Honorable Enemies

Chapter 25

Kitty Hawk steamed slowly downwind eighteen miles northwest of Langsa, Sumatra, while the pilots and naval flight officers emerged from their quiet, air-conditioned ready rooms to preflight their aircraft. All appeared to be in order, business as usual, but a strange sense of foreboding had spread among the officers and sailors.

As the aircrews spread out among the F/A-18 Hornets, A-6 Intruders, S-3 Vikings, E-2C Hawkeyes, and F-14 Tomcats, the tempo of operations rapidly increased. Helicopters, planes, white tractor tugs, and flight crews crisscrossed in a surrealistic ballet of moving aircraft and imminent danger. People ducked under moving wings and simultaneously dodged wheels and other obstacles while they went about their hazardous jobs.

The studious-looking aircrews, encumbered by their green flight suits, boots, g-suits, torso harnesses, oxygen masks, and helmets, scrutinized their airplanes for any structural damage and checked the security of the external fuel tanks, missiles, and bombs. Next, they looked for fuel or hydraulic leaks, then peered into jet intakes to assure that nothing would be sucked through the engine's fragile innards.

Because of the aircraft carrier's relatively slow speed, everyone on the flight deck was breathing the dense, acrid black smoke from the funnels used to vent the exhaust gases from the ship's oil-fired boilers.

When the external checks were completed, the aircrews climbed into their cockpits and began the familiar task of helping the plane captains strap them to their ejection seats. This was an extremely important ritual for each person because their lives might depend on the explosive seat to propel them clear of a doomed airplane.

After they were secured to their ejection seat, each crew member went through the routine of checking the multitudes of dials, switches, buttons, knobs, circuit breakers, levers, and gauges. One small item missed, whether it was overlooked or out of place, could spell instantaneous disaster for the aircrews or the individuals who worked on the perilous flight deck.

Once the prestart checklists were completed, the pilots started their engines and checked all the systems for any anomalies. After satisfying themselves that all the temperatures and pressures were normal, the aviators carefully checked their flight controls and waited for the carrier to turn into the wind and increase speed.

Shortly thereafter, the conventionally powered Kitty Hawk and her array of escort ships commenced a sweeping turn to prepare for the first launch of the day. The flotilla of escort ships executed the course reversal at precisely the same time as the flattop.

Although the carrier provided an airborne knockout punch, it rarely operated alone. Armed with Sea Sparrow missiles to shoot down high-flying threats or surface-skimming targets, and automatically fired Vulcan Phalanx cannons for close-in protection, the floating airfield was still vulnerable to attack and relied heavily on the escort ships.

While the Aegis guided-missile cruiser Cowpens took up station off the starboard side of the 80,000-ton carrier, the plane-guard guided missile cruiser William H. Standley eased into position two miles astern the Hawk.

The Belknap-class cruiser would be responsible for working in harmony with the carrier's designated plane-guard helicopter. Together, they had the responsibility for search and rescue missions during flight operations. The small Sikorsky SH-60 helicopter, which had a specially trained rescue swimmer on board, would fly near the starboard side of the flattop.

The pace on the flight deck increased even more as the aircraft began to taxi forward toward the catapults. The flight-deck personnel had to avoid the searing heat from the powerful jet exhausts while they sidestepped the propellers from the screeching turboprops of the E-2C Hawkeye. Others kept an eye out for the jet intakes, which could suck an unwary deck-hand into the gaping openings leading to the engines.

Operating in international waters, the air group could launch warplanes in international airspace without permission from local authorities, hostile governments, or capricious politicians. The mammoth Hawk, as a sovereign United States territory, is capable of projecting tremendous power with a flexible mobility unknown to other countries.

Although the huge aircraft carrier is highly visible during daylight hours in clear weather, the ship can disappear in bad weather, especially on stormy nights. The aircraft can launch and recover, in almost any conditions, with the ship's radars and communications systems completely shut down to conceal the carrier's position.

The Group Two E-2C early-warning command-and-control aircraft was positioned on the number-two catapult while the carrier's four screws accelerated the flattop to thirty knots. The all-weather surveillance and strike-control airplane would launch first in order to relieve the Hawkeye that was currently orbiting high above the carrier group.

