China Star

by Maurice Medland

  Charlie said, “All I know is, the U.S. is screwed and we’re dead meat if we sit here and do nothing. Not a whole lot to lose, is there?”

  “We’re all gonna die someday,” Sam said. “For me, the real question is how you want to do it. Like an animal, letting somebody else shoot you in the head when it suits ‘em, or like a slave, working on a prison farm till you drop, or like a man, doing something important.”

  Beth gave him a look that said she’d been there. She nodded. “Okay. I guess when you put it that way . . . ” She looked at Matt and screwed up her face. “But do you remember our conversation the other night?”

  That was the reason she’d been hesitating. She was trying to protect him. With death looking him in the face, there was no reason to hide his affliction any longer.

  “Beth’s referring to a problem Sam already knows about,” Matt said, looking at Charlie. “I’m claustrophobic as hell.”

  Sam looked relieved that he didn’t have to be the one to say it.

  Charlie looked astonished. He scratched his head. “Well, I guess we’d better scrap that idea.”

  “I think I can overcome it,” Matt said. “I don’t know for sure, but I think so.”

  “If it turns out you can’t, we’re totally screwed,” Charlie said. “None of us know how to drive a submarine, much less fight one.”

  “You don’t have to do this,” Beth said.

  “Yes,” Matt said. “I do.”

  “You sure, Skipper?” Sam said.

  Beth sighed. “This goes against everything I believe.” She looked up at Matt. “If we do this, people are going to die.”

  “If we don’t, a lot more are going to die,” Matt said. “We’ve tried it your way. Now we’re going to try it my way.”

  He heard the engines start on the command ship, felt the vibration in his body. He stepped over to the porthole. Zhuhai eased up to the north side of the launch platform and moored just behind the sub. Two seamen rigged a gangway to the platform, and two marines started across, rifles at port arms.

  “They’ll be coming for us in a few minutes, two marines from Zhuhai,” Matt said. “Corporal Wu will make a third.”

  He reached inside his briefs and retrieved the pistol. He pulled the slide back and cocked it.

  “Sam, get behind the door. Charlie, you stand on this side of the door. Beth, you get behind that stack of crates in case there’s any shooting.”

  Matt snapped the safety off and slipped the pistol into his belt, in the small of his back. He stood staring at the door, tension building.

  “Okay, folks. All we’ve got going for us is the element of surprise. This has to happen in the first five seconds, or it won’t happen at all. Follow my lead.”

  After a few minutes, he heard the bar being removed from the door. One by one, the dogs creaked. The door opened, and Sergeant Li stepped in, followed by Private Fong. Corporal Wu brought up the rear with a roll of duct tape, his rifle slung on his shoulder. Matt assumed from the worried look on his face that he was in a lot of trouble for letting them escape. The security guard stayed outside. He pulled the steel door closed behind them and barred it. They were taking no chances.

  Before a word was spoken, Sam eased up behind Private Fong and Charlie stepped up behind Corporal Wu. In one fluid movement, Matt gripped the barrel of Sergeant Li’s assault rifle with his left hand, pushed it down toward the deck, and raised the muzzle of his pistol to Li’s forehead.

  “Don’t move or I’ll kill your leader,” Matt said in Mandarin.

  He looked into Sergeant Li’s eyes and saw Traveller lying on the deck of CoMar Explorer in a pool of blood. He wasn’t bluffing about killing Li, and everyone seemed to sense it. The two marines froze. Sam and Charlie wrested their rifles away.

  “Let go of the gun,” Matt said in English.

  Sergeant Li released it. Matt held it by the barrel, not taking his eyes off Li’s. “Beth, tape their hands behind their backs. Tight. Sergeant Li first.”

  Beth picked up the roll of duct tape Corporal Wu had dropped. Sam pulled Sergeant Li’s arms behind his back, slammed him to the deck. He pulled his hands together and held them tightly while Beth wrapped multiple layers of tape around his wrists. When she was finished, Sam took the tape and placed a strip over Li’s mouth, circling the back of his head with it.

  “Now do Private Fong,” Matt said. He pressed his pistol against Corporal Wu’s head. “Remove your uniform,” he said in Mandarin. He motioned to Charlie. “Swap clothes with him.”

