Attack of the Seawolf

He flipped the cover off his watch and held the face horizontal. When he clicked the light, the dial lit up, showing the depth and the compass bearing. Morris had memorized the chart, but the unknown was the Seawolf’s position when it locked them out. Still, he believed he could find the P.L.A pier.

He pushed off the hull of the submarine and swam over the cylindrical edge of the ship, diving down to the bottom of the deep channel, all the way to the one-hundred-and-twenty-foot level, his ears popping on the way down. Finally he felt the silt of the bottom and paused to let the others catch up. When they did he checked the compass again and swam northwest toward the piers. Almost immediately the silty bottom began to rise out of the supertanker channel to the shallower region of the piers, the sloping bottom there an average of thirty feet deep. Morris followed the up-slope, one hand in the silt, the other horizontal to see the compass, keeping them on course three four five. Now that they were shallow again, Morris looked up to try to find moonlight. There was a faint shimmer from overhead but no real light. The SEALs continued to follow the contour of the bottom until Morris hit concrete with his outstretched hand. Pier 1A. He waited for the team to catch up with him, then shined his light upward to see the surface. Instead of waves there was the black shape of a hull overhead — one of the ships tied up directly to the pier. Morris tapped the man on his right to confirm their position.

“Dogface” Richardson, a second-class petty officer, and “Buckethead” Williams, a chief, untied themselves from the tie line and swam up to the hull. When they returned after a few moments Buckethead shook his head — the hull above them was at the seaward end of the pier, making it the Jianghu frigate. The ships guarding the Tampa were further west. The team swam west along the pier until they reached the next hull, which would be the Udaloy guided-missile destroyer.

Then the platoons split up.

First platoon took their gear and set it up near the pier between the Chinese ships. Second platoon set up beneath the Udaloy, beginning work laying the keel breaking satchel charges under the destroyer. Third platoon hauled their explosives beneath the hull of the Tampa further south to the outboard destroyer, the Luda, and began deployment of their charges.

Morris checked his watch. It was taking too goddamned long, he thought, wondering if he should have taken Pacino up on the offer to use the cruise missiles.

But using Javelins here would be like a surgeon forsaking a scalpel for a chainsaw. He and Black Bart swam back and forth between the platoons, making sure the men were making progress, that the plan was proceeding.

Finally Morris signaled to Bart to come up to look at the pier, and the two divers ascended at the bow of the Udaloy. Morris disconnected from his lanyard and climbed a pier piling, the tar from it sticking to his hands. Near the top of the piling he climbed off onto a horizontal timber that was there to cushion the concrete pier from ship impacts. He cautiously lifted his head above the level of the pier, then ducked back down and silently reentered the water. The pier was crawling with guards, but the buses were not yet occupied and there was no evidence of a crew off load He and Bart returned to the underside of the Udaloy.

Under the hull of the USS Tampa, on the bottom of the silty bay, huddled with the assault weapons, sat Commander Kurt Lennox, his mask fogged from his heavy breathing. Every few moments he turned his head to look at the submarine above him, seeing nothing but a black blur, thinking that in a very few moments he would be back aboard her, and in a few moments after that he could be dead. Morris swam by and gave him a thumbs up.

Lennox appreciated it as he looked up again at the hull of the Tampa and told himself that just maybe Sean Murphy was going to get out of this in one piece.

CHAPTER 17 SUNDAY, 12 MAY 1730 GREENWICH MEAN TIME

GO HAD BAY, XLNGANG HARBOR

P.L.A NAVY PIER 1A, USS TAMPA

0130 BEIJING TIME

Sean Murphy had no idea how long he’d been unconscious.

When he came to the butt of the AK-47 again in his ribs, his whole body was in pain. As he tried to focus on the interrogator’s face, he realized that he now wanted to die. He tried to bring back Katrina, Sean junior and Emily, but the Chinese had taken the most prized thing he possessed — his memories of their faces. He could no longer remember the face of his wife of thirteen years, or the face of his firstborn.

Death would be welcome.

“You are in pain,” Tien said, his voice quiet.

“Let’s take you to the hospital where we can attend that wound and help you get rest. The base hospital has some of the softest beds in the world. Think of the cool crisp white sheets, the deep feather pillow in a cotton pillowcase. This is no way to live, my friend.