Bloodstorm

16

Chen Takung was in the Combat Direction Center talking to the radar operators about a mysterious ship that had been appearing on and off the screens for the past two days.

“Sometimes it looks like an American cruiser,” the technician said. “Other times it fades away. Sir, if we could put up our top antennas, we could get a complete surface scan and a much better picture.”

“We can’t do that. Your job is to keep a log on this mystery ship,” Chen said. “I want a detailed record of when it appears and how far away it is.”

At that moment the 511-foot ship jolted to the left, pitching Chen against the radar operator, dumping both of them to the floor. They came up on their hands and knees. Then the next explosion smashed them to the left again, against the stools in front of the various screens.

The third detonation came, but this time Chen grabbed hold of the console base and rode out the leftward surge.

An alarm bell sounded as the ship heeled over to a ten-percent list to the left.

A speaker over Chen’s head began spitting out commands.

“Battle stations. Battle stations.”

“I want a damage report now,” an officer shouted into his microphone. “Where have we been hit? Damage control, come in, damage control.”

Chen surged to his feet and out of the combat center, and onto the bridge. The ship’s captain was already there.

“We’ve been hit at the waterline in section fourteen. That’s about a third of the way back from the bow. We’re taking on water and have sealed off three compartments.”

“The missiles are forward of that point?” Chen asked.

“Yes, they have not been harmed. We are attempting a complete damage assessment. We have cut our forward speed to three knots.”

The Chinese Navy captain stared hard at this civilian he had to take orders from. It rankled him, but he was Navy and would obey his orders. “Sir, I suggest that we fully extend two of our radar antenna so we can do a complete surface search. We need to know who is out there and who might have fired a torpedo or missile at us.”

“Denied. We don’t want to give away our real identity until we have to, if we indeed must at some point do that. It wasn’t a missile that hit us. It came in too low, so it had to be a torpedo or a mine of some kind. Weren’t there a lot of mines planted here in World War II and never recovered?”

“Yes, sir. A continuing drive to find and destroy them has been highly successful. Most of the usual shipping channels are now free of these mines. But a few break off now and then. Haven’t heard of any problems with them for six months.”

“Can you put a diver down to be sure it was a mine?”

“Yes, right away.”

“For just a moment Chen wondered if this was an attack by the same forces that had hassled the chopper transfer of the package from the freighter to the helicopter and then into the Athens airport. How could anyone know? He had silenced the only two men he had worked with at the source.

Chen went down to the rail over the damaged area and watched. The captain had sent down men on lines to assess the damage. One reported on a handheld radio.

“Captain, we have what looks like three holes blasted into the outer skin and then through the hull plates and into the hold. Two of the explosions meet to form the most dangerous hole. Not enough penetration damage to be a torpedo.”

“A mine, or three mines did it?” the captain asked on his handheld radio.

“Yes, sir, mines. The damage extends below our waterline. An engineer with me says he’d be against any forward motion of more than five knots.”

“Five knots?” Chen exploded. “At that rate it will take us months to get home.”

“We can go back to Athens, find a dock, and have emergency plates welded over the holes, then pump out the water and repair what interior damage we can.”

“Then can we make twenty knots?” Chen asked.

“Possibly. But we could run into trouble in port if the authorities insist on an inspection.”

“We are violating no international or maritime law by masquerading as a merchantman,” Chen said. He frowned at the sea, and for the first time sensed that the whole mission could be in jeopardy.

“How long on the missiles?” Chen asked.

“Our special engineers are working around the clock. So far we have the warheads separated from one of the missiles and the warheads prepared for shipment. They will need another week to complete the work.”

“We don’t have a week, Captain. Have the engineers pull the warheads out of the missiles. Tell them not to detach them from their rocket motors or their internal guidance systems. They will make a larger package that way, but still be workable. Get the emptied ICBM bodies out the loading hatch and overboard as soon as possible. We can hide the warheads if we must make a port. See how quickly the task can be done.

