Piranha: Firing Point

Geography lesson first. On the left half of your screen you should be seeing a chart display of the East China Sea. To the east you’ll see the eastern border of the East China Sea, the Ryukyu Island chain. To the north in the chain is the island of Yakushima, just off Kagoshima, Japan. There’s a substantial gap in the islands from there south to the island of Naze. To the east of the Nazeyakushima Gap is the Point Delta Hold Position, which is on the great circle route to Shanghai from Honolulu.

Southwest by a hundred miles is the Point Echo Hold Position, which is our destination. Farther south by fifty nautical miles is the Point Foxtrot Hold Position.

“I have the surface force making a serpentine course toward the Point Delta Hold Position at the north end of the island chain. They will orbit there until the East China Sea is clear. Once we’ve cleaned up the op area, the fleet goes in, straight shot to the Shanghai beach.

“Next, how we clean up the op area. Zero hour is midnight Friday evening Beijing time, four days from now. I’m proposing you come into the op area northwest from Point Echo. That’s just on the south part of the Naze-Yakushima Gap, just a little south of where the initial RDF task force went down. I’m not sure if you’ve briefed your crew on the Red force, but we have reason to believe it consists of six Japanese Rising Sun-class subs, all of them hijacked at sea by some kind of fast submersible. Which means I want you to rig for non-penetration, Bruce. Put chains and locks around your escape-trunk upper and lower hatches. I don’t want you guys being hijacked like the Rising Suns were.

“Anyway, you’ll penetrate at Point Echo and search for the Rising Suns. The 688s will be entering far to the south, from Point Foxtrot, heading north. This is the tough part of the plan, Bruce, because we have reason to believe the 688s are at a severe disadvantage. So I have something special in mind for them.”

Pacino continued for another fifteen minutes, then called for questions. When there were none, he closed, saying that he’d transmit the official hard copy of the orders, and that they would soon be back in touch as he and the SSNX got closer to the op area. Then, without fanfare, he clicked off.

Phillips hoisted a phone to his ear and ordered the ship to return to base depth, course, and speed. As he hung up the phone, he shot Whatney a look.

“Roger, what the hell is going on? East China Sea?

Rising Suns? Locking the escape hatches? The goddamned SSNX?”

Whatney had the grace not to smile. “You missed a lot. Skipper. I took the liberty of compiling some hard copies of messages and a video disk of the news reports for you to brief yourself on. You’ve been pretty sick, sir.

Maybe you’d better go back to bed.”

“The hell,” Phillips said, now intrigued, and glad to have something that would take his mind off Abby. “I’m going to curl up with this for an hour. Then meet me in here and let’s go over this.”

Whatney left, and Phillips began to read. On the bulkhead clicked the second hand of an old-fashioned brass chronometer. He’d been reading for twenty minutes when he noticed that his headache was gone.

“Sir, the ship is divorced from shore power. The diesel is carrying all ship’s loads.” At the door to the VIP stateroom, Walt Hornick was holding his hat in both hands looking like a supplicant.

“Ship’s company embarked?” Pacino asked.

“No, sir, we’re missing the captain and the Dynacorp Cyclops system representative.”

“O’Shaughnessy?”

“Yessir.”

“Well, what are you doing about it?”

“Sir, we were going to send a car for her, but—”

“Oh, stop worrying, you two,” a sultry female voice said from the passageway. The door opened and Colleen O’Shaughnessy appeared. She wore a set of perfectly fitting, creased and starched ship’s coveralls, complete with American flag and the ship’s emblem patches, her name embroidered over one of the pockets. The built-in belt narrowed at her slim waist, the material generous at her curving hips and at her ample chest. Her dark, shining hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her sleeves rolled up two turns, revealing thin forearms and a large man’s watch strapped to her left wrist. Pacino knew he was staring at her, but couldn’t help himself. The uniform was hardly something that should look good on a woman, yet Colleen looked stunning in it, and he completely forgot what he was going to say.

Fortunately, Paully broke the spell. “That just leaves Captain Patton. I guess we should be shoving off now, Admiral.” “Right, right,” Pacino said, finding his voice, blinking at Paully. “Colleen, did you get your stateroom?”

“Yes, Admiral, I’m hanging out in the exec’s stateroom.

Where are you putting him?”

“Everybody moves down a slot except the captain,” Pacino said, the strangest tight feeling invading his chest.

We’re undermanned, so it won’t cause any crowding.”