USS Stonewall Jackson BoxSet

by Stephen Makk

  He walked over to Kaminski’s chair and placed his hand on her back where no crew could see. He gently stroked her with his forefinger.

  “Where are we?”

  “Here sir, just ten miles off. We’re east south east of it.”

  “Right.” Nathan looked at the communications print out. “Damn it. Why the hell now? Benson. Stream the tail, I want to know what’s out there. If an octopus gets a hard on, I want to hear its pulse race.”

  Nathan turned and headed aft.

  “XO, Kaminski. War committee, now.”

  The three of them sat around the table in the Wardroom with three coffees. Nathan placed the communications print out on the table.

  PRIORITY RED

  R 231349Z OCT 89 ZY011

  COMSUBPAC PEARL HARBOR HAWAII//N1//

  TO STONEWALL JACKSON

  PACFLT// ID S072RQ81//

  NAVAL OPS/02

  MSGID/PACOPS 6722/COMSUBPAC ACTUAL//

  MSG BEGINS://

  DDG-124 USS KIMBERLY PEER WILL TRANSIT YOUR AREA 10.00 ZULU 06/23.

  ON A FONOP. DOD NOT AWARE OF OPS TEA LEAVES, CLIPPER OR SKIRMISH.

  DO NOT ATTEMPT CONTACT.

  ROUTE FLEXIBLE, BUT INTENDED ROUTE ATTACHED.

  MSG END//

  “That’s all we needed,” said the XO, “a fucking showboat stirring the bastards up. Joe Chinaman will be up all-night scratching his dick.”

  Nathan nodded. “Department of Defense don’t know about our Ops. It’s strictly Joint Chiefs, Sooty and us. They just picked a bad time to do one of their Freedom Of Navigation Operations.”

  “Yeah,” said Larry, “it’s just a pissing contest.”

  “How close to the Islands will they get?” asked Kaminski.

  “Depends on what’s going on topside. A few miles, a few hundred yards,” said Larry.

  “Joe Chinaman might bring some air down from the mainland.”

  “He might have it here,” said Nikki, “he has two kilometre plus airfields on those reefs. He’ll have boats down here too.”

  Nathan leaned back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “I’ll bet some Goddamn REMF in the Pentagon thought this one up.”

  Nikki frowned. “REMF?”

  “Yeah,” Nathan grinned, “Rear Echelon Mother Fucker. A desk driver.”

  Kaminski sipped her coffee, then stood and started to pace the room.

  “I hate it when she does that,” said Larry, watching her. “You just know the shit’s about to hit the fan.”

  “What do we do?” she asked.

  “Lie low till she’s gone by,” said Larry. “Go on Princess Leia, what would you do?”

  “We take advantage of the confusion and chaos the Destroyer’s presence will cause, to climb up their ass.”

  “I like it Nikki,” smiled Nathan, “bring up the Johnson’s Reef South info on the tablet. Let’s take a look at our options.”

  THE SPRATLY ISLANDS. The incident.

  USS KIMBERLEY PEER.

  CAPTAIN JANE BROCKMAN took a last look at the azure sea, and the wind ruffled her red brown hair. She put her peaked cap on and opened the hatch, stepped inside, and headed for the control room amidships.

  It would be a grand tour; Mischief, Johnson’s Reef South and Fiery Cross Reef, then up to the Paracels and Woody Island. Get ‘em stirred up, and give ‘em the finger.

  The control room was gloomy; men and women stared into monitors and spoke into the headsets they all wore.

  Brockman listened in to the Principal Warfare Officer ASW.

  “PWASW from blue dog one, blue dog one, we are at datum two, pass one. The MAD is streaming, no contact. Radial search on you over.”

  “Copy blue dog one. Good hunting.”

  He was speaking to the Airborne Tactical Officer. Blue dog one would be a Sikorsky SH-60 Seahawk helicopter, capable of dropping sonobuoys and towing a MAD - a magnetic anomaly detector. If a submarine contact was made, then Mk 46 torpedoes would be dropped.

  Hours later, the USS Kimberley Peer sailed two miles off the south coast of Mischief Reef, to a diatribe of threats and accusations of violating Chinese waters. Patrol boats flying the red flag sailed between them and the island a couple of hundred yards away.

  She picked up the microphone and broadcast to the Chinese.

  “We are the United States Navy ship USS Kimberley Peer exercising our right to sail through international waters.” She replaced the handset. That was enough for now. “Discharge the ship’s waste.” Sewerage, dirty oil and waste food were pumped out, in view of the watching Chinese patrol boats. “Have some of that.” She smiled. “Navigator, course to Johnson’s Reef South?”

  “Two six three sir.”

  “Helm, make that your course, fifteen knots.”

  The Destroyer sailed off and left Mischief Reef behind.

  “Sir PWOA, we have two contacts heading our way. AN/SPY 1D radar reports two bogies, speed 480 knots, altitude 500 feet and dropping. Range three point four miles. Activating AN/SLQ 32 countermeasures.”

