Seawolf Class

6

"Would you please step out of the vehicle, sir?"

He stepped out of the cab under the watchful eyes of two Marine sentries — both men in full combat dress, with M-16 rifles at port arms, with magazines in place. A third Marine, a very young-looking lieutenant, very carefully examined his military ID, comparing the photo to his face.

Gordon waited patiently as the Marine checked him out. He was still feeling a bit sick and jet-lagged after his all-night crossing of the Pacific aboard a Marine C-130 Hercules—"available transportation" in Navyspeak. They'd hit the fringes of a storm south of Kamchatka, and the last three hours of the flight had been a jouncing, thumping, air-pocket-ridden hell that had made all thought of catching up on lost sleep impossible.

The Herky Bird had touched down at last on the runway at the Naval Air Facility at Atsugi, and he'd elected to hire a local cab rather than wait for the next scheduled military bus bound for Yokosuka. He desperately needed a shave, a shower, and about ten hours in the rack — not necessarily in that order — but his scheduled meeting at Fleet Activities HQ was at 1300 hours, and he somehow doubted that he was going to catch up on his sleep first.

The lieutenant finished his inspection of Gordon's ID at last. "Very well, sir," the Marine said. "We'll get your luggage. Corporal!"

"Aye aye, sir!" Yet a fourth Marine trotted forward, careful not to come between the two armed men and the taxi that had brought Gordon out from Atsugi. He pulled Gordon's single small suitcase out of the backseat and carried it off toward the front gate security shack.

"May I check your briefcase, sir?" the lieutenant asked, eyeing the attache case Gordon was carrying.

"No, Lieutenant," he replied, reaching into his inside jacket pocket. "Here's my clearance."

The Marine studied the paper, which listed the security classification for the contents of the briefcase and exempted it from search. "Thank you, Captain," the lieutenant said, handing the document back to Gordon. "You may go through, sir."

It was, Gordon thought, further evidence of a world changed beyond all sane recognition.

The destruction of the World Trade Center in New York in 2001 had awakened America to the realpolitik of a world fast sinking into a new Dark Age of barbarism, warlords, and terror, and all threats to the nation's boundaries were being met with a vigor that was at times almost paranoid.

And reasonably so, Gordon thought. The War on Terrorism was in its second year now and still showed no sign of abating. One of the most obvious signs of that war's far-reaching effects worldwide was the increase in security at airport terminals, at international border crossings, at embassies… and at military bases. At installations like the Fleet Activities base here at Yokosuka, even official vehicles could no longer simply drive through the main gate without close inspection, and foreign vehicles were turned aside by armed guards and rows of concrete dragons' teeth blocking the road. No one was permitted on base without careful scrutiny.

Especially high-profile bases like this one. The Commander Fleet Activities for the Western Pacific, COMFLEACTWESTPAC, was responsible for the logistical support of all Navy forces on this side of the Pacific. Yokosuka — pronounced "yoh-koo-ska" rather than the way the name looked — was the largest naval shore facility in the Far East, covering something like five hundred acres. Thirteen hundred families lived on base, with another four hundred quartered at the Negishi Housing Area at Yokohama, seventeen miles to the north, and perhaps twelve or thirteen hundred families more living off base in private rentals. If Al Qaida terrorists were looking for a target that combined American military prestige with sheer numbers of potential casualties, as well as one with strategic value, Yokosuka was a prime candidate. Military security, for that reason, was extremely tight and had been ever since the bloody infamy of September 2001.

A Marine driver ushered Gordon into a gray-painted sedan and whisked him into the depths of the huge base, past the on-base McDonald's, a cluster of bowling alleys, swimming pools, and other recreational centers, and the A-33, a popular fleet exchange carrying a bewildering array of electronic equipment, cameras, computers, and the like.

The base was crackling with activity, with sailors and Marines everywhere. East, toward the waterfront on the Uraga Channel, a forest of radar masts and antennae rose above the skyline of nearer buildings, marking the moorings for the fair-sized fleet of American warships in port. Overhead, a pair of F/A-18 Hornets thundered high just beneath the overcast, lazily circling on patrol. All ships, bases, and facilities were on the highest level of alert with the worsening of this latest international crisis.

