Area Denial (Maelstrom Rising Book 7)

by Peter Nealen

  “This is true.” Hank sighed. “But we don’t have the crew for a ship that size, and unless we’re going to take one of the mega-cutters—which we really don’t have the numbers for—then we still wouldn’t have the firepower to do much even if we get close enough to the Shandong to spit on her.”

  Chan didn’t answer right away. Generally speaking, the man was the ultimate professional, but everybody gets a visit from the Good Idea Fairy every once in a while. The trick is having men around you who will call the Fairy out on her bullshit, and then having the wisdom to follow their advice.

  Chan was no fool. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He still didn’t sound happy about it. “It still would have been a hell of a coup.”

  “I think what we’ve got coming up is going to be more of a blow in the long run.” Hank was looking down at the briefing packet that had been sent over from the Slow Company. He was going to have to get Navarro’s squad aboard, leaving Lovell’s on the Jacqueline Q.

  “Fair enough. Final brief aboard my ship at sunset?” None of the Triarii had bothered to rename the captured Chinese fishing vessels, and with the exceptions of Chan, Faris, and maybe a couple others, few of them could read the Mandarin names, much less pronounce them.

  “Sounds like a plan. Six Four Actual, out.” He put the radio handset down. There was still a lot of work to do before they were ready for the brief, let alone the movement toward the objective.

  Fortunately, they’d have most of the following day, but there were still going to be a lot of moving parts.

  And after this op, nothing in the Spratly Islands was going to be the same.

  Chapter 25

  The sun was going down again as the three fishing trawlers chugged closer to Gaven Reef, the one in the center moving slowly, noticeably damaged and venting smoke.

  Gaven Reef had been built up considerably. It had originally been a rock that barely rose above the water at low tide. Seawalls now surrounded a central, rectangular artificial island, with similarly artificial jetties stretching out to the northeast and southeast. A channel had been dredged for ships with deeper draughts alongside the southeast jetty, and two freighters were currently docked there. The Zhaoyu-class cutter offshore was watching the seas, but so was the DongFeng 21 battery with its drone/satellite relay targeting station, as well as the angular, blue-and-gray ZBD-05 infantry fighting vehicles posted up by the seawall, their 30mm cannons aimed out to sea, and the truck-mounted, finned YJ-83 anti-ship missiles posted closer to the central building.

  Much farther out, but still visible, lay the more predatory, angular shapes of the Type 055 destroyer Dalian and the frigates Yuncheng and Liuzhou. The PLAN had moved more force into the Spratly chain over the last few days, despite the growing pirate threat off to the south.

  Those three ships were part of the mission, too.

  A voice over the radio hailed the PLAN marines on the artificial island. In perfect Mandarin, with a slight Shenzhen accent, the skipper of the center boat called for help. “We were attacked by Philippine pirates. I have wounded, and my ship is taking on water.”

  For a moment, there was no reply. On the starboard squid boat, Hank watched and listened, worried that Chan might have missed some code phrase, some procedure that the “little blue men” used when they were talking to the PLAN. If Gaven Reef’s commander smelled a rat, this could all end very quickly and very badly.

  But after a few minutes, a clipped command in Mandarin came over the radio. Faris looked up from the set aboard the squid boat’s bridge. “He’s telling us to come in and dock in front of the Thermidor.”

  “Funny. Calling a ship owned by Communists the Thermidor.” LaForce shook his head and chuckled.

  Faris frowned, though. “Huh? What’s the ship’s name got to do with anything?”

  “The Thermidorian Reaction put an end to the Reign of Terror in France,” Hank explained. “Lenin called all ‘counter-revolutionaries’ in Soviet Russia ‘Thermidorians.’ Communists had high hopes for the French Revolution.”

  Faris looked unimpressed, as if it was just a weird bit of trivia. “Huh. Never heard of any of that.”

  Hank supposed in some ways, particularly in the current situation, it was just a weird bit of trivia. It had zero to do with Gaven Reef or the PLAN vessels out at sea. But they could either simply watch and wait in silence, letting the tension build without need, or they could let off a little steam, and the observation had been interesting.

