Operation Malacca

by Joe Poyer

  The cook nodded ponderously, then his face exploded into a deep grin that drew his mouth up and his eyebrows down until his face almost completed a full circle.

  Ònnytime yer aboard, Dockter.' Still grinning, he went back to the galley where muffled Celtic cursing erupted.

  Keilty sat musing over the rest of the tea until a rating brought him a second round of breakfast. Halfway through, he saw Weston stumble through the hatchway and peer around. Keilty waved him over to his table and he collapsed onto the bench with a groan and made a sincere attempt to prop his eyelids open with his fingers. The rating came back.

  `Your order, sir?'

  Jack groaned again and buried his head in his arms.

  'Low blood sugar,' Keilty explained. 'Bring him the same thing, and coffee — black —right away.'

  When he was gone, Jack looked up slowly without lifting his head.

  Ì'll be damned,' Keilty said. 'How you ever lasted as long as you did in the Coast Guard is a mystery to me. I've never seen anybody so slow to wake up in the morning.'

  Àw shut up.

  Keilty chuckled. 'Waking up is a slow process, but relentless, nevertheless. At least now you are able to put some feeling into it. Five minutes ago, you couldn't have done that.'

  `Five minutes ago, I was still sleeping.'

  `So, what woke you up? I figured you were good for another hour or two yet.'

  Weston groaned. 'Fell out. This damn boat's jumping around like a cork. Sunny tropics.'

  The rest of the dissertation was delivered in expletives, some of which Keilty had not heard before.

  Àlways did admire a man with a good grasp of profanity. Now drink your coffee so I can talk to you.

  Weston took the cup from the rating and sipped cautiously, then drained the cup. He caught the steward as he passed the table and made him leave a pot.

  `Good. Now at least, your eyes are open. After you flaked

  out on us yesterday . . .' He held up a restraining hand. '...we got a briefing from Intelligence. And it ain't so good, as the man said.'

  `So let's have it — in ten words or less.

  `Briefly, signs of activity have increased along the Red Chinese border in the Kazakhstan-Singkiang area or on the Manchurian border. Kind of looks like we may have joggled the Russians' elbow with that business the other night and they decided to move faster. Also, there are indications that elements of the Vietnamese navy may be assembling off Java Head. There were several incidents along the Cambodian border last night as well. Also, signs of other activity along the Mekong. So what it boils down to is that we've been requested . ..' he emphasized the word sarcastically ... `to move and move fast.'

  `When?' Weston was thoroughly awake now.

  `This afternoon. We go on a scouting mission. Tomorrow morning, early, we hit them.'

  Weston sat up a little straighter. 'What the hell do they mean by "signs of activity have increased"?'

  Keilty shrugged. 'Probably the same old routine. One of the surveillance satellites probably picked up some coolie lighting a cigarette on his way home last night and it sent everybody into a tizzy.'

  Weston snorted and shoveled his mouth full.

  `But,' Keilty continued, 'it's probably a good idea to move fast; just in case there are any leaks.'

  `Yeah,' Weston mumbled. 'Damn, it's too early in the morning for me to think deep thoughts. When did you say we go get the sub?'

  `Tomorrow morning.'

  `Tomorrow morning( Ye gods, you don't even give me time to work the kinks out.

  `Kinks, what for?'

  Weston sat back, surprise on his face. 'What for? You think I'm gonna let you go charging off with that crazy fish — both of you alone? If you do, you're nuts.

  `Wait, boy, back off a minute. What are you talking about?' Keilty's puzzlement wasn't as deep as he made out, but he did not like what Jack was leading up to. 'You weren't thinking you were going along, were you?'

  `You're darn right. You're not thinking I was going to let you two go off alone, were you?' he countered. 'Come on, admit it, I'm twice the diver you'll ever be. You go after that sub, you'll never come back. And you'll get Charlie killed in the process.'

  Keilty shook his head, then faced Weston. 'Let's get one thing straight, friend. I'm going, and that's that. So how you gonna stop me, break my arm?'

