Hunter Killer: The War with China: The Battle for the Central Pacific

by David Poyer

  “Carpenter, good riddance. But losing Donnie will hurt.”

  “I need Garfinkle-Henriques, too.”

  Staurulakis raised pale eyebrows. “Hermelinda? Why?”

  “I’m going to need a resourceful N4. I mean, J4. I also want Amy Singhe and Bart Danenhower.”

  The eyebrows climbed even higher. “I know he was with you on Horn. But Bart’s my acting exec now. And dual-hatted as CHENG. Losing him shorts me two. Amarpeet? I never thought the two of you got along.”

  “It’s not a question of likes or dislikes. I’ve got to have someone who knows strike ops.”

  “Strike’s one of our missions, Admiral. Taking her will degrade our capabilities.”

  “You’ve got a deep bench. The Terror, she’s excellent. Kick Terranova up a grade. Ginnie Redmond, Eastwood, they’re strong. Jiminiz can step up to Engineering. Promote from within. You can do wartime commissions now.”

  His former XO dropped her gaze. “I’d rather not lose Amy. Sir. Plus … maybe I shouldn’t mention this … but your wife didn’t seem to like her being around.”

  Okay, so that was how it was. It was true; Blair had mentioned Singhe before. And sometimes the lieutenant could be a distraction. But this was business. He couldn’t keep irritation from his voice. “Afraid you don’t have a choice, Cheryl.”

  “You’re ripping our guts out, sir. Isn’t this kind of, I don’t know … disloyal? Maybe that’s too strong a word. But I need them to keep this ship running.”

  Dan shook his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. But I have to get this operation all in one sock, with people I can depend on. Have Donnie, Rit, Hermelinda, Bart, and Amy on Hornet before we sail tomorrow. I’ll do a by-name request to Fleet. If it’s any consolation, I’d love to take you along too. But I won’t pull you from a command.” He gave it a beat, then added, “I need an Aegis ship I can depend on to ride shotgun on me, and run the air picture for the task group. I want you in the driver’s seat here.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Staurulakis sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. “But I’ll need replacements. We started this deployment short-handed.”

  “I’ll pull you a fresh TAO and senior enlisted from CONUS.”

  “Can you take Longley, too?”

  Dan blinked. “Can I … uh, all right, sure. If you want to bottom-blow him, I’ll take him off your hands. And did you get the word, presail meeting, Hornet, 1500?”

  A discreet tap at the door; the personnel chief let himself in. Dan leaned back and let Cheryl give him the bad news.

  * * *

  STAURULAKIS offered him the 1MC to address his former crew. He was tempted, but declined. She was the Skipper now. He hiked back up the pier, the big marine dogging his steps, rifle at port arms. “You don’t need to do that,” Dan snapped, then relented. “I mean, I don’t think we’ll be attacked here.”

  “There’ve been assaults on senior military stateside, sir,” the guy said. “Colonel Eller assigned me as your personal protection.”

  Dan really looked at him for the first time. An impressive physique, massive arms, a Western accent. And he still looked familiar. “I see. And you are?”

  “Staff Sergeant Gault, sir.”

  Dan halted beside a roaring generator. He hadn’t looked at the guy’s name tag. “Gault?” he shouted.

  “I’m his little brother, sir. Ronson Gault. Why I stepped up when the colonel wanted a body.”

  Dan touched his ear, remembering the doomed Signal Mirror mission into Baghdad with Gunnery Sergeant Marcus Gault. “Your brother was the bravest guy I ever knew.”

  “You were with him, sir, when he died?”

  “Not exactly. He fell in a rearguard action. So we could get out.” Dan exhaled. “I was honored to serve with him. We’ll talk about that later, okay?”

  * * *

  HE met with his new staff in the flag spaces. Dudley introduced them, while Dan made mental notes. The operations officer, Fred Enzweiler, seemed colorless but savvy. The Intel guy, with the affected little mustache, was Jamail. The others were still just faces.

  They’d have to short-circuit all three phases of pre-deployment planning en route to the objective. Fortunately, the Marines had a Joint Rapid Response planning process. It began with a concept of ops brief, then a course of action selection brief, and a final sit-down with Dan and the landing force commander, Eller, to bless it.