  With their leader subdued, Private Fong and Corporal Wu did what they were told. When Wu had stripped off his uniform, Matt motioned to Charlie’s dungarees. “Put these on.”

  Wu looked at him, not understanding.

  “You’ve been sentenced to death for letting us escape,” Matt said in Mandarin, not really sure it was true. “If you cooperate, you may save your life. Put these on and act like a prisoner.”

  When the two marines were subdued and the clothing swap was completed, Matt shoved his pistol into his belt behind his back and motioned for Sam to stand by the door. Charlie picked up Wu’s rifle and rapped on the door, a signal that they were ready. The door opened, and the security guard peered in. He looked at Charlie wearing Corporal Wu’s uniform. Before he could say anything, Sam grabbed him by the head and pulled him into the room, slamming him against the opposite bulkhead. Charlie closed the door and dogged it from the inside. Matt covered the guard with his pistol while Sam held him and Beth taped his hands behind his back. Sam covered his mouth with tape and laid him out alongside Sergeant Li and Private Fong.

  “Okay, now do us,” Matt said. He placed the pistol in his hip pocket and held out his hands. Sam wrapped a single layer of tape around Matt’s wrists to give the illusion of being bound, then did the same for Beth. Matt nodded to Charlie, who now looked for all the world like a corporal in the PLA marine corp. “Tape Sam’s hands and we’ll be ready to roll.”

  Sam tossed the roll of tape to Charlie. “There’s one thing I gotta do first.” He picked Sergeant Li up by the seat of his pants and the collar of his shirt. “This is for Traveller.” Before Matt could say anything, he slammed Li’s head into the bulkhead with a sickening thud of bone against steel. The sergeant went limp and didn’t move.

  Matt couldn’t tell if Li was dead or alive, but he wasn’t moving. Sam had figured he wouldn’t have approved, so he hadn’t asked permission. He’d just done it. Secretly, Matt was glad he hadn’t asked. He was also grateful that Sam hadn’t said, “This is for the men of CoMar Explorer.” Like Sam, he wanted to keep a spark of hope alive.

  Charlie looped a single layer of tape around Sam’s wrists, straightened his uniform, and motioned that he was ready. Matt looked at Corporal Wu, who was staring at Sam with fear in his eyes.

  “You saw what the black giant can do,” Matt said in Mandarin. “He’ll be right behind you. If you say one word or miss one step, he’ll snap your neck like a twig.”

  Wu bobbed his head. “I’m dead if I return. I don’t know where you’re going, but you’ll have no trouble from me.”

  Matt stepped up to the door. “Okay, folks. Line up. I’ll go first, Beth behind me, then Wu, then Sam, then Charlie.” He opened the door and peeked out. There was no one in sight. He motioned them out, dogged the door closed, and replaced the bar. With Charlie bringing up the rear holding Corporal Wu’s rifle on them, Matt led the way along the passageway to a stairway that would take them down to the third deck. From the porthole of the room they’d been locked in, he’d seen a convenience ladder at that level that connected the ship with the launch platform. Dodging crew members and technicians who seemed too busy to notice the odd little caravan, they reached the door, a huge opening in the side of the ship with people streaming in and out.

  Matt started down the ladder, then stopped in his tracks. There, on the port bridge wing of the Zhuhai, stood Captain Chen, staring at him through binoculars.

  Captain Chen watched the
little caravan troop down the ladder of the command ship. Odd. He’d sent two marines to accompany the prisoners. With Corporal Wu, there should have been three. Now there was only one, marching the four Americans at gunpoint. What is going on here?

  He focused his binoculars on the lone marine and recognized him as the American spy who’d convinced himself that he was no longer Chinese. He could see Corporal Wu trudging along in civilian clothes with his hands bound in front of him, between the black savage and the half-Chinese woman. In front of her, leading the pack, was his old brigade commander, Matthew Baines Connor.

  Chen stared at him, astonished. Commander Connor had obviously disposed of Sergeant Li and his man. How had he done it? But the bigger question was why had he done it, only to bring himself and his people back aboard Zhuhai like this? What did he think he was going to do? Take over the ship? After hearing about his attempt to sabotage the satellite, Chen had been prepared for one last, desperate move from his former brigade commander, but this?

