China Star

by Maurice Medland

  Captain Chen said, “It’s not up to me to explain anything to you, Captain Connor. It’s up to you to explain why you bring an armed ship into Chinese waters.”

  Armed. No one had reported to Chen, so he couldn’t know about the cache of weapons. Matt had finally gotten around to looking at it. The coffin-shaped case of weapons Gray Wolf’s men had delivered contained Stinger missiles and rocket-propelled grenade launchers. Goddamn Gray Wolf and his conspiracy theories. Matt was there to pick someone up, not start a war. He should have thrown the damn things over the side. If the Chinese found them, there’d be hell to pay. Bluff it out. He shrugged and swept his arm around the deck.

  “Armed? We’re not armed.” He heard one of the marines come up behind him. He stepped past Matt carrying a pair of rifles.

  Matt let himself breathe. The shark rifles.

  The marine handed one of them to Captain Chen. He snapped the bolt back and inspected the chamber. He squinted at the inscription on the side of the barrel. “Winchester Model 70 in .243 Winchester caliber.” He looked at the telescope. “These appear to be sniper rifles.”

  “Hardly,” Matt said. “We’re an ocean-salvage company. We need the rifles to protect our divers from sharks.”

  “You won’t need them here,” Captain Chen said. “There are no sharks in these waters.” He tossed the rifle back to the marine and nodded them away.

  One of the marines appeared on deck, carrying Matt’s naval officer’s sword. Damn. How would he explain that? The marine handed the sword to Captain Chen.

  “Where was this?” Captain Chen said in Mandarin.

  “The captain’s sea cabin, sir.”

  Captain Chen pulled the engraved sword from its sheath and examined it. “A U.S. naval officer’s sword. Exactly like mine.” He looked at Matt. “How do you come to have this?”

  Matt shrugged. “I saw it in a flea market in Shanghai and bought it.”

  Captain Chen squinted at the inscription engraved on the blade. “Onward and upward.” He gave Matt a questioning look.

  Matt didn’t like to hear this arrogant jerk saying the words his father had said to him so many times. His father had been a career naval officer, a pilot who’d ended up commanding an aircraft carrier before he made flag. Every time they’d parted company those were the last words he said to Matt. His father hadn’t talked to him since Matt resigned his commission, but the sword was a reminder of better days. Thank God his father hadn’t engraved the sword with Matt’s name or initials, as was the usual custom. He gave Chen a palms-up shrug.

  Captain Chen passed the sword back to the private, never taking his eyes off Matt.

  “Why are you here?”

  “A U.S. flag freighter’s run aground on an island off Macau,” Matt said. “We have permission from Lloyd’s and the American owners to salvage the ship.”

  “Ah, yes. The American freighter. If that’s an example of American seamanship, it’s no wonder the U.S. merchant fleet has dwindled to nothing. They appear to have driven the thing right up on the beach.”

  “I’m told the currents are tricky around these islands,” Matt said.

  “These islands don’t concern you. You’re confined to the exact proximity of the freighter and are expressly forbidden to approach any of the other islands. Do you understand me?”

  Matt shrugged. “Sure.”

  “That freighter’s been nothing but trouble,” Captain Chen said. “The crew had to be taken off by helicopter and flown to Guangzhou. I want that filthy thing out of here.”

  “In that case, we should get started,” Matt said.

  Captain Chen glanced around the ship, eyebrows raised.

  “You intend to move it with this?”

  Matt held his pride in check. CoMar Explorer displaced only 3300 tons, but with her four Caterpillar engines, she could tow a Nimitz-class carrier 1,000 miles at a speed of five knots. The Zhuhai was probably over 3700 tons, and she’d be hard-pressed to do that.

  “We can handle it.”

  “Really. And just how will you go about such a Herculean task?”

  Chen was testing him. “It depends. The size of the ship, how it’s grounded, whether the hull’s been damaged, the cargo, the weather. The first thing we’ll need is a damage report and the cargo manifest.”

  “You must already have that from the ship’s owners and the insurance company.”