  Enzweiler presented a sortie plan and initial formation stations. Dan approved it, but with changes. With enemy subs unlocated, he had to take precautions. George Washington had hit a mine in the first days of the war, damaging her so badly she was still in port. McClung would go out that night to sanitize the channel. She’d had a sonar upgrade to detect minelike objects. The ROK ships would go next, spaced through the dark hours, so everybody wouldn’t bunch up in the excruciatingly narrow harbor exit. At dawn the remaining units, Kristensen, Green Bay, Earhart, and Hornet, would leave, in that order.

  He excused himself and spent a few minutes with his feet up. The Flag Cabin’s main room was the size of a studio apartment’s living room. It held a round conference table with blue-plastic-covered chairs, a sitting area with a coffee mess, and a desk with computer, J–phone, and 21MC. His sleeping area was behind it, with a small head and shower behind that. Someone had left a fresh set of blue ship’s coveralls, a gold-encrusted USS Hornet ball cap, and a brand-new pair of flight-deck boots on his bunk. He shaved, changed, and headed for the VTC, Gault trailing him through the passageway. He’d been waiting outside his door. Was the guy going to shadow him wherever he went?

  “Attention on deck,” Dudley called as he entered.

  “Carry on, everyone,” Dan said.

  The videoteleconferencing center held the largest table yet. He smelled coffee. About a dozen faces, some familiar, others not, turned from the sideboard. None of the skippers looked particularly happy to be there. Cheryl was in khakis. Eller and Dudley were present.

  So was a compact, older, hard-faced Asian. Dan took a stride forward, extending a hand. “Admiral. Hate to meet like this, but I’m glad you made it out.”

  “I’m pleased to see you again too. Congratulations, Admiral.” Min Jun Jung’s two-fisted handshake was iron hard, and he held it for extra seconds. They’d faced North Korean submarines together in the Eastern Sea, and fought shoulder to shoulder again in the Taiwan Strait battle. But Dan felt awkward. Now he was the task force commander, with the Korean commanding only his ROKN screen elements.

  “I look forward to serving under you.” Jung added in a low voice, “Don’t worry about ranks.”

  Dan murmured, “Let’s make it with me, instead of under me.”

  Jung just smiled, and waved another Korean forward. “Perhaps you remember Captain Hwang. A commander when you saw him last. I’d like to make him my liaison, on your staff.”

  It was really getting to be Old Home Week. “I was going to ask for one.” Dan shook Hwang’s hand too. No longer quite as young, but still willowy, pale, and languid-looking. And his grip was as flaccid as ever. “Min Su, right?”

  “That is correct. A long time since we were shipmates, sir.”

  “I remember our time on Chung Nam together.”

  “I am pleased to see you again, Admiral.”

  Dan turned to the others. “Let’s get seated, then we can go around the table.”

  They kicked off. Not all the COs had been able to make it, but Dudley had set up those who couldn’t on videoteleconference screens. After introductions Dan laid out the sortie plan, including the early exit of the Korean units. “I want to say again how glad I am to have our allies with us. I have no worries about your crews’ professionalism, Admiral Jung. I’ve served with them, and respect them.”

  Jung inclined his head. Dan went on, “This operation will be the first landing of reinforcements on territory under attack by the People’s Empire. Supported by a carrier task force to our rear, and with the Chinese diverted by other demonstrations, our Expeditionary S
trike Group will land Colonel Eller’s 13th MEU on an island in the Ryukyu chain.”

  The lieutenant returned, burdened with heavy sealed manila packages. A few skippers started to open them, but Dan stopped them. “Not until you’re at sea. These are the op plans. Memorize them. Required reading for your ops types and execs too.”

  He took a breath, glancing at the overhead. Now was the time to say something inspiring. To channel Nelson gathering his lieutenants before Trafalgar.

  “So far we haven’t been terrifically successful in this war. The enemy’s surprised us. Hurt us. The loss of the Roosevelt strike group … we all had friends on those ships.

  “But I promised the country we would be back. That we would not abandon our allies, who are being bullied and invaded. Zhang will fall. But to start that process, we have to show that China isn’t invincible. Our forces are still relatively weak, but that doesn’t mean we cower and wait to be attacked.”

  They were listening, but they didn’t look inspired. He was so damned tired.… “Any questions?”

