Still… he was uneasy. Perhaps because Admiral Yin chose not to continue operating his larger, more powerful task force along the border as before — but had instead chosen to operate farther south, well in undisputed Chinese waters. The first explanation was, of course, that Yin had been ordered to keep away from the neutral zone, but as weeks went by, the rumor was that Yin simply did not want to risk the wrath of the Philippine Navy and put his precious flagship Hong Lung in harm’s way. Instead, he had ordered Chow’s smaller, less powerful, less capable task force to patrol the area. Admiral Yin’s task force was seventy-two kilometers to the southwest, fairly close to Nansha Dao Island itself, which meant Yin was in very real danger of running aground in the shallow waters. Commander Chow’s force was better suited for those interreef patrols — but if that was where the Admiral preferred to stay…
“Surface contact, sir,” an officer in the Combat section of the bridge crew blurted out. “Bearing, zero-five-zero degrees, range twenty kilometers. Speed zero.” Chow turned to the plotting board as another crewman penciled in the contact on the clear Plexiglas board.
Phu Qui Island.
“Confirm that contact,” Chow ordered. “Make sure you’re not painting the island itself.” But he knew it was not possible for his radar to paint the shallow, half-submerged outline of a coral “island” at this extreme range. Someone was on or near the disputed island. The Filipino salvage crews, along with the inevitable warships, had long since departed — there had been no large vessels near the island now for several weeks. Since Yin’s attack, ships transiting the neutral zone, including Chow’s small task force, had been careful to report their movements to the governments of each country that had claims on the islands — Chow had a list of every ship that planned on plying these waters in the next several days.
There had been no reports of any vessels that sought to anchor on Phu Qui Island.
“Radar confirms contact as a vessel,” the Combat officer replied a few moments later. “Definite cultural return. Unable to get an ISAR reading on the contact, but it is not terrain or sea shadows.” ISAR, or Inverse Synthetic Aperture Radar, was a new feature of the “Square Tie” surface-search radar that could combine vertical and horizontal radar scans with Doppler-frequency shift information to get a two-dimensional “picture” of a surface return; ISAR could usually identify a vessel at ten to fifteen miles, well beyond visual range.
Commander Chow hesitated — he couldn’t believe the Filipinos would actually attempt to set up their oil-drilling rigs on the island again. It was tantamount to a declaration of war. He was also reluctant to cruise farther into the neutral zone without specific orders from Admiral Yin. Let him take the responsibility for another attack.
“Send a FLASH emergency message to Dragon,” he finally ordered his officer of the deck. He could feel the first prickles of tension-heated sweat forming on the back of his neck, and it wasn’t from the humidity. “Inform him of our radar contact. We will stand by for instructions.” He paused momentarily, then added, “Send the minesweeper Guangzou from present position northwest and secure the north and northeast axis. If we have to move toward Phu Qui, I want the lane clear. I give specific orders for Guangzou to enter the neutral zone on my authority; record the order in the log.” The minesweeper, although based on a Shanghai-class patrol boat, had no offensive armament except small-caliber machine guns and could not be considered a warship; therefore sending a minesweeper alone into the neutral zone could not be considered a hostile act.
The officer of the deck issued the orders; then: “Sir, I suggest we request the helicopter on Hong Lung be sent to investigate the contact ahead of the task force. It would be much less threatening to whoever is on Phu Qui Island.”
“We will be ordered to move closer to Phu Qui Island whether we see what is out there or not,” Chow predicted. “But it’s a good suggestion. Get it in the air.”
They did not have to wait long for the order: “Message from Dragon, sir,” the officer of the deck reported. “ Task force two is hereby ordered to cross into the neutral zone immediately. Investigate contact on Phu Qui Island with all possible speed, identify all intruders, detain all persons. Peacetime rules of engagement in effect — do not fire unless fired upon, but repel assaults with all available resources. Helicopter will be dispatched immediately to assist. Dragon task force en route to your location. ETA two-point-three hours.’ Message ends.”
“Very well,” Chow replied, nodding confidently and pumping his voice up with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. “Sound silent general quarters, repeat, silent general quarters. Relay to all vessels, go to silent general quarters.”
It was a fairly calm night, and the noise of alarm bells and sirens going off might very well be heard twenty kilometers away. This was the first time that Commander Chow had ever faced a real confrontation between two powerful, hostile navies, and so far his thin, forty-six-kilogram body was not taking the excitement too well. His stomach was making fluid, nervous rumblings.
“Have Guangzou complete a zigzag pattern along the zero-five-degree bearing from us, then begin a search pattern direct to Phu Qui Island. Transition Yaan and Baoji into trail and forward-scan each flank for signs of intruders.” He was glad when his officer of the deck and the rest of the bridge crew went about their duties — he was feeling worse by the minute. He had never experienced seasickness in his sixteen years in the People’s Revolutionary Army Navy, but this time, at the worst possible moment, he just might…
He tried to ignore his stomach and ordered his ships in the best formation in which to approach a hostile island. The minesweeper would execute a zigzag pattern in front of Chagda perhaps a kilometer wide, clearing the path of any hidden mines while maintaining good forward speed toward the target. With his two Hainan-class patrol boats in trail position, one behind the other and spaced about a kilometer apart, whoever was on that island might not detect the two trailing vessels until the shooting started. The two patrol boats, each one configured for both antiaircraft and antisubmarine warfare, would be scanning the skies and seas ahead and to each side of the formation, searching for hostile aircraft, ships or submarines.
“All ships are at general quarters,” the officer of the deck reported with a bow. Chow was just donning his life jacket and baseball cap, in lieu of a combat helmet. “All ship’s weapons manned and report ready.”
“Very well. I want range to Phu Qui Island every kilometer,” Chow ordered. “Have the vessels maintain ten knots until—”
“Sir! Acquisition radar detected, bearing zero-five-zero,” Combat reported.
“Well, what in blazes is it? Analysis! Quickly!”
There was another interminable delay; then: “C-band acquisition, sir… probably Sea Giraffe 50, OPS-37, SPS-10 or -21 surface-search system… slow scan rate… Calling it an SPS-10 now, sir…” Chow scowled at the reports from his Combat section; they were rattling off Swedish and Japanese radar systems when they knew that the only C-band radar in the Spratlys had to be Filipino.
“Nineteen kilometers to Phu Qui Island and closing,” came the range report from the navigation officer. “Speed ten knots.”