  Chen watched him come, fascinated to see what he’d do. About fifty yards from Zhuhai, Connor brought the caravan to a stop. He stood staring up at Captain Chen. What was he doing? With his back to the command ship, Connor was pointing to his left, toward the northwest side of the launch platform. Chen followed his path. He was pointing in the direction of the disabled submarine, moored directly forward of Zhuhai. So that was it. Even more foolhardy than he could have imagined. And to top it off, the arrogant bastard had the audacity to tell him what he was going to do!

  Chen reached for the telephone, then glanced back. Connor wasn’t moving. He was still standing there, pointing. He wasn’t telling him. He was asking him. Chen stared at him, dumbfounded. He was actually asking his permission to try to commandeer a submarine and sink the launch platform.

  He still didn’t know how the man had gotten this far, but there could only be one explanation for what he was trying. The U.S. submarine the American spy had talked about with such bravado that would appear to torpedo the launch wasn’t going to materialize. There was only one way he could know that it wasn’t. It had all been a lie. They’d never told anyone. It would now be up to Commander Connor to fulfill that prophecy. Chen started again to reach for the bridge telephone, then hesitated.

  As much as he hated to admit it, Connor was right. No one in China wanted war with America. Only a few at the top, like the bogus senior colonel, for their own reasons. Chen certainly didn’t. He’d been educated at Annapolis and knew something of the American military capability. War with America would be disastrous. It was especially ludicrous to go to war over a renegade territory like Taiwan. Hong Kong had been repatriated from the British, and Macau from the Portuguese, without firing a shot. Taiwan would soon follow. Creeping capitalism on the mainland was bringing the two governments inexorably together. It was only a matter of time until they were peaceably united.

  Let him go, a small voice said. If Chen hadn’t heard the story of the killer satellite and how it would be used, he’d be frantically trying to stop Connor. Now, suddenly, he found himself wanting him to pull it off. Retaking Taiwan had nothing to do with national sovereignty. The old hard-liners were under siege. Ironically, the same creeping capitalism that was inexorably linking the two governments was also making the Communist leadership irrelevant and pushing them to do such a dangerous thing. Taking the island by force would solidify the party’s base, for now, but Chen doubted the leadership understood the full consequences of what they were doing. President Xiang had ordered the development of an “assassin’s mace” weapon that would allow China to take Taiwan, but Chen doubted if he knew the senior colonel was planning to use it to destroy America. America would come back - eventually - and China would pay the price.

  Let him go. It was a tantalizing notion, especially after the senior colonel had threatened to put him on trial. If the launch failed, the gaogan zidi would be too busy trying to keep his own neck out of a noose to prosecute Chen.

  Still struggling with the decision, Chen turned away. It was all Connor needed. With his little band following behind, he started toward the submarine.

  Chen watched him go. It was an insane move; he wasn’t even sure the sub was operable, but with luck and the element of surprise, there was a chance he’d be successful. The target was stationary, and it was certainly big enough. All he’d have to do was point and shoot. After the shot, successful or not, he’d dive and try to run for the nearest land, the coast of Sumatra.

  There was no chance Commander Connor could escape to tell his story. With Zhuhai and the other Romeo sub in pursuit, all his skills as a submarine commander wouldn’t be enough to keep him alive.

  Chen watched Connor approach the submarine. Once he got aboard and sealed the hatches, there’d be no turning back. He had twenty yards to make a decision. Kill him now or let him go?

  Fully expecting to feel the impact of a bullet in the back of his head, Matt approached the submarine. Closer now, he dropped his head and assumed the hangdog look of a prisoner. A fresh-faced young sailor stood on the quarterdeck wearing a yellowed white uniform and a side arm. He watched the tattered little group coming toward the sub with a puzzled, repulsed look on his face. Matt started down the gangplank.

  The sailor held up his hands. “Deng yihuir. “Ni zai gan shenme?” Just a second. What are you doing?

  “Don’t get your bowels in an uproar, younger born,” Charlie said in Mandarin. “I’ve been ordered to deliver these prisoners.”

  “To this boat? Why?”

  Charlie shrugged. “Who knows what Senior Colonel Lao has in mind?”

  “I know nothing about any Colonel Lao, and I know nothing about any prisoners.”

