Terminal Run

“Vertical surface,” Lien commanded Zhou. Zhou gave the order to the ship-control officer, and the ship came to a stop in the waters of the East China Sea, her hovering system controlling her depth. The ship-control officer dialed in a negative depth rate, and the ship rose vertically from fifty meters to the surface. Once on the surface, the ship-control officer raised the snorkel and started the main compressor, blowing air into the ballast tanks. Within two minutes, it was safe to man the fin cockpit.

“Ship is vertical surfaced, sir,” Zhou Ping reported.

“Man the fin watch,” Lien ordered.

When Lien climbed the vertical access tunnel to the fin cockpit, Zhou was stationed as surfaced deck officer. He handed Lien a set of binoculars.

“Look, sir. They must be survivors of the submarine that fired on us and the battle group

Lien’s face grew hard as he looked into the binoculars. “Bring us closer, Leader Zhou, at dead slow.”

Zhou raised the cockpit communicator microphone to his mouth and ordered, “Dead slow ahead, steer course three four zero.”

The ship moved slowly toward the life rafts until they were a half ship length away. Lien glared angrily down on the survivors.

“All stop,” Zhou commanded into the microphone, then glancing at Captain Lien. “What now, sir?”

Lien didn’t answer. He stood there, frozen, as if unable to make a decision.

Zhou’s face was a mask of anger. “Sir, we must hurry to Battlegroup Two, as she may come under attack without our help.”

Lien still stood there, frozen in indecision.

Zhou picked up a microphone and called the command post watch. “Get the key to the small arms locker from the captain’s stateroom. It is in the safe. The combination is the commissioning day of this ship.” It was a date everyone on board was required to memorize. “Bring up five AK-80s and fifteen clips of ammunition.”

“Zhou,” Lien said uncertainly, “what are you doing?”

Zhou glared at his captain. “We can’t take them prisoner, sir. I won’t have Americans on our ship, not these devils who sank the battle group we were ordered to protect. They could revolt and try to take us over. I will finish the job that the Tsunami torpedo began.”

Lien narrowed his eyes at his first officer. His intention was a violation of international law and of the unwritten code of the sea. Lien had read about Nazi Germany’s U-boats doing this, and had condemned the action. He never thought the man he regarded as his protege would do such a thing, even to hateful Americans.

“Sir, you must act,” Zhou said. “If you do not give the order to shoot them, I will relieve you of command under the Regulations of the PLA Navy for Commanders Afloat, Section Twenty-three.”

Lien sighed, but said nothing, just stood there, staring at the Americans. Two enlisted men climbed into the fin, bringing the rifles. Zhou turned to one of them. “Fighter Ling, place the captain under arrest. I have been forced to assume command of the Nung Yahtsu.”

The enlisted sailor stared at Zhou, but seeing the captain standing like a statue, he nodded and gently pulled Lien’s wrists behind his back and tied them with plastic cable ties. He began to nudge Lien toward the tunnel opening, but realized he would have to ask the first officer to move out of the way. He hesitated, then motioned to the senior officer. “Keep him here until we dive,” Zhou said, his attention fixed on the sea below.

Zhou picked up one of the rifles and glared at the American survivors.

Captain George Dixon blinked as he sat up, leaning heavily against Commander Donna Phillips.

“What is it? Are we rescued?”

“Sir, I’m afraid it’s the Julang-class. Either he didn’t sink or the Chinese have more than one.”

“Oh, shit,” Dixon said, groaning. “We have a pistol from the survival kit?”

“A couple of twenty-twos, sir. Good for fending off a small shark, but not much use holding off a Chinese submarine.”

“Oh, God,” Dixon said. “My mother didn’t raise me to be a prisoner of war. Not under those guys.”

“We’ll get through this, Skipper. My grandfather was a POW in Vietnam, and he said it was not as bad as everyone thought,” Phillips said, lying to Dixon. Her grandfather had been shot down over Hanoi and imprisoned, but the truth of his imprisonment was far worse than any of the stories. Phillips tried to breathe deeply, fighting off her feelings of desperate fear, and knowing that if she could give Captain Dixon courage, seeing his war face would give her the strength to go on.

“Okay, XO. We’ll get through this.” He reached into his breast pocket below his dolphin emblem and pulled out the gold coin his wife had given him. He blinked rapidly, then put the coin back in his pocket. Phillips waited for him to show a sign of encouragement, but his eyes closed, at first as if he were stressed, but then Phillips realized that he had lost consciousness.

Lieutenant Brett Oliver, the NSA-assigned officer who’d joined the ship in mid operation began trembling in fear. “XO,” he said, his voice shaking, “I can’t be a prisoner of war.