The driver deposited him in front of the BOQ — the Bachelor Officers' Quarters — where he reported in and was assigned a room. Three hours later, he emerged, clean and clean-shaven, and wearing a fresh uniform, but with only a fraction of the catch-up sleep he needed. Informed of his arrival, Admiral Hartwell had dispatched a car and driver and suggested that he might like to grab a bite to eat at the facility O-Club. Gordon didn't feel like eating yet — his stomach was still operating on California time — so he elected to forgo lunch and hike to the HQ.

As he approached the building's front steps, he spotted a familiar figure on the sidewalk up ahead. "Good afternoon, Commander," he called when the other officer didn't see him right away.

Commander Garrett started, visibly surprised. "Frank!" He came to attention and saluted. "Captain Gordon! What are you doing here!"

"The same thing you are, most likely," Gordon said, returning the salute. "Thirteen hundred briefing?"

"Y-yes, sir! How did?… "

Gordon hefted his briefcase. "I'm giving the briefing. It's good to see you again, Tom. It's been a while."

"Three years, has it been?" Garrett said. "Yeah, it's been too damned long."

At least Garrett didn't seem to be holding a grudge still for what had happened at the inquest back in '99, Gordon thought. A good thing. Garrett didn't know it yet, but his career was about to do yet another wild one-eighty.

"How's it going?" Gordon asked.

Garrett's eyes appeared shuttered. Cautious. "Well enough."

"I… heard about you and Claire. I'm sorry."

Garrett shrugged. "Things had been heading in that direction for a long time. It was bound to come to a head sooner or later." He glanced at his watch. "Maybe we should be getting inside?"

"Affirmative. I… think you'll like the little surprise I've arranged today."

"Oh?" Garrett's expression became, if anything, even more opaque. "Anything I should know about, Captain?"

"Don't sweat it. It's good. I need you to volunteer for a pet project of mine."

"I don't know if that's a good thing or not, sir. The first lesson I learned in the Navy was 'never volunteer.' "

"That's okay. You were volunteered while you were out of the room. Let's get on inside, shall we?"

"Aye aye, sir."

"Believe me, Tom, it's not a death sentence." Together, they walked up the steps and into the building.

The briefing room was occupied by a long, broad table and plenty of chairs, most of which were already occupied by the time Gordon finished his preliminary talk with Admiral Hartwell and strode into the room. A senior chief entered a moment later, saying, "Gentlemen, attention on deck! COMFLEACTWESTPAC arriving."

The assembled officers, most of them Navy, but with a few Marines adding khaki to the ranks of blue, rose to their feet. Admiral Charles B. Hartwell entered with a brisk "As you were" and took his place at the head of the table. An aide, a Navy captain with a name tag reading OSTER, followed at his heels, taking his place at a podium at the far end of the room, in front of a large, rear-projection screen.

"Gentlemen," Captain Oster began without other preamble. "The Taiwan Crisis, as the press back home are calling it, is heating up. At zero-six-hundred hours this morning the PLA launched a CSS-1 intermediate-range ballistic missile with a high-explosive warhead from a launch facility outside Fuzhou. The warhead detonated on a runway at the Chiang Kai-shek International Airport, causing extensive damage and a number of casualties…probably at last two hundred casualties, as of our latest update, and including several American citizens.

"During the past week the People's Republic has launched no fewer than eight missiles in what they've described as a 'military exercise.' All of these missiles detonated harmlessly in the Strait of Formosa and were intended to generate fear and dissension within the Taipei government and the Taiwanese population in general.

"The attack this morning, the first directed against a specific target on land, was accompanied by what can only be regarded as an ultimatum. Taipei is to send a delegation with full powers of negotiation to Beijing by the end of this month in order to draft and sign formal documents of reunification with the People's Republic. Such documents would, of course, mean the end of the Republic of China, and the end of an independent Taiwan.

