The ship was registered in Liberia, like thousands of other ships, but owned by a shadowy company called Neptune Rising. Not that Ko cared, so long as the ship’s captain did his bidding. His name was Frank Bristol. And he was, according to Chinese intelligence, an American. More than that, a mercenary who, like all mercenaries, was for sale.
The Java Dawn was docked at a pier just inside the entrance to Da Nang Bay where the water was deepest. The naval officers were dressed in business suits as they paid the taxi driver, left the car, and paused to inspect the vessel docked in front of them.
The forward section of the ship was loaded with multi-colored shipping containers which were stacked three high. The four-level superstructure was painted white, and topped by a single stack. “What’s she carrying?” Hong wanted to know.
“She’s loaded with machine parts, electronics and textiles,” Ko replied. “All from India, and bound for South Korea.”
“So, she’s traveling from an Allied country, she’s in a neutral port, and she’s headed for an Allied country,” Hong observed. “That’s good. The Americans and the Japanese have no reason to pay special attention to her.”
“Exactly,” Ko said. “From here the Java will sail due east, pass the north end of Luzon off to the starboard, and turn north. Then she’ll pass Taiwan on her port side, and head toward Okinawa.”
“And the island of Tonaki.”
“Yes,” Ko agreed. “That makes her perfect for what we have in mind, so long as her captain is competent, and her engines are in good repair. I will evaluate the captain while you take a tour of the engine room.”
A man in a blue jumpsuit was stationed at the gangplank that ran from the pier into the ship’s gloomy interior. He didn’t speak Chinese or English. The officers were forced to wait while a crewman was dispatched to fetch a petty officer.
The petty officer was dressed in khakis, rather than the blue overalls the deckhands wore, and carrying a radio which he used to contact the bridge. After a brief exchange the naval officers were led across what seemed like a half-acre of oily steel to a hatch marked “Stairs” in three languages.
The metal stairs switch-backed up three levels to the bridge. There a large sweep of windows framed the view of the harbor. A curving console and a dozen screens fronted that. Two raised seats were positioned next to duplicate sets of controls. The sort of setup Ko would expect to see on a navy vessel.
But what he wouldn’t expect to find was the mat behind the chairs and a set of free weights. The American stood at least six-two; he was stripped to his waist. Muscles bulged and tattoos squirmed as he performed alternating curls with fifty-pound weights.
“Welcome aboard gentlemen,” the man said in English. “I’m Captain Bristol. The home office instructed me to cooperate with you. And for a ten-grand bonus, I agreed to do so. What’s the plan?”
“Our requirement is really quite simple,” Ko replied. “You will depart for South Korea as scheduled. At a predetermined time and place our vessel will join yours and cruise alongside.”
Bristol placed the weights on a rack. “Define ‘alongside.’”
“About one hundred feet off your starboard side.”
Bristol’s eyes flicked from Ko to Hong and back again. “For how long?”
“Approximately four hours at your cruising speed of 24 knots.”
Bristol went over to get a towel. “So, we’re going to hold hands for a hundred miles. And this will take place during the hours of darkness?”
“Yes.”
“With or without running lights?”
“Our vessel will be blacked out.”
“And in case of bad weather?”
“Then dress appropriately,” Ko replied.
Bristol laughed. “I like your style. Okay … The Java Dawn will depart Da Nang at 1800 the day after tomorrow. Do you have the coordinates for the rendezvous? And a time?”
“Yes,” Ko answered as he gave Bristol a piece of paper.
The merchant captain eyed it. “Ah, you included a radio frequency as well. Good. Although I suggest that we use it as little as possible.”
“Agreed.”
Bristol made a show out of folding the paper, and tucking it into a pocket. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes,” Ko said. “We want a tour of the engine room.”
Bristol smiled. “Of course, you do. I’ll send for Chief Abidi. He will show you around.”
***
Aboard the semi-submersible cruiser Sea-Dragon in the South China Sea
It was dark and the Sea Dragon was steaming north with the island of Taiwan to the west. Most of the cruiser’s hull was submerged leaving nothing more than her twin conning towers exposed. In keeping with his new rank Lieutenant Jev Jing was standing watch in Tower 1, along with the cruiser’s third officer, and two ratings.
