Red Tide

by William C. Dietz

  Madam Nguyen opened the box and there, nestled in blue silk, was a beautifully executed model of the Water Lily. A look of delight appeared on her face. “It’s beautiful! I will keep it on my desk where I will see it every day.”

  Kelsey glanced at Chin and saw him wink. The evening was off to a good start. Kelsey and Madam Nguyen made small talk as they entered a cabin where a well-set table was waiting.

  Once seated the food began to arrive, and there was a lot of it. Ten courses to be exact. Five were served in bowls, like the fried fish belly. And five on plates, like the boiled duck. That was to say nothing of side dishes.

  Kelsey ate small quantities of each dish, slurped her noodles, and was careful to eat all her rice. Because, according to Vietnamese tradition, to leave some uneaten would be regarded as wasteful.

  Finally, it was time to retire to the lounge, and talk business. “You have a proposal,” Madam Nguyen said. “I look forward to hearing it.”

  The deal that Kelsey put forward was identical to the one made to Milo Eguchi. Ten million dollars for Nguyen, plus a million for whatever employee, or group of employees, spotted the Chinese cruiser Sea Dragon and reported her position. “I know you are in the import-export business,” Kelsey said tactfully. “And therefore, employ a small fleet of boats that come and go as needed. Any one of them could provide a nice windfall.”

  Nguyen sipped her wine. “And if the Chinese find out?”

  Kelsey shrugged. “That would be a bad thing. But I assume you choose your crews with care. And have ways to ensure their loyalty. Plus, all they’d have to do is send the coordinates. Nothing more would be expected of them. So, it’s very unlikely that the Chinese will be able to intercept such a short transmission, make sense of it, and identify the source.”

  “You’re an excellent saleswoman,” Nguyen said. “Let me know if you get tired of working for your father. I will consult with my staff and get back to you.”

  The business meeting was over. But the get-together lasted for another half hour. Then, after goodbyes had been said, the visitors were taken back to the point where the Mercedes was waiting. Kelsey was dog tired.

  After reaching her bed Kelsey expected to crash. But sleep refused to come. Because the most important part of her trip, the part her father cared about more than anything, was still undone. And that was to finalize the arrangements required to rescue her half-sister Rong Parker from a Chinese prison.

  ***

  Aboard the Arcus, north of Samir Island, the South China Sea

  The PHM Arcus was foilborne and going full tilt. Having boarded a Chinese missile boat, and searched the vessel for intelligence, the American crew was faced with an additional crisis.

  According to Ryson’s XO, Lieutenant Commander Linda Vos, Samir was under attack by Chinese planes and surface vessels. She’d been in touch with the United States Indo-Pacific Command and they were sending fighters from Manado. The closest naval units were Squadron 7’s Arcus, which was about an hour away, and the HMAS Kalbarri which was two hours out.

  That meant Vos and Squadron 7 personnel were on their own for the moment. Ryson was standing in the “Arc’s” CIC. And, thanks to a drone and satellite link, Ryson could see what was taking place on Samir. It wasn’t pretty. An Armindale had been hit, and was on fire. A column of black smoke rose to mark the center of the lagoon.

  Half a mile out to sea two Chinese ships were visible. The larger of the two was a corvette. It was bow-on to the island and firing an automatic cannon. Ryson could see geysers of dirt and sand leap into the air as high explosive shells marched across the island.

  Ryson felt a wave of guilt. He was the one who had put people on Samir. And the Chinese saw it as a threat. One they were determined to eliminate.

  The good news was that both the C-RAM and the Tor missile system were still up and running. Yes, it was obvious that one enemy missile had been able to penetrate the Tor’s protective shield, but no defensive system was likely to be 100 percent effective.

  As for the threat from above—the air attack had let up. “The Chinese fighters are still here,” Vos’s radioman volunteered. “But they’re flying circles around us just out of range.”

  Ryson’s attention was centered on the corvette. The PHM’s Combat Systems Officer Molly Jayson stood next to him. “Let’s take the corvette out,” he said. “Ask the skipper for permission.” The request was little more than a formality and permission was granted.

