by David Poyer
They wanted him at 0830. He’d had time to shave and eat, and even felt fairly rested. He’d washed and dried a set of khakis at the Q before he went to bed, and though they felt loose—he must have lost a few pounds, on Mindanao and at sea—he looked okay in the mirror.
McDonnell had docked back in Singapore the night after the raid on Fengshun No. 5. Without the Sayyaf’s boat. Oberg had blown its bottom out as soon as they were aboard the T-AGS, so it and their tawdry loot rested two thousand fathoms down in the China Sea. The team had broken up there, some flying west, others east, each on a different itinerary and airline. His tickets had taken him to Guam on a Continental Micronesia twin-engine Fokker, where he picked up a Navy C-9 to San Diego, and actually managed a nap in the air, something he’d almost never been able to do before.
Which was strange, because somewhere in those burning days down the Borneo coast he’d begun to nurse a gnawing anger, and a savage determination. He’d led twice, and failed twice. But neither time had he made the plans. This time, he was going to make the decisions. Or throw the whole mess back in Mullaly’s lap, and tell him to get another boy.
The first thing he’d done at the BOQ last night was call Blair. She wasn’t in the office, but he gave her the number at the quarters, figuring that’s where he’d be that evening, unless they sent him home direct from the conference. Then he called the marina. The manager, a retired Marine, said yeah, his boat was fine, he looked her over on his walkdown every day and snubbed up her lines if she needed it. When would he be back to take her out? Dan said he didn’t know; soon, he hoped.
The conference room was on the second floor. As they climbed the stairs he reflected how much time the Navy spent in conferences. Or maybe it was just that as you got more senior, you spent less time carrying out orders, and more time figuring out what those orders ought to be. Things certainly didn’t seem as clear-cut as they once had. He felt like he’d been groping in the fog ever since the start of this whole Shkval tasking.
A once-seen face glanced up as he came in. Calvin Carroll Hines, the intel officer from SURFLANT. Hines nodded, but didn’t offer to shake hands. Behind him and already seated around the usual table were Ted Mullaly, Dr. Pirrell—the young scientist from NUWC—and an older man with close-cut gray hair in a civilian suit. Dan knew him from somewhere but couldn’t place him. His CO said, “Dan. Good to see you. Nice tan! Coffee?”
“Thanks, sir, pass for now.”
His gaze fell to the bandage. “Problem with the hand?”
“Just coral cuts, sir. They cleaned them out, nothing serious.”
“I think you know Captain Hines and Dr. Pirrell.”
“Yes, sir. Captain Hines. Doctor.”
“This is Rear Admiral Levering Spangler. Admiral Spangler is Force Defense at AIRLANT.”
The name supplied the connection. Dan shook hands. “Good to meet you, sir. I heard you speak at the Surface Navy Association symposium in Crystal City. Last July, I think. You spoke on how the shift to the littorals would affect strike warfare.”
“Actually those remarks were written for me by a very bright young woman who knows you. Claudia Hotchkiss. Served under you, I believe.”
“Uh, yessir. She was my XO aboard Horn. How’s she doing?”
“I believe she has a future. And she speaks highly of you.”
He couldn’t help remembering a different Claudia Hotchkiss than the one Spangler obviously had in mind. A night in his stateroom, in the Med, when the distinctions and demands of rank and duty had fallen away, and the creak and sway of a destroyer in a seaway had covered any noise they might have cared to make. He’d never told anyone about that night. He’d resolved firmly that for her sake as well as for his, he never would. “Glad to hear that, sir. She’s the real deal, Claudia is.”
Mullaly cleared his throat. Dan looked for a chair and found he was at the foot of the table, with them all looking down at him. “All right, let’s start . . . we’d do this by message, or e-mail, but Admiral Olivero wants as thin a paper trail as possible. Everyone’s heard the news from the Gulf. Right?”
“News?” Dan said.
They looked at him. “Iran’s closed the Strait,” Hines said. “I guess you have been out of touch.”
Dan swallowed and sat back. He hadn’t stopped for a paper that morning, nor had he seen a television for days. He tried to get his head around it as his skipper went on.
