Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6)

by Don Keith

  “Skipper, Sierra Five-Six, the easternmost Yuan, just zigged, picking up speed and heading up toward where the Canberra is coming this way. I got a bad feeling about that. I figured we would get up in a position to make sure we can stop him if he is up to no good.”

  Knox looked at the sonar display for a few seconds and then at the fire control solutions for all the contacts.

  “Okay, I agree. Let’s get in this bastard’s baffles and be ready to shoot, just in case. Man battle stations silently. But let’s try to make sure we don’t shoot the ORCA by mistake.”

  The Cheyenne slipped down into the depths and picked up speed as it closed on the Chinese submarine without being detected. Half an hour later, they were exactly where Commander Knox wanted them to be, thirty-five hundred yards astern of the Chinese diesel boat and off its starboard quarter. And in a position that was blind to the PLAN sub’s sonar.

  “Conn, Sonar, transient from Sierra Five-Six. He is opening his outer doors. He is making preps to shoot!”

  Knox grabbed the 21MC and ordered, “Go active on Sierra Five-Six, steered beam, max power. I want him to know we’re out here now!” Smith looked questioningly at Knox. “If he knows that we have the drop on him, maybe he’ll think twice before shooting. Otherwise, the Canberra is about to be a sitting duck. They won’t even know what hit them.”

  Knox and Smith watched the active sonar display as over two hundred and fifty decibels of acoustic energy pierced the water, heading toward the Chinese submarine.

  “Positive return on Sierra Five-Six, range three-two-hundred yards, bearing three-four-seven.”

  Knox smiled. “I think he knows we’re in town. Let’s see if that makes him behave.”

  “Target zig, Sierra Five-Six!” Sonar reported. “Target sped up and changed course. Transient from the contact. Launch transients! Torpedo in the water!”

  “Snapshot Sierra Five-Six!” Knox ordered. “Launch two evasion devices. Wait ten seconds and launch two more.”

  Smith looked at the fire control computer and sang out, “Solution ready!”

  The weapons officer immediately followed with, “Weapon ready!”

  Knox ordered, “Shoot on generated bearings! Right full rudder, ahead flank! Make your depth eight hundred feet.”

  In rapid succession, the ADCAP torpedo had been flushed out of Number One torpedo tube. Then, the ship jumped ahead and angled downward into the depths. Maybe, just maybe, amid all the confusion, they could outrun or get outside the Chinese torpedo’s acquisition cone before it found and bore into them. All while Cheyenne’s own ADCAP torpedo kept the Chinese submarine equally busy trying to get away from it.

  The sonar reports were a constant, pulsing litany, the voices remarkably calm, just like a thousand drills in the attack trainer.

  “Own ship weapon running normal.”

  “Incoming torpedo bears three-five-five, zero bearing rate!”

  “Hold own ship’s weapon in active search!”

  “Incoming torpedo still bears three-five-five, zero bearing rate. It blew through the evasion devices.”

  “Own ship weapon shifted to high speed, in attack.”

  “Incoming torpedo still bears three-five-five, zero bearing rate!”

  “Incoming weapon shifting to close-in attack mode.”

  Then a loud explosion shook the Cheyenne. That was followed a few seconds later by a second loud blast.

  But Cheyenne was still there.

  When the reverberations died down, Sonar reported, “Loss of own ship’s weapon, loss of incoming weapon.”

  Smith looked at Knox as the captain wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “He shot at us instead of the Canberra,” the skipper said. “But I think the ORCA ended up sacrificing itself for us. Thanks, little guy.”

  “And the Chinese boat?” Smith asked, knowing the answer already.

  Knox looked sideways at his XO, his face solemn.

  “I don’t think that Sierra Five-Six and the submariners aboard the vessel were so lucky.”

  Ψ

  The Gulfstream jet—tail number Golf Three-Seven-Two—entered the final approach landing pattern for Taoyuan International Airport near Taipei, Taiwan. The plane was cleared for final approach on runway two-three left. At the last minute, though, Golf Three-Seven-Two veered off and landed instead at the little used Taoyuan Air Base field, less than a mile to the east of the sprawling international airport.

