Flash Point

by Kenneth Andrus

  “But didn’t the PLA turn the balance of power in the South China Sea by seizing Mischief Reef?”

  “Indeed, they did. With that in mind, the Chinese will find a way to evict the Filipinos from Commodore Reef. The PLA will have then established a flanking position extending south along their self-proclaimed territorial line from First Thomas Shoal and Mischief Reef.”

  “They could sweep up our small outposts.”

  Nguyen made his decision. “We will do exactly that.”

  “Sir?”

  “We are going to use the Filipinos and Chinese to bait our trap.”

  “How?”

  “Patience, Lieutenant. You will soon see how to apply the tenets of asymmetric warfare and turn America’s interests in the region to our advantage. That is, if the Ministry is clever and acts on the advantage I am about to give them.”

  “We are going to bait a trap?”

  “Precisely. Now, see to your duties.”

  Nguyen scanned the open water beyond the harbor. At this hour, Ladd Reef would just be visible. A wisp of color caught his attention. He concentrated on the spot. A thatched hut stood in the middle of the lagoon perched on a cluster of spindly bamboo poles.

  He pulled his binoculars from their bulkhead rack and lifted them to his eyes. A slender staff planted in front of the shelter came into focus. He followed its course upward.

  His country’s flag still flew. Tattered and bleached a pale red by the sun, it was a testament to the determination of his countrymen to stand defiant before any adversary.

  The voices began to call. “Avenge us. AVENGE US. Do not forsake our sacrifice.”

  Louder now, they imposed their will: “Avenge us, AVENGE US.”

  Nguyen broke into a cold sweat. He tried to suppress the horrors of that night so many years ago, but they were seared into his mind. The smells of charred flesh. The mutilated bodies. Helplessness, rage, the guilt of surviving when so many others had lost their lives. They all haunted him.

  * * *

  PIGEON REEF

  The HQ371’s launch cleared the channel leading from Pigeon Reef’s sheltered lagoon, encountering the first breaker rolling over the barrier reef. The small vessel slammed into a second. They plowed through the wave-top, a shower of seawater drenching its occupants.

  Nguyen was far from annoyed. He welcomed the deluge.

  His visit with the officials of the small research station had gone well enough, but the discussions left him with a lingering sense of frustration. He had tried in vain to turn the topic of conversation from a discussion of the intricacies of fisheries research in the South China Sea.

  “Have you had any contact with the Chinese or Filipinos from Commodore Reef? While you were surveying and setting out your nets and buoys, did you see any PLAN or Philippine naval vessels?”

  Despite his prodding, the officials hadn’t been able to provide any useful intelligence to supplement what he had seen.

  Nguyen pulled off his sunglasses and wiped off the salt spotting the lenses. He balanced them on his thigh and rubbed his temples to massage away the throbbing headache he’d been contending with for most of the day.

  Any further concern about his headache vanished when the launch rammed into another breaker. The impact forced the boat’s bow skyward, its momentum carrying it up the face of the wave. The launch paused at the wave’s apex, then pitched downward.

  At the bottom of the trough, it buried its bow into the base of another oncoming wave sending a torrent of water cascading into the boat. The water disappeared through the deck gratings, sloshing angrily around in the bilge. Jarred off course by the collision, the launch was struck a quartering blow by the next breaker, almost broaching.

  The blow flung Nguyen off his seat. He grabbed the gunnel to break his fall. “Mind your helm. Bring her straight into the breakers. If you present our quarter, we’ll swamp.”

  He twisted in his seat to look at the retreating island. The vista was in stark contrast to what he had seen earlier in the day at Commodore Reef.

  Commodore Reef held no resemblance to a quiet backwater research station. It was being transformed into another Chinese bastion. Through his binoculars, he’d seen two oceangoing barges, both flying the Chinese flag. The largest, with a huge earth-moving scoop, was dredging the lagoon. The second, rigged with a pile driver, was pounding in the foundation supports for what was going to be a very substantial building. Nguyen counted numerous PLA engineers, but no Filipinos.

