“Yes Zhi, it is.”
“Then give her the attention she wants.”
He watched her the next morning as she got up and padded into the kitchen, pouring him a coffee. She was as hot and sexy a girl as he’d ever known.
Then he remembered. He peeped into the bathroom; she lay up to her neck in the warm water with her hair up.
He walked softly back to her bag, found the document, took it out and quickly photographed it. He smiled, more MSS info, it was there for the taking and all he had to do for it, was what she wanted. This gorgeous Eastern beauty just wanted him balls deep in her.
It was a hard life. The work was tough, but someone had to do it.
HALF A WORLD AWAY IN the South China Sea, the USS Kimberley Peer drew within a few miles of Johnson’s Reef South.
Captain Jane Brockman turned to her Weapons Officer.
“Weaps, what’s the story on that Luyang III class DDG?”
“We’re still picking up H/LJQ-364 search radar. He knows we’re here. But there’s no fire control radar.”
“Ok. Helm come to three one zero degrees.” She smiled. “We’re going to skirt the south end of this reef real close. Let’s watch Shanghai Sally get her panties in a twist.”
Chapter 6
“SONAR. THE TAIL’S GOT contacts. To the east, we have an Arleigh Burke class Destroyer heading this way. Range 15 miles. Out to the northwest we have a PLA Destroyer, type 052D Luyang III class. The PLA library gives 80 percent probability of it being the Yinchuan. Range 12 miles. Closer in, range eight miles, we have a PLA boat. It’s a nuke attack sub, type 093 Shang class. He’s doing nine knots, heading east. I’m picking up sounds that could be the Arleigh Burke class bird, an SH-60 Seahawk, dropping sonobuoys. I can’t say for sure, it’s several miles off.”
“Kaminski, what’s our position relative Johnson’s Reef?”
“Three miles to our northwest, we’ll need to turn north soon.”
“Planesman come to zero degrees.”
“Zero aye sir.” The boat tilted to the right, and the crew hung on. Something clattered noisily on the deck, back aft. Nathan gave the aft companionway a black look.
“COB, go and sort that.”
“Yes sir.”
The COB walked quickly down the companionway. You could hear his shouts in the distance.
“Who did that? Who did that? Show me the brain fucked idiot that shit on my submarine. I’ll kick ass until I find out. Who shit on this man’s submarine? Who? Derbez? That mother?
Bring me Derbez, I want some ass, and I want it now. Derbez, you worthless fuck. You know what you are? You’re ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. Get down on the deck and give me sixty now. Get the fuck down. That’s it, you shit. From now on, any A-Ganger will call on you if they get a turd-chasing job. Attention, all hands, all hands. Let it be known that Seaman Derbez is chief turd-chaser now. Everyone inspect your area for loose shit now, including you sir, we’re not doing angles and dangles now. Listen up ladies, and listen good. Stonewall Jackson is the finest boat in the PAC fleet. Make me fucking proud of it.”
Nathan smiled, that wouldn’t be happening again any time soon.
The channel into Johnson’s Reef South was from the north side. It was only about 150 feet wide at the start and about half a mile long. The base would be on the port side of the boat. The depth of water was unknown, but a type 055 Destroyer was almost 23 feet in draft, so you’d need to clear that by a good margin. Nathan thought a minimum of 30 feet, probably more. USS Stonewall Jackson was 82 feet from the base of her hull to the tops of her masts. The channel could be that deep, but maybe not.
One advantage that the boat had was that it was fitted with a computer-controlled, Swedish-designed X rudder, increasing the submarine’s manoeuvrability when operating in shallow waters close to the seabed. The boat was excellent at executing small turns over a topographically complex seabed. There was no radar on the reef, but it would have to be a night entry and probably a long swim for Innes and Alves.
“XO. Get the dive team, we’ll meet in the Wardroom.”
Several minutes later his intercom flashed.
“We’re in the Wardroom sir.”
“You have the Conn, Weaps.”
“I have the Conn. Aye sir.”
Nathan walked in and sat. “Ok, this could be more complex than Mischief was. I guess you two have been planning the dive?”
“Yes sir,” said Alves, “the cable connects on the east side of the channel around here.” He pointed to the northwest side of the base.
“We intend to swim west to east about 60 yards north of the base, we should pick up the cable before we get to the edge of the reef.”
“You ok with that, Innes?”
“Yes sir.”
“We don’t know what you’ll see in terms of defenses like last time. But we need an Exfil plan in case it all goes to rat shit.”
“We’ll be carrying our mini-echo locators sir,” said Innes. “We intend to swim north on the east side of the channel and stop from time to time to sweep the locators to the west to pick up the boat.”
“That’s good. But what if we have to leave the channel, what then?”
The Intercom came to life. “Captain to the control room.” Nathan and the XO got up and left the room.
“What’s going on Weaps?”
“It’s that Shang class nuke. Sonar?”
“Sir, she’s flooded a tube. But she’s still heading east. She doesn’t seem to know about us.”
“How far is she from our DDG?”
“Slightly more than 20 miles. She’s south of us, around four miles.”
“Do you want me to lay in a firing solution Sir?” asked Weaps.
“No, not yet.”
“She’s blowing a ballast tank, she’s coming up to periscope depth. Now at periscope depth. She’s slowed to five knots.”
Long minutes went by.
“Sir, our DDG is now one mile south of the reef. Aspect change on the Sheng, it’s stern on to us, it’s lining up to face our DDG. She’s eight miles astern of the DDG. Outer doors have opened. Sir, he’s going to do it.”
“I can lay in a firing solution Sir,” said Weaps, “we can put a fish in him. He’s going to launch.” The Weapons Officer turned to Nathan. “Sir?”
It was one of hardest decisions he’d ever had to make. There was a sitting duck out there. He had to just give the word, and it would be history. He waited.
“Sir, do I have permission to lay in a solution and put a fish into him?”
Nathan sighed. “No. Permission denied. Operation Skirmish comes first.”
The sonar operator CPO Benson groaned and shook his head.
“I don’t like it any…”
“Sonar. We have a launch from the Sheng. We have a launch. It’s gone quiet, breaking surface now. It’s a missile launch, there go the boosters. The bird will be airborne.”
“It’s probably a Y-82 Saccade,” said Weaps. “Warhead, 365 pounds of high explosives. God help them.”
THE USS KIMBERLY PEER’S Principal Warfare Officer Air raised his voice excitedly.
“Missile running in from aft starboard, 40 degrees. Range six miles.”
Captain Brockman pressed a button on her console. “Whoop, whoop. Battle stations, battle stations, whoop, whoop.”
“Activating SM-32 countermeasures. Phalanx CIWS is up and looking.” Personnel all over the ship donned white anti flash hoods and scurried to their stations.
“Helm, come to 220 degrees.” Captain Brockman turned the Destroyer’s stern to the incoming missile, presenting the smallest target possible.
“Countermeasures have selected Saccade mode. Range three miles.”
She knew it was launched from a sub; there was no ship out that way. The wind was light from the southwest.