by Dale Brown
The video teleconference didn’t last too much longer—it was clear the Petrolimex executives were anxious to share the news with their superiors in the Oil and Gas Ministry of the Vietnamese Politburo. Boudrain and his staff answered a few questions about their findings and the next step, and the conference was terminated. “I think you kicked a home run, Gary,” Victor Richardsen said. The captain was born in Norway, and even though he had lived in the United States for almost ten years as skipper of the Lady Garner, he was still getting American cultural references mixed up.
“I usually don’t like to use such definitive terms, Skipper,” Boudrain said. “Remote geological surveying is an inexact science at best, and dropping an exploratory well in these waters could cost Petrolimex upwards of fifty million dollars. But what we found here is truly extraordinary. Lots of us believed the South China Sea had vast deposits of all kinds of minerals, but this is the first real indication that it could be true.”
“Gratulerer igjen, Gary,” the skipper said. “Congratulations again. I am going to check in with the watch on the bridge, and then I am going to turn outwards. God natt.” He shook hands with the rest of Boudrain’s staff, then departed.
The Lady Garner was one of the most high-tech survey ships in the world, and the bridge reflected this. It took only two men to stand watch on the bridge, and just four when under way. There was still a wheel, throttle levers, and a large compass on the main console, and they were all operable if needed, but steering, propulsion, and all other major functions were now controlled by computer. In the darkness of the bridge, with the only illumination coming from the dimmed computer screens, the captain couldn’t make out the faces of the watchstanders, but he knew these men almost as well as his own six children. “How are you boys doing tonight, Todd, Mac?” Richardsen asked.
“Very well, Captain,” the officer of the deck, Todd Clark, replied. Clark was a recent graduate of the California Maritime Academy in Vallejo, California; this was only his second cruise in the Lady Garner, but he was an exceptional seaman and doing well. “All systems normal. Station keeping is running at twenty-five percent of capacity.” The survey vessel used a sophisticated set of thrusters under the ship to keep itself precisely in place—it could keep the massive vessel within a few dozen yards even in gale-force winds and heavy seas. “Weather is forecast to be hot and showery. We might have a small thunderstorm later in the morning.”
“Typical summer weather,” Richardsen said. “We just received the briefing from the project manager, and I think we will be green-lighted to drill an exploratory well. That means we will be here several more months.”
“Great news, Skipper,” Clark said.
Richardsen checked the radar display, but the storm was not yet on the screen. Just for curiosity’s sake he switched the radar from weather to surface-search mode—and immediately saw a very large ship coming toward them from the north. “We have traffic to the north,” he said. “Verify our anchor lights are on, please.”
“Yes, sir,” Clark replied. A moment later: “All at-anchor lights on, Captain.”
That was good, Richardsen thought, but this guy was heading toward them awful fast and not veering east or west. He was a bit less than twenty miles out, but for some larger ships it took that much distance and more to make even a slight turn. “Better turn on the derrick and service lights too—that should make us visible farther out for his lookouts, as long as they’re not all asleep.”
Just before Richardsen switched the radio to the common ship-to-ship channel and picked up the microphone, they heard in heavily accented English on the 2182 megahertz maritime emergency channel: “Attention, attention, unidentified vessel, this is the People’s Liberation Army Navy cruiser Baohùzhe, north of your position. You are in Chinese waters illegally. You are ordered to leave this area immediately. Acknowledge.”
“Tull!” the captain swore. “Mac, verify our position.”
“Yes, sir.” John “Mac” Portman was one of the most experienced sailors on the ship, serving on the Lady Garner almost since the ship first put to sea. The navigator was also the helmsman on this computerized vessel. A few moments later: “GPS position verified with the LORAN, Captain. Dead on the plat, thirty miles inside the Vietnamese EEZ.”