  “Captain?” The Petty Officer held out the headset for ship-to-ship radio. “Excuse me, sir. Lieutenant Tien requests to speak with you. He says it’s most urgent.”

  “Nguyen.”

  “Captain, the watch has heard explosions.”

  “What? Where?”

  “They are infrequent and appear to be coming from the east.”

  “It appears we have our illegal fishermen. They’re using dynamite. Are you ready to get underway?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve shortened the anchor.”

  “Do we still have that Chinese ensign?”

  “I’ll have to dig for it, sir.”

  “When you find it, hoist it at the peak.”

  “Sir?”

  “The Filipinos will see the Chinese flag and report this to the authorities at the AFP’s Western Military Command Center.”

  The pitch of the launch’s engine changed. They were slowing to approach the stern of the patrol boat. The coxswain reversed his engine and eased the boat up against the hull of the larger vessel.

  Nguyen didn’t wait for the launch to come to a full stop. He leapt for the chain ladder and was pulled aboard by Tien.

  “Has there been any status change of the contact, XO?”

  “The explosions have stopped, sir.”

  “They’re probably scooping up their haul. There is no art in the way they fish.”

  Nguyen looked at the masthead. The Chinese ensign fluttered in the breeze. “Good, you located the flag.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What’s the distance and bearing?”

  “Three kilometers. One hundred degrees true.”

  “Find Petty Officer Phuong and have him report to me. Then I want you to make stencils to change our hull numbers to match one of the PLAN’s Houjian class patrol boats. And, XO?”

  “Sir?”

  “You’re going to have a chance to practice your Tagalog. You will command the boarding party.”

  * * *

  THE FISHING BOAT

  DILIHA V.

  Intent on sorting through the stunned mass of fish piled on the stained deck of their trawler, they had not seen the boat approach. The first indication of trouble for the fishermen of the DILIHA V. was a foreign voice hailing from across the water. They jerked their heads around searching for the source of the sound.

  “There!” yelled the first man to see the unknown vessel. “Over there.”

  The others looked to the area indicated by their mate. A patrol boat raced toward them, white water foaming at its bow.

  “What do they want?” the Captain worried to no one in particular. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  Any question the seamen had about the intent of the intruders vanished when a burst of gunfire erupted from the patrol boat. The 76mm cannon rounds tore a ragged line of waterspouts across their bow. The fishermen stood paralyzed in disbelief. Even though they couldn’t comprehend the dialect, there could be no misunderstanding the message being conveyed. This was dead serious.

  They watched with mounting trepidation as the warship slowed, coming to a stop off their beam. The patrol boat’s forward gun mount remained trained on them while an armed boarding party readied itself.

  The ship’s ensign signaled its identity. Chinese. The captain recovered his wits sufficiently to read the vessel’s hull number below the bridge.

  The fishermen could only stare when the boarding party swarmed onto their deck. They were herded into a tight knot by bayonet-tipped rifles. No
words were needed. The cold look in their captors’ eyes and the rifle barrels leveled at their chests conveyed their intent. “Do not disobey. Follow our orders.”

  Tien stepped forward, certain the cowering crew would not resist. He glared at the dead fish. “Chinese fish. Chinese water. Understand?”

  He spotted a shovel on the deck, picked it up, and thrust it into the nearest Filipino’s hands. “Chinese fish.” He motioned for the man to shovel the mound of dead fish over the side.

  He directed his anger at the captain. The fisherman could not be allowed to alert the Philippine Navy. At least, not yet. Tien knew his captain’s intent––to proceed undetected to the north and deal an equally unpleasant surprise to the Chinese garrison on Sin Cowe Island.

  “Radio?”

  The captain didn’t respond.

  Tien pulled his pistol from its holster and took aim at the man’s head. “Radio.”

  The petrified man shook his head. “No. No radio.”

  “Good. You leave now. Chinese water.”

  “I go.”