  Jung held up a hand, and Dan nodded. “I have twelve ships,” the Korean said.

  “Um … yes?”

  “It is a good sign. In 1597 Admiral Yi Sun-shin had only twelve, and he was victorious. When you call on us, we will attack. Without mercy and without restraint.”

  Dan reflected wryly that Niles had worried about leashing Dan Lenson. Now was he going to have to worry about restraining Jung? He hoped not. Not only was he junior to the guy, but there would be political ramifications if he was offended somehow or, even worse, lost in battle. Min Jun Jung was the senior military officer escaped from the debacle on the peninsula. As such, he might eventually head a government in exile.

  A tap at the door. Dudley brought back a red-striped Secret clipboard. Dan scanned the message. Another logistics ship had reported a torpedo attack four hundred miles south of Gardner Island. Damaged, but proceeding. Dan rubbed his mouth. Well, someone else would have to deal with that. His force was headed west, not east. “No more questions? Very well, then. Remember to keep those packages under lock and key until you’re under way.”

  * * *

  HE was back in his office-cum-stateroom, wearily paging through his own copy of the three-ring-bindered op order, when the J-dial beeped. He unhooked it without rising. “Captain. I mean, Commodore. I mean, Admiral.” Damn, he’d better get this straight.

  “Sir, flash message on its way.”

  The rap at his door came before he socketed the phone. What fresh hell … “Come in,” he called.

  Gault entered behind the messenger and stood to one side. Dan flipped open the clipboard.

  The landing was postponed.

  He read rapidly, skipping paragraphs. A wolf pack of Chinese nuclear submarines was confirmed loose in the mid-Pacific. They were sinking westbound containerships and tankers vital to the war effort. They were also sinking Japanese shipping, contrary to the cease-fire agreement.

  3. (S) IF ENEMY FORCES REMAIN AT LARGE, COALITION FORCES WILL HAVE TO ABANDON THE SECOND ISLAND CHAIN. THE NEXT FALLBACK POSITION IS WAKE-MIDWAY-HAWAII.

  4. (S) CTG 76 IS DIRECTED TO POSTPONE OKINAWAN LANDING OPERATIONS AND DEBARK 13 MEU ON GUAM. CONVERT TASK FORCE TO COMBINED US/ROKN/AUS HUNTER-KILLER GROUP. PROCEED EAST TO POSITION 20 DEGREES NORTH, 170 DEGREES EAST AND AWAIT ORDERS.

  Further orders … he could guess what they’d be. Track down and destroy the wolf pack. Clear the shipping lanes, so an offensive had some chance.

  His strike group was being retitled and repurposed, and his axis of advance turned 180 degrees.

  And his first elements were sortieing tonight.

  A knock. Gault peered in. “Captain Dudley, Admiral.”

  “Always let Dudley in, Sergeant. —You got the message?”

  The deputy commander looked stricken. He wrung his hands. “They can’t be serious. We’re combat loaded. Leaving tomorrow.”

  “Welcome to wartime, Jeremy. Get used to having new plays called on short notice.” Dan waved the clipboard. “Lianfeng’s backstabbed us. Got his boats out before the war started, laid low until we forgot about them, then started the slaughter. We may not like it, but PaCom’s right. If we lose our logistic train, we’re helpless. We can have the latest equipment and the biggest fleet, but without beans, bullets, and black oil, we’re toast.”

  Dudley put a hand to his brow. “The marines—”

  “Will have to offload. Like it says.” Dan jotted initials, handed the board back to the messenger. The J-phone beeped. “That’ll be Eller.”

  The colonel sounded disturbed, but not flummoxed. “Can we get your guys ashore?” Dan asked. “How soon? By tomorrow morning?”

  “Um, that’s pushing it, sir. It’ll require an all-out effort to debark the MEU overnight.”

  “I understand. But can we? Leaving most of your supplies behind, mainly getting the troops off and clearing the hangar deck and deep storage? If we’re going to operate in an ASW role, we’re going to need the rolling gear off, to embark more aircraft.”

  He could hear Eller gulping. “It’ll take working all night, and some luck. But I think we probably can.”

  “What are the bottlenecks?”

  “Um, mainly, craning the high-profile stuff off the flight deck. The seven-ton trucks, the highback Humvees, the MRAPS, and tanks.”