Are we going to get grief from the Chinese navy again? the captain asked himself. Chinese patrol boats and aircraft had been shadowing them for days, and other survey vessels had been harassed by Chinese “fishing boats”—more likely old navy utility vessels—trying to ram them. Although they could call on the Vietnamese navy and air force for help, the Vietnamese navy had very few ships that ventured out this far from shore, and very few patrol planes flew at night, so they had little protection. They had a small security detail with night-vision goggles and sniper rifles to protect against pirates, but nothing that could take on the Chinese navy—not that he had any intention of challenging them.
They were adjacent to one of the most hotly disputed regions of the world: the Spratly Islands. The Spratly Islands were a chain of islands and reefs between the Philippines and Vietnam that were claimed by several nations. There was less than four square miles of land above high tide spread out over four hundred thousand square miles, but it had been long assumed—now very much verified—that there were substantial oil and natural gas deposits in the area. Six nations—China, Brunei, Taiwan, the Philippines, Vietnam, and Malaysia—variously stationed troops and conducted patrols through the area. Because the area was so hotly disputed, all parties agreed not to explore for oil or gas within the archipelago until the territorial arguments were resolved, and the Lady Garner was careful to stay within Vietnam’s economic exclusion zone.
The captain picked up the intercom microphone. “Comm, better send a message to headquarters and to our liaison office in Ho Chi Minh City; tell them we may be getting harassed by the Chinese navy, and ask for assistance. Give them our position.” He switched to the ship-to-ship emergency channel. “Chinese navy vessel Baohùzhe, Chinese navy vessel Baohùzhe, this is the United States survey ship Lady Garner; we are not in Chinese waters, repeat, not in Chinese waters. We are well within Vietnamese waters and are operating under a license from the Vietnamese government. Do not approach. We are not under way and are conducting scientific probes of the sea bottom authorized by the Vietnamese government. Over.”
“Survey ship Lady Garner, this is the cruiser Baohùzhe, warning, you are illegally in Chinese territorial waters, and you are ordered to depart immediately,” came the reply. “Exploration of this region of any kind is not permitted. Acknowledge!”
“Dette er gal!” the captain muttered. “This is crazy! Notify the security detail and have them set up extra lookouts—I want to know if the Chinese send out any small craft to . . .”
At that moment they heard a tremendous BOOOM! directly overhead, loud enough to rattle the thick storm windows on the bridge. “What was that?” the captain exclaimed. “Did we just get overflown by an aircraft going supersonic?” It was night—there was no way anyone was going to see an aircraft flying supersonic. Richardsen mashed the microphone button. “Cruiser Baohùzhe, you are on a collision course with us. We are at anchor in the Vietnamese exclusive economic zone, with permission from the Vietnamese oil ministry. And order that jet not to fly over us again going supersonic!”
“Survey vessel Lady Garner, this is the People’s Liberation Army Navy cruiser Baohùzhe; you are in Chinese waters illegally,” the voice from the Chinese cruiser said. “Prepare to be boarded for inspection. Do not resist.”
“This is the captain of the Lady Garner, and I do not give you permission to board!” Richardsen radioed.
“Lady Garner, you are in Chinese waters. We do not require your permission to board any vessel in Chinese waters.”
“Officer of the Deck, sound alert condition three, all hands on deck,” Richardsen said, using Clark’s title instead of his name to emphasize the increasing tension level. On the intercom he radioed, “Co
mm, notify headquarters and the liaison office that the Chinese cruiser is approaching at high speed and says he means to . . .”
“Bridge, Sellers on the port stern lookout, I hear a helicopter approaching,” a security officer radioed. “One or two hundred yards away, maybe less.”
“Survey ship Lady Garner, this is the cruiser Baohùzhe. Our patrol helicopter reports that you have armed men on deck. Weapons are not permitted on civilian vessels without permission from the People’s Liberation Army. You are ordered to throw all your weapons over the side. Our personnel are authorized the use of deadly force. Comply immediately!”
“What’s going on, Skipper?” the executive officer, Kurt Branson, said as he stepped quickly onto the bridge.
“The damn Chinese navy,” Richardsen said. “They got a helicopter on the way and . . .”
