Rushing up the ladder, they emerged on the helipad. Peter blinked his eyes, unable to believe his senses.
The landing pad was empty.
Chapter 28
South China Sea
August 26
The plan had been to leave the pilot with the corporate helicopter, engines idling, so they could make a speedy escape. What could have happened? Peter wondered.
“Now what?” Robert asked while he secured Rei’s hands behind his back.
The co-pilot was searching the black sky. “There!” he pointed. A light was low above the ocean, and approaching fast.
“Hope that’s our guy,” Peter said. Then the deep, rhythmic whump, whump of the rotating blades was heard.
As the air stirred in a whirlwind, the Airbus H160 set down. The co-pilot dashed forward and threw open the door. “Had to leave!” the pilot shouted. “Just barely cleared the edge of the ship before the missile exhaust plume overwhelmed the landing pad!”
Robert advanced toward the open door prodding Captain Rei with a meaty hand firmly clasped onto his neck and the pistol dug into his back. With heads lowered, Peter and Eu-meh followed closely.
“Get in!” Robert commanded to Rei. Still favoring his injured foot, he climbed in awkwardly.
Diesel was facing back the way they’d come, but it escaped Peter’s attention. He was focused instead on making certain their prisoner didn’t try anything while they were bunched at the door to the cabin. But Eu-meh did notice. She tilted her head to the side and peered into the darkness, trying to see whatever had transfixed the dog.
Suddenly, Diesel launched himself across the helipad.
At the crack of gunfire, Eu-meh threw herself to the side, colliding with Peter. He stumbled into the body of the helicopter before catching his balance.
Then the co-pilot squeezed off a short burst from the MP5.
Eu-meh was leaning into Peter, struggling to hold herself upright. Peter grabbed her arms and fought to hold her weight as her legs went limp.
The submachine gun barked again before the co-pilot lowered it. Robert and Peter eased Eu-meh to a sitting position. Her eyes squinted and her mouth was twisted in a grimace. She removed her hand from the side of her chest and it was coated in bright red blood. Her breathing was becoming increasingly labored as blood filled her lung.
“You saw the gunman,” Peter said. “You pushed me aside.”
Robert prepared to scoop her up and lift her into the aircraft, but she grabbed Peter’s arm. “Find her,” she said, her voice barely audible over the whine of the turbine engine.
“What?” Peter said.
“Find my daughter.” Her eyes opened and she held Peter’s gaze. “Bring Jade home.”
Peter nodded.
“We need to get her to a hospital!” Robert shouted, and lifted her with ease into the nearest seat.
“Diesel! Come.” A moment later Diesel jumped into the cabin and the co-pilot closed the door. He was still strapping himself in when the pilot increased engine power and lifted off the helipad.
Peter removed the medical kit from his pack. With Robert’s help, they eased Eu-meh onto the floor and gently rolled her onto her side. Two bullets had passed through her chest. Both the entrance and exit wounds were frothing. He applied sterile compresses and then wound gauze around. She was dying, and he doubted they’d get her to a hospital in time.
“How long?” he asked.
Robert shook his head. “Too long. There’s a helipad on the hospital in Bandar Seri Begawan, and the co-pilot has already radioed ahead.”
Eu-meh’s lips moved as she struggled to speak, her breath short and wheezing. She was drowning. A raspy sound came out, and then she coughed up blood.
Peter held her hand and leaned close to hear her above the din of noise. “Promise me. Bring my daughter home. She’s my only child.” Another bloody cough and spasms racked her body.
“I give you my word,” he replied. His eyes glistened and he fought back tears. Another senseless death. Another innocent victim. Too many times he’d been witness to this.
So much loss.
So much grief.
Peter swallowed the growing lump in his throat and he squeezed Eu-meh’s hand again. “I’m here with you. Hold on, okay? Just hold on, were almost to the hospital.” He hoped his lie would give her strength, and yet he could see life was rapidly ebbing from her ravaged body.