"The United States government, of course, though it has distanced itself in recent history from open support of Taiwan in order to avoid jeopardizing relations with Mainland China, remains committed to the independence of Taiwan. The President has, therefore, directed all military forces to maintain the highest alert status and readiness levels, and to deploy several key military units to the Taiwan Area of Operations." The briefing officer paused, then looked at Gordon. "Captain Gordon, of the ONI, has flown out this morning from CONUS to give us the latest brief on PRC forces and their projected intentions. Captain Gordon?"

Gordon rose and walked to the podium. He hadn't had much time to prepare his presentation — his sleepless night aboard the Herky Bird had been the best he could manage — but there was little to prepare for. "Lights, please," he said, and as the room lights dimmed, he added, "First slide."

The projection operator in the next room brought up the first image on the screen at Gordon's back. It was a full color picture of high detail and remarkable clarity, looking down obliquely on a submarine at sea… a Kilo-class boat with the characteristic long, low sail of Russian designs. It appeared to be lashed alongside a larger ship, an old and sharp-prowed surface vessel with "J503" painted on the bow in very large characters. The two were making their way through heavy swells, with a heavy fuel line strung between them. Evidently, the Kilo was taking on fuel at sea.

"Some of you," Gordon said, "will remember the incident south of the Aleutian Islands in 'ninety-nine, when one of our Los Angeles boats tangled with a Chinese freighter escorted by a Kilo-class diesel submarine. The details of Operation Buster remain highly classified, both for the mission itself and for the particulars of the ensuing collision and the sinking of the Chinese merchant vessel Kuei Mei."

Several heads at the conference table turned, as various participants looked at Commander Garrett. Those who didn't, Gordon thought, were likely those who didn't know that the Pittsburgh's former skipper was in the room.

"This is the Kilo involved in the Operation Buster incident," he went on. "We caught her about thirty hours after the collision with one of our reconnaissance aircraft. The surface ship, incidentally, is a Dalang-class submarine support vessel that just happened to be in the area."

Several chuckles arose from around the table at that.

"What is interesting about this is the way the Chinese were employing this boat. The Kilo-class submarine has a submerged displacement of 2,900 tons and a top submerged speed of twenty, maybe twenty-five knots, no more. She has two diesel engines that can only be run on the surface, or while snorkeling, and a rechargeable electric drive for use when submerged. A crew of sixty.

"The Kilo is classified as a medium-range sub, with a top range, on the surface or while snorkeling, of about six thousand miles. That, of course, means that if this Kilo was trying to escort the Kuei Mei all the way across the Pacific, she was going to need refueling in order to make it back.

"The question is why the Chinese were using a diesel submarine as a transoceanic escort. Their Han nuclear boats would be much better choices, in terms of range, since they can go around the world without refueling. At ONI, we could only arrive at two possibilities.

"One, the Kilo was on a mission requiring extreme stealth. Kilos are quiet, very quiet, at least so long as they're submerged and running on their electric motors. Nuclear subs, because of the various cooling plants and pumps associated with their power plants, are noisy… and the Hans are especially so."

"Wait a minute, Captain," Admiral Hartwell said, interrupting. "You can't be saying that that Kilo was crossing the Pacific on her batteries, can you?"

"No, sir. A Kilo can only travel a few hundred miles on her electric drive before she has to recharge, either by surfacing or by running submerged on her snorkel. And both of those options are damned noisy. No, the idea was that our Los Angeles just happened to intercept the Kilo while it was running on batteries, but that it periodically either surfaced or used its snorkel to recharge. If that submarine was intended for some stealthy mission, it would have been somewhere close to our coast, probably within our coastal waters. ONI thinks it possible they were traveling with the freighter, in order to mask the noise they made when snorkeling."

"That," Hartwell said with a frown, "is disquieting."

Gordon was tempted to say something about the admiral's pun but thought better of it. It was probably unintentional.