  “Unfortunately, we don’t. When we get on site, we’ll check out the cargo manifest. Hopefully, we won’t have to unload her.” He nodded toward the two thirty-five-foot aluminum workboats secured to their davits. “We’ll survey the vessel using small craft and divers. If any repairs are needed, we’ll make them. Then we’ll conduct a beach survey to inspect the bottom around the vessel and the path we’ll have to use to extract her. We don’t want to drag her back across the rocks.”

  “Of course.”

  “During the survey, our divers will use buoys to mark a survey line that we won’t let CoMar Explorer cross. We don’t want two ships aground.”

  “Very sensible. What then?”

  “Once we’ve got the survey completed and the lines marked, we’ll rig beach gear. We’ll do the calculations later, but for a ship of this size, two legs on each ship will probably do it. Then we’ll get into harness and take a light pull to stabilize her. When conditions are right, we’ll make the actual pull.”

  “Your engines are large enough for this?”

  “We may not even need the engines,” Matt said. “We’ll use hydraulic pullers first, save the engines for later.”

  “And if you’re successful in extracting the vessel from the beach?”

  “That’s when the fun begins. We’ll have a very large vessel free in a very bad place - the place where she ran aground. Ideally, we’d have a tug or two to help, but we don’t have that luxury. We’ll pull her away from the beach and stabilize her as best we can while we get out of harness. We’ll have people aboard to verify the condition of the vessel, see if the retraction caused any additional damage. If so, we’ll do the repairs, shore it up, or whatever it takes. Then we’ll begin the tow.”

  “And the ship will be towed where?”

  Matt didn’t have a clue. That wasn’t part of the plan. He shrugged.

  “A shipyard in Keelung.”

  Captain Chen seemed satisfied that Matt knew what he was talking about. “You have permission to remain in these waters only as long as it takes to remove that ship from Chinese territory.” He looked at his watch. “You have a full day to accomplish your task. I want you and that ship out of here by nightfall.”

  Matt stiffened. He had to be here at least until midnight.

  “There’s nothing I’d like better, Captain. But as you said, that’s a very big ship, and ours is small. We won’t know how long the operation will take until we do a survey of the vessel and the beach. We may not be able to accomplish the job in one day.”

  Captain Chen glared at him for what seemed a full minute.

  “Very well. If the job is that big, we’ll provide you with assistance. We Chinese are always willing to help our Western friends and to learn new methods.” Chen nodded to the sharp-eyed sergeant and pointed to four of the marines.

  “You and your men will remain aboard,” he said in Mandarin. “Your orders are to prod these lazy barbarians into action. See that they get that ship off the beach as quickly as possible. I want them out of here by nightfall. We’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

  The marines snapped to attention and stepped off to the side. Captain Chen turned back to Matt.

  “Sergeant Li is trained in engineering at Guangzhou University. He also knows these waters quite well. He and his men will remain aboard to provide assistance.”

  Damn. Matt was scheduled to rendezvous at midnight on the north shore of Turtle Island to pick up his passenger. How the hell was he going to do that with a contingent of marines watching his every move? He needed to know if any of them spoke English, especially the sergea
nt.

  “Your assistance would be most welcome,” Matt said, “but unfortunately it wouldn’t be productive. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t speak Chinese.”

  “No problem,” Captain Chen said. “Sergeant Li speaks English, don’t you, Sergeant?”

  Sergeant Li nodded, managed a half-smile, and said, “Yes, Captain.”

  Matt returned the nod.

  First, a crazed prisoner and now this, a contingent of armed marines aboard, the leader of whom was a hard-looking character who spoke English. It was either very bad luck or Scootchy was right: They knew exactly why he was there and were throwing up roadblocks to stop him. If that were the case, he needed to make an excuse to get the hell out of there.

  Get a grip. If the Chinese knew why he was there, they wouldn’t be playing games. They’d sink his ship or at least impound it and take them all prisoner. No. He’d spent the last bit of capital he had just to get here. He wasn’t leaving $5 million on the table because of Scootchy’s paranoia - or his own. He’d wait until nightfall and proceed as planned. Sam was already looking the marines over, sizing them up. He glanced at him, and Matt saw the look. Sam and a few others could handle these five.

  “Glad to have them,” Matt said, extending his hand to Captain Chen. “We’ll try to teach them a few things.”