  The Principal Warfare Officer Air, came over as clearly concerned by the tone of his voice.

  “PWOA, don’t activate the fire control radar.”

  “Bogies closing low to our starboard. Closing, closing, mark. Five hundred twenty knots.” Captain Brockman heard the two jets rushing by, even in the control room.

  “Sir, Officer of the Deck reports two Shenyang J-11s passed low to our starboard.”

  “Ok, maintain course. Monitor them for fire control radar emissions. If they do, paint em and get a RIM 162 SAM locked on.”

  “They’re coming in again sir.”

  “Aren’t you going to paint them with the SPG 62, just for a warning?” asked the XO.

  She smiled. “No, this is all just one dick measuring contest. Good job I’m a woman.”

  THE GEORGE WASHINGTON and Jefferson National Forest. West Virginia.

  SHE STARED OUT OF THE wide full height window door, looking over the forest slopes below. The sun had risen, dispelling the faint ethereal fog.

  Zhi Ruo smiled it was, simple yet beautiful.

  It was a soft haunting, painted land. But it was not her land. Paul had left several days ago, but he’d be back soon.

  She’d contacted someone, a diplomat who posed as a heating engineer, of all things.

  There was a surprisingly good cell phone service here and she’d used one of her alternative SIM cards to make contact. Her package would arrive today. She’d be able to rig up the surveillance bugs and cameras. It wasn’t difficult; she’d been trained well. Zhi knew she’d be pin up of the week among the dirty bastards of section 3, padding around naked, fucking her CIA client. But she knew her friend Tang Tian would remove them quickly.

  She admitted to herself, she did like him. He was quite caring and kind. Paul could be funny in that western way. He knew how to use his man stick on her. But they where from different lands and served different masters.

  First, that day, it would be a walk, get to know the area better, get to know escape routes if needed. She’d take her Pentax out and take some pictures. Zhi slid the door open and walked out into the beautiful West Virginia forest.

  LATER SHE RETURNED, after lunch the UPS truck arrived, she signed for the package, opened it and set to work, then surveyed the cameras and bugs.

  It was time for a test.

  “Living room. Text if you see and hear.” A double ding sounded.

  “Kitchen.” A double ding.

  “Hallway.” A double ding.

  “Bedroom.” A double ding.

  “Bathroom.” A double ding. Soon all were checked out.

  Early evening she called the Chinese takeout delivery, Great Wok in Harrisonburg, pretending to speak poor English.

  “Hi, I wan hot soup, sour. Treasure Szechuan Garlic Style. Egg rol. No, rol, rol. Egg rol. Ya roll. Ju-long to bring. Only Ju-long. I pay him dollar.”

  An hour later, Ju-long knocked on the door and handed over the delivery. She paid
him in dollar bills.

  “Xiexie.”

  First things first, she tucked into the meal. Not bad, not bad at all. A bit of home cooking, not up to her favourite Niu Dian on Kunming Street, but quite good. The hot and sour soup was very Kekou.

  Then she returned to the delivery box, lifted away the covering paper and took out a flat plastic pack.

  She opened it and took out the documents. The heading of the Ministry of State Security was clearly visible to anyone who knew what they were looking at. Zhi read it and smiled. Nice one.

  THE NEXT NIGHT PAUL was due around eight. She changed into a bathrobe and let her silky black hair down. She heard his car rolling up the drive and then the car door slamming shut. Zhi turned her body to face a camera and gave it the finger. “You dirty bastards.”

  The door opened.

  “Hi, Paul, I’ve something for you.”

  “Oh, what’s that? Is it nice sweetest?”

  She approached him, undid her robe and let it fall to the floor.

  “That’s for you to decide.”

  She took his right hand and placed it palm towards her, between her legs. She rubbed herself with his hand.

  “Well, is it nice?”

  “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

  THE SOUTH CHINA SEA.

  “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.

  “Ready Chaff to starboard. PWASW launch ASROC at the launch point.”

  The Destroyer fired rocket-launched torpedoes at the submarine; these would drop into the sea from parachutes and search for the sub. At least the Kimberly Peer was fighting back.

  A SOLID ROCKET PROPELLANT booster accelerated the speed of the missile to Mach 0.9 in a few seconds. Its booster burned out, the missile's turbo jet engine started. Controlled by the radio altimeter and inertial autopilot system, the missile flew at a cruising speed of Mach 0.9, the altitude reduced to 10–20 metres.

  As it entered the terminal phase of flight, the missile switched on its terminal guidance radar to search for the target. Within a couple of miles of the target, the missile dropped to 17 feet above sea level. The ship’s electronic countermeasures forced the missile upwards; the missile countered this and dropped again. The countermeasures forced it up again and an undulating flight path resulted as the two sides fought an electronic duel. The missile tried to manoeuvre sideways to make it a more difficult target for shipborne air defense systems. Countermeasures fought to stop this. When approaching the target, the missile would try to dive to hit the waterline of the ship to inflict maximum damage.