  The three trawlers moved in slowly, barely making four knots to lend some verisimilitude to the smoking squid boat’s damages. That wasn’t the only reason, though. Not all the pieces were in place, and they needed to be before three “Chinese fishing trawlers” full of armed round-eyes pulled up to the pier. That was drop-dead go time, and there would be no turning back once they reached the artificial shore.

  Hank took a deep breath and leaned back against the console. “Well, we’ve got a couple hours now.” They were still just over eight nautical miles from the artificial island, and at four knots, that was going to take a while. He just hoped that it was enough time.

  He hoped that all of the moving parts were going to move into position, too.

  “I don’t know if this is going to work, man.” Bishop was also on the bridge, watching the array of weaponry and warships on the horizon. At that point, and until they docked, there was no real reason for any of them besides the bare minimum to be on deck, and the bridge was one of the less unpleasant spots on the former squid boat. After all, they hadn’t offloaded the cargo before making the trip from just off Hardy Reef.

  “It’s a long shot,” Hank allowed. “But if everything falls into place—and it still might, stop rolling your eyes—then we’ve got a chance to tear out the guts of the PLAN’s foothold on these islands.”

  “If everything falls into place.” Bishop scanned the ocean around them. “Never thought I’d see the day that you spouted that kind of optimism, Hank.”

  Grimacing, Hank shook his head. “It’s not optimism. I never said I actually expected that everything would fall into place, exactly like the plan. That’s just the plan. But every moving part that’s not Chinese has a good reason to make this happen.”

  “Yeah, but they haven’t even responded yet.” Bishop tilted his head toward the west. “We don’t even know if they got the message, let alone whether or not they’re willing to get involved in this little dustup. Don’t they have just as many conflicting claims out here as the PRC and the Philippines?”

  “They do, but remember, the People’s Army of Vietnam was on the ground on Palawan for a little while, if only as observers.” Hank wasn’t sure what he thought of that, either. The PAVN had wiped the floor with the PLA back in 1979, but that had been a long time ago. And despite the fact that Hanoi was still staunchly Communist, they were anti-Chinese enough that the US had considered them an ally in the South China Sea for well over a decade.

  “That doesn’t mean a damned thing if they decide they’ve got more to lose than gain, directly confronting the PLAN, and you probably know that better than I do.” Bishop was a retired SNCO, much like Hank was. In fact, he’d retired as an E8, a Master Sergeant, while Hank had left the Marine Corps as a Gunny, an E7. Only the fact that the Triarii really didn’t give a damn about previous ranks meant that Hank was now in charge.

  Bishop wasn’t as studious as some, though he was still considerably more educated and informed than others. He hadn’t made a special study of the South China Sea situation beyond the intel packets like Hank had. But he also had a master’s degree in Intelligence and Security Studies. He was no dope. Add in most of twenty-two years in Special Forces, and he wasn’t a man whose opinion it paid to take lightly.

  “I mean, I guarantee if they had any idea of the totality of the plan, they’d probably alert the Chinese, just to stay out of the backlash.”

  “Now, that I doubt.” LaForce was leaning against the console across from Bishop, his beefy arms folded acr
oss his chest. “There’s way too much bad blood between the Chinese and the Vietnamese, especially after ’79. And the ChiComs have been pushing the Vietnamese out here every bit as hard as they have the Filipinos. No, I don’t think they’d warn them. Besides, we’d already have come under fire if they had.”

  Bishop had to nod at that bit of logic. “You’ve got a point there.”

  “Unless they’re just waiting for us to tie up to make it easier to storm us.” Hank suddenly found himself jonesing for a dip, like he hadn’t in years. He’d quit just before he’d retired.

  “Now, there’s the voice of doom and gloom we’ve all come to know,” Bishop crowed. “Good to have you back, Hank.”

  “I’m really starting to regret this trip, you know.” Dunlap, the helmsman on loan from Smythe’s small crew, was gripping the wheel a little too tightly. “And you guys aren’t helping things much.”

  “Well, fortunately, we’re not here to cheerlead you, Will.” LaForce had gotten to know the man on the voyage out. “Just stay cool and everything’s gonna be fine.”

