Colonel Lee had held his ship at flank speed all the way from Zhanjiang, easily outpacing the much smaller frigate Shantou, which was currently some five miles astern.
Lee had twice checked in with his own fleet commander, Admiral Zu Jicai, and had been told that Admiral Zhang had by no means altered his mindset. In fact, he was as determined as ever that the guns, missiles and torpedoes of Xiangtan should open fire on the Americans at the earliest opportunity, the earlier the better.
Colonel Lee was bewildered. It was so atypical. After a lifetime in the Navy of China, he had never been told to open fire, not even when Taiwan was involved, or even Japan. This was totally out of character. China was a very old civilization and it had long ago learned that discretion was almost always the better part of valor.
Letting loose high explosive at a modern-day trading partner with whom all-out war would be a massive disaster for China was not reasonable. And the Chinese prided themselves on reason. They might cheat, lie, steal, obfuscate the truth, evade and frequently commit the sin of omission. But lack reason? Never.
And here was this great Chinese warship being ordered to march, effectively into the jaws of death, with guns blazing. In peacetime. In cold blood. In total madness, so far as Colonel Lee could tell.
He turned to his XO, Lieutenant Commander Shoudong, and murmured for the umpteenth time, “I do not understand it.”
The XO did not understand it either. But now he was becoming fatalistic, ever since the last call to Fleet Headquarters. And he said resignedly, “Sir, we are probably ten miles from the edge of the search area. Does this really mean that if we pick up a submarine, we just go straight in and start firing?”
“That is precisely what it means.”
“No warnings? No instructions to leave Chinese waters immediately? Not even a shot across her bow?”
“No, Guan. None of that. My orders are to open fire, straight at her, with whatever means necessary to sink her.”
“My God,” said the XO. “We better not miss, sir. Or she will surely obliterate us.”
“Guan, she may do that even if we don’t miss.”
Lt. Commander Anwei Bao, the combat systems officer, returned to the bridge and caught just the end of the conversation.
“I have done as you instructed, sir. We are ready to open fire with all systems immediately…but there is just one thing, sir, I’d like to ask…”
“Please do.”
“Does anyone know any background to this? Why we apparently are prepared to risk an out-and-out conflict with the United States?”
“Well, there is the matter of the submarine that blew up in Canton last night. I suppose that may be implicated. But the Americans did not blow it up. I thought we did, our own scientists.”
“Well, that’s the official line, but you never know.”
“And what are we doing heading for the shallow waters around the two islands up ahead?”
“Now that’s a real mystery. I have no idea.”
“And why do they think we’re going to find another American submarine due south of Xiachuan? There’s no one on that island.”
“I have not been told that, either. Just that we are likely to find one, and then to destroy it.”
“Green-two-zero, sir. Submarine on the surface.” Buster Townsend, leaning forward, peering through the binoculars, had USS Greenville in his sights. She stood about a mile farther to the south than they thought, with two American frigates from the Ronald Reagan CVBG about four miles beyond.
Despite the heavy protection, everyone was growing nervous about the evacuation in Chinese national waters in broad daylight. On board the Los Angeles — class attack submarine, they literally could not wait to get under the surface.
The SEAL drivers headed straight toward it, bringing the Zodiacs expertly alongside, forward of the sail, where the crew had lowered climbing nets. Everyone in the inflatables was a highly trained SEAL who knew everything about boarding submarines in the worst possible conditions, right down to banging on the hull with their fighting knives underwater in order to be let in. The only non-SEAL in the Zodiacs was Captain Judd Crocker, and he was a submarine commanding officer. He’d manage.
Greenville’s crew grabbed the first boat and as soon as it was empty hauled it up, deflated it, and sent it below. Heavy loose gear was just ditched, even the engines. The five boats were dealt with in 90 seconds flat. And the submarine accelerated rapidly away to the south, still on the surface.
The navigation officer, up on the bridge with the CO, heard the report: “Conn-ESM. Racket. X-Band. Military. Bearing two-six-zero. Approaching danger level.”
Commander Tom Wheaton picked up his binoculars and looked out to the darker western horizon, but could see nothing. But from the ESM report, he knew this radar was most likely to be a Chinese warship, and it was about to come over the radar horizon. At which moment he would be caught in flagrante, an American submarine on the surface in Chinese national waters, his worst nightmare. He could expect no mercy. He could expect hot lead within the next 20 minutes.
Now, Commander Wheaton was not empowered to get into combat. However, he did not have sufficient water to dive the submarine, so he would have to concentrate on making his getaway on the surface. The nearest water deep enough to dive was still four miles ahead. He could be underwater in about 18 minutes, with the two frigates blocking for him.
“Bridge-Radar. New surface contact. Track two-three-zero-one. Bearing zero-eight-zero. Range thirty-five thousand meters…two more surface contacts, close together. Tracks two-three-zero-two and two-three-zero-two. Bearing zero-nine-one. Same range. Indicating to weapons control.”
“Radar-Captain. Good. Gimme course and speeds as soon as you can.…Navigator, plot their positions. I want to know if the Americans are outside the twelve-mile limit. ACTION STATIONS…SURFACE.”
“Wheel-Captain. Steer zero-eight-three.”
Seventeen tense minutes dragged by. Then, silhouetted against the morning sun, the clear shapes of the American ships were sighted, the small black square of Greenville’s sail to the left, and the bulkier hulls of the two frigates to the right.
“The submarine can’t dive,” replied Colonel Lee. “Not here. There’s only just about one hundred feet under the keel…my orders are specific. Follow her. And then sink her. But I am opening up the line again to Fleet Headquarters, probably for the last time.”
12
Commander Tom Wheaton, in a long naval career stretching right back to Annapolis, had never encountered anything quite like the situation in which he now found himself. A lifelong submariner, he’d crept around some highly dubious waters in the service of his country, some hot, some cold. But he had never been faced with an onrushing foreign destroyer coming straight at him, in water insufficiently deep for him to dive, much less to make a sharp, judicious getaway, and in foreign national waters where he was not supposed to be. Greenville’s mission was, after all, merely to arrange safe passage for American prisoners who had in some instances suffered Chinese torture.