The yellow-shirted catapult officer gave the Hawkeye aircraft commander the full-power signal, returned the pilot's snappy salute, then gave the deckedge operator permission to shoot the straining airplane.

After the E-2C blasted down the catapult and clawed for altitude, the Tomcats, Hornets, Vikings, Intruders, and a radar-jamming EA6-B Prowler taxied forward to be launched.

From a standing start, each jet rocketed the length of the catapults in approximately 21/2 seconds, reaching speeds up to 170 knots as they flew off the bow.

From his large, comfortable chair perched on the left side of the flag bridge, Rear Admiral Isaac Landesman scanned the expansive flight deck and then focused his attention on a single Grumman F-14 Tomcat as it approached the number-two catapult track.

When the primary emphasis in carrier aviation strategy shifted from the Cold War open-water tactics to littoral concerns, some of the F-14s were fitted with racks for Mk-80 series bombs. The newly configured fighter/bombers were quickly dubbed "Bombcats" by the aircrews.

The swing-wing, twin-engined Mach 2 air-superiority fighter, which had been plagued with a mechanical problem during the frenzied launch sequence, was finally fixed and ready to fly its mission.

With the variable-sweep wings extended for maximum lift, the pilot shoved the synchronized throttles forward to military power, then into afterburner. The nozzles on the aft section of the powerful turbofan engines squeezed the superheated thrust into a screeching, white-hot tongue of flame that scorched the jet-blast deflector.

After a thorough check of the engine instruments and a full sweep of his flight controls, the young aviator gave the catapult officer a casual salute, braced his helmet against the ejection-seat headrest, and held his breath.

Suddenly, the sleek fighter squatted down and shot forward while the pilot and his radar-intercept officer were instantaneously shoved back into their ejection seats. The heavy g-forces rendered the crew helpless until the Tomcat hurtled off the bow and into the air.

Landesman reached for the ringing phone that was his direct link to the command-and-control facilities. "Landesman."

"Admiral," the senior watch officer said, "Square Dance Seven-Zero-Three reports at least five Japanese Aegis destroyers, along with various support ships, have entered the strait… and Square D confirms two Chinese guided-missile destroyers are about to enter the strait."

Square Dance was the call sign of an S-3B Viking antisubmarine aircraft that was on a low-level reconnaissance flight to check out the military traffic in the southern section of the Strait of Malacca.

"Keep me informed of any new developments," Landesman advised and placed the receiver back in its bracket. He then called the ship's captain and invited him to the admiral's bridge.

While the carrier and her escorts slowed and changed course, the short, stocky former attack pilot went into his private dining room for a late breakfast with Captain Carl " Jinks" Witowski.

After both men were seated and served the first course, Landesman spoke softly to his longtime friend. " Jinks, we've got five Japanese destroyers in the strait with us. We've got to make damn sure we don't do anything to provoke a bad situation."

Hawk's popular skipper nodded in agreement. "I just heard about it as I left the bridge," the lean, graying fighter pilot confided while he tasted a freshly baked pastry. "The Japanese have slowly extended their patrol areas well beyond their original thousand-mile limit, but this is unprecedented. We'd better stay on our toes."

The Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force was originally obligated to provide Japan's security out to a 1,000-mile limit, but they had roamed well past the limit in order to develop an effective force to protect the shipping lanes and defend their homeland.

"What really concerns me," Landesman said with a touch of frustration, "is being caught in this type of situation — where we have a military power vacuum."

"I couldn't agree more," Witowski conceded. "With Clark and Subic closed, and fewer of our ships in the RimPac, I don't know how we're going to effectively keep a rein on the ambitions of Japan, China, India, and to some degree, what's left of the Soviet Navy. Everyone wants to get into the act, now that we're spread too thin."

Landesman slipped a message across to Witowski. "I received this just before the launch. The Australians are sending two missile destroyers and three frigates to augment Lincoln and her escorts, and Taiwan has dispatched three Cheng Kung-class frigates to operate with Indy."

Witowski studied the detailed message and handed it back to Landesman.

"That's good," the skipper replied, "but I sure as hell hope Tokyo and Washington can work things out. I don't like placing Kitty Hawk in this kind of predicament."

"Yeah," the Admiral grumbled under his breath. "I don't like the idea of having this carrier running around in a crowded, brown-water shipping lane. It's a sitting duck in a small pond."

