The Trust Of The People

by Christopher Read

  * * *

  Markova drifted in and out of consciousness, sensing people around her and the wail of the ambulance’s siren; she thought she saw Nikolai but couldn’t be sure. She tried to speak but knew she was making no sense and then the drugs kicked in, the warm embrace of sleep a welcome release.

  When she next awoke, Markova lay on a wheeled stretcher in a hospital corridor, one of a line of patients waiting to be seen. The trauma department at the end of the corridor looked to be overflowing with the injured, and Markova searched desperately for her triage tag, relieved to see it was coded yellow, disappointed it wasn’t green. Worse than a minor injury, but no need to be seen immediately – she was far luckier than many.

  The corridor quickly filled along one side, staff having to squeeze past. Markova’s head was still pounding and the left side of her body was a band of pain from breast to thigh. She tried to lever herself upright but gave up as soon as the nausea hit, lying back down and accepting she wasn’t going anywhere for now. Instead, she worked on remembering her cover story, struggling to recall her new name and date of birth, trusting that her confusion wasn’t some form of retrograde amnesia.

  It was another hour before she was wheeled into the emergency suite, her body duly prodded and probed, pupils and blood pressure checked, referred for X-rays and brain scan. There were the expected questions, Markova’s own concerning Nikolai merely met with a shrug or a shake of the head.

  Eventually, having been dosed up with painkillers, she was transferred onto a temporary ward, there to await the promised tests. Broken ribs, concussion, pulmonary contusion, traumatic brain injury – Markova felt the doctor’s concerns were unduly pessimistic, but just getting up and seeing if she could physically walk without collapsing still seemed unwise.

  She’d rethink her options tomorrow, once they’d worked out whether her brain was still fully functional or not.

  The Koschei – 17:09 Local Time; 09:09 UTC

  In Russia it was a public holiday, Unity Day supposed to encourage tolerance between Russia’s many diverse nationalities. Karenin had duly noted the fact at the mid-morning briefing, commenting in passing that the holiday’s origin had far more to do with Moscow’s liberation from Polish invaders in 1612. It was just one of the many useless facts Karenin could call upon. Another was that the Project-633 submarine was known in the West as the Romeo-class, the Soviet Union’s export version to China renamed the Type 6633 Romeo, before the same hull metamorphosed into the Chinese-built Ming-class, several of which had then found their way to North Korea. The design was now effectively an antique; however China had maintained several such boats, its tactical doctrine based on using the outdated Ming-class as bait for the expected U.S. enemy, with the more modern attack submarines waiting nearby to pounce.

  The Koschei’s acoustic signature had theoretically been tailored to be an excellent match to one of China’s remaining Ming-class submarines, specifically the Taizong, pennant number 310. Personally, Karenin has his doubts, not helped by last-minute concerns involving an upgrade to one of North Korea’s own Ming-class subs. The Americans had to believe they were tracking a Chinese submarine and not be confused into thinking it was North Korean.

  It had been far too late to re-think or make changes, and in any case Karenin remained unconvinced as to the accuracy of the science. Not that it was for him to question the experts, he was simply there to ensure the Koschei got noticed.

  Many of the crew were from Karenin’s previous command, the men adapting well to the peculiar mix of old and new: the Koschei was relatively slow and tricky to manoeuvre, but its passive sonar and torpedo countermeasures were based on the updated Kilo-class. The normal complement of fourteen torpedoes had been reduced to eleven due to the difficulty of acquiring suitable weapons – although China’s Yu-4B torpedo was a development of a Russian model, continuous upgrades had made it essential to obtain the Chinese versions. Despite its relative age, the torpedo was still a capable weapon, its greatest disadvantage a range of just 15 kilometres.

  The sonar centre in the old Romeo had been separate from the control room – now it was part of a modern targeting console, Karenin able to keep a close eye on the submarine’s various systems without needing to walk more than a few metres. For five minutes now, Karenin had stood behind one of the two sonar technicians, watching a small red icon pulsing slowly on the monitor.

  The South China Sea was a complex and relatively dangerous hunting ground for the Koschei: a deep basin lay to the east, dotted with steep-sided reefs, before the sea floor rose sharply to form the continental shelf. Home to a multitude of atolls, sandbars and shipwrecks, India’s winter monsoon dragged in colder air to add its unique influence to the ever-changing currents. The Sea was also a major artery for trade, its shipping lanes carrying almost half the world’s annual tonnage. Most of it passed close to the Spratly Islands, the northern route dominated by tankers transporting crude oil and liquefied natural gas to Japan and South Korea from the Persian Gulf.