The ship was traveling at a steady 22 knots and pushing swells away from its rounded bow. The lights of Taipei twinkled off the port bow, where they served to symbolize Taiwan’s precarious neutrality.
China had, as was the case with Vietnam, chosen to leave the heavily armed country alone for the moment, rather than spend the resources required to conquer it. But later, during what the president referred to as the Weida de tongzhi (The Great Dominion) there would be plenty of time in which to “train the dogs.”
Lieutenant Commander Yu’s thoughts were on Taiwan as well. “Look at those lights, Jev,” Yu said. “Some of them are bars. And do you know what’s in those bars? Booze. But more importantly, women. Some of whom are bound to pretty, and willing to make a sailor happy for the right price. I wish we could go there.”
“Yes, sir,” Jing said obediently. “That would be nice.”
“Attention on deck,” a rating said as Captain Ko appeared.
“As you were,” Ko said, before anyone could snap to attention. “We should be coming up on the Java Dawn at any moment … Keep your eyes peeled.”
Jing stared into the darkness, hoping to be the first to spot the container ship, but a sharp-eyed rating beat him to it. “There she is, Captain … Off our port bow.”
Jing saw the white glow of a stern light, followed by a green running light, and the checkerboard glow of lights associated with the ship’s superstructure. The Sea Dragon by contrast was blacked out.
Ko was wearing a wireless headset, and giving orders to those on duty in the CIC. “Warn the freighter that we’re coming alongside. Match her speed. Tell the Dawn to engage their autopilot if they are steering manually. And ask them to provide advance warning if they disengage it.
“Bring the Dragon to a point one hundred feet off the Java Dawn’s starboard side and engage our autopilot. Monitor our position constantly to ensure that we remain in position.”
Everyone, Jing included, knew what the captain was up to, and had complete faith in his ability to pull it off. And why wouldn’t they? After the victory over the USS Concord, and the successful attack on Singapore, Ko could no wrong. So, if he thought the Sea Dragon could sneak up on Okinawa, and attack it with impunity, they were happy to be part of what promised to be a third thrilling victory.
Jing went off duty a half hour later. He was thankful for the tiny cabin that he shared with another lieutenant, because two platoons of marines were crammed into the cruiser’s various nooks and crannies. That meant the air was even more fetid than usual, the already cramped conditions felt more oppressive, and Jing had to stand in line to use a urinal.
But Jing knew the marines were going to play an important part in completing the mission. Their job was to go ashore on Tonaki Island and prevent the locals from using phones or radios to warn authorities about the impending attack.
And, much to his satisfaction, Jing had been selected to go with them to supervise communications. The prospect was not only exciting, but the sort of outing that could produce a favorable mention, or even some sort of award.
It was important to be rested, or so it seemed to Jing, who was determined
to take a two-hour nap prior to joining the shore party. He found it impossible to sleep however, and kept looking at his watch, until it was time to roll off the bunk and get dressed.
The Java Dawn and the Sea Dragon had been traveling in company for four hours by then. And as far as Jing knew, they had done so without difficulty. It felt strange to wear marine camos and the holstered Type 67 suppressed pistol. Jing hadn’t fired a handgun or a rifle since officer training school, but had no reason to worry, since the marines would handle that sort of thing.
A lieutenant named Ma was in charge of the marine detachment and Jing didn’t like him. There were a number of reasons for that, starting with Ma’s tendency to shout everything, the officer’s overbearing manner, and his coarse sense of humor. Fortunately, Jing wouldn’t have to deal with Ma for very long, and took comfort from that.
***
Captain Ko felt a tremendous sense of relief as the Java Dawn and the Sea Dragon parted company. The subterfuge had been successful. He knew that because he was still alive. Had the Allies been able to spot the cruiser, long range missiles would have fallen on it in a matter of minutes.