  “You don’t really believe that.” Dunlap didn’t look away from the boat’s course as he spoke, his voice flat and deadpan.

  “No, I don’t, but that’s the most encouragement you’re going to get, so take it for what it is.” LaForce laughed as he stroked his mustache.

  “I still really wish we could have some drones and jammers up.” Bishop was watching the distant silhouettes of the Chinese destroyer and her frigate escorts again.

  “Too risky. It would give the game away.” Hank checked his watch. If their diversion was going to show up, it needed to show up soon. “We’ll just have to move fast when we hit ‘em, and hopefully knock out their comms before they’ve got a chance to get a message off.”

  “That’s an awful big ‘hopefully.’” Bishop squinted. “But yeah, I get it.” He frowned suddenly, looking thoughtful. “Unless we said that the damage had thrown something haywire.” He pointed to Chan’s boat, just off their port side. “I mean, that sucker was a straight up spook boat. No fishing going on there at all.”

  “Unfortunately, that usually only works in movies.” Hank adjusted his seat against the console, making sure he wasn’t leaning on any switches. “Ordinarily, when something’s busted, it stops working, it doesn’t get stuck ‘on.’”

  “I know.” Bishop sighed. “It would have been nice, though.”

  “Your mom’s nice.” Taylor appeared in the hatchway. “I’m sorry, what were we talking about?”

  Bishop didn’t miss a beat. “Which side to throw the balding jerkface over after we strangle him with rotting squid.”

  “Definitely the port side. It’s more flattering. I’ll go find him so we can do him and have time to clean up before we meet the ChiComs.” Taylor was unflappable.

  “What’s up, Taylor?” Hank had to ask, since LaForce was busy trying to bury his chuckles behind his hand.

  “Looks like we’ve got company on the horizon, due west.” Taylor pointed. “Probably on the radar already, if y’all weren’t too busy flapping your gums about stuff you wish you had.”

  Hank checked. Sure enough, there was a new contact off to the west, just about seven nautical miles away, still under the horizon from Gavin Reef, but doubtless already on Chinese detection systems. Her transponder read exactly what he’d been expecting, too.

  Đinh Tiên Hoáng. The first of the Vietnamese People’s Navy’s Gepard-class frigates, purchased from the Zelenodolsk shipyard in Russia. One of the VPN’s powerhouses in the South China Sea. She’d been patrolling off Alison Reef—Bái Tốc Tan in Vietnamese—when the Triarii flotilla had sent the first message outlining the plan and their request for support.

  “I’m still not sure about reusing the plan from the other night.” Bishop still wasn’t convinced. “If they figured out that we disappeared some of their fishing boats while the Antonio Luna sank that cutter…”

  “No indicators that they have yet.” LaForce had binoculars to his eyes, watching the Đinh Tiên Hoáng. With only eight SS-N-25 “Switchblade” anti-ship missiles and a single 76mm gun, the Đinh Tiên Hoáng was no match for the Dalian, with her 112 Vertical Launch System missile cells, two sets of 324mm torpedo tubes, and 130mm gun, but she could still be a threat. Too much of a threat for the PLAN to ignore. “And there they go. All PLAN and CCG vessels are coming about and heading out to confront her.” He lowered the binoculars. “That should keep them busy for a bit. Particularly if they don’t want a shooting war with the Philippines and Vietnam.”

  “That’s a long shot, in itself.” Hank started below to get prepped; they still had over an hour, and a lot could happen in that time, but it would pay to be ready. “They’ve been pushing hard enough.”

  “Huh.” Something about the tone of Bishop’s monosyllable made Hank stop and turn to look back at him.

  “What?”

  Bishop was frowning, a haunted look on his face, as if he’d just come upon a realization almost too dark for words. “Just thought of something. They’ve hit us. They’re pushing the Philippines. They’re pushing the Vietnamese. From some of the reports, they’re pushing things in Europe.” He looked down and locked eyes with Hank. “What if they’re pushing for an excuse to bring everybody down?”