  Matt watched Captain Chen and the two remaining marines scramble down the Jacob’s ladder and cast off. Chen had Matt’s sword tucked under one arm, and each marine had one of the Winchester rifles slung over his shoulder. The spoils of war. The shark rifles could be replaced, but it pained him to lose the sword, the only memento he had of his father and his naval career. Still, all things considered, they had gotten off light: the loss of a few small arms and a contingent of marine “observers” placed aboard. Both were obstacles he could overcome.

  He looked at the scene around him. Standing on the quarterdeck of CoMar Explorer, the Chinese marines and Matt’s crew seemed frozen in time, watching the small boat chop its way back to the destroyer. Each group eyed the other warily. Both sides seemed to sense that the departure of the boat signaled a change in their status; they had each crossed the threshold into uncharted territory.

  Matt glanced at the faces of his crew, trying to assess how they were reacting to their uninvited guests. Scootchy Carter glared back at him, still supported by Doc. It was obvious by the look in his eyes that he was now more convinced than ever that his theory was right: The Chinese knew why they were there and had placed the marines aboard to prevent them from doing it. Matt saw uncertainty in a few faces, anxiety in a few others, but the only member of the crew that concerned him was Scootchy. The poison his chief engineer could spread might undermine everyone’s confidence to the point that the mission would fall apart. He needed to get everyone together again and reassure them, but that would be impossible now with the observers aboard. He’d warned Scootchy to keep his mouth shut. Hopefully, he would. If he didn’t, it was something Matt would have to deal with.

  Know your enemies. Matt took stock of the Chinese marines. All young except Sergeant Li. Based on the comments he’d heard, he was able to figure out their ranks. Two garden-variety privates, one private first class, one corporal, and the sharp-eyed sergeant first class. With the exception of the sergeant, not a very impressive lot.

  And only five. That puzzled him. Did the Chinese really think that a contingent of five marines, armed or not, could keep a crew of eighteen men under control? There was a limit as to where five men could be at any one time on a ship the size of CoMar Explorer. The more Matt thought about it, the more convinced he became that he was right: If the Chinese knew or even suspected what he was up to, they’d have had marines crawling all over the ship.

  And of the five, the only one that caused him any real concern was the sergeant, who looked like he could whip his weight in mountain lions. Obviously educated. Too smart to let himself be stranded on an alien ship without a way to communicate with his own. Matt didn’t see one, but he had to have a radio somewhere, probably in his backpack. If there was any pattern to his communications with Zhuhai, Matt would have to find out what it was.

  The other four looked young and inexperienced. Like their esteemed sergeant, three of the four were poker-faced. The only one he could read was the younger of the two privates, the one called Fong. Nervous in the midst of the barbarians, his head spun around at every sound. Matt thought he looked like an owl. He made a mental note to watch him. Private Fong was a weakness he might be able to exploit.

  He began to form a three-part strategy. The first order of the day would be to lull the Chinese marines into a sense of complacency by going about his business and convincing them he was there simply to salvage the freighter. He would spend the day putting on a show for their benefit, going through the motions of debeaching the ship. If he made it convincing enough, they’d let down their guard. Second, he’d make the “observers” work their tails off just to keep up with him and his crew. Debeaching a ship was exhausting work. By nightfall, they’d not only be convinced that he was who he said he was, they’d be too tired to care. And third, he’d divide and conquer. He’d split them up and take them tonight when they were bone tired and their defenses were down. He cupped his hands.

  “All right. Show’s over. Everyone back to your stations. Let’s get moving.”

  Matt’s crew scrambled back to their duty stations, obviously relieved to get away from the tense-looking marines whose fingers never strayed from the triggers of their assault rifles.

  Sergeant Li jumped to life, shouting commands in Mandarin.

  “Wake up, you whores. Corporal Wu, cover the bridge. Private First Class Ling, cover the engine room. Private Fong, patrol belowdecks. Private Yu, patrol the upper decks. Move your asses. Let nothing escape your view. Keep a sharp eye out for these filthy barbarians. They’re crafty and can’t be trusted. Report anything suspicious to me. Move! Diu neh loh moh.”