"I should say that the CIA is partial to this idea. There is another possibility, however, one that some of us at ONI think is more likely. The Kilo was escorting the freighter, as we originally surmised. A Kilo drew the mission rather than a Han because they were training the crew."

"Training the crew?" Hartwell said. "For what?"

"Blue-water operations. Missions far from the Chinese coast. And that, Admiral, gentlemen, is what is truly disquieting." He paused, watching the implications sink into the various members of his audience. Some still looked puzzled, or lost. Most were beginning to get the idea.

"You see," he continued, "short- and medium-range submarines are generally intended for a defensive role. They're kept in close to the home country's coastline, where they can be employed against foreign maritime intruders that may be entering coastal waters, or to escort local shipping.

"But as every sailor knows, things get a lot different when you push off outside of coastal waters. Some of us believe that the Kilo was on a training exercise intended to give her captain and crew a taste of operations in deep water, far from home. She would have escorted the freighter most of the way across the Pacific, but left the Kuei Mei in order to rendezvous with the sub tender and refuel. Then she would return, either alone or with the Kuei Mei, on her return voyage."

"Navies do not undertake such training missions unless there is a serious need," Hartwell pointed out. "The risk of a serious training accident is so grave… "

"Exactly," Gordon said. "This is an especially alarming development coming from the People's Republic. China continues to think of herself as the 'Middle Kingdom,' a central land of civilization surrounded by not-very-interesting barbarians. For a long time now they've been hampered by that worldview, with the result that they've never bothered developing a navy with a truly global outreach. The PLA Navy— and that should tell us something right there, that their navy is still a part of the People's Liberation Army—

was designed strictly for coastal defense, repelling invasions, protecting their territorial waters, that sort of thing.

"Lately, though, there's been a distinct shift in Chinese military philosophy. Their first Xia-class ballistic missile submarine was launched in 1986. Their Han nuclear attack sub dates back to the seventies, but with a few exceptions, they've rarely ventured with them very far from their home waters. Recently, however, the Chinese have been flexing their naval muscles. They appear to have taken delivery on a number of Kilo-class submarines from the Russians, of which this boat was one. Our estimates on the total number of submarines delivered by the Russians at this time range from eight to ten boats, all produced at the Komsomolsk Shipyards.

"And over the past few months, the Chinese have become particularly active in the South China Sea, around the Paracel and Spratly Islands, both of which they consider to be their territory. Blue-water training missions would give their diesel boat crews valuable experience in transiting to key overseas operational areas. A fleet of Kilo-class boats operating out of a Chinese base in the Spratly Islands, for instance, could play havoc with shipping lanes through that region. But the Spratlys are a thousand miles south of mainland China. That's a long haul for sub crews who haven't been trained to operate in deep water."

Admiral Harold Kohl, the commander of the John C. Stennis carrier battle group, turned to Hartwell, seated on his left. "Still seems strange sending a Kilo on escort duty across six thousand miles of the North Pacific, doesn't it, Chuck?"

"Not if you're trying to jump-start your submarine force into something with a global reach," Hartwell replied, his voice grim. "Having the PRC operating a strike force of very quiet submarines in the Spratlys or the Paracels would not be a good thing."

"In fact," Gordon continued, "the Chinese submarine fleet may not be deploying that far afield…at least, not yet. Next slide, please."

The Kilo and the sub tender on the screen were replaced by another high-resolution photo, this one in black and white, shot from a considerable altitude above a seaport or naval facility. Large traveling cranes were clearly visible, as were smokestacks, warehouses, piers, and even individual workers. Of greatest interest was a pair of cigar-shaped vessels moored side by side at one of the piers. A number of white-clad sailors were visible on their decks and on the pier itself. A crane embraced the vessel closest to the pier, which appeared to be swallowing a long, blunt-tipped pencil through a hatch on its forward deck.

"This was taken by one of our intelligence satellites four days ago," Gordon said. "We are looking down on the Huludao Shipyard, two hundred kilometers northeast of Beijing, in Liao Ning Province. We keep a close eye on this port, of course, since it's the same facility where both the Chinese Xia-class ballistic missile submarine and the Han-class nuclear attack submarine were first built and launched.

