself looking up into the surprised face of a Chinese sailor, who was standing on the patrol boat's fantail, leaning against the aft railing. Morton brought his H&K up out of the water, but before he could trigger it, the sailor's expression of surprise turned to one of pain as he twisted back from the railing, his throat and upper chest opening like the bloom of scarlet flowers.
Morton hauled himself up over the fantail one-handed. Other SEALs were clambering onto the deck as well; MN1 Curt Hauser had cut down the militia sailor with a silent, three-round burst from his H&K and now was sweeping the patrol craft's after deck with deadly suppressing fire.
Morton swung over the railing and dropped to the deck beside Hauser, where they were joined a moment later by Knowles, Bohanski, and Zhu. A Chinese crewman lunged for the aft 12.7mm mount and was shot down. Another man emerged from the pilot house with an AK but didn't make it all the way up the ladder and onto the deck before a sound-suppressed burst punched him back through the deckhouse door.
Other SEALs were swarming over both sides of the anchored boat — hulking, black-clad figures in masks and rebreather gear that gave them a terrifyingly anonymous deadliness. A Chinese sailor on top of the deckhouse pitched over the side and plunged into the sea. Another threw up his hands, begging in a high-pitched singsong before Chen slammed him down with the butt of his M-16 carbine.