U.S.S. Seawolf

by Patrick Robinson

  “Oh, that the submarine sustained very bad damage in the crash, and our wish is to repair it to the point where it can safely leave for California. We’ll tell them we have a major problem with the reactor and have no wish to release it if there is any form of danger.”

  “What if the Americans say they’ll come and pick it up, and repair it with their own technicians?”

  “Oh, that would not be acceptable to us. That ship has been quarantined because of suspected nuclear activity, and may not leave the jetty until it is safe. I am afraid we would never allow a foreign warship into the Pearl River Delta.”

  “In fact, you just wish to fence with them until you are good and ready to release it?”

  “Correct. Of course, it will hurry things along if we get some cooperation from the crew.”

  “They will tell us nothing.”

  “Oh, they might, with some persuasion.”

  “And where will you keep the crew during all of this?”

  “I have already instigated the reopening of the old jail on Xiachuan Dao, about eighty miles along the coast from Macao. It will hold, if necessary, three hundred people including staff and guards, and I’m hoping to have it functional by Sunday. There’s electricity and water on the island—originally installed by the Japanese, but still working.”

  “Do you regard this as a place to hide the Americans?” Admiral Zu Jicai was asking the question.

  “Yes, in a sense I do. Because I believe the advantage is with us, so long as Washington does not know where these men are.”

  “How long do you think it will take the Americans to find out?”

  “With luck, two to three weeks. They’ll organize satellite searches, heat-seeking infrared, and they may finally notice some unusual activity on an island that is virtually deserted, as it has been for centuries. Also, the CIA has a very effective spy system.”

  “What will the Americans do if and when they find out where their crew is being detained?”

  “Nothing, because they will be too late. I intend to move all the prisoners away from the coast within sixteen days to a new jail deep in the interior, which even the Americans will never find. That buys us another twenty-one days with Seawolf…and then with profound sympathy we will tell them there has been a major nuclear accident on board, such that the whole area has had to be sealed off.”

  “And the crew?”

  “I am afraid they cannot be permitted to return, either, because by then they will know a great deal too much. We are going to interrogate them, vigorously, under the pressure of time.

  “All of their senior operatives will know we are planning to copy Seawolf, and it will not take the Pentagon long to work out that we intend to achieve total domination of our own coastal waters, plus the oil routes of the Middle East to the Far East.”

  “But Zhang,” protested Admiral Xue. “We cannot just execute them. There would be a world outcry.”

  “We also cannot let them return, because then there would be an even bigger world outcry, perhaps at some of the methods we may be obliged to use in order to recreate that submarine and secure their…cooperation.”

  “Then what do you propose to do with them?”

  “There will be a military trial, held behind locked doors. Each member of Seawolf’s crew will be charged with treason against the Chinese people, and with bringing illegal nuclear weapons within striking distance of the peace-loving people of this Republic. They will be charged with endangering life on the high seas, and with the reckless operation of a nuclear submarine containing weapons of mass destruction, entirely against the spirit of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty of 1991.”

  “But we did not even sign that treaty,” interjected Xue Qing.

  “That does not preclude us from understanding it,” replied Zhang, uncharacteristically haughty. “And there may be further charges leveled at the Americans, involving lying to the Chinese military authorities while we struggled to make safe their lethal weapons, in order that the good people of Guangzhou may continue to lead their lives without fear of nuclear radiation in our ancient and historic city. Furthermore, we will charge them with sabotaging the reactor and deliberately causing a major nuclear accident in our port.

  “Gentlemen, I would suggest that a prison term of perhaps thirty-five years per man would not be unreasonable for such crimes. And during those years, they will of course quietly disappear. But none of them will ever leave China alive. It is already too late for that.”

  Each of the six men in the great room nodded assent to the master plan of the Navy’s Commander-in-Chief. This was unusual for China, because civilized talk and discussion is an art form in that country. But the men involved today were wise and experienced. And each of them was aware that the moment Colonel Lee had conferred on the satellite with Admiral Zhang and taken the American ship prisoner, the die was cast. They had done it. And there could be no going back now.

  In 10 minutes, the C-in-C would be in the cell block, informing the Americans of precisely what was expected of them as military prisoners of the Chinese government.

  1930.

  Cell Block Mao.

  Canton Navy Base.

  Admiral Zhang Yushu kicked open the door and strode into the dirt corridor in front of the six occupied cells. He wore full dark blue uniform, with sidearms and high black boots. In his right hand he carried a slim wooden officer’s baton. He was accompanied by Commander Li and four guards, all of whom saluted the Navy Guard lieutenant, with three stars on his shoulder, already on duty inside the door.

  As Zhang made his entry, the lieutenant stood to attention rigidly, all five feet two inches of him, and literally screamed, in English, “STAND UP NOW! EVERYONE…STAND UP IN THE PRESENCE OF THE MOST EXALTED COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE PEOPLE’S NAVY!”