Steve and Susan felt pangs of disappointment when they walked out of the Port of Singapore Authority building. After countless questions and researching a number of documents, they had gained little more than what they had already learned about the former owner of the Matsumi Maru number three. Someone had cleansed the evidence of the previous ownership.

"Well," Steve said at last, "it wasn't a complete loss."

Susan covered her eyes to protect them from the bright sunlight. "That's true. We basically know where number three and number seven dock, but we don't know when number three will make port."

"When Matsumi seven collided with the destroyer Ingersoll," Steve replied while he waved at a passing taxi, "all of the Matsumi Maru fleet was owned by one person, or so we believe."

"And you think" — Susan finished his thought—"that maybe someone is still around who might be able to give us the former owner's name or some information that will lead us to him."

"We don't have anything else to go on," he mused and opened the door to the cab, "so we might as well go to the harbor."

They remained lost in their own thoughts during the drive to the thirty-six-square-mile port along the Keppel Harbor. The sprawling deepwater channel, which is home to miles of docks, warehouses, berths, and associated facilities, runs between the main island of Singapore and the islands of Sentosa and Pulau Brani.

Steve asked the taxi driver to slow down while he and Susan took a windshield tour of the major shipping gateways of Telok Ayer, Keppel, Sembawang, and Pasir Panjang. After surveying the world's busiest container port, they finally returned to the array of Keppel wharves, which contain major docks and large storage spaces.

After paying the cabdriver, Steve looked around the immediate area. "Since this section of the port is Southeast Asia's primary transshipment point, I would think that someone knows where the Matsumi Maru number seven is docked."

Susan glanced at a nearby oil tanker and turned to Steve. "I'm wearing my walking shoes, so press on."

"First" — he reached into his jacket pocket—"take a few of these to hand out."

Susan studied the ordinary-looking business cards and smothered a saucy laugh. "Insurance agents?"

"That's right," Steve answered with a slight grin. "We're representatives of Royal Continental Insurance Company, and we're looking for a ship that belongs to one of our clients. You're the seasoned pro, and I'm new to the company — just tagging along to gain experience."

"Steve" — she held the card in front of his face—"these don't even have names on them. Just the company name."

He gave her a knowing smile. "The company is changing its logo, so we won't have our personal cards for a while. You can sign a fictitious name if someone asks for it."

"Working with the CIA," Susan confided while she pocketed the generic cards, "is definitely interesting to say the least."

Steve glanced at a crew of men loading cargo onto what appeared to be a rusted tramp steamer.

"If you flash a badge around here," he quietly cautioned her while they started walking toward the freight handlers, "the news will shoot through this place like a lightning bolt and we probably wouldn't get another peep out of anyone. Plus, we don't have any jurisdiction in Singapore."

His statement made her realize that showing her credentials was routine in her profession, but Steve's world was very different.

"Since you're the expert in clandestine operations," she respectfully replied, "I certainly defer to your judgment."

"Don't get me wrong," he said as they approached the sweating men. "There are certain places, or situations, where we have to be… let's say, creative."

"I can only imagine," she whispered and looked straight ahead at the wizened man who was obviously in charge of the dockhands. "He looks like a mixture of Chinese and Malaysian.

"Just relax," Wickham said as they reached the small man.

"Excuse me, sir," Susan began and casually handed him a business card. "We're insurance adjusters and we're looking for one of our client's ships — the Matsumi Maru number seven. Do you happen to know where it's docked?"

A smile that revealed shiny gold teeth creased his round face. "It near big warehouse." He beamed and pointed down the busy terminal. "At end of dock."

"Thank you," Susan happily replied while she and Steve hid their surprise, "We appreciate your help."

The man looked Steve over a couple of times, then smiled at Susan. "I happy to help."

Across the dock, Shigeki Okamoto slipped into the shadow of a warehouse and brushed the sweat from his crew cut. Even though he was very close to his prey, the athletic mercenary killer knew he had to be extremely cautious. The former British colony at the tip of the Malay Peninsula enjoyed the reputation of having no crime for a very good reason.

The authoritarian politics of Singapore vigorously enforced severe penalties on violations ranging from drugs and pornography to eating on the subway or failing to flush a public toilet. If you murdered someone and got caught, the penalty was an automatic sentence of death.