Just then they heard on the intercom: “Bridge, this is Larson; that helicopter is opening fire on the fantail with a machine gun!” The sounds of heavy machine-gun fire were evident in the background.
Richardsen and Branson raced to the port-side observation wing, a narrow walkway that protruded outboard far enough to see the entire port side of the ship. They saw it immediately—winks of light and tracer rounds zipping out of the darkness, hitting the side of the ship . . . where Sellers the port stern lookout would have been. Sparks flew in every direction from the fantail as the rounds ricocheted off. “Min Gud!” Richardsen cried. “My God! Officer of the Deck, sound alert one, all hands to damage control stations!” He got on his portable radio: “Sellers, how do you hear?” No response. “Sellers!” Still no response. “Kurt, get back there and see if Sellers is all right.” The exec raced off. Richardsen keyed the portable radio’s mic button. “All security details, this is the captain; get your rifles and sidearms out of sight, quickly! Comm, radio to headquarters: we are under automatic machine-gun fire from the Chinese helicopter, possibly one fatality. Then broadcast a distress call and request immediate assistance!”
A few minutes later, Richardsen saw it: a large blue-and-white helicopter with coaxial rotors, a large radome under the cockpit, a very bright spotlight sweeping across the deck, the unmistakable red, yellow, blue, and white flag of the Chinese navy—and a crewmember with a large machine gun sticking out a sliding door on the starboard side. The helicopter slowly made its way along the port side of the Lady Garner, continued around the bow and down the starboard side, back up the port side, and then set down on the helicopter pad on the bow, the machine gun trained on the bridge.
“Skipper, this is Kurt,” Branson radioed. “Sellers is dead, and Larson is hurt bad.”
“Survey ship Lady Garner, this is the cruiser Baohùzhe. You are ordered to lower all waterline docks and gangways. Boarding will commence shortly on both gunwales. Assemble the entire crew on the forecastle deck. Bring your logbooks, manifests, and portable computers. Acknowledge.”
“Chinese cruiser Baohùzhe, this is the captain of the Lady Garner; you do not have my permission to land a helicopter on my helipad, and you do not have the right to board this vessel. This is illegal, and we intend to inform our governments of this unlawful action. Now get off my helipad and . . .” Suddenly they saw winks of light coming from the Chinese helicopter . . .
. . . and milliseconds later the forward windows on the bridge exploded as 7.62-millimeter rounds from the helicopter’s Norinco machine gun hit. Clark and Portman screamed as the glass shattered, but the screams didn’t last long as the bullets tore through their bodies, and they both collapsed onto the deck in pools of blood. Richardsen hit the deck and raised his portable radio to his lips. “Stop shooting! Stop shooting!” he cried amid the thunder piercing the bridge.
The shooting stopped. “Acknowledge my orders, Captain,” the voice from the Chinese cruiser said.
“My God!” Richardsen breathed. He crawled back onto the bridge over broken glass and found the body of the navigator, his upper body little more than a mass of blood and tissue.
“Captain, acknowledge my orders immediately.”
“All right, all right, drittsekk,” Richardsen responded on his portable radio. He picked up the intercom microphone on the observation wing console. “All hands, this is the captain. We are about to be boarded by the Chinese navy. Lower the gangways on both rails. All hands, report to the forecastle deck. Medical team, report to the bridge, we have more casualties.”
PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY HEADQUARTERS, BEIJING, CHINA
SEVERAL HOURS LATER
“You had better have an explanation, Admiral,” thundered Shàng Jiàng (Colonel General) Zu Kai, chief of the general staff of the People’s Liberation Army. Zu was short and powerfully built, with a thick neck and large hands. Although a thirty-year veteran of the PLA, his tunic sported no awards or decorations except his shoulder boards. He had reluctantly begun to wear spectacles but refused to put them on unless he needed them to read. “Your orders were to intercept, detain, and inspect that survey vessel and then let it go, not shoot it apart!”