  Despite such tempting prey, merchant ships were not Karenin’s objective, the Koschei meandering west of the Spratly Islands and close to the Vietnamese coast. The submarine’s sonar suite automatically analysed and filtered the hundreds of sonar contacts in order to search out potential threats and key targets, Karenin being given a very specific set of criteria to work with.

  The red icon revealed the position of Vietnamese frigate HQ-17, the vessel some 30 kilometres distant and well outside of Vietnam’s territorial waters. Built in Russia in 1972, the Petya-class corvette had been transferred to Vietnam in ’84; re-designated as a light frigate, it was soon due to be replaced as part of Vietnam’s ambitious naval program. The new Gepard-class frigates would have provided a far sterner challenge, but maybe that was for the best, the Koschei and its crew needing something relatively easy as a first test.

  The submarine crept forward, simply waiting for the frigate to cruise past. The Vietnamese vessel was ambling along at a steady 14 knots, no sense of danger, no active sonar searching for a potential enemy, the frigate not even varying its northerly course.

  “Confirm firing solution for Alpha-One,” Karenin ordered, “Forward tubes one through three; passive setting, three degree spread.” Visual confirmation was an unnecessary and risky luxury, the modern targeting and sonar systems able to tell Karenin far more than any video camera or a brief glance through a periscope.

  “Solution confirmed, Sir; Alpha-One: bearing two-three-two, relative zero-one-zero; speed 14 knots; range 7800 metres.”

  “Fire tubes one through three.” The orders were spoken without emotion, Karenin almost embarrassed as to how easy it all was. The atmosphere in the control room was expectant, certainly no sense of fear, the experienced crew confident but in no sense complacent.

  There was a triple thump as the torpedoes were ejected. Karenin hated having to rely on the Chinese torpedoes but their systems had been checked thoroughly: although not wire-guided, they had both active and passive homing, and at 40 knots could easily outpace the Vietnamese frigate.

  “Helm, left five degrees rudder; come to course one-six-zero.” Karenin rubbed his unshaven chin, careful to give the impression that he had everything under control, every potential problem duly weighed and a suitable response prepared.

  “Five minutes to first impact.” The weapons officer hadn’t needed to give an update, the information clearly visible, but he well knew Karenin’s preference for regular reports.

  The frigate still seemed unaware it was under attack, Karenin watching the target and torpedo icons, the data alongside showing something of the subsequent chase; abruptly, the frigate started to accelerate, turning rapidly towards the threat, the increasing clamour from its engines only helping the chasing torpedoes to acquire their target.

  Karenin idly wondered whether the Vietnamese captain would choose to blast the sea with his ship’s active sonar and so attempt to detect the attacking submarine; if so, then it would m
erely seal the frigate’s fate, the sonar pulses a guiding beacon for the three torpedoes.

  Under different circumstances, Karenin would have ideally launched the attack from much closer, maybe just four kilometres: he didn’t fully trust the ageing torpedoes’ guidance systems and he’d generously given the frigate almost seven minutes to plan its escape. More importantly, it also provided the Vietnamese a chance to analyse and report the attack, the Koschei’s alter-ego – or at the very least another Chinese submarine – hopefully taking the blame.

  “ASW rockets fired, Sir; they seem to be targeting the torpedoes rather than the Koschei.”

  The frigate’s rocket system was designed to target submarines and hardly ideal for torpedoes. Still, it was better than simply doing nothing and Karenin well understood the desperation of such measures.

  “Explosion in the water,” the sonar chief reported. He glanced across at Karenin, a look of understanding passing between them: so much for the rocket system being ineffective – one Yu-4 torpedo destroyed.

  “High-speed screws; two torpedoes fired. Bearing two-six-five; range estimate 8000 metres; designate as Alpha-Two and Alpha-Three.”

  The frigate was trying to fight back, the torpedoes most likely sent along a reciprocal course in the vain hope of searching out the Koschei.

  “Thirty seconds to first impact, both Yu-4s running true.”

  Karenin raised the attack periscope, giving a rapid all-round sweep before lining up on the frigate and increasing magnification. The ship was surrounded in a smoky haze, its outline suddenly revealed as another salvo of rockets was fired. A heartbeat later a brilliant crimson glow enveloped the frigate’s stern, the ship rearing up as though punched from below; a count of six and a second explosion snapped the frigate’s back.

  “Confirm two hits on Alpha-One; target breaking up.”