"These vessels, however, are not of Chinese manufacture. They are Kilo-class diesel boats, purchased within the past few years from Russia. As you can see, they're outfitting at least one of these boats for patrol. That is a twenty-one-inch 'long' antiship torpedo they're wrestling into the weapons loading hatch. Next slide, please."

The next shot was similar to the first. A pair of submarines was moored at a pier in front of a busy military port. Torpedoes were being unloaded from trucks on the pier. Several shorter, stubbier torpedoes were visible as well, apparently being loaded onto the trucks.

"The Jiangnan Shipyard at Shanghai," Gordon explained. "Also four days ago. What's interesting here is that they appear to be unloading twenty-one-inch antisubmarine torps from the Kilos and replacing them with the longer antiship torpedoes."

He took them through more slides, each of shipyards, each showing bustling activity around moored submarines. "We're seeing the same thing at ports all along the Chinese coast," he said. "Luda Shipyard, up at Dalian. Hongqi. Donglang. Guangzhou and Zhonghua. We have counted a total of eight Kilo-class submarines in various ports up and down the Chinese coast, all being outfitted for patrol at the same time. We have also counted all five of their Han-class nuclear attack boats in port, plus all three of the older Ming-class diesel boats, and even a significant number— eight — of their old Romeo- and Whiskey-class boats… clunkers, obsolete boats purchased from the Soviets in the sixties, or built on license for export since then.

"Next slide, please."

This photograph, taken from a different angle, showed the Huludao Shipyard again… and the same pier. Both Kilos, however, were gone.

"This one, as you see from the time stamp, was taken yesterday morning, at about zero-seven-hundred hours, local time. And next… "

Another repeat, this time Jiangnan. Again the two Kilos were gone.

"As of yesterday morning, gentlemen, the Chinese submarine fleet appears to have set sail. All of it. It's the same story at every port on the Chinese coast. Their attack submarines, both nuclear and diesel, and including all of their new Russian Kilos, are now at sea.

"And we don't know where they are headed."

"My God," someone in the audience said, the words startling in the shocked silence.

"Captain Oster has already told us about the missile fired at Chiang Kai-shek International this morning," Gordon continued. "Beijing has been steadily escalating the crisis over Taiwan for the past six months, and it is possible that this is the payoff. One of the scenarios they're looking at back in Washington right now is the possibility that the PRC is about to invade Taiwan. Ten Kilo-class submarines would be sufficient to shut down all commercial and military sea traffic in the Strait of Formosa. If they can block the Seventh Fleet from Taiwan waters, they could well have a free hand for an invasion.

"Another possibility we're looking at is the idea that the Kilos have all been dispatched to either the Paracel Islands or, more likely, the Spratly Islands, in order to secure the PRC claim to those regions.

"In either case, the Chinese are gambling on the American reluctance to engage them in a full, stand-up war. The War on Terrorism is tying down a large percentage of our military assets now, worldwide. Beijing may have decided that we're overextended and that this is the best opportunity they've had in a good many years to rush in and grab Taiwan out from under our noses. Once the PLA is entrenched on Taiwan, of course, we're not going to be able to evict them without a protracted and extremely bitter engagement on the land, something Washington wants to avoid at all costs. If we're going to stop the bastards, it has to be at sea, before they land.

"And that, we think, is why they have acquired those

Kilos. One carrier battle group could block a Chinese invasion force across the strait without too much trouble. But even a single Kilo, operating in stealthy mode, would be almost impossible to detect and could play havoc with our CBG. Ten kilos could destroy the Seventh Fleet."

"The hell they could," Admiral Kohl rumbled, but Gordon could still feel the wheels turning behind those angry eyes. Attack submarines were the greatest threat faced by a modern carrier battle group. A CBG had plenty of aircraft, missiles, and CIWS Phoenix Gatling mounts to take out incoming missiles, but the only counters to hostile submarines were the group's ASW assets — LAMP helos, Viking S-3 aircraft, and, most important, the pair of Los Angeles-class hunter-killer submarines attached to each group.