“That’s why Admiral Spangler’s with us.” Spangler leaned back, not responding; Mullaly went on. “Iran continues to build up surface and air forces opposite Hormuz. So everyone’s concerned about the security of the carriers should we have to surge. Dan, I don’t want you to feel this is aimed at you, or that you’re on the hot seat. But the issue’s getting notice. Admiral O thought we had this situation in hand. He doesn’t like having to tell the Chiefs we wasted two months we didn’t have.”
Great, Dan thought. He’d been around long enough to know that when they started by saying you weren’t on the button, you were really on the button. He tried to look as if he cared. “Well, sir . . . I understand this is a priority. But we made two attempts to get our hands on the weapon. The first, the Russians didn’t cooperate. The second, we were not well served by our intel. The team gained the objective, the receiving ship was standing by, but the target wasn’t aboard. According to the ship’s captain, it was removed just before sailing. Almost two weeks before our raid.”
The intel officer said, “Was it necessary to kill him?”
That stopped him. “Sir?”
“It’s a simple question, Commander. The captain. Was it necessary to kill him?”
“I understand the question, sir, but he was in good shape when we left. Zip-tied. Scared. But not dead.”
“He was when Fengshun docked. Maybe you’d better read this.”
Dan looked at the fax. It was from the Asian Shipping News Web site.
PIRATES STRIKE AGAIN IN SOUTH CHINA SEA
SINGAPORE-An increase in pirate attacks is undermining commercial confidence in security in the Malacca Strait area.
After the formation of the Territorial Neighbor Task Force several years ago, marking the beginning of security coordination between the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia, and Singapore, attacks fell markedly. But recent occurrences have reversed that trend, raising insurance rates and shaking the confidence of shippers.
“Our attempts to keep the area east of the Malacca Strait safe for commercial traffic continue and will be increased. We are implementing aggressive patrolling, but the problem is Malaysia’s refusal to cooperate in providing refueling facilities and basing rights for aerial patrols,” said Waluyo Suriadiredja, who retired last year as commander of the Indonesian Navy’s Antipirate Task Force.
The most recent attack saw an estimated twenty pirates hijack the 900-TEU containership Fengshun No. 5, owned by the China Foreign Transport Company. CFTC sources announced that the intruders, armed with automatic weapons and rocket-propelled grenades, boarded from small boats, robbed the crew, and blew open safes. They destroyed radios and navigational equipment, headed the ship for a nearby shoal, and restrained the crew so tightly the captain died of a heart attack.
Dr. Soong Mei Guo of the International Maritime Bureau commented that if pirate and terrorist activity rebounds it may be necessary to place armed escorts aboard ships transiting the Straits. “Authorities must take this renewal of lawless activity seriously,” she stated. “If they do not, it is an open invitation for neighboring powers to send warships to assume security responsibilities. This would cast doubt on contiguous states’ ability to protect those fishing and mineral resources they claim in the neighboring seas.”
Chinese authorities declined to comment on plans to react to the attack with deployments of the increasingly assertive Chinese Navy, but did not rule it out. “Ideally those countries bordering the strait will provide the needed security forces,” a spokesman said. “The question of sending the Peoples’ Army Navy to a
ssist in maintaining order is, however, under review.”
But clearly China and Japan, the two countries most dependent on the Strait for trade and energy requirements, are watching developments very closely.
“Comments?” murmured Mullaly. “On the record, or off?”
“On or off the record, sir, same thing: when we left, he was alive. I’ll give you my word on that. Heart attack? This is the first I’ve heard of it, but it’s probably exactly what happened.”
They exchanged looks. “Good enough,” Hines said at last.
Dan didn’t catch the handoff, but Mullaly took the chair back. “Dan, this was your first operational mission in charge of Team C. Here’s what concerns me. Captain Hines assures me his intel was solid about the location of the container and it being aboard. And in fact, it’s on the manifest.”
“Yessir. It was on the captain’s copy, too.”
“Go on.”