  A light gleamed deep in Weston's eyes. 'I hadn't considered that, but it's not a bad idea.'

  He started to rise.

  Keilty looked at his face and saw that he was dead serious. `Hey now, wait a minute.

  They hired me. And they paid me. Not you.'

  `The only indispensable man on this team is Charlie. Not you,' Weston answered angrily.

  'You're a good diver all right, but not that good. Look, from what Charlie says, that sub is resting in close to eleven hundred feet of water. Even with the "lung" you couldn't take that depth. Not for ten minutes anyway. For God's sake, Charlie's limit is only twenty minutes at eight hundred feet, and he's built for that kind of work, at least more so than you.'

  'And you! '

  Òkay, so I haven't been to a thousand feet with a "lung" either, but the fact still stands, neither have you.'

  `Damn it, you aren't going,' Keilty said stubbornly. 'It's too dangerous.'

  `Yeah, suicide. And you're walking right into it. With three, the chances are a hundred per cent better.'

  The two men faced each other across the table, their expressions set in anger at the other's stubbornness.

  make it.'

  `Like hell you will.' Weston slammed the mug down and attacked the eggs furiously.

  After several minutes, Keilty muttered.

  `What?'

  'I said,' he shouted, 'do you want to come along and hold my hand?'

  Jack's head shot up. 'Yeah,' he shouted back around a mouthful.

  The men looked at each other and burst into laughter.

  `You . . . you ...' Keilty choked, 'that's what you wanted all along, you bastard. Ever since you stepped on that plane. That's why you resigned.

  Weston laughed harder than ever.

  'Now what?' Keilty chortled.

  'I never eat breakfast.' Weston collapsed, holding his sides, and roared.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The monsoon, previewed by several weeks of light squalls mixed with humid and oppressive moments of quietude, finally blazed out of the stewpot of the southwest Pacific, lashing the coasts of Australia before sweeping northwesterly across the fabled seas of the Orient. H.M.A.S. Vigilant, caught in the northern reaches of the Java Sea, buried her bows in the smoking waves and dug in. Her roll became more pronounced as she struck out crosswise under full power into the towering seas. Wave crests topped twenty-five feet as she plowed towards the Riouw Archipelago, less than four hours away.

  The meteorologist clambered forward, hanging onto the hastily rigged emergency lines, the waterproof packet containing the latest meteorological reports jammed into his blouse beneath a streaming slicker. He stomped into the warm, dimly lit wheelhouse and formed a puddle on the floor while he struggled out of the slicker.

  The captain waved him over to where he was standing in front of the revolving screen and read the report, while the met. officer sipped a mug of hot tea. Outside, the sun was a brighter spot in the leaden gray sky, all but obscured by the driving rain and the waves, which were often higher than the mast when she bellied into a trough. Wisps of foam streamed forward ahead of the advancing waves, driven by the stiffening wind.

  Curiously enough, the sky was grayish but the seas were coppery, shading to pale gold near the crests.

  The barometer had been falling steadily since the evening before, while the wind increased in fitful gusts.

  'Force five?' the captain asked.

  'Yessir, but both wind and rain could stop for a short while this afternoon . . . about fourteen hundred hours, I should think.'

  He paused to study the report once more.

  'Captain's co
mpliments to the admiral, and will he see me immediately?'

  As a rating left to deliver the message, the captain turned back to the met. officer. 'Thank you, Lieutenant Higgins. Please keep me informed of any changes.'

  Five minutes later, he was having coffee with Admiral Collins and explaining the worsening weather.

  `So there is no hope that the gale will lighten enough tomorrow to get them in?'

  `No, sir. The seas are much too high. The met. reports indicate that wind and rain may lessen enough to launch a helicopter by midafternoon.

  The admiral sipped at his coffee thoughtfully. 'Perhaps we should get Dr. Keilty up here and find out what his plans are.'

  Keilty rapped quickly on the hatch and pushed in. 'Good morning, Admiral, Captain.'