Her lips moved silently, and from behind closed eyes she saw a young Jade running in the sunshine, laughing as she fell into her mother’s embrace. They spun and laughed, and then Jade moved away like an invisible force was pulling her from Eu-meh. Then a new image of Jade appeared. She was alone in a room. Her hands were bound and she sat on a thin mattress, her face battered and bruised.
She opened her eyes, and in those eyes Peter recognized fear and desperation, as only a parent can feel when their child is in jeopardy. “Swear to me,” she rasped the words. “Don’t let them hurt my daughter.”
Peter clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth. She recognized his conviction and knew she could trust him. He would make sure Jade was all right. She could let go.
Peter felt her body completely relax. He pressed a finger against her neck, searching for a pulse—nothing. He leaned close to feel if there was a whisper of a breath, but she was still. He eased her head to the floor, and leaned back against a seat. He felt defeated. Everything had been lost—once again. It was the same sense of helplessness and despair he’d experienced when his wife had died. And again when his friend, Dmitri Kaspar, had been shot by militia in Minsk.
Diesel sensed the pain his master was suffering and curled next to him, placing his big, blocky head on Peter’s thigh. He looked up, his amber eyes conveying a shared sorrow.
Robert removed a blanket from a storage locker and draped it over the lifeless body.
Peter repeated her words over and over in his mind. And as he did, his anger grew stronger and stronger until it was an inferno of fury. Pure, remorseless rage.
Without conscious thought, his hand moved to the pistol tucked beneath his belt. His fingers wrapped around the grip. It filled his hand, and he felt a reassuring strength from the texture, the shape. He would find Jade. And when he did, he would deal decisively with whoever held her.
Chapter 29
South China Sea, West of Luzon
August 26
The USS Gerald Ford, pride of the Navy, was cornered. The incoming warhead had survived a fusillade of defensive missiles. Unable to either destroy or shake free of the warhead’s guidance system, Captain Healy knew his ship was going to be hit. The only question now was would his ship survive?
He’d read the intelligence reports during the briefing prior to the strike group embarking from Yokosuka, Japan. The warheads that sunk both the Izumo and the Makin Island were believed to be kinetic penetrators—very small, very dense, and hyper velocity. Thought to be only inches in diameter and maybe three feet long, speculated to have been fabricated in an exotic composite structure—an outer layer composed of a material they called hafnium carbonitride surrounding an inner core of super-dense osmium. The physicists claimed this structure was extremely hard, extremely dense, and nearly immune to the high temperature generated as the projectile completed the terminal phase of its ballistic trajectory. No doubt this is why the missile defenses of the strike group had failed to intercept and defeat the warhead.
The brains at the Naval Surface Warfare Center calculated that this type of warhead would deliver a crippling blow to a ship, transferring an amount of energy equivalent to 2.5 tons of TNT. Even worse, this energy would be transmitted from the point of impact on the top deck or superstructure, all the way through the internal compartments and decks, finally exiting the bottom hull of the vessel. It would be akin to a nickel-iron meteor striking a warship.
Flooding would commence immediately and extend upward through compromised bulkheads and decks. Any material directly in the path of the warhead would b
e vaporized, even steel. Nearby, metal would be melted, and along with the superheated gases, ignite any flammable materials—the most dangerous being jet fuel and ordnance.
Between the structural damage from the kinetic penetrator, heat from raging fires, and thousands of tons of flooding water placing a tremendous mass around the weakened section of the vessel, it was no surprise that the previous two ships had broken in two within minutes of being hit.
But the Ford was a much larger vessel, displacing nearly 100,000 tons. Could she survive the warhead strike? Not if her bunkers of aviation fuel, or magazines loaded with missiles and bombs, were ignited. If that happened, it would be a terrifying spectacle. A deadly, hellish inferno would destroy his ship and her entire crew—more than 4,500 men and women.