  Jayson gave the order and two Harpoon missiles leaped into the air and flew downrange. The Chinese ship was well within the missiles’ one-hundred-and-fifty-mile range, and the weapons were traveling at five hundred mph when they hit the enemy vessel’s bow and stern.

  What happened next was a sight to see. There were two fiery red explosions. One forward of the superstructure and one aft of it. Then, in what looked like slow motion, the ship broke into three sections. The middle portion of the ship went down first. Quickly followed by the stern. Debris bobbed. And sailors, perhaps a dozen, were thrashing about.

  The bow remained partially afloat with the prow pointed at the sky. The stick figure which had been clinging to it splashed into the water. You can do this Linda, Ryson thought. Stop those bastards.

  ***

  Samir Island, the South China Sea

  Lieutenant Commander Linda Vos peered through her binoculars and smiled as the Harpoon missiles hit the corvette. Thank you, Commander Ryson, she thought, as most of the warship sank.

  Her Armindale, the Perth, had been destroyed by an air launched missile. One officer and three Australian sailors were killed. She would grieve for them later. The battle wasn’t over.

  Vos could see movement through the smoke pouring up from the Perth. The Chinese Landing Craft Air Cushion (LCAC) was about to enter the lagoon. It was big, ugly, and shaped like a barge.

  The concept was simple. By trapping a cushion of air beneath itself an LCAC could skim the surface of the sea while propeller-like fans drove it forward. And, when once the landing craft hit a beach, it could slide part way up and out of the water. That made LCACs perfect for landing troops and vehicles.

  What looked like the front of a modern railroad engine was positioned forward on the vessel’s port side. Two bulky gas turbine engines were mounted behind it. A stubby radar mast was located in the stern. It sported a Chinese flag that whipped in the wind.

  A boxcar shaped structure occupied the opposite side of the hydrofoil with two additional engines located aft of it. The cargo area between the islands was packed with Chinese soldiers and crates of what? Ammo, that’s what. Plus, everything they would need for staying on Samir once the battle was won.

  LCACs were notoriously noisy as turbine engines roared, spray flew every which way, and windshield wipers slapped back and forth in a futile attempt to keep the craftmaster’s viewscreen clear. Top mounted machine guns opened fire on the beach. Vos spoke into her boom mike. “Hold your fire … Wait for my order. Then we’ll give them everything we have.”

  ***

  Aboard the Arcus, north of Samir Island, the South China Sea

  Ryson could hear every word Vos said. And though moved by the XO’s bravery, he knew the Chinese were going to win. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Or was there? “Put me through to Commander Vos,” Ryson ordered.

  “The mike’s hot,” an ET replied.

  The hovercraft was entering the lagoon by then. Vos and her people were firing at it. “Seadog-Six to Seadog-Five. Order the C-RAM and Tor System operators to shut their radars down. Do it now! Over.”

  ***

  Samir Island, the South China Sea

  Vos was taken aback. Ryson’s order came out of nowhere, and didn’t make any sense. Shut the radars off? What the hell … Chinese planes were circling. And the Tor system was keeping them at bay. Had Ryson lost his mind?

  But then it came to her. Harpoon missiles were designed to home in on active radar terminals. And, if her radars were off, the
only radar the missiles would go for was mounted on the hovercraft! She issued the necessary orders followed by an emphatic, “No questions! Do it. And take cover. Harpoon missiles are inbound. Over.”

  The sailors barely had time to shut the radars down and take cover before the Harpoons arrived. One would have been enough. But Ryson sent two.

  They struck the LCAC like bolts of lightning. The fiery blasts overlapped each other and were followed by secondary explosions—as crates of ammo went off—and chunks of debris were hurled high into the air. Fiery bits and pieces twirled as they fell, each trailing a wisp of smoke, before hissing into the lagoon.

  Now two wrecks marked the center of the lagoon. That would make entering the bay more hazardous. But Vos didn’t care. She was alive as were most of her sailors. “Turn the radars on,” she ordered. “Treat the wounded. And keep an eye peeled for Chinese sailors. I expect some are ashore by now. Over.”

  ***

  The Arcus arrived half an hour later. Followed by the Type 22 an hour after that.