  The private jet touched down gently and then braked enough to quickly turn off from the runway onto a weed-strewn taxiway, all its lights already extinguished. It pulled to a stop on a cracked macadam apron at the south end of the field.

  Two people waited in the darkness, standing beside a black Toyota Land Cruiser at the edge of the apron. Two more black cars sat a hundred yards back, near the fence.

  Li Min Zhou silently watched the plane all the way from its approach, through the landing, and until it came to a halt only a few yards away. Only then did she turn to TJ Dillon and speak.

  “So, partner, we are in agreement. The CIA takes custody of our guest here and conducts the debriefings. But we share the intel equally.”

  TJ Dillon watched as the plane’s doorway popped open and stairway dropped down.

  “As usual, we are on the same page,” Dillon confirmed. “Yep, that’s the plan. And you and your people leak through your sources that he has defected and is cooperating with US Intelligence. That should keep him out of circulation for a very long time and irritate some folks mightily. So much for that famous Chinese obsession for saving face.”

  Li laughed out loud. It was the first time Dillon had heard her laugh.

  “Yes. It is a beautiful thing! And he will have every incentive to be very forthcoming for your interrogators, too.”

  Yon Ba Deng stepped out onto the top step of the aircraft. He squinted into the darkness, obviously trying to figure out where in the world he had landed.

  Dillon and Li looked at each other and smiled, imagining when the former high official learned he had arrived on the island of Taiwan.

  Or, as the Taiwanese prefer, the Republic of China.

  26

  Oblivious to the nature of the battle that had just raged below it, making so much racket, or how close they had come to destruction, the Canberra charged right into the midst of the little fleet of Chinese and Tongan vessels. It slid to a halt less than a thousand yards astern of the Zhang Jian, pausing to take stock. The three Tongan patrol boats boldly sprang into action, urged on by their king, and commenced ominously circling the American warship, their forward-mounted machine guns manned and aimed directly at the newly arrived ship.

  “American warship, this is Tongan Navy ship Ngahau.” The transmission popped up on channel sixteen on the marine band radio. “You are trespassing in Royal Tongan sovereign waters. In the name of King Tofuwanga the Second, I order you to depart immediately. Please acknowledge your compliance.”

  Commander Louise Gadliano was the skipper of the Canberra. She suppressed a laugh as she glanced over at Marine Lieutenant Colonel Stanton Readly. He simply shook his head. The machine guns could do some damage, yes, but the outcome of a shootout between the patrol boats and the Canberra would not bode well for the Tongans and their king. This was precisely the kind of battle she was designed for.

  Gadliano grabbed the microphone for her marine band radio.

  “This is the USS Canberra. The United States recognizes these waters as international. Your claims are not valid. You are violating mineral rights legally registered by United States persons under the International Seabed Authority. You are hereby directed to leave these waters immediately.”

  As she dropped the mike, she signaled for the gunners to train their forward gun mount toward the patrol boats. A shot across a bow, though not likely necessary, would surely bring this dispute to a hasty close.

  No one on Canberra was paying particular attention to the Pearl Moon. She was, after all, a freight vessel, her decks
full of big containers. But then, the sides of one of the upper containers suddenly dropped down. From inside, a gunner fired an HJ-12 Hongjian missile directly at the American LCS. The missile arced up and raced toward the warship, leaving a bright, flaming trail across the starless night sky.

  Admiral Yon’s “surprise!” But there was more.

  The sides of two more containers collapsed. A team of gunners slewed a Type 85 machine cannon around and opened fire on the Canberra. Twin streams of twenty-three-millimeter cannon fire spewed from the pair of guns and raced across the gap between the ships. The explosive shells reached the LCS even before the missile did, blowing away the fifty-seven-millimeter gun mount. The HJ-12 exploded into the wreckage, spraying the forward end of the lightly armored aluminum ship with shrapnel and destroying the vessel’s Navy Strike Missile System box launchers.