Captain Healy leaned against the console and stared out the bridge windows. A second had passed since the Operations Officer had sounded the alarm—“Brace for impact!”
Beneath his feet, the deck tilted, and he felt the shift in momentum as the Ford heeled into a sharp turn to port. And then, looking much like a bolt of lightning, only arrow straight, a tongue of brilliant white light lanced through the blackness and slammed into the deck.
His ship shuddered, and new alarms sounded.
At first, Healy thought his mind was playing a trick, a cruel deceit. His pulse pounded in his ears as he waited for the frightful secondary explosions to rip out the guts of the mighty ship. And then he realized the warhead had only grazed the starboard side of the flight deck. He leaned forward, placing binoculars to his eyes and peering through the darkness. The flight deck was illuminated by yellow-orange flames, fuel from three destroyed Hornets that had been tied down next to the forward starboard elevator.
“All stop,” Healy ordered, “until that fire is under control. Then turn into the wind and give me full speed. I want two more Hornets on CAP. Anything on the scope?”
“Negative, sir. Only our escorts. No other surface contacts. No air contacts.”
“As soon as the debris is removed and the fire is out, get a Sentry up. I want to see anything coming before it can see us.”
Admiral LaGrassa entered the bridge. Coagulated blood marked a short gash on his forehead. “Are you okay, sir?” Healy asked.
The admiral waved off Healy’s concern. “That first hard turn caught me off balance. Status?”
Healy quickly ran through the deployment of the escorts, the ballistic missile attack and response, the lack of any other contacts on the radar, the order to deploy a total of four F-18 fighters to the combat air patrol, plus the launching of an E-3 Sentry early warning and surveillance aircraft. The Sentry would give the carrier strike force excellent radar coverage of the sky and sea to a distance of 200 nautical miles.
LaGrassa nodded in concurrence. “Damage report?”
“Coming in now, sir,” the Operations Officer replied. “The forward elevator took the brunt of the damage—looks like a direct hit. Three Hornets were destroyed. Fire is under control and almost out, then they’ll push the wreckage overboard. Fortunately, none of the destroyed aircraft had been armed or fully fueled. Other than the forward elevator and immediate vicinity, it doesn’t look like there is any impairment to launching and retrieving aircraft.”
“Status of the EMALS?” the admiral asked, referring to the electromagnetic aircraft launch system that replaced steam catapults used in previous generations of aircraft carriers.
“All four EMALS are operational. No damage.”
“Thank God for that,” LaGrassa murmured.
Captain Healy breathed a deep sigh of relief. “If that warhead had hit center of ship…”
“Get a message out to COMPACFLT, and updates every fifteen minutes.”
“What do you think will be the response from the Fleet Commander?” Healy asked.
“This strike group is still operational. And as long as we can project force, COMPACFLT will not alter our orders. Although I would expect they’ll deploy the Reagan strike group to bolster our strength.”
“The Ronald Reagan and her escorts would be a considerable addition. From their current deployment between Taiwan and mainland China, they could join our operational formation in twenty hours, maybe less if we reduce our speed. But that would remove their presence in the Taiwan Strait. Might make Taiwan a bit anxious.”
“True. But this strike group has come under attack, and based on latest intel there is no reason to believe China is planning an imminent attack on Taiwan. I think those ships will serve a more useful purpose here, as part of this strike group. At least I hope that’s the decision COMPACFLT makes.”
Healy looked out the bridge window just in time to see the shattered remains of an F-18 Hornet pushed overboard. Crewmembers immediately followed up with a shoulder-to-shoulder walking of the deck to remove all foreign debris that might get sucked into a jet engine.
LaGrassa addressed Healy directly. “Make no mistake—we are steaming into combat. Make certain that message is understood by every officer in this strike group. Any ship or plane that enters our sphere of control that is not positively ID’d as friendly will be presumed hostile. As of this moment, all ships and aircraft are authorized to shoot first any hostile contact.”