But Sea Dragon wasn’t safe yet. Not by a long shot. The next step was to close with the island of Tonaki, enter its harbor, and discharge Lieutenant Ma’s marines. The rest would depend on stealth. The plan was to send teams to disable cell service, regular phone service, and the radio transmitter the islanders used for emergencies. Lieutenant Jing would see to that.
Once that was accomplished the locals were to be rounded up and held in a warehouse until the attack was over. Perhaps they would survive. Or, if the Japanese government decided to sacrifice them, the residents of Tonaki would be killed by the Americans. Such were the vagaries of war.
Of immediate concern was the need to put the marines ashore. A tricky business because it required him to blow enough water out of the Sea Dragon’s ballast tanks to raise the main deck above sea level. But not too far above sea level lest Ko make it difficult for the crew to launch the inflatable rafts the marines were going to use.
Would that make the ship more visible to radar? Yes, it would. But Ko planned to keep the process short by loading the rafts on the deck, taking water into the tanks, and floating them off. A process for which Jing was also responsible. He’s a bright lad, Ko thought. If it weren’t for him Enlai would be president. This will be the making of him.
***
Jing was acutely aware of the responsibilities that had been heaped upon him. Load the rafts. Make sure the marines landed in the right place. Establish and maintain communications with the Sea Dragon. And, destroy the island’s communications infrastructure. Not personally of course, but through Lieutenant Ma.
Nothing had been said. But it was obvious that Captain Hong, and therefore Captain Ko, were aware of his role in uncovering then President Enlai’s agent on the ship. And they were giving him an opportunity to distinguish himself.
Jing made sure that he was the first man to exit the hull via Conning Tower 2, and the first to arrive on the main deck, where a team of sailors was inflating the rafts. Air hissed from portable tanks, and the rafts began to take shape, as Ma barked orders.
It took less than a minute for the marines to board their assigned rafts and connect the inflatables together with pre-cut lines. That was Jing’s idea. And it stemmed from a deep-seated fear that, if left to their own devices, at least some of the marines would stray and land in different places.
Jing had assigned himself to the first raft, and assigned Ma to the last raft, to minimize the amount of harm the marine might do.
In spite of the late hour lights twinkled on Tonaki. And the lights, combined with the red beacon on the island’s radio tower, would keep Jing on course. The raft wobbled as the Sea Dragon sank into her semi-submerged state and seawater sloshed over the deck. Then the rafts were afloat and free to depart.
Every member of the landing party was wearing a wireless headset and night vision gear. Jing spoke softly. “Paddle in unison. Hold noise to a minimum. And maintain situational awareness. Over.”
Jing was amazed by how clear the green-hued imagery was. Water splashed as someone missed a stroke and a noncom told him to “Sushen.” (Shape up.)
Jing’s eyes were focused on the village of Tonaki. It took on more detail as rafts drew closer. Jing was looking for any signs of alarm. There were none. “Get ready,” Jing said. “My raft will land sideways. Do the same with yours. That will enable everyone to exit quickly. Assume a defensive posture and await orders. Over.”
Jing knew Ma was jealous, but didn’t care. More than that, and much to Jing’s surprise, he was enjoying himself. Would he feel the same way if American soldiers were waiting on the beach? No. But the sense of anticipation persisted.
Jing felt the raft make contact with the steeply shelving beach and heard the rattle of loose gravel. “Now! Swing sideways! Don’t forget to drop your anchors. We’ll need the rafts later.” Jing knew that the marines in the last raft would need extra time to reach the beach. That was factored into the plan.
Jing stepped out into cold seawater that immediately flooded his boots. He barely noticed. The tower was designated as “target one” because of all the cell phone antennas, splitters, couplers and attenuators that were attached to it. The mast was used for emergency radio communications as well.
Meanwhile Ma, with roughly 75 percent of the marines at his disposal, had orders to roust the locals out of their beds, confiscate their cell phones, and cut their land lines if any.
The moment those tasks were accomplished Ma was to herd the civilians to the school gymnasium and place them under guard. “Team 1 will follow me,” Jing said, as he drew his pistol. “Team 2 will split into fire teams and take control of the village. Don’t forget to neutralize public phones if you see any. Execute. Over.”