  The Canberra’s SeaRAM defense system sprang into action, retaliating with a half dozen rolling airframe anti-air missiles zooming across the water at the Chinese ship. The rest followed in a second ripple launch.

  Readly was lying flat on the deck, trying to avoid all the flying debris, when he realized Gadliano was down, injured. He pulled her from the wrecked bridge and delivered her to his Marine corpsman. His Marines had set up their TOW launcher on the ship’s helo deck, along with their M2A1 fifty caliber machine guns. The pair of “ma deuces” were already launching deadly streams of fifty caliber bullets back at the container ship, spraying the decks with fire. And the TOW missile leapt from its launch tube and flew arrow straight toward the Pearl Moon. The projectile slammed into the containers just below the one holding the machine cannon and erupted into a fiery blast. The cannon tumbled into the blazing pit.

  The Pearl Moon’s stinger might have been pulled, but the Canberra was severely damaged.

  Ψ

  The Fendouji manned submersible glided down through total darkness broken only by the vessel’s LED lights, illuminating the way directly in front of them. It showed nothing more than an occasional weirdly shaped denizen of these awesome depths, creatures that had almost certainly never experienced light before.

  The pilot nudged Yon Hun Glo’s foot to wake him.

  “Admiral, bottom coming up. Another ten minutes, sir.”

  Yon Hun Glo shook himself awake. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stretch his aching muscles, but there was no room in the cramped capsule.

  The Fendouji reached the ocean floor right on schedule. The pilot smoothly brought the little submersible to a hover barely a meter above the featureless bottom. But then, the LEDs caught and reflected back a startlingly brilliant golden glow that appeared to stretch out in front of them as far as they could see. The little team stared, awestruck.

  Yon Hun Glo could now finally see the culmination of all the planning and risk-taking, right out there in front of him on the other side of the submersible’s twenty-centimeter-thick viewport. It was there for the taking.

  He nudged the equipment operator with his foot.

  “What are you waiting for? Get the MRV ready to receive the ore. It must be loaded, and we have to be headed back to the surface in one hour.”

  “But Admiral, it will be impossible at these depths to…okay, as you wish, sir.”

  The equipment operator knew better than to protest. It would take at least twenty minutes at these crushing depths to delicately maneuver the cumbersome MRV into place so that he could use the manipulator arms to load it. And twenty metric tons of gold would take some time to lift off the bottom and shovel over to the MRV’s cargo bay.

  He would not object. He would simply get to work. Then he would endure the old admiral’s ire and impatience if it should become necessary. But the admiral would certainly be too enraptured by the gold to even remember his dictum.

  Ψ

  The Cheyenne came up to periscope depth to report sinking the Chinese submarine and the loss of ORCA One. They were greeted with the sight of tracer fire and missiles splitting the night sky, the loud and bright battle between the American LCS and what appeared to be a large container ship. The bow of the LCS exploded, a bright flame leaping up to illuminate the entire area. Another explosion erupted, this one on the container ship, and only a few seconds after the one on the Canberra, but with an even larger flash of light.

  Then the night quieted. No more tracer fire. No more missiles racing overhead. It appeared Cheyenne was half a minute late for this particular party. And glad of it.

  “Conn, Sonar, picking up transients from Sierra Five-Seven, the other Yuan sub. I think he’s at periscope depth. He may be making an approach on the Canberra. Not getting any engine lines off the Canberra. I think she is DIW.”

  Not good. Not good at all. The stricken LCS was dead in the water and would make an easy target. And it would take Cheyenne far too long to get into position to stop the Chinese sub from doing its damage.

  Bill Knox grabbed the 21MC mike.

  “Sonar, Conn, aye. Canberra looks damaged, probable DIW.” He turned to Walt Smith and mumbled, “XO, we’re going to play this the same way as we did the last one. Get your team set to shoot, then I’m gonna light him up with active. Hopefully, we’ll scare him off. If not, I want a weapon ready to go as soon as he shows hostile intent.”

  “Sonar, Conn, line up to go active on Sierra Five-Seven, sector search, max power.”

  “Sonar, aye. Captain, we’ll be reverb limited if we use max power. High probability we won’t get a return inside all the noise.”