  Do your mothers. Matt had heard the Cantonese obscenity many times around the docks of Kaohsiung. It was a favorite of street gangs in Guangzhou and Hong Kong that had spread throughout China, even into areas that spoke Mandarin. Sergeant Li’s men didn’t react to it. They’d obviously heard the insult many times from the good sergeant.

  They also didn’t react to the more subtle insult of being called by their ranks. Even though the once-abolished military ranks had been restored in the People’s Liberation Army, it was considered impolitic to call a superior by his rank and demeaning to call an inferior by his. Regardless of their actual rank, in all branches of the theoretically classless PLA, officers were addressed as “Leader” and enlisted men as “Fighter.” Only at the most senior levels were officers addressed by their ranks.

  That little display revealed much about Sergeant Li. He exerted his leadership through intimidation rather than respect. He was a bully, and bullies usually turned out to be cowards when the chips were down. And he was arrogant. The sergeant spoke English, but it never occurred to him that a “barbarian” like Matt might speak Chinese.

  Sergeant Li’s men scrambled to obey. Corporal Wu raced to catch up with Sam and Jason, who were heading for the bridge. The sergeant stepped toward Matt, flashing an obsequious smile. The phony bastard. It was clear what his assigned duty station was. He was going to stick to Matt like glue. Good. That would give him a built-in audience. He decided to begin the show right now.

  “Jason. Get some rest, I’ll take the conn. Sam and I’ll take her in.”

  Jason threw a mock salute, and Matt started for the bridge. Sergeant Li fell in beside him. By the time they got to the bridge, Sam was already there. Corporal Wu had taken up station in a corner of the pilothouse with his assault rifle at the ready. He stood staring at Sam as though not quite sure what to make of the black giant, his head jerking at every movement. With his finger on the trigger, he made Matt nervous. It would be a good opportunity to test Sergeant Li’s knowledge of conversational English.

  He nodde
d toward Corporal Wu and said quietly, “If that thing goes off, this will be the shortest salvage operation in history.”

  Sergeant Li spun on Wu. “How did you get promoted to corporal, you dog bones?” he said in Mandarin. “Point that piece away.”

  Interesting. The sergeant understood conversational English perfectly. He needed to alert Sam to that fact before his first mate said something he shouldn’t. He nodded to Sergeant Li.

  “Sam, this is Sergeant First Class Li.”

  Sam nodded to the marine but said nothing.

  Sergeant Li looked at Matt curiously.

  “Unusual for a foreigner to know Chinese military ranks,” he said in English.

  Stupid. Captain Chen had called the man “sergeant,” but only someone who’d studied PLA military ranks would know he was a sergeant first class. He had to be more careful. It wouldn’t do for the sergeant to know his background as a U.S. naval officer. If he relayed that bit of information to Captain Chen, the commanding officer of Zhuhai might remember where he’d seen him, and that would arouse suspicions.

  “Just a lucky guess,” Matt said.

  Sergeant Li looked skeptical but said nothing.

  “All ahead one third,” Matt said.

  “All ahead one third, aye, Captain.” Sam rang it up on the engine-order telegraph.

  CoMar Explorer shuddered and began to slice through the green water. Matt took the helm and steered in the direction of the easternmost island. The Chinese destroyer was already under way, gaining speed. He knew from past experience that Zhuhai was fast. She’d chased his Los Angeles-class attack boat around the South China Sea enough in the old days for him to know she could make thirty-two knots, fully loaded. He’d be lucky to pull sixteen knots out of CoMar Explorer, and couldn’t sustain even that for long. There would be no contest in a race. He had to hope it never came to that.

  He noticed that the destroyer was traveling on a southeasterly course, away from the islands. Where was she headed? Probably doing what all peacetime navies do, a never-ending round of war games. She’d probably been diverted to supervise the salvage operation and now, having secured the barbarians with a contingent of marines, was returning to duty. He felt relieved to see her go. His worst nightmare would be to have the destroyer anchored nearby. Captain Chen had said they’d return tomorrow to pick up the marines. If things went well tonight, the arrogant Chen would find the disarmed marines standing on the beach next to the freighter and Matt would be long gone with his prize.