Chapter 30
South China Sea
August 26
The Panda Star was dark, the only meager illumination coming from windows in the superstructure. But darkness was an ally of modern special forces, and the SGIT team was wearing night-vision goggles, or NVGs. The entire six-man team had landed securely on the helipad and immediately released their chutes. As quickly as the black nylon fluttered away, the team was on the move: First descending from the helipad and then splitting into pairs to perform their specific mission roles.
With Iceberg and Magnum in the lead, they descended the ladder on the exterior of the superstructure. Halfway down to the main deck, where the moon pool was located, Ghost and Homer took up a defensive position on a landing. From this elevated location, they could see over the main deck. They stood on either side of the watertight door that led from the landing to a passageway that connected to berths. If any crewmembers came this way, they would be stopped immediately by the two operators.
Boss Man and Bull peeled off on the main deck, angling for the towers amidship, while Magnum and Iceberg continued aft. So far, no crewmembers had been seen. Whoever was manning the Panda Star appeared to be below deck or asleep in their cabins.
Jim took this as a positive sign. Although the lack of exterior running lights suggested a covert nature to the ship’s activities, he found a small measure of relief that they had not encountered any guards or lookouts.
Through the NVGs, everything was in shades of green and black. The sophisticated light-amplification sensors and circuitry delivered an incredibly clear and sharp image, and the two men moved rapidly to the base of the towers. There were three in total, surrounding the moon pool. Looking down, the water appeared inky black, and there was barely a ripple.
Bull quickly went to work, removing a numbered plastic bag from a cargo pocket of his fatigues. Using his knife, he scraped some paint and oxidation off a support leg of one tower and into the plastic bag. Then he held the bag next to the location he’d sampled and using a classified camera, equipped with low-light electronics very similar to the NVGs he was wearing, captured a photo without the inconvenience of a flash. He repeated this procedure many times, acquiring samples from all three towers as well as the base of the crane.
Jim was methodically exploring the deck surrounding the moon pool. Although the artificial coloration of the light-amplification headgear made it challenging to identify supposed scorching of the metal, the paint and other residue samples would confirm if application of intense heat and flame had occurred. He passed a first aid kit, several toolboxes, and even a few wrenches large enough to require a two-hand hold, but so far nothing of a military nature had been found.
He continued his search, moving aft, as Bull lean
ed over the edge of the moon pool and scraped away more samples. In his cargo pocket he’d already stashed more than a dozen plastic bags containing flakes and powders, all photographically documented. Jim brushed against several large wooden crates. He paused long enough to conduct a cursory examination. The lettering was in Chinese characters that he couldn’t read. But he was able to recognize the upward-pointing arrows and interpret this side up.
Continuing his search, he cleared the aft end of the moon pool and was inspecting several fifty-five-gallon drums that he suspected were hydraulic fluid or various grades of motor oil. He removed a glove and ran his fingers across the top of one barrel, next to the bung; it felt slick and had the odor of petroleum.
More barrels were arranged on the deck. His eye was drawn to two barrels that were slightly different in shape, although they were the same size as the others. The rim on these barrels appeared to be reinforced. He moved closer. Printed on each were four letters: UDMH.
“Bull, I’ve got something here,” he said. His throat mic transmitted the message to the entire team.
“Be right there.” Bull sealed the bag and moved toward his commander in a low crouch, always holding his weapon ready.
While Jim awaited Bull’s arrival, he requested his team to check in. “Anything?”
“Negative, Boss Man,” Iceberg said.
This was quickly followed by Homer and Ghost. “Nothing. These guys must be sleeping like babies.”
Bull announced his arrival with a gloved hand on Boss Man’s shoulder. Jim pointed at the lettering. “Looks like our smoking gun,” he said.
“Can only think of one reason they’d have hydrazine onboard,” Bull answered. “Photos?”
“Already done. We have what we came for.”
“Roger that.”
Guarding Savage Page 20