  The weary Americans dragged themselves up, and the guard screamed again, “YOU WILL SALUTE THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF! YOU WILL SHOW THE UTMOST RESPECT WHILE YOU ARE HERE! STAND UP AND SALUTE! YOU ARE CRIMINALS IN A PEACEFUL COUNTRY!”

  “Captain Crocker,” said Admiral Zhang in fluent English. “Remember, there is no one in this world who can help you. You have been caught red-handed, apparently preparing for an act of war in our Chinese waters. There is nothing your country can do for you. Oh, I realize that mighty Uncle Sam could hurl a nuclear missile at the city of Canton and probably obliterate it, killing two million of my innocent countrymen. But it would not concern us overly. We would still have almost one and a quarter billion people left. War has always meant attrition to us. We can stand losses perhaps as no nation has ever done.”

  He walked to the end of the line, glaring at each man. And then he walked back, and as he did so he intoned, “In any event, the USA is not going to hit Canton, because they most certainly want their submarine back, and they probably do not want to kill all of you, so they are not going to start bombing us.

  “Neither are they going to launch some kind of an invasion against a country as big as ours. Which brings me back to my original point. In the end the U.S. government will do nothing for you. You are entirely in our power, and I advise you most strongly to cooperate to the full.”

  The American captain stared at him, and said firmly, “Under the terms of the Geneva Convention, neither I nor any of my men are obliged to tell you one thing.”

  This had the effect of infuriating the lieutenant beyond reasonable control. Either that or he was going for the Chinese equivalent of an Oscar.

  “YOU!” he yelled. “YOU! YOU WILL NOT ADDRESS THE COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF UNLESS YOU ARE GIVEN PERMISSION.”

  “Why don’t you fucking zip it, asshole,” growled the unshaven Brad Stockton, whose hard-muscled athletic build had been known to strike terror in the lower decks of various submarines.

  “Yeah, why don’t you,” added Shawn Pearson. “Anyway, I’ve met you before…didn’t you used to work in Wing Fat’s Chop Suey House down by the docks in Norfolk?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen you in there,” said
Master Chief Stockton. “Cheap little joint run by cheap little Chinese assholes.”

  “SILENCE!” roared Admiral Zhang. And then, his voice instantly softening, “Captain Crocker, you will now inform your fellow officers that they will speak only when they are spoken to…perhaps you would do that before we continue our little talk.”

  “Admiral Zhang, might I suggest,” said Judd politely, “in an ancient and honorable American tradition, that you take that stupid little stick you’re carrying and go fuck yourself, and possibly your mad sidekick at the same time.”

  The C-in-C, who spoke excellent but formal English learned strictly from textbooks, looked faintly bewildered at this outburst of colloquialism. But his lieutenant, who had lived for a few months as a student in California, understood perfectly, and once more went into a frenzy.

  “YOU ARE PRISONERS OF THE PEOPLE’S REPUBLIC OF CHINA!” he screamed. “YOU WILL NOT BE INSUBORDINATE OR I WILL HAVE YOU PUNISHED IN A WAY YOU WILL NOT FORGET! NOW SILENCE!”

  “Hey, Zhang, who is this fucking little creep you hang out with?” asked Shawn. “Remember ancient Amellican proverb, you judge a man by Iris friends, and right now I’m seeing twin assholes.”

  The admiral’s face was thunderous. He had come into this corridor to intimidate, to frighten his prisoners. And right now he was considering having at least two of them shot. But he was a man of clear purpose, and he snatched from the lieutenant a document that listed the names, ranks and serial numbers of the Americans.

  Angry though he was at their insolence, he saw no advantage in putting to death the Master Chief of the entire boat, plus the tall young Navigation Officer, who probably knew more about certain electronic systems than anyone in the entire Chinese Navy.

  “Your attitudes,” he said gently, “will get you precisely nowhere. At the same time, my well-meaning requests are being rejected. I will thus leave you now until the morning. You will be given a bowl of plain rice and water…and Captain Crocker, try to bear in mind, there is NO ONE on this earth who is going to do one thing for you. Your government is in the process of abandoning you completely, which leaves the field of submarine research open for me to conduct as I wish.”

  Judd Crocker, with a sidelong glance through the grill to the next cell, which contained Lt. Commander Bruce Lucas, just nodded and murmured, “I’m not sure I’d count on that, Zhang old buddy, not if I were you…”

  0140. Friday, July 7.

  Office of the National Security Adviser.

  The White House.

  “I mean, Jesus Christ, Joe, this has been going on for thirty-six hours. How come it’s taken so long to get me informed? What the hell’s the matter with you guys?”

  “Arnie,” said Admiral Joe Mulligan, “the Chinese have been playing this down right from the start. Look at it from our point of view…SUBPAC gets a signal that Seawolf is immobile on the surface one hundred miles offshore in the South China Sea. That’s not good, but it sure ain’t life-threatening. We open up the lines to the Chinese Navy, which tells us they’ve had a request from the American captain for assistance, which they are providing…now NONE of that is life-threatening.”