“During this time attempt exterior damage repair with welders over the side. We’ll turn and head back for Athens at four or five knots, whatever is practical.”

“Aye, aye. It will be done.” The captain hesitated. “You said you had a fallback plan.”

“Not yet. We aren’t out of options yet. Anyway, for the other plan, all of the warheads would have to be stripped of all rockets and guidance systems. We may not have time for that. Captain, let’s get moving with those engineers and turn the ship around for Athens.”

“Blake, good to see you too. Yes, I’m fine and your mother is fine and Ardith sends her love. Now, how the hell is this floating nuclear warhead salesroom problem coming along?”

Murdock grinned as he looked at his father, Charles Fitzhugh Murdock, ranking Congressman from the great state of Virginia.

“About the same,” Murdock replied. “Dead in the water. We don’t know what they’ll do next. Did they tell you, it’s a camouflaged five-hundred-foot destroyer of the Chinese Navy?”

“I heard that, yes. How did you let that one shipment of warheads get away to Afghanistan?”

“Sloppy work, I guess. How is Mom?”

“She’s fine, and busy. Well, not all that fine. We have her on some new arthritis medicine that seems to be helping. But she’s still working six to eight hours a day on her charity circuit.”

“Come on now, Dad. Tell me how you found me.”

“Easy. I called Don Stroh. He still owes me a few favors.”

“That’s cheating,” Murdock said, grinning. “I just wish I knew what kind of blackmail you have on Stroh. I could use it sometimes.”

“On the House National Security Committee we do have some clout. Then, too, I play some golf with Stroh’s boss at the Agency. One hand washes the other, you might say.”

“You must be here on a Congressional jaunt of some kind. Are we taxpayers getting our money’s worth out of this one, Dad?”

“Most certainly are. These warheads are a prime concern of the National Security Committee. We also advise the National Security Council in the White House. We want to be sure that this threat of nuclear blackmail is snuffed in the bud as fast as we can get the job done.”

“Now you’re even sounding like a Congressman, Dad. How long will you be here?”

“A couple of days. Came with two on my committee and three from the Senate Armed Forces Committee. We’re tremendously concerned.”

“So are we. We took care of the nine warheads in Libya. Now we’ve got fifty more to worry about.”

“You busy? Let’s go have dinner. I’ve been in Athens before and can show you an authentic Greek restaurant I think you’ll like.”

“Dinner? Dad, do you know what time it is?”

“Nope. My day clock is a bit disoriented after the long flight. Is it still dark outside?”

“It usually is at three A.M. I’ve got an 0930 meeting, which is about six hours from now. That’s exactly the amount of sleep I hope to get before I have to go talk with the admiral.”

“Yes. I understand deadlines. You need your sleep. I’ll catch a nap. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Murdock found his father an empty room, and the man dropped off to sleep before Blake had the door closed. The SEAL took off his shoes and shirt, then dropped into his bunk and slept.

The next morning, Murdock had a farmer’s breakfast, then made it to the meeting at the admiral’s office ten minutes early. He hadn’t seen his father. He shouldn’t have worried. His father was already talking with Admiral Tanning.

The meeting started precisely on time.

“Gentlemen, we have with us as an observer, Congressman Charles Murdock, who just happens to be Commander Murdock’s father, and also a ranking member of the House National Security Committee. Let’s proceed. The photos.”

An officer brought in grainy 8×10 photos of the side of a ship.

“This is the Chinese ship. She has three holes in her hull well toward the bow. Right now she’s dead in the water. This morning we have a new report from our AWACS plane. She has lifted her masts and antenna and is no longer trying to hide as a freighter. We don’t know what that means.”

“Is she still dead in the water, Admiral?”

“No, she’s making about five knots, and evidently is heading back toward Athens. We don’t know why.”

The admiral looked around the room. “Mr. Murdock. Evidently blowing off the screws did not work.”

“No, sir. Not when the ship kept moving at ten knots. Too dangerous.”