  Tendrils of smoke continued to rise from the wrecks and buildings damaged by cannon fire. Graves were being dug for Allied personnel. Including one for Maggie Farley, Moy’s XO. The Chinese bodies were laid side-by-side in a trench. All forty-six of them.

  Enemy causalities were higher than that. But the bodies that had gone down with the corvette would never be recovered. Nor would those of troops literally blown to bits. Ryson went ashore in a RIB boat. Vos was waiting. “Welcome back, sir. It’s good to see you.”

  “And you,” Ryson said. “That was a close call.” He looked at the sky. “Where are the Chinese fighters?”

  “They went home,” Vos replied. “But it isn’t over.”

  “No,” Ryson agreed grimly. “It isn’t over.”

  ***

  Aboard the Parker family plane, south of Hainan, China

  After a smooth takeoff from Da Nang, Wride had turned north toward the Chinese island of Hainan, which was home to a very important naval base. And missile batteries that could easily blow the seaplane out of the sky.

  To prevent that from happening Wride turned the plane’s regular transponder off, and turned the Chinese transponder on, thereby making the plane visible to the Chinese air traffic control system.

  Then she activated the Chinese army Identification Friend or Foe (IFF) system which should keep enemy fighters from shooting the Seastar down. The system had been effective in the past, and would hopefully work again.

  Wride didn’t know why Kelsey Parker made trips to the Chinese city of Macau. And didn’t want to know. Because it didn’t take a genius to realize that something shady was taking place. Would a protestation of ignorance be enough to protect Wride, if Allied intelligence landed on the Parker family? No. But not knowing the details made Wride feel better inside. And that, insofar as the pilot could tell, was the way the rest of the team handled the situation as well.

  As for why, the answer was simple. The Parker family was paying Wride two hundred thou a year, that’s why. With most of the money going to her retirement fund.

  The interrogatory from the Chinese Air Traffic Control system came seconds later. Wride gave them a code along with the plane’s tail number. Five seconds passed, followed by a cheerful, “Roger that. Have a nice day.”

  ***

  After a nearly sleepless night Kelsey had boarded the seaplane feeling tired and scared. That was the way she always felt when forced to enter China. Her “handler” was a Ministry of State Security agent named Wei Ching. And if he called, Kelsey had to come running.

  Not because she was a turncoat, or a mercenary, but because the Chinese were holding her half-sister prisoner. And, if the Parkers failed to perform the so-called “chores” that Ching gave them, Rong would be executed.

  “Rong” was an interesting name. It could be feminine or masculine. And, in keeping with Chinese tradition, “Rong” could connote glory and honor.

  On the other hand, the name could also mean “martial.” Or warlike. And that was the way Kelsey thought of her sister. As hard, unyielding and combative. Especially where her father was concerned. And that had everything to do with why Rong was a prisoner.

  Just prior to the beginning of the war, Rong had announced her intention to move to China, and live with a rock musician she’d met in Hong Kong.

  George Parker opposed the plan. He wanted Rong to finish her degree. And, in his opinion, the musician was a slacker and beneath his daughter. His favorite daughter.

  The reason for that was plain to see. Rong was the spitting image of Li jing, George Parker’s achingly beautiful first wife. The woman he still loved. And the reason why his marriage to Kelsey’s mother had failed.

  That, Kelsey knew, was the source of the never-ending ache that consumed her. An endless quest for paternal approval that led her to attend the Seattle Maritime Academy and to work tirelessly for her father, eternally striving to please him. But knowing the cause of her affliction had done nothing to cure it.

  When the war started, and Rong was trapped in China, it wasn’t long before the Chinese government took her into custody—and ran a background check.

  Someone in the Chinese hierarchy saw George Parker’s company as an asset waiting to be used. And it wasn’t long before an emissary arrived in Port Moresby. The proposal he delivered to George Parker was simple: “Do what we tell you to do, or your daughter will die.”

  Parker dithered for a couple of days but gave in. And the things the family had been forced to do since were shameful. Moving mysterious shipping containers. Hiring employees they didn’t need. And, on one occasion, pumping diesel into a Chinese submarine while at sea. All to save a sibling whose first name rhymed with “Wrong.”