  “There’s always someone who doesn’t get the word.” Charlie prodded Sam with the rifle, herding the prisoners down the gangplank.

  Matt tripped and went stumbling across the brow, colliding with the sentry, who recoiled in disgust. Before he could recover, the others were aboard.

  Eyes darting between Charlie’s ill-fitting uniform and his Americanized face, the young sailor seemed to sense that something wasn’t right. He unsnapped the flap of his holster.

  “Ni shi shei?” Who are you?

  Behind him now, Matt shed the tape on his wrists. He stuck his pistol in the sentry’s back, reached around and removed the side arm from its holster.

  “Let’s go below,” he said in Mandarin. “Sam, secure the hatch.”

  Matt followed the young sailor down the forward escape hatch with the others clambering behind him. He prodded the sailor aft, in the direction of the control room. The sub reeked of garlic, cigarette smoke, and diesel fuel. He heard Sam close the hatch and felt the air change as it screwed down. They were aboard, sealed off from the world. A wave of panic swept over him. Forget about where you are. Think about what you’re doing. He shoved the sailor into the control room and spun him around.

  “Ni hui jiang yingyu ma?” Do you speak English?

  The young sailor shook his head. Matt could tell by his eyes that he was terrified. He had to find a way to calm him down.

  “Nin gui xing?” May I ask your name?

  “Wo xing Wen.” My name is Wen.

  You and half of China. There were only about 100 surnames in the whole damn country.

  “Ni duo da, xiao Wen?” How old are you, young Wen?

  “Wo ershiwu sui.” I’m twenty-five.

  Matt would have guessed him at eighteen. “Ni zuo shenme gongzuo?” What do you do?

  “Wo shi gongchengshi.” I’m an engineer.

  “All right, young Wen. No harm will come to you, but you must cooperate. Is the captain aboard?”

  The sailor shook his head. “Just a skeleton crew.”

  “Where’s the captain and the rest of the crew?”

  “On the command ship, watching the launch. We’re supposed to take her out one mile. After the launch, we’re to come back and finish the repairs.”

  Interesting that the captain was
n’t aboard. In the U.S., the responsibility for taking a sub out even a mile would never be delegated to anyone. But the really interesting news was that the sub was operable. At least one of the engines had to be running.

  “How many in the skeleton crew?”

  “About a dozen, plus some mechanics and engineers.”

  Matt nodded. The normal complement for a Romeo class was about fifty officers and men. A dozen crewmen would be enough to do what he had in mind.

  “Any torpedomen aboard?”

  “One or two. Two, I think. Doing maintenance.”

  “This boat has a complement of fourteen torpedoes,” Matt said. “How many do you have aboard?”

  “I don’t know. Not that many.”

  Matt handed Sam the pistol he’d taken from Wen. “These boats have eight torpedo tubes, six in the bow and two in the stern. Sam, you go forward. Charlie, you go aft. Commandeer the torpedomen and whoever else you can find. Get as many torpedoes loaded as you can, at least four in the bow and two in the stern, then come back and give me the count.”

  “Can’t we just ram it?” Charlie said.

  “Romeos only displace 1,700 tons fully loaded. Hitting a 60,000-ton platform would be like ramming the battleship Yamato. They wouldn’t even feel it. Now move, goddamn it.”

  “Yes, sir,” they both said, heading in different directions.

  “Beth, loan me your watch.”

  Beth handed him the Rolex. She was reading a brass plaque on the bulkhead. She screwed up her face.

  “My God, this thing was built in 1962 in the Guangzhou shipyard.”

  “They built these from ‘60 to ‘84. This has got to be one of the older ones.” Matt looked at the watch. Nine-twenty. It would be tight. He looked at Wen. “Any officers aboard?”

  “The number two. Plus the engineering officer.”

  “Who has the keys to the small arms locker?”

  “The number two.”

  “Where’s the number two officer?”

  “Right here,” he heard a voice say behind him. Turning, he saw an officer in a blue jumpsuit step into the control room. He appeared to be about thirty years old and had a short-barreled pump shotgun pointed at the pistol stuck in Matt’s belt. From the size of the hole, it looked like a twelve-gauge. Big enough to cut a man in half at close range. “Put the gun down on the deck,” he said in perfect English.