  “I’m sure they are.” Hank didn’t comment on what that would mean. He knew he didn’t have to. He was pretty sure, from the look on Bishop’s face, that the other man was already thinking of the same thing. The same nightmare. “That’s part of why we’re trying to be so sneaky out here. They’ve done it to us for years. Now that the roles are reversed, we’ve got to cut the rug out from under them without giving them the excuse to hit that button.

  “Welcome to the real world of the new war.”

  He headed below. They had to move fast, once things started. And that meant one more prep and inspection wouldn’t go amiss.

  Chapter 26

  As the next naval confrontation in the South China Sea proceeded off to the west, the Dalian and her escorts steaming out to confront the Đinh Tiên Hoáng, three People’s Armed Forces Maritime Militia vessels close in on the pier at Gaven Reef.

  The men on the decks had dressed in Maritime Militia fatigues, the gray, green, and brown digital cammies that were distinctive to certain branches of the PLA. That only Chan was actually Chinese was impossible to tell from a distance, and distance was all they needed for the time being.

  Once they reached the edge of the pier, everything was going to change. But for now, all eyes were on the confrontation out at sea, while a handful of support personnel, including several PLAN medics, gathered at the pier to meet the militiamen who had been attacked by Philippine pirates.

  Chan’s vessel touched first, the bumpers cushioning the hull as she snugged up against the concrete. Lind’s pulled ahead of it, and Hank’s fell in behind, just forward of the Thermidor.

  The smoke from Chan’s squid boat was getting thicker, wafting over the deck and billowing onto the pier, visibly making some of the Chinese support personnel cough. That was part of the plan, of course, as now they couldn’t see clearly that the men in Chinese camouflage on deck were not, in fact, Chinese.

  The growing pall of smoke—fortunately, it was a relatively calm day, so the wind wasn’t blowing it away too quickly, and what there was, was largely blowing it toward the main building of the Gaven Reef outpost—also obscured the tussle that followed, as Chan’s Triarii, armored, geared up, and heavily armed, clambered up the gangplank and quickly moved to overwhelm the PLAN personnel, zip-tying them and hustling them below decks. They wouldn’t stay there long—prisoners weren’t a part of this op, particularly not know-nothing support personnel—but for the moment, they needed to be out of the way and quiet.

  Hank coughed a little as he hustled up the gangplank. Chan’s boys had gone all-out with the smoke, and it was now pouring out over the pier in a thick, obscuring cloud. Close observation would reveal that more and more of it was whi
te HC smoke from grenades tossed out onto the pier, but with any luck, they’d already be moving on their targets before any of the Chinese figured it out. After all, they had much more pressing security concerns out at sea.

  He’d been a little wary about using a “friendly” naval vessel as a diversion twice in a row, but it appeared to be working for the moment.

  Fire sirens whooped, sounding oddly familiar for being in the middle of the South China Sea. The Chinese, believing the vessel to be on fire, were responding accordingly.

  Hank, barely able to see the rest of LaForce’s squad around him in the murk, left the fire engine to Chan’s squad. Chan knew how to sow as much chaos and confusion as possible. They might disable the truck and capture the crew, but that might give the game away too fast.

  That was up to Chan. Hank and his squad hustled toward the hedge that grew along the shallower line of the pier, barely avoiding the fire engine as it loomed out of the billowing smoke, red lights flashing. The hedge served as further concealment amid the smoke.

  They moved fast. The game would be up in a moment, as soon as they started to do the work they’d come to do, and then stealth would no longer be the order of the day. Hank was hoping that they weren’t about to come up against their first hard check in the next few seconds.

  The ZBD-05 was a big wedge of rolled steel armor on tracks, with its turret set well back on its rear deck, a sharp-edged prow out front to help it move over the water. In many ways, the Chinese had gone ahead with the AAAV that the US Marine Corps had scrapped back in the mid ‘00s. In fact, the vehicle looked a lot like that abandoned prototype, though the turret looked more like it came from a BMP.

  This one was parked at the corner of the artificial lagoon, prow and turret pointed out to the southwest. The rear flap was down, the rear hatch open, and the engine wasn’t running.