Okamoto would do anything for the millions of yen Mishima Takahashi had promised him for killing the agents, but the martial arts expert had no desire to die an agonizing death.

Unable to concentrate on the stack of messages in front of him, Koji Hagura reached for the remote-control unit to the television. He clicked it on and rapidly flipped through the channels until he reached CNN. A live news report from the Pentagon was in progress and a senior spokesman was fielding questions from a large crowd of journalists. He recognized the intelligent woman correspondent from NBC when the camera focused on her face.

"Can you tell us," she asked evenly, "why the United States is operating three carrier task forces in such a confined area? Is the White House trying to intimidate Japan because of the friction between our countries?"

The White House spokesman rested his hands on the sides of the podium and looked straight at the news reporter. "No, the President isn't trying to put any pressure on Japan, or anyone else, for that matter."

A low, continuous buzz of disbelief spread throughout the crowded room.

"Because of the current fears of instability in the Southeastern Asian region," the man went on with a placid look, "the Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs felt that it was prudent to lend a stabilizing hand in the area. The President endorsed the idea and the Secretary of State is visiting our allies to assure them that we don't expect any trouble in the southeastern sector."

The spokesman pointed to a Washington Post reporter who was sitting on the front row.

We have been told," the reporter began in his combative style, "that satellite-and aircraft-reconnaissance photos indicate a large number of Japanese warships and support vessels are in the South China Sea or on the way to join the rest of the fleet. Why aren't you and your cohorts at the White House leveling with the American people?"

The reporter's voice suddenly rose. "They have a right to know what our military is doing sitting in the middle of some of the busiest shipping lanes in the world!"

"The United States has a vested interest," the Pentagon official serenely continued, "in the security of the Pacific Rim region and in the safety of our allies in that area. We are simply taking the necessary precautions to ensure long-range stability in that part of the world."

"That's a bald-faced lie," Koji Hagura muttered to himself. "The U. S. government is holding a guillotine in front of the Japanese people and daring them to put their heads on the chopping block."

There was a loud commotion in the back of the briefing room and the camera panned to an agitated Japanese journalist. A moment later he was bathed in the glare of the bright television lights.

Hagura quickly reached for the remote control and turned up the sound. He felt a deep sense of empathy for the angry feelings of the man.

"This is what we think!" the Japanese reporter shouted while he held up an enlarged facsimile of the front page of Yomiuri Shimbun, Japan's largest newspaper.

Hagura could clearly read the headline.

"Why don't you tell the truth?" the man yelled while two security guards moved toward him. "America will pay for this! Mark my words, you bastards!" He spat contemptuously as they roughly escorted him from the room.

The CNN Pentagon correspondent immediately seized the silence to address a question to the spokesman. "A reliable source informed me that our carriers in Southeast Asian waters are operating at a higher-than-normal defense-readiness condition. Will you confirm that statement?"

The speaker paused a moment and looked at a briefing note he had scribbled earlier. "Our carriers are conducting routine training flights, and we consider that normal operations. Next." He gestured to a friendly face.

"Wait a minute," the CNN reporter snapped. "One question — since you won't answer the last one — what about the reports that China and India have warships in the same area as our battle groups. Is that true?"

The spokesman showed a trace of irritation as he answered the pugnacious correspondent. "There are some Chinese Ludaclass destroyers and Jianghu-class frigates currently conducting maneuvers near the Spratly Islands, and that isn't a new development.

"As far as the Indian Navy is concerned, we are aware of only one Delhi-class destroyer in the vicinity, which we do not consider a problem."

"So the basic problem," the reporter hurried on, "is clearly with the Japanese?"

"Our situation," the Pentagon spokesman countered with a trace of exasperation in his voice, "is one of maintaining stability in a sensitive part of the world. We are there to enforce the rights of our Pacific Rim allies."

A woman journalist who represented Newsweek rose from her chair. "Do you in all good conscience expect us to believe that, when there is so much evidence pouring in about our preparations to confront the Japanese?"

Her voice turned brittle. "Why won't you be forthright, when it's obvious to the world? Allow us to do our jobs in a responsible manner."

The spokesman smiled wanly and squeezed the sides of the podium. "You can believe whatever you want, and, like the rest of you, I have a job to do."

Feeling a sudden revulsion, Koji Hagura clicked the remote control unit and the picture went blank. We must never trust the Americans.