“The captain said—my Italian’s not that great—but I’m pretty sure he said it was taken off the day before they sailed.” Dan took a sealed envelope from inside his cap and floated it down the table. “I typed up my after-action report aboard McDonnell. Yessir, I know. I did it on an old Selectric, so there’s nothing left on any hard drives.”
Mullaly looked at Hines. Hines shook his head slightly. Mullaly tucked it into his shirt. “Then my question is: Could there have been a leak from within the team, or within TAG? Think about that before you answer.”
Dan gave it a couple of seconds while they waited and the coffee warmer snorted in the corner. A jet passed over the building, turbines whining, coming in low. They hadn’t taken Im along, so the North Korean wasn’t an issue. Carpenter had his flaws, but he didn’t seem like a leaker. Donnie? No. Monty? Again no.
That left the SEALs, and about them he had to admit he knew less than he liked. Where, for instance, had Oberg come up with the rifles? He’d been evasive when Dan had asked him. Was it possible Oberg had passed info on the mission to the Agency, in return for the guns?
Motive? The impression he was getting so far in this whole operation was that it was bypassing the CIA. Which might not like being cut out. Would they go so far as to sabotage a DIA/Navy operation, to defend their turf?
It was all speculative and he was taking too long answering. “Uh, sir, I don’t have anything to suggest. As far as any possible leak. Our comms were secure. We took all the usual security precautions.”
Hines said, “There’s one outside agency that might have an interest in frustrating our efforts.”
“Sir?”
“The DCI.”
Dan looked from one face to the next. He’d expected Hines to say the CIA. But apparently they all understood the acronym. “What’s that, sir? I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“The Defense Council, International—the French national corporation for arms sales.”
“Oh.” The light went on. The outfit Christophe de Lestapis de Cary had said he worked for.
Hines said, blinking at the ceiling, “The information we have is that the DCI’s preparing to market a Gallic version of the Shkval. To follow up on their success exporting Exocet, I assume.”
“Uh-huh,” said Dan. “But why would that make them pass information to the other side—I guess in this case, either the Russians or the Chinese?”
“We’re just exploring possibilities,” Mullaly said. “But I guess the idea would be, if the U.S. doesn’t have a countermeasure, it’d make this new French weapon that much more attractive to third-world buyers.”
Dan thought this was scant evidence on which to accuse an ally, and de Cary hadn’t seemed like a back-stabber. They might not have gotten Byrne out of Moscow without his help. The French didn’t always see eye to eye with the U.S., and they seemed abnormally concerned with demonstrating it, but that didn’t make them an adversary. “That seems far-fetched, sir. They operate carriers, they need a countermeasure, too. De Cary seemed eager to help in Moscow.”
“Well,” said Hines, “That’s all over the dam. Maybe the Chinese just changed their mind and decided to ship it by air, and we’re obsessing over a nonproblem. The upshot is, what you tried didn’t work. But the tasking’s getting more urgent every day. Ted?”
Mullaly turned from the urn with coffee. He added creamer and swirled it. “TAG’s not a well funded entity,” he said mildly.
“You need more, we can sweeten the pot. But we already funded two tries and they didn’t work.”
“Blood in the scuppers?” Mullaly said mildly. Which was Navy for, Will heads roll?
“Higher wants the Shkval,” Hines said.
“Dan, what are your thoughts?” his CO asked him. “What I’m hearing is, TAG’s in the toilet, we failed to deliver. How do we get out?”
Dan sat so enraged he didn’t dare separate his teeth. Team Charlie had failed? They’d done all they could. Taken too many risks, without any backup. They were in the toilet? And it was up to him to get them out? Fuck this.
He was about to say so when Spangler cleared his throat. The deputy pushed back his chair and rose. The others scrambled to their feet. “Thanks for the briefing, Carrol. Very interesting, but I’ve got to make a flight.” He nodded to the rest of them. “Gentlemen.”
They stood till the door closed. Dan sat slowly; Mullaly went to the sideboard and refilled; Hines leaned against the table, chewing his thumbnail. “Dr. Pirrell?” Hines said at last, to the civilian scientist, who up to now had said absolutely nothing.
Pirrell took a breath and sat up. “We’ve done some of the spadework at NUWC. After Commander Lenson met with us. OPNAV got the funding from CNO. PMS-415’s asked us to do an initial countermeasure analysis.”