  “Down scope,” Karenin ordered. “Ten degrees down-angle; make your depth two hundred metres. All-ahead one-third.”

  The orders were repeated, and Karenin moved to study the tracks of the Vietnamese torpedoes. Russian designed and manufactured, he well knew their capabilities; however, these were thirty years out-of-date and fired blind, Karenin confident the Koschei was in no danger.

  The control room was silent, no-one yet having the courage to celebrate the submarine’s first ever ‘kill’. Strangely, Karenin felt drained, his mind struggling with a complex mix of emotions: pride at how well they had performed, and fear at what they might have unleashed.

  Thirty minutes later, the Koschei turned east. The submarine had finally been bloodied after almost sixty years – time now to build on that success.

  Eastern United States – 10:11 Local Time; 14:11 UTC

  The twin reports of separate artillery and torpedo attacks kept the news agencies working overtime to try and make sense of who had hit whom and why. The TV images from Khabarovsk at least offered an explicit illustration of what had happened, everyone able to see the carnage and destruction caused by China’s artillery: at least twenty killed, over two hundred injured. The sinking of the Vietnamese warship was somehow less ‘real’, and it was more difficult to point blame with any degree of certainty, even though everyone knew China was responsible.

  Russia’s outrage and angry condemnation of China was matched by Vietnam, the latter immediately blaming China for the sinking of the frigate. Just ten survivors had so far been rescued, the rest of the frigate’s ninety crew members assumed to be dead. Vietnam’s neighbours, even Malaysia, universally condemned the attack, the United Nations Security Council meeting in emergency session to argue and then do nothing. For once, it was Russia which proposed a more forceful approach towards China’s alleged belligerence, support garnered from a significant majority of the Security Council’s fifteen members. China vehemently denied responsibility for either attack, suggesting that it was some plot cooked up by Russia and Vietnam.

  Even as the emergency meeting was breaking up, news reports detailed rumours of a Chinese missile strike against a Philippine patrol boat. Official sources within the Philippine Coastguard first confirmed, and then denied the attack, the confusion spreading as a second news story broke. Now it was a Chinese landing on one of the Spratly Islands held by the Philippines, the exact details unclear.

  It was the final straw. With the rest of the world looking on, Vietnam and the Philippines used the United Nations as the venue for a joint statement, just one step from a declaration of war. With immediate effect, they announced the creation of a maritime exclusion zone, south of the 14th Parallel between the coasts of Vietnam and the Philippines, with all Chinese military forces presently inside or entering the exclusion zone liable to attack without warning. In addition, China’s embassies and consulates were to be closed, staff expelled, both countries declaring a moratorium on Chinese goods and services. The final paragraph was a plea to other nations, specifically the United States, to actively support the fight against China, and help defend the sovereignty of both Vietnam and the Philippines.

  The Spratly Islands were some 200 kilometres south of the 14th Parallel, the line roughly traversing east-west from Manila to the Vietnamese city of Quy Nhơn. Many independent observers assumed the creation of an exclusion zone was simply an idle threat, the two countries needing to be seen to be standing up to China without actually going to war. Others considered it a foolish and ill-timed knee-jerk reaction which neither nation could enforce, while potentially giving China an excuse to assert its authority over the rest of the Spratly group.

  Even the moratorium was considered a toothless gesture: China was Vietnam’s second largest trading partner after the United States, with bilateral trade worth over $80 billion a year; the Philippines would be similarly exposed, a quarter of its exports going to China. In reality, there was little either country could do to bully or threaten its powerful neighbour, with only a combined threat by the ten-nation Association of Southeast Asian Nations likely to sway Asia’s sole superpower.

  China immediately rejected the joint statement, denouncing the ‘blackmail and lies’ that had brought about the crisis. Having reinforced its earlier denial of involvement in any attack against either Vietnam or the Philippines, the Beijing Government pointedly asserted the lawful right of Chinese warships and aircraft to cross the 14th parallel, their response leaving little doubt that any attempt to block China’s access to the south would be met with deadly force.

  The artillery attack on Russia somehow seemed to lose prominence, it automatically assumed that Russia was more than capable of standing up for itself. The apparent restraint showed by Moscow was unexpected, Russia merely restricting itself to verbal attacks against Beijing, while offering implicit support for the actions of the Philippines and Vietnam.

  There was one key player no-one had yet heard from, President Cavanagh due to hold a press briefing at 13.00 Eastern Time; 01.00 Saturday in Manila.