  Tien uttered a satisfied grunt. He’d set the stage for the next part of his captain’s plan.

  * * *

  SIN COWE ISLAND

  Nguyen’s approach to Sin Cowe Island was more cautious, the danger in these waters was very real. They closed the island passing the rusting hulk of a Vietnamese Navy transport.

  Nguyen didn’t need to be reminded of the atrocity committed by the Chinese in 1988. They had slaughtered scores of his countrymen in a brief but bloody battle for control of the island.

  “XO, come about and slow to five knots. Bring us to within three-hundred meters of the shore. We’re going to take a closer look.”

  Nguyen scanned the isolated beach, alert for any sign of trouble. Sin Cowe was just one of a scattering of atolls bordering an area called Union Reefs. Over the years, the Chinese had invested a significant amount of effort and money to establish a substantive presence here.

  Johnson Reef, ostensibly a fisheries logistic center, lay a short distance away. In reality, the center linked the PLAN’s command center for the central Spratlys on Fiery Cross Reef and their outpost on Mischief Reef.

  Hanoi insisted it still had a legitimate claim to the area despite its defeat in the earlier battle. The Vietnamese claims were tenuous at best, and they had no structures on any of the other atolls except for an abandoned lighthouse on Sin Cowe Island.

  Nguyen concluded there was no evidence of Chinese troops on the atoll when a movement caught his attention. A man running down the beach?

  Tien interrupted before he could confirm what he’d seen. “Captain, we have a contact bearing 120 degrees true.”

  “Repeat your last.”

  “Sir, we have a bogy making two-hundred and forty knots, altitude one-thousand feet.”

  “Distance?”

  “Fifteen kilometers and closing.”

  “Light it up with the fire control radar. We’ll permit one pass. If they come around for another look, we’ll fire warning shots.”

  The aircraft came into view. Nguyen thought it might miss them altogether, but at the last moment, the plane altered course and flew over their masthead.

  “It’s an OV-10. Harmless.”

  “Perhaps, XO.”

  The OV-10 circled to begin another pass. It descended and began an approach that would take it down their port side.

  The patrol boat’s radar-controlled gun traversed drawing a bead on the aircraft.

  He had a second to react. “Fire.”

  The gun spit out three rounds. Nguyen flinched at the sharp bark of the 76mm cannon even though he was prepared for the blasts.

  The effect on the OV-10’s startled pilot was more pronounced. He banked his aircraft in a steep turn, almost cartwheeling when the plane’s wing clipped the top of a palm tree. The pilot recovered and clawed for altitude. He leveled off and headed south distancing himself from the hostile warship.

  * * *

  This brief engagement also terrified the unsuspecting soldier on the beach. Just moments before he was happily waving to the ship. Then he spotted the plane diving at him and heard cannon fire. He dove for cover, burying his head in the sand in a panicked act of survival. Pieces of palm tree cascaded around him, preventing him from observing any more of the engagement. He could only conclude his island was under attack.

  Nguyen was not the only one tracking the AFP plane. The Chinese on Johnson Reef also monitored the OV-10’s progress.

  The Chinese operator was used to the periodic appearance of the reconnaissance plane and was jotting down a perfunctory note in his logbook.

  There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary until he glanced at his screen. The contact had disappeared from the scope. Puzzled by the anomaly, he adjusted the gain just as the watch officer seated next to him received a distress call.

  “Command, command. I’m under attack.”

  “Attack? Who is this?”

  “Corporal Chen, NCO in Charge, Sin Cowe detachment.”

  Incredulous, the officer replied, “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why would someone want to do that? There’s nothing there.”

  “How should I know? I’m here. Maybe they attack you, too.”

  The watch officer was at a complete loss for a rational explanation. He could only conclude the report was valid. He alerted the garrison’s gun crews and picked up the phone to notify his commander.

  “Colonel, this is the watch officer. We have received a report of gunfire from Sin Cowe. An unidentified aircraft is approaching. I’ve directed the gun crews to target the plane.”