“How significant’s the funding level?” said Hines.
“Half a million for initial analysis, and we can go back when we need more.”
“So, have you come up with anything?” Dan asked him.
“Dr. Chone and I envision a three-track approach. The first is to reverse engineer what you may recall his calling the simplistic solution—tuning passive transducers to low frequency noise in the water, primarily the 20–100 Hertz range where the main output from a carrier’s screws falls. We did a couple of simulations. Remember we said the transducers would have to be either on canards or on some sort of deployable boom? To keep them out of the turbulent flow?”
“I think so.”
“Well, now we’re looking at putting them up front, on the cavitator. The flow always stays laminar there.”
“You said, three tracks,” Hines put in.
“The second track’s the countermeasure. Which should be the same, we think, at least so far, no matter what the K’s guidance system is. Our alternatives are hard kill, or a seduction system—a soft kill.”
“Like a decoy?” said Mullaly.
“A decoy’s a seduction system, yes. The downside to soft kills are that they don’t work if the incoming weapon’s unguided. The hard kill system nails the threat either way, so that might be the best bet. Now, bear in mind two facts: first, we have less than thirty seconds to react after launch. Second, hydroreactive vehicles are very susceptible to puncture damage. Anything that perforates its skin will stop it, from a propulsive standpoint, and probably in a very spectacular way.”
“That’s going to take time. To field, I mean.”
“Well, sir, we’re not starting from white paper. ONR and Grumman have a program to fire SCPs, supercavitating projectiles, from a helicopter, to destroy mines. We’re looking at how to adapt those SCPs to the carrier’s Phalanx self-defense suite. And there’s a joint U.S./UK program, the Multi-Sensor Torpedo Recognition Acoustic Integrated System, that we’ve been evaluating in the Weapons Analysis Facility. So we’ve already got some of the building blocks.
“Our plan is to simulate our guided Shkval in the WAF. Then use the MSTRAIS to model the underwater fire-control system. The AN/SLQ-25 has a torpedo alertment capability we can add another acoustic processor to. We’ll put
the algorithms together and crank it through the mainframe and see how much of a P-sub-K comes out and whether there’s any way we can bump up our localization. Lab-test it—we need in-water data to validate the simulation. Then proceed to a test-analyze-fix of the integrated system on a carrier.”
He smiled as if apologizing for the blizzard of technical language. “If the concept’s valid, we could have an interim capability out there in six months at around fifteen million dollars. Those are tight constraints, but technically it’s medium risk. We’d only need to hand-build two systems; each carrier could turn them over to its relief as they outchopped—”
Mullaly said, “Do you still need the weapon itself, then? Are we trying to accomplish a tasking we don’t need to anymore?”
“No, sir. I mean, yes, unfortunately, we do.” Pirrell eyed Dan with regret. “We need at least a gross idea of the guidance system’s sensor and maneuver envelope to design the predictive portion of the fire-control software. The more data we have, the more accurate our predictions will be. Right now our first run-through on the back of the envelope’s telling us we can’t pump out enough projectiles to guarantee a kill. So—I’m sorry, but the answer’s yes.”
“Thanks, Doctor.” Mullaly checked his watch. “Okay, we should be getting sandwiches pretty soon. I figured we might as well eat here, get through everything so we can agree on what has to be done next. Because based on what I’m hearing, they still want us to proceed with the tasking.”
Hines heaved himself up. “Smoke break for me.”
“You can excuse me, too,” said Pirrell.
When he and Mullaly were alone Dan cleared his throat. “I thought about this on the plane back, Captain. I have a proposal, but I’m not sure I should present it.”
“Why not?”
“I’m sure Dr. Pirrell’s cleared all the way up to Compartmented Ridiculous—”
“But he doesn’t need to know this? All right. I’ll tell him we’re done with the technical side, he’s free to go.”
Dan got coffee. He looked out the window, down at the mud flats near ACU 5. Then at his hand. He tried to make it stop shaking. That wouldn’t make a good impression, if anyone noticed it. But he was only partially successful.