  Both men replied, and the admiral offered him coffee and a chair. 'Our latest met. reports indicate worsening wave conditions through this evening with a full gale for the next two days, as you may have guessed. However, the wind and rain both are due to slack off about noon for a few hours, hopefully enough to launch a helicopter.'

  Àh ... we had planned on making this afternoon's run a scouting mission, more of a shakedown cruise than anything else. But we could get along without it and go on schedule tomorrow morning.' Keilty sipped at the hot coffee.

  The admiral looked uncomfortable. Before he could reply, a striker stuck his head into the cabin and announced Admiral Rawingson.

  He strode briskly into the cabin, his face set and grim. 'Gentlemen, we must move now, immediately,' he began without preliminaries. 'I've just received this message from Washington.' He waved a yellow flimsy. 'The Vietnamese and Cambodian armies have moved hard against the Malaysian border. They think it's not a diversion but the beginning of the real thing. Russian maneuvers are picking up again on the Manchurian border, probably as a warning to the Chinese to mind their own business. NORAD also reports Soviet Mr and Rocket Forces on first stage yellow alert.'

  Keilty slammed his fist down onto the chair arm. 'What about the sub?'

  `We don't know yet. But you can bet it won't stay idle long.' Àdmiral,' Keilty turned to both Australian officers, 'how close can we get to the sub before it spots us?'

  They exchanged glances. 'About thirty miles, I would think,' Captain Whittlson replied slowly.

  `How long before we get to within thirty miles?'

  `Three hours and forty minutes at flank speed.

  Òkay, it's nearly ten o'clock now. By one-forty we should be on station. What does your weather report say about winds in that area?'

  'Winds should be twenty-five knots, but still raining.' Àll right. Have you got a good helicopter pilot?'

  'Hey wait,' Rawingson exploded, 'you can't get a helicopter off this ship in twenty-foot waves and twenty-five knots of wind.'

  Want to bet? Look, I'm not going to stand here arguing. Thirty miles is too far to swim. A helicopter can put us down almost directly over the sub — if it's still there. But if you fiddle around waiting for good weather, you could be here a week and the sub won't. It couldn't care less what the surface conditions are. If your intelligence reports are right, that sub has four nuclear guided missiles. It might not even have to surface to fire them.

  If the Reds moved this morning, three days ahead of schedule, they suspect the Allies are on to them and they want the first jump. And you had better start praying that the sub is still there, 'cause if it isn't, you won't find it again until it's too late. And they won't be gentlemen about it either and just try and blow up the strait. There are at least six capitals within a two-thousand-mile striking range. Lose them, plus Singapore and the straits fleet, and you've lost the war.'

  Keilty jammed a cigarette in his mouth and continued pacing.

  Rawingson said, 'I'm afraid he's right again, gentlemen: The fact that we've heard nothing from the Vietnamese and have no information that shows military moves beyond assembly points makes me think that they know what's coming. Their main interest is Singapore. They failed the first time and now they have an enlarged Allied fleet, three times as powerful, to contend with. If Singapore is destroyed, they lose their reason for war. I think at this point they will wait until they see how successful the Soviets are before they commit themselves. Right now the Chinese may be in deep trouble. We have word from Peking and have a tentative approach for Allied operations.' He paused and looked at the three men.

  Ìt's beginning to look as if we can catch the Vietnamese in the pincers, instead of the other way around. They know, but don't know that we know — I hope — that everything will hinge on that sub'

  'You're damn right it will,' Keilty yelled, 'so instead of acting like a debating society, let's get cracking.' He went out the hatch, earlier misgivings forgotten, while the captain was calling the bridge to order flank speed.

  Below in the medical quarters, he described the new turn of events to Jack and Charlie.

  Weston immediately began checking equipment, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

  Charlie, on the other hand, sank back into the tank until only his chin was resting on the padded edge.

  Keilty noticed the troubled expression and planted himself in front of the dolphin.

  `So now what's eating you? I thought you said a couple of days ago you wanted to see some action to relieve your boredom.'

  'True, I did say that,' Charlie said slowly into the microphone. He had been thinking that now he was about to commit himself to a course of action that he had hoped to avoid.

