Attack of the Seawolf

“The fleet has five subs, three Han-class nukes, two Ming-class silent diesel-electric boats. Destroyers-seven Ludas, four Udaloys, three Luhus. Frigates-thirteen Jianghus, three Jiangweis and one Jiangnan.

Thirty-four fast attack torpedo patrol boats. And two dozen land-based Hind helicopters modified for antiship service. Now, I’m going to the conn to get to periscope depth and grab our traffic off the satellite and get a final navigation fix. I’m hoping for some last minute intelligence on the deployment of the fleet. I’ll be back in, say, twenty minutes. When I get back the four of you will outline your plan to keep the two American subs from escaping your bay. You got all that?”

The officers nodded. Pacino left them, knowing that if they sweated over the plan as much as he had they would be more likely to understand his reactions over the next few hours.

In their shallow transit it took only moments to slow and come up to periscope depth. Pacino hadn’t seen the outside world since the evening before, when he had been shooting at the Chinese aircraft and the frigate.

When he raised the periscope, he was surprised by the grayness of the sky and the ugly brown of the bay water. Raindrops clouded the scope lens as a fierce wind blew on the surface. Visibility was still good, unfortunately, but the wind was blowing the wave tops to a height of two to three feet, a high sea for an enclosed bay like the Go Hai. Radio reported the satellite transmission had been received in the computer buffer. The global positioning system had swallowed their navigation fix from the GPS NAV SAT pinpointing their location with an accuracy of a few inches. Pacino lowered the periscope and ordered the ship back down, then walked to the wardroom to grab a cup of coffee. He nodded at the officers gathered around the table, most of them unable to sleep knowing that the evening watch would be a combat watch. Pacino splashed the coffee into a Seawolf cup, the steam of the dark brew rising to the overhead. He downed a sip, burning his tongue, and saw Sonar Officer Tim Turner and Communications Officer Jeff Joseph looking at him.

“What’s the word, Captain?” Turner asked.

“We breaking outta jail tonight. Skipper?” Joseph put in.

“We’ll do our damndest,” Pacino said quietly.

“Are you gonna brief us on how?” Turner asked.

“Nothing to brief. We line up our torpedoes and our Javelins and our Mark 80s and we come out shooting.

At the end of the day we’ll see who’s left.”

“That’s it?”

Pacino looked at them. What more was there to say? Finally Pacino spoke: “Trust me. We’ll be back in Yokosuka before you know it, and then you’ll get Captain Duckett back.”

The two junior officers shared a look. Joseph spoke.

“Sir, we were hoping that you’d be staying on as captain.”

Pacino looked up from his cup.

“Thanks, but after this is over I’ll be run out of town on a rail. Admiral’s orders.”

“Then is it true, sir? The rumors that you’re here because you’re not afraid to shoot?”

“I don’t think so, Jeff. True, I have no career to protect, no ass to cover, but the reason I’m here is that I’ve done this before. Two years ago, under the polar icecap.”

“What happened?” Joseph pressed.

“My ship went down. Lost the crew to the sea and radiation.” Pacino said, amazed at his voice staying level.

“What about the other guy?”

“We took care of him.”

The lieutenants smiled. Pacino headed for the door.

Turner called after him: “Sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Turner.” Pacino looked into the younger man’s eyes.

“Good luck, sir. Kick their butts.”

Pacino nodded solemnly, realizing the young officers had just told him they trusted him in spite of the news about his last mission.

Pacino walked back down to his stateroom, taking the radio message board from the radioman. He paused outside his door, reading the message from the Tampa to Donchez stating the wounded ship’s status.

The line about Murphy being operated on was news-Morris had told him about the rest, and it had sickened him, making him look forward to the moment when he could release his weapons. He fought hard to keep his mind from flooding with images of the old days with Sean Murphy, the friend who had shared his whole adult life, the friend who had risked his own Navy career to go A.W.O.L. to attend Pacino’s father’s memorial service, the friend who had sat up night after night next to Pacino’s hospital bed when death was close, the friend whose wife and children formed a second family. A friend who now lay dying from two bullet wounds and the torture of men who now would try to sink them. Pacino stuffed the message into his pocket. Beneath it was the intelligence message he had hoped for, Donchez’s relay and interpretation of the deployment of the Chinese fleet. But something seemed wrong.

Either the Chinese were screwing up, or the intelligence was flawed.

LUSHUN/PENGLAI GAP, BOHAI HAIXIA STRAIT

EIGHT KILOMETERS FROM INTERNATIONAL WATERS

P.L.A NAVY AIRCRAFT CARRIER SHAOGVAN

1312 BEIJING TIME