  Now Kelsey was responding to yet another summons. She would, no doubt, receive orders to perform some new form of treachery. Or, and the possibility frightened her, the Chinese had heard about her efforts to help the Allies.

  If so, they’d throw her into prison with Rong. Or shoot her. And send a video to her father. Meanwhile Wride, Chaney, and the rest of the team would die too. The possibility made Kelsey feel queasy.

  She closed her eyes. There was a ray of hope however. It was a fragile thing, but all she had to cling to. And that was a Chinese criminal named Andrew Soo. A man who, according to one of her contacts, was the Dragon Head (leader) of the Hong Kong-Macao crime triad.

  The Hong Kong triad, like other triads, was a transnational organized crime syndicate, with outposts in countries that had large Chinese populations. And, within the closed society of triads, the Hong Kong triad was known as a “black society,” rather than a less powerful “dark society.” As such it had control over local markets and enjoyed police protection.

  Could Soo break Rong out of the detention center in Macau? If so, Rong could be rescued and returned to Port Moresby.

  More than that, it would free the Parker family from its ties to Chinese intelligence, and put the months of forced servitude behind them. Kelsey hadn’t told her father about the plan. That meant the whole effort was up to her. She felt lonely.

  ***

  Aboard a Chinese Type 22 Missile Boat southeast of Samir Island

  It was a beautiful day. The sky was a lighter blue than the sea, which rolled in from the west, and caused the boat to wallow. But not much, thanks to the missile boat’s catamaran style hull. A virtue Ryson hadn’t had time to appreciate while the vessel was shooting at the Arcus.

  But now, as the boat’s twin diesels pushed it toward Manado, Ryson had come to appreciate the vessel’s virtues. Catamaran hulls were more stable than mono hulls. And while that made for a steady gun platform, and a smoother ride, it also meant they had a wider turning radius.

  And, even after the loss of her bow gun, the boat still had teeth. They included six unspent anti-ship missiles, plus a couple of MANPAD (Man portable air-defense) launchers similar to Stingers. Throw in a couple of LMGs and the Type 22 could give a good account of herself—
minus the autocannon.

  Ryson’s crew, some of whom had been wounded during the attack on Samir, were learning how to operate the ship’s weapons just in case. But now, thanks to the air cover provided by the planes from Manado, the greater danger was an attack by an Allied jet jockey. That in spite of the alert sent to the local squadron leaders.

  Ryson had ordered the boat’s chief to stretch American and Australian flags out across the bow—and in the gap just aft of the bridge—but would it be enough? He hoped so. Getting killed by a kid in an F-18 would really piss him off.

  Ryson’s priorities were to reach Manado quickly, check in with Admiral Nathan, and make sure that the squadron’s supply ship departed on time. The people on Samir were running short of everything. That included fuel, food, and ammo. Every kind of ammo, especially missiles for the Tor system, which continued to hold the Chinese air force at bay. The latest score was the Tor system 5, and the Chinese pilots 1, after the loss of the Perth.

  Vos’s XO, Lieutenant Andy Tyson, was in command of the Type 22, and clearly enjoying himself. Yes, there was a senior officer on board, but Tyson was in command! That made it a moment to savor. “I’m going below Andy, let me know if you need me.”

  Tyson said, “Aye, aye sir.”

  But Ryson knew the young man would do everything possible to avoid rousting him. And, barring at attack, he’d be able to nap undisturbed.

  The captain’s cabin was not only tiny, but still home to the previous occupant’s belongings. As for the man himself, he and the other prisoners were forward, and under guard.

  A photo of a pretty Chinese woman sat perched on a fold-down shelf. She watched impassively as Ryson took possession of her husband’s bunk, curled into the fetal position, and fell asleep.

  ***

  The city of Macau, China

  The light was starting to fade by the time the Seastar landed in the Zhujang River Estuary. The brown water from the Pearl River mixed with the blue water of the South China Sea to create an unappealing brew.

  Thanks to the fact that Wride had landed there before, she knew how to best thread her way between small islets, anchored ships, and newly constructed defenses to reach the Macau Seaplane base. The IFF system was sufficient to keep the military off her back. But the civilian authorities wanted more information about the plane and the people aboard. And Brody was in charge of providing it.