Attack of the Seawolf

By the time the P.L.A commander’s knees had begun to buckle, von Brandt had drawn a bead on the vice commander and fired, then targeted the lieutenants on the pier. As their officers died, the troops hit the concrete.

The only problem now, von Brandt thought, was that there was no antidote to the tanks. They hadn’t planned on using LAW rockets on this OP — who could expect tanks on a warship raid? Now it looked like they were going to pay for that mistake. On the pier, two of the tanks rotated their turrets, their guns aiming at the Tampa’s sail. Von Brandt ducked back into the cockpit, not sure how to break the news to Lennox that they had only seconds until the tank fired.

The sound of the helicopter rotors rose into a crescendo as the two Dauphin choppers returned, swooping in from the northeast, their flanks bristling with large-bore guns. The bullets from their guns blasted across the top of the sail, sparks flying from the impact of the heavy bullets against the high-tensile steel.

Once the helicopters flew by, one of the tanks on the pier opened up, the sound from its gun echoing across the calm water of the slip, a whoosh marking the flight of its projectile as the round flew overhead and dropped down into the water, the first explosion rocking the submarine.

Von Brandt shouted into his lip mike: “Stinky? If you’re up talk to me. We’ve got trouble up here—”

“BARON, THIS IS STINKY. WE’VE GOT PROPULSION — GIVE US AN ENGINE ORDER.”

“Go,” von Brandt yelled at Lennox.

“Get us the hell out of here!”

Lennox lifted his head up over the starboard aft lip of the sail, looking for the position of the Jianghu fast frigate, which was nowhere in sight. Only the gentle waves in the slip testified to its rapid departure. Off in the smoke-filled distance to the south, toward the supertanker pier, Lennox thought he saw the superstructure of the frigate. It would be going after the Seawolf, he thought.

As Lennox began to speak the second round was fired from a tank on the pier, this shot grazing the forward lip of the sail, its explosive force dissipating over the grave of the neighboring Luda but the force still enough to smash Lennox and von Brandt into the deck.

“All back full,” Lennox shouted.

“ROGER, ALL BACK FULL,” his earpiece replied.

Lennox waited, hoping the ship would move, the agonizing seconds ticking off as the first tank adjusted the aim of its gun at the sail, the third shot guaranteed not to miss. Lennox thought he could hear helicopter rotors again, but the sound no longer bothered him-the ship was moving, it was really moving. The pier and the burned-out hulls of the destroyers were fading forward of them, the open water of the bay approaching from aft. For a moment he couldn’t tell whether the shout of exultation he heard was his or Baron von Brandt’s.

The tank on the pier, now almost a ship length away, fired and missed, its aim now off, the Tampa’s motion confusing the turret operator. Lennox popped his head up to watch the end of the pier sail by, the wake of the ship’s motion white and glowing from phosphorescence in the water of the slip, the warm salty breeze over the sail dissipating the smells of the gunfire.

The sail neared the end of the pier, the tanks and troops now far away.

“Right full rudder. I say again, right full rudder.”

The helicopters zoomed in low for another pass, their bullets strafing the sail. Lennox ducked as the bullets whizzed by, amazed that again he’d survived a strafing run. For the first time in years he felt totally alive. Coming this close to death enhanced the sense of life. There was something about the approach to death, especially the evasion of it, that was unique.

Lennox waved his fist in the air at the troops on the pier and at the receding silhouettes of the choppers.

He even shouted: “You missed me, now you can kiss me.” He looked over at von Brandt, to share the moment, when he noticed that Baron wasn’t moving, and that a dark stain was spreading over his face. Lennox’s balloon was instantly deflated.

CHAPTER 21 SUNDAY, 12 MAY 1905 GREENWICH MEAN TIME

GO HAD BAY, XLNGANG HARBOR

USS TAMPA

0305 BEIJING TIME

Jack Morris looked over at Bony Robbins, both men’s faces pressed down on the cool tile of the deck aft of the control room. Gunfire from the control room had suddenly stopped. Every weapon had exhausted its clip of ammunition at the same time. Stupid, Morris thought, to shoot at shadows and use a whole clip at once. He gave Robbins a shrug as he reached for a stun grenade, pulled the arming pin with his index finger and rolled it into the control room. The stun grenade sounded, and soon after, the panicked coughing of a room full of Chinese guards.