“What’s our next step?” the admiral asked.

General Archibald, who had been in on the first debriefing, was back again. He peaked his fingers, then ran them through his graying hair. “We watch her, of course. Can we challenge any ship that attempts to contact her to pick up a package?”

“We can, but international laws would be violated,” Admiral Tanning said. “We’re on the open sea here, even if it is in the Greek islands. Tricky on the legal angle.”

“Couldn’t we simply refuse to allow any helicopter to land on her deck?” Murdock asked.

“We have the choppers to chase them away, but that’s another act of war,” Admiral Tanning said. “If we do that we might as well go in with all of our assets and blow that destroyer out of the water. The international fallout would be the same.”

“They must not be ready to make a move yet,” Murdock said. “It takes some time to rip those nose cones off and take out the warheads and detach them from their rockets and guidance systems. That’s what they want, just the rawboned warheads.”

“How much time would that take?” Congressman Murdock asked.

“Depends how many engineers they have who know how to do it.”

They all looked at the admiral. He had the most clout of anyone present. Don Stroh coughed. The Congressman cleared his throat. Ed DeWitt stifled a yawn.

“We’ve talked a lot about what we can’t do,” the admiral said. “Who has a suggestion what we should do?”

“Sir,” Murdock said. The admiral looked at him. “I suggest we put a twenty-mile-diameter picket fence around that ship. Move when it moves. Use four destroyers with choppers to monitor the area. If a strange chopper comes toward the Chinese destroyer, it will be turned back by firing across its bow if necessary.”

The admiral lit his pipe and puffed a moment. No one else said a word. “Yes, it should work. A minor international violation of airspace, and almost impossible to prove. Yes, I like it. That task force is within hailing distance of the area. I’ll get four destroyers headed over there. In the meantime we’ll have the AWACS folks warn us of any choppers approaching, and the cruiser Cowpens now on station can launch its chopper and warn them away. Yes. I’d say we’re done here.”

Everyone but the admiral stood. “You’re dismissed. Oh, Congressman and Commander Murdock, would you both stay a moment?”

When the others had left, the admiral cleaned out his pipe and put it away. “I’d like both of you to be my guests for lunch. There’s a great little restaurant in town I think you’ll like.” He paused. “Commander, you better have your men rest up. There is something cooking that may boil over any moment. I think it has to do with Kabul, Afghanistan. I’ll send a car to pick you up at 1130.”

Back in the quarters where the men had left their equipment, and now worked over cleaning and oiling it, Murdock talked with his father.

He called the cruiser and found out that Jaybird was cleared for duty by the medics and screeching at everyone to get him back to Athens. Murdock called Stroh, who authorized a chopper ride for Jaybird. He’d be back in the platoon by three that afternoon.

“Now,” Murdock said, looking at his father. “What is Ardith up to since I’m not there to watch her?”

“She’s doing just fine. Ardith told me to tell you that she’s had two more job offers. She calls them positions. Big steps up the ladder, but they are in D.C. She says she hasn’t said yes or no and wants to talk with you first.”

“That woman is going to drive me out of the Navy yet.”

“Couldn’t happen at a better time. The Twenty-first District in Virginia is opening up for a special election next June. Crawford is resigning. He’s not in good health and says he can wrap up his projects by May. Since a slot has to be open before a special can be held, it will be in June. You could move into that district and run.”

Murdock laughed. “Dad, I’m not a politician. I don’t even know what diplomatic means. I take direct action. Couldn’t you just see me putting a stranglehold on some Congressman right on the House floor until he voted my way?”

They both laughed. The Congressman went serious first. “You think about it, Blake. Might not be a chance like this for several more years.”

“I’ll think about it. But first I have forty-nine nuclear warheads to worry about, and some of them probably are in Afghanistan right now. My guess is that we’ll be on our way over there within twenty-four hours. One big drawback: Only one of my men speaks Persian, nobody knows Pashto.”