“My apologies, sir,” Hai Jun Zhong Jiang (Vice Admiral) Zhen Peng, commander of the South Sea Fleet, People’s Liberation Army Navy, responded. He was standing before the chief of staff’s desk at ramrod attention. Standing beside Zu was his deputy, Shao Jiang (Major General) Sun Ji. “The crew of the helicopter that was sent out to the vessel saw crewmembers carrying weapons, and the helicopter commander thought his aircraft was in danger and ordered the door gunner to open fire.”
“And shooting up the bridge?”
“The pilot saw a movement just outside the bridge and ordered the gunner to open fire, but instead of firing on the person outside on the observation platform, the gunner fired on the bridge. I am of course fully responsible for this incident.”
“You most certainly are, Zhen,” General Zu said. “Unfortunately, you will probably not be the only one to lose his stars over this.” Zu clenched and unclenched his right fist. “Order a summary court-martial for the captain of the Baohùzhe, the pilot of the helicopter, and the door gunner. Punishment shall be a year at hard labor for the captain, three years at hard labor for the pilot, and execution for the door gunner. See to it immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
Zu looked at the piece of paper handed to him by his deputy chief of the general staff, General Sun. “Before I assign punishment to you, Zhen,” he said, “explain what you have sent me. What is this?”
“Sir, that is called a Common Risk Segment Map,” Zhen explained. “That is the product that survey ships such as the Lady Garner produce. It is a graphical depiction of the scientists’ best estimate of oil and natural gas deposits in an area. We pulled it from one of the laptop computers belonging to the project manager on board.”
“Why did you send this to me, Zhen?”
“Because, sir, it is the first real proof that there are substantial oil and gas deposits in the South Sea and Nansha Dao,” Zhen said, using the Chinese name of the body of water instead of the internationally recognized name “South China Sea,” and also using the Chinese name for the Spratly Islands.
“Nonsense. We have known that for decades.”
“But it has never been proven before in this particular area because the waters near the Nansha and Xisha Islands have been contested for so long and no exploration has taken place, sir,” Zhen said. “This is the first scientific proof that oil and gas are not just present, but present in amounts vastly more than believed.”
“Zhen, everyone already knew that oil, natural gas, and probably many other minerals could be found in the South Sea,” Zu said angrily. “What is your point?”
“My assertion, sir, is that now is the time to move to occupy and fortify the Nansha and Xisha Dao,” Admiral Zhen said. Xisha Dao was the Chinese name for the Paracel Islands in the northern South China Sea, also long contested by many nations and also thought to have significant mineral deposits. “We have administered the islands for years, and we have fought several small skirmishes over th
em, but we have never militarily occupied the islands except for occasional patrols.”
“Do you remember our battle with the Americans and Filipinos, Zhen?” Zu asked angrily. “How many ships did we lose? A dozen? More?”
“I fought in the Battle of the South Philippines, sir,” Zhen said. “I was a junior antisubmarine warfare officer aboard the frigate Jiujiang, and I was on duty when the body of Admiral Yin Po L’un was brought aboard.” China and the Philippines, assisted by American bombers, had fought a brief but intense war twenty years earlier. Although China was preparing to land several hundred thousand troops in southern Philippines, their naval forces had taken a beating, and a withdrawal was ordered; the overall commander of the operation, Admiral Yin Po L’un, committed suicide on the deck of his flagship. “We did not lose that battle, sir—we were just not permitted to win.”
“Zhen, no one cares about the Nansha Dao,” Zu said. “Most of the so-called islands are underwater most of the time. The highest point in the entire archipelago is only four meters.”
“The importance of the Nansha Dao has been made paramount by what the survey crew found—the oil and gas deposits are substantial,” Zhen said. “But what is more important is the strategic location of the islands. With a substantial military force stationed on and around the islands, and a similar force on the Xisha Dao, all reinforced with land-based bombers and missiles, we can completely control access to the South Sea.”
“Do you not think the Americans might have something to say about that, Zhen?” General Zu asked derisively.
“The current status of the American military force is precisely why we need to act now, sir,” Zhen said. “The American military, especially their navy, is the weakest it has been since before the Great War of Liberation. Now is the time to act.”