  “Don’t do anything until I get there.”

  “Excuse me, Colonel. We have a visual.”

  “Have you identified the aircraft?”

  “Yes, sir. An OV-10. Probably from the 570th Composite Tactical Fighting Wing.”

  “Are there other contacts? The—”

  A thunderous barrage of 37mm antiaircraft fire terminated the remainder of the commander’s sentence.

  “What are you doing?” the colonel bellowed over the din. “Cease fire. Cease fire.”

  The colonel ran to the control room and burst through the door. “Who gave them permission to fire?”

  “Sir, the corporal believes he may have been mistaken.”

  “Corporal? What corporal?”

  “The NCO in charge on Sin Cowe.”

  The commander shook his head trying to make sense of the chaos. “What does he have to do with this?”

  “He called saying he was under attack.”

  “What exactly did he say?”

  “Sir?”

  The colonel looked at the radar officer. “What is it?”

  “The corporal thinks the patrol boat was firing at the plane.”

  “What did you say? A patrol boat? What patrol boat?”

  “I don’t know, sir.”

  “Well, be sure to thank the corporal for that bit of clarity.”

  “Sir?”

  “What the hell’s going on around here? Get me headquarters on Fiery Cross Reef.”

  * * *

  The pilot of the OV-10 skimmed over the wave-tops flying as fast as he dared. He was not going to stay in the area after receiving hostile fire for the second time in almost as many minutes.

  “Cavite, Cavite. This is Scout Two. We have photographed a warship off Sin Cowe Island flying Chinese colors that matches the fishermen’s description. It appears to be a Houjian class missile corvette, hull number N-603. We have taken hostile fire from the ship and the PLA installation on Johnson Reef.”

  Chapter 25

  COMCPACFLT HEADQUARTERS

  PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII

  07:00 MONDAY 24 MARCH

  “Commander, you’re gonna want to see this.”

  “Damn, Senior, I just walked into the room. How about, ‘Good morning Commander, how was your weekend?’”

  Mackenzie handed over the message fo
lder. “Aye, aye, Commander. Good morning, sir. I hope you had a great weekend. You’re gonna want to see this.”

  “I don’t suppose it can wait until I pour my coffee?”

  “Afraid not, sir.”

  “What do you have that’s so all-fired important?”

  “Things are heating up in the Spratlys.”

  Rohrbaugh took the folder and dropped into his desk chair. It contained the contact report from the AFP’s Western Military District Commander and the intelligence department’s analysis.

  “Appears the Chinese can’t leave well enough alone,” Rohrbaugh commented after reading several paragraphs.

  “Makes you wonder what’s wrong with those guys. They’re sure pretty slow on the uptake. You’d have thought they’d gotten the message.”

  “You’d think.”

  “What bothers me, Skipper, is they keep misjudging. One of these days they’re gonna start something we won’t be able to contain.”

  “Taking a pot shot at an OV-10 isn’t such a big deal. Happens all the time—keeps the AFP from snooping around. What doesn’t square up is the Chinese are raising hell. I would’ve thought they’d simply ignore Manila’s protests or have some low-level functionary issue a denial.”

  “I’m impressed, Skipper. I didn’t know you were becoming a beltway guy.”

  “Hardly, but I am learning to read between the lines.”

  “I’ll bite. What’re they saying?”

  Rohrbaugh laid the report on his desk. “They didn’t do it.”

  “Alright. Then, who did? It’s tough to ignore the photograph of that corvette.”

  “The PLAN denies having a patrol boat in the area.”

  “Easy enough to say, sir, but we know the Chinese track record. They’ll look you right in the face and lie if it suits them. Sounds to me as if they got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.”

  “Mac, let’s think out of the box for a minute. Ever get detention for a fight the other guy started?”

  “Yeah, really pissed me off. Especially when my dad found out and gave me a whipping when I got home.”

  “See where I’m going with this?”

  “You’ve lost me, Skipper.”