Ma barked only slightly subdued orders, noncoms led fireteams away, and it was time to report in. “This is Alpha-One. We are ashore and proceeding to our preset objectives. Over.”
“Understood. Over,” came the reply.
Navigation was easy. All Jing and his team of seven marines had to do was head for the red beacon. They jogged through twisting-turning streets to the point where the tower loomed above them. A small equipment building and the tower were protected by a locked gate and an eight-foot, wire mesh fence.
Bolt cutters were used to slice through the padlock. Hinges squealed as Jing pulled it open. A demolitions expert hurried forward to plant a prepared charge on the equipment shed’s door. There was a warning, followed by a flash, and a loud bang.
Would someone hear it? That didn’t matter because Ma and his marines were going door-to-door rounding up residents.
Now the demolitions tech was inside placing thermite charges on equipment racks, the emergency power supply, and a metal casing of unknown purpose. Then the tech left the shed.
Meanwhile a second engineer was up on the tower placing a charge next to the radio mast. As soon as that was accomplished, he hurried down. “It’s ready, sir.”
“Take cover and blow the charges,” Jing ordered.
A warning was given, the team took cover behind a wall, and the charges were detonated. There weren’t any explosions as each charge produced a fountain of sparks, followed by a tremendous amount of heat and a flow of white-hot molten metal.
That was when Jing heard gunfire. He yelled, “Follow me!” and ran toward the sound. Had the Americans or the Japanese arrived? Was a firefight underway? If so, the Sea Dragon was about to be destroyed, the plan was in the toilet, and he was going to end up dead.
Yelling could be heard, some in Chinese, and some in Japanese. The first thing Jing saw was a headless marine lying sprawled out in a pool of light from a street lamp. A severed head, a samurai sword, and an old man lay nearby. A corporal rushed over to speak with him. “He came out of nowhere, sir! Private Guo never had a chance.”
Jing heard a burst of automatic fire. Flashes could be
seen through the thin curtains of a neighboring house. “What’s going on?”
“Lieutenant Ma is executing the old man’s family, sir.”
That was understandable in a way. But stupid, since the gunfire was sure to wake the entire village, and could trigger more resistance.
Jing hurried over to the house where the gunfire had taken place and hurried inside. That’s where he became part of a horrible tableau. A woman lay dead on the floor. A child was clinging to her body and sobbing. And there, standing erect in her night clothes, was an old lady. The dead man’s wife perhaps?
Ma was aiming an assault weapon at the woman and screaming insults. Two marines stood motionless. The woman knew she was going to die. But her head was up, and her eyes focused on Ma’s face.
Perhaps it was that, as much as the need to prevent more noise, that caused Jing to raise his pistol and fire. Not at the woman, but at Ma. Two shots missed. One didn’t. It struck the officer’s temple and pulped his brain. Ma went down like a fifty-pound sack of rice.
Jing was as surprised as the marines and the old woman were. Surprised and scared. How would Captain Ko react to his decision? Not well, Jing assumed. But one thing was for sure: it was necessary to take control before the marines turned against him.
“Take the woman and child outside,” Jing ordered. “Do not harm them. Your mission is to search houses for communications devices and herd the population into the high school gymnasium. Do it.”
Perhaps other soldiers, in another army, might have questioned Jing’s authority. Especially after they had watched him shoot their platoon leader. But the marines were quite familiar with the “Three Rules of Discipline and Eight Points for Attention” issued in 1928 by Mao Zedong and his comrades, when they were battling the Chinese nationalists. And the first rule was, “Prompt obedience to orders.”
They said, “Shì de xiānshēng” (Yes sir), in unison. One went over to take the old lady by the arm, while the other took the child and led the way out of the house.
Jing paused to collect one of Ma’s dog tags which he slipped into a pocket. Then he went out onto the street. Fortunately, fireteams led by noncoms had been hard at work. Jing was a witness to what might have been seventy prisoners being marched down the street. A third-class master sergeant hurried over to greet Jing. “We’re making good progress, sir. Where is Lieutenant Ma?”
Red Tide Page 18