  “Sonar, I understand. I want to ring his bell and advertise our presence.”

  “Sonar, aye. Max power at this range will certainly do that. Ready to go active, max power, sector search.”

  Walt Smith looked over at Bill Knox and gave him a nod. “Captain, ready when you are. Solution is set and the weapon is ready.”

  Knox gave him a thumbs-up. He keyed the 21MC mike. “Sonar, go active on Sierra Five-Seven.”

  The skipper could only imagine the looks on the Chinese crew’s faces.

  “Sonar, Conn, positive active contact on Sierra Five-Seven, bearing two-nine-six, range four-three-hundred yards.”

  A pause in the report.

  Then, “Possible contact zig on Sierra Five-Seven. Looks like he turned away and is going deep.”

  Knox looked over at Smith with a broad grin.

  “Well, XO, I’d say he got the message.”

  Ψ

  Colonel Readly quickly assessed the situation. The Canberra was now essentially defenseless. Both the ship’s lone gun and its surface-to-surface missiles were destroyed. The SeaRAM launcher was now empty, but he had already set a team of sailors to work reloading it. Until it was readied, his Marine unit was the only firepower that the LCS could muster.

  To make matters worse, the ship’s bridge was in shambles. Shrapnel from the exploding ordnance had shredded the ship’s thin aluminum skin and heavily damaged the highly computerized ship control systems. Several sailors were now struggling to get back at least some control of the vessel’s propulsion systems. Until they could do that, the Canberra would only sit there where she floated.

  The Marine commander shook his head. He had read of so-called “Q-ships” back in World War II. They were enemy vessels disguised as merchant ships to try to lure surface warships and submarines into range. Then they would remove tarps or other coverings to reveal a deadly complement of guns and launch a surprise assault. Readly was convinced he had seen his first Q-ship that night.

  He hurried below decks and found Louise Gadliano in her cabin. His corpsman was still bandaging a particularly nasty laceration across her forehead. He had already splinted her broken arm and treated a leg wound.

  “Looks like you had a bad night at the skating rink. How you doing, Louise?” the Marine asked as he stepped into her small cabin.

  “I’ve had better days,” the LCS’s skipper answered, still managing a smile. “Question is, how’s my ship?”

  “Your crew is bringing her back best they can. The
XO expects to have main propulsion back online in a couple of hours. Your weapons systems are out of commission. Your comms and electronic warfare systems all got shredded. We have limited comms back to the Portland on my team’s comms package. I asked your XO to give me a list of all the things he needs. We’ll see what they can fly out from Pago Pago in the morning.”

  “Could have been worse,” she responded. “Casualties? Any update?”

  “Could have been worse there, too. Several broken bones. They’ll be out of commission for a while. Lots of scrapes and cuts. But no KIA.”

  Gadliano closed her eyes and let out a long sigh of relief.

  Just then, Sergeant Major Ramirez stuck his head in the cabin door. “Excuse me, boss, but we got a problem. Those damn Tongan gunboats are getting uppity, screwing around out there a little too close for my comfort.”

  Readly followed his sergeant out to the flight deck. He could easily see the three gunboats circling, as if they were taunting them. They had now moved their antics in to less than five hundred yards, clearly aware the littoral vessel was virtually toothless. As Readly watched, someone stepped out of the pilothouse of one of the boats. The man raised a loud hailer to his lips.

  “On the American warship. Stand by to be boarded. You are in violation of Tongan sovereignty and are being placed under arrest. Your ship is being impounded.”

  Readly cupped his hands in front of his mouth and was about to yell across the open water for the speaker to perform an anatomically impossible sexual act. One of the ship’s crew handed him a loud hailer. That gave the Marine an opportunity to reconsider what he was about to say.

  “Go…to…hell!” was his significantly toned-down response.

  Within five seconds, the patrol boat opened fire with its machine gun, spraying at the helo deck. Readly and Ramirez had already dived for cover. Within another few seconds, the other two boats also began shooting. That meant that the LCS was being attacked from three different vectors.