  “We can’t use the ramps?”

  “Not for everything.”

  “How can we work around it?” There would be hundreds of problems to solve tonight. But then again, if they’d gone west they’d have had to offload all the equipment anyway. Just in a different way, for a different destination. “Can we use the flight deck elevators?”

  “That might work. Drive stuff up onto the hangar deck. Lower them on the aircraft elevator. Then drive off onto the pier? I’ll need to huddle with Graciadei—”

  “Get started.” He hung up and rubbed his face, trying to reorient. “What ASW assets do we hold, Jeremy?”

  Dudley cast his gaze overheadward. “The destroyers. The Koreans. The Aussie sub, when she joins. And a small search-and-rescue det, with a secondary antisubmarine capability.”

  “Good, but we need more helos. SH-60Ss and Rs. An ASW/surface attack squadron.”

  “Actually, there’s one available,” Dudley said.

  Dan blinked. “On Guam?”

  “I mean the one on George Washington. Remember? She’s immobilized in Japan.”

  “Draft a message. Figure out some way to lily-pad them aboard. Next, air cover. We’re going to be sitting ducks out in the central Pacific. Especially if PaCom continues holding the carriers east of Pearl.” He remembered the Lightnings in the hangar bay. Vertical takeoff fighters. Not terrific at the interceptor role, but adequate. “Who owns the F-35s? Those are Marine, right?”

  “Correct, Marine Air. Six of them, with five currently operational.”

  “I’ll get with Eller and see if he can leave them with us. What else?”

  “Green Bay. Leave her in port, or take her along?”

  They debated the pros and cons. Dan finally decided the LPD would be safer with the main body, rather than in Guam. “Take her. Gives us an extra helo deck, extends our radar detection, and so forth.”

  Dudley punched his PDA. Dan said, “Get the warning order out. Eller’s already working his offload. Give the staff two hours to blitz this, then reconvene. Midnight. Flag plot.”

  Looking shaken, the deputy left. Dan massaged his stockinged feet, only now having time for doubt. How was he going to localize submarines in the vastness of the Pacific, without satellite recon? In World War II, hunter-killer groups had been guided to U-boats by Ultra decrypts. But as far as he knew, they had no such insight into Chinese movements. Even with “Night Light,” whatever it was; if they had, the subs’ presence wouldn’t be such a surprise.

  What other ugly treats did their enemy have in store? So far they’d bulldozed, overwhelmed, outmaneuvered, and outsmarted the Allies at every tu
rn.

  He sighed and bent to zip on his boots again. One thing was certain, at least.

  He wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight.

  7

  DAN leaned back in his bridge chair as predawn bleached the eastern horizon. They’d busted balls all night, both the marines and Hornet’s crew. They hadn’t quite gotten everything ashore. But most of the heavy equipment was offloaded, the vehicles and tanks. Enough to clear the hangar and stowage areas for the helicopters.

  Helicopters … The task force’s initial course would be north, to close Japan. If he maintained twenty-five knots, in thirty-two hours he’d be within range … assuming the pilots were cool with no return ticket if anything went wrong. Once they were safely aboard, he’d turn east.

  His brick crackled. “Ready to execute, Admiral,” Dudley transmitted.

  “All right, Jer. Let’s move ’em out.” The execute message would be sent from Flag Plot, on the 02 level. He’d be down there soon. But just now, he wanted to oversee this with the naked eye.

  Messages had been flying thick and fast during the night, clarifying things a bit. The sinkings were concentrated in the immense empty bowl of ocean southwest of Midway, north of the Marshalls and Micronesia, and east of the Marianas and Guam. Premier Zhang’s, or Admiral Lianfeng’s, intent was clear. The shortest line between Hawaii and California to the western Pacific led through this central sea. Cut off, even the few allied forces currently in action would wither like tourniqueted limbs.

  Given that reality, postponing Operation Mandible was the only possible response.

  But sending his task force after subs signaled a sobering reality. The U.S. Navy was spread so thinly that it couldn’t both control the sea lanes and cover an amphibious landing.

  On the other hand, a second ASW task force was assembling at Pearl. He and they together might be able to vise the wolf pack between them.

  “Now make all preparations for getting under way,” the 1MC announced.