  “I wouldn’t believe those little pricks in a thousand years, Joe. Neither should you.”

  “I understand. But all parties, including SUBPAC, have been playing it down, trying to work out a way to get the submarine free, and subsequently part on good terms with the Chinese. Arnie, it’s called diplomacy, and sometimes you gotta have it.”

  “And some other times it’s called bullshit.”

  Admiral Mulligan smiled despite himself. “Arnie,” he said, “can someone get me a cup of coffee?”

  Admiral Morgan ignored him, and continued griping and moaning. “And then, having been given a total fucking runaround by Beijing for the biggest part of a day and a half, you phone me at midnight and tell me to get my ass into the office because you have something big to impart. Christ, Joe! You’ve had all day.”

  “Arnie, how long have you known me?”

  “Too long, asshole. I’m supposed to be asleep.”

  “You’re not going soft on me, are you? Where’s the steely submarine CO I once knew?”

  “Joe, you have raised me from my bed. We are the only two people in the West Wing of the White House in the small hours of the morning, and I am in deep shock at the general failure of the U.S. Navy to get this situation onto a fast track.”

  “Arnie, I haven’t finished.”

  “Oh…well, go on. It can’t get much worse, can it?”

  “Yes, it can. Seawolf’s XO was Linus Clarke.”

  The blood drained from the craggy face of Arnold Morgan. His mouth went dry, and “deep within him he felt a slow trembling sensation. He walked to his desk and sat down, folding his hands together in front of him. For a moment he. was literally speechless, struck dumb by the enormity of the CNO’s words.

  After what seemed five minutes, he just said, “Does the President know?”

  “No.”

  “Do we yet know if they are off the ship?”

  “Our information is that the ship is alongside in Canton, and that the crew has been taken off and incarcerated.”

  “Holy shit,” breathed the President’s principal military adviser.

  For a few more moments, neither man spoke. And then Admiral Morgan asked, “Do the Chinese know the identity of Linus?”

  “No. We’ve always had procedures about what to do in this kind of emergency. Like get rid of all evidence, his papers, passport, etc. And provide him with new stuff that was kept sealed away throughout the voyage. I have checked, and the procedures have gone into effect. Linus has become Lieutenant Commander Bruce Lucas of Houston, Texas. The Chinese have no idea.”

  “Well, I guess that’s something.…Okay, Joe. Let me just walk through the situation with you once again. I want to take a few notes.”

  “No problem. Take your time.”

  “Right. Now Seawolf is on patrol in the South China Sea, where she’s been for the best part of a couple of weeks. Out of Pearl, right? Under the command of the very capable Captain Judd Crocker, whose father served with me.”

  “Correct.”

  “We do not yet know the result of the mission, but knowing that particular CO it was probably going well.”

  “Right.”

  “Then, in the middle of the goddamned night, Seawolf apparently runs across the stern of China’s new guided-missile destroyer, and gets wound up in its towed array.”

  “That’s what we’re seeing on the satellite pictures.”

  “Right. Now why did Judd Crocker not just send a team over the side and cut the sonofabitch free? He would have had all the right gear on board.”

  “Small-arms fire, sir.”

  “You mean the slit-eyed Orientals opened fire on the team and stopped them?”

  “Looks like it. Judd’s signal did not make clear whether there were bullets flying, or merely threats.”

  “No reason to think Judd Crocker’s gone soft?”

  “Negative. He’s probably the best submarine CO in the U.S. Navy.”

  “I know he is. Which means there must have been bullets…But anyway, we now have Seawolf wallowing around with no propulsion, attached to the Chinese destroyer. So they make her fast, and we get a signal in from Judd that the submarine is being towed into the port of Canton. He did not clarify whether at that stage he considered his crew were prisoners.”

  “Probably because he was uncertain himself.”

  “Right. Now anyway, you guys open up the lines to the Chinese Navy, which informs you they have had a request from the American captain for assistance, and they are now giving that assistance, correct?”

  “That’s what they said.”

  “So the situation is now slightly confused. Crocker’s not protesting strenuously that he has been arrested in international waters, and the Chinks are just saying they are doing their best to help.”

  “That’s it.”


  “Well, then what?”

  “Arnie, it gets a bit hazy from here. We alerted Langley immediately and they came in with a signal that a big company of Navy guards has been flown into Canton. Then Fort Meade adjusts the satellite and comes up with a picture of huge activity on the submarine jetty. It looks as if the crew has been taken off…then a coupla hours later the CIA hear from one of their field officers that almost a hundred American crewmen have been transported in Navy trucks to a civilian jail up in the northeast of the city, near that famous Canton landmark…what’s it called? The Mausoleum of the Seventy-two Martyrs.”

  “Better make sure they don’t have to rename it for the One Hundred and Seventy-two Martyrs.”