  But Keilty was his friend and he had promised. Human affairs were about to become his affairs for good.

  `This is no time for philosophy,' he muttered. Then louder, Ì suppose I have to wear that damned pack again.'

  Keilty, taken aback, laughed. 'Yes, you do, but Jack's brought a wet suit for you, so it shouldn't chafe your tender side.'

  Charlie muttered a heartfelt 'Good, '

  The three donned special plastic suits supplied with pure oxygen to purge nitrogen and other gases from their system that could embolize on the fast ascent. They spent the next two hours checking out the equipment, with special attention to the two communication devices. The first was an emergency communicator, looking quite a bit like a Very pistol, but instead of a flare, the gun was designed to launch from underwater a rocket which contained a high-speed tape recorder in its nose. The rocket was propelled by compressed air to the surface, where a solid fuel charge ignited and carried the recorder to two thousand feet. At the high point of its trajectory, the recorder was triggered and it transmitted forty seconds of taped information in one millisecond for a radius of sixty miles. An omnidirectional antenna was built into the casing of the rocket.

  The second communication device was for continual transmission. They were sure that the submarine crew would be jumpy enough continuously to monitor for stray radio signals,

  yet the command ship had to have some means of keeping a directional beam on the three of them. They were, in effect, a dead man's switch; as long as they transmitted every twenty seconds, the ship would know they were still functioning. If the signal ceased, then the cruiser would have to move in with depth charges and subrocs in the hope that they would still have time to find and destroy the sub.

  For their device, they had turned to the Australian Navy Research Branch, which had come up with a simple battery-driven clicker. The frequency and amplitude of the clicks it produced were the same as those made by mollusks, which abounded in the area. When one mollusk clicked, it acted as an exciting signal and every other mollusk within hearing distance

  also clicked once.

  On the completion of the mission and when the three had surfaced, a specially designed sonarbuoy attached to jack's harness would be released. It would sink to the fifty-foot level and begin transmitting a sonar signal audible for better than fifty nautical miles. Its batteries would last fourteen hours. With the Very pistol, the sonarbuoy, and the Vigilant'

  s own radar and sonar, they should be easily picked up. />
  As Keilty, Weston, and Charlie moved in towards the sub, the clicker mounted on Charlie's back pack would click every twenty seconds, and the mollusks would also click. The clicker was mounted on Charlie's pack and keyed to his breathing. If he stopped breathing, the ship would be warned. A simple enough device, but never actually tested in the open sea. All they could do was hope. They had chosen Charlie to carry the device because he was the most important member of the three-man team. In addition, each would carry two specially designed bombs, weighing ten pounds apiece.

  Weston picked one up and fingered the deflated air cell attached to the handle. 'Who thought this little beauty up?'

  'They tell me that's another new piece of equipment their special branch came up with. It has a shaped charge of amatol that can punch an armor-piercing cartridge through a foot of high-carbon steel. There is also a second, slower explosive which will set up oscillation waves along the hull. The six bombs will set up interfering waves and literally shake the sub to pieces. There's a one-hundred-and-twenty-second timer on each bomb.

  A couple of these should be enough to breach the sub's hull. Water pressure will do the rest. At least that's the theory,' Keilty grinned.

  'I suppose it's never been tested either.'

  `Nope:

  They spent the rest of the hour checking and stowing the last pieces of gear. Then Keilty left Weston to supervise the crew rigging Charlie's tank for the helicopter, while he went forward to the bridge for a last briefing. He found Rawingson, Admiral Collins, and the captain waiting for him at the chart table with the pilot of the helicopter. He was introduced to Lieutenant Atkins, a gangling, yet sturdy Queenslander with a thatch of carefully combed blond hair.

  `So how's the weather look?' Keilty asked, peering at the driving rain through the revolving screen. The waves seemed to have moderated slightly and were no longer making the Vigilant heel sharply as they broke over the bow.

  `The wind is dying and the end of the rain squall is in sight,' Rawingson said with worry overlaying the tones of confidence in his voice. 'Lieutenant Atkins thinks he should have no real trouble.'