But the Kilos were so damned silent. Finding them all before they had the range on an American carrier might be almost impossible, even with the vast array of American military technology at the battle group's disposal.

"We have one more piece of bad news," Gordon told the group. He waited a moment for the murmur of conversation to die down before adding, "Slide, please."

Again the screen showed a satellite view of a busy naval facility, with cranes, docks, and pier-side buildings. A submarine was moored to one of the piers.

This one was different from the Kilos, longer, thicker, heavier, and with a long, low, and streamlined-looking sail. Aft, a teardrop-shaped nacelle rode atop a vertical fin.

"Gentlemen," Gordon said, "this is a Walker-class boat."

A few chuckles from around the briefing table greeted the weak joke. The nuclear attack sub on the screen had been first deployed by the old Soviet Union in 1984, just before the discovery of the treason by the infamous Walker Spy Ring.

John Walker had been a Navy chief warrant officer who, from 1968 to 1985, had quietly funneled to his Soviet KGB handlers over one million top secret naval communications and the decryption keys to read them. During those seventeen years, he'd recruited his brother, a lieutenant commander in the submarine service; his son, a communications specialist; and Jerry Whitworth, a Navy radioman. The Walker Spy Ring, as the family business became known, had produced a hemorrhage of the Navy's most vital secrets. The Soviet defector Vitaly Yurchenko had claimed to the CIA that had the Soviet Union and the United States gotten into a war in the 1970s or 1980s, Russia would have won simply because of the importance of the material the Walker Ring was channeling to Moscow. Walker's treason had been at least as important and as far-reaching for the Soviets in their understanding of U.S. secret communications as Ultra had been for the Allies in World War II.

A vital corollary of that understanding was that the Soviets had learned in detail from the Walker information just how vulnerable their submarines were to detection, how easily U.S. sonar and SOSUS nets could track them… and how far behind the Americans they were in submarine technology.

The Office of Naval Intelligence had been working for a long time to assess the damage done to the United States by the Walker ring. The full depth and breadth of that damage might well never be known, but one outcome of Walker's treason was on the projection screen now.

"The Russians call her the 'Barrakuda,' " Gordon went on. "NATO dubbed her 'Akula,' the Russian word for shark, after we ran out of phonetic alphabet code names like Sierra, Tango, and Foxtrot. Ten thousand tons' displacement submerged. One hundred thirteen meters long. Top speed submerged estimated at thirty-five to forty knots, but it may be considerably higher.

"And gentlemen, she is as quiet as Death himself. There are many in ONI and the CIA who firmly believe that the Russians built this submarine using technology made possible by the Walker Spy Ring — hence the name 'Walker class.' There are also some in the submarine community who believe the Akula is superior in all respects to our own Los Angeles boats, that it may even be better than the Seawolf."

Gordon didn't add what many in the room knew but was still highly classified — that he himself had faced a Soviet Akula back in 1987, during a sneak-and-peek mission with the Pittsburgh into the Soviet bastion of the Sea of Okhotsk. A Russian Akula skipper had been just a bit too eager and pursued him into Japanese territorial waters; the Russian boat had been destroyed, but it had been a near thing.

What still counted most in sub versus sub engagements, rather than the technology, was the skill and daring of the men on board, officers and enlisted alike.

"This photo was taken two days ago by a spy satellite over Guangzhou… that's Canton, up the Pearl River from Hong Kong. That is the Guangzhou Shipyard.

"What we do not yet know is whether this Akula submarine in Canton is a Russian boat on a show-the-flag visit or one the Russians have sold to the PRC. There have been rumors floating about lately that the Russians were putting together an arms deal with China, one worth trillions of rubles, and that the deal included a number of Kilo-class diesel boats and something else, something better and bigger and far more deadly.

"Something like an Akula… "

"Wait!" Hartwell said. "Captain… you're saying that the Chinese might have bought themselves an Akula?"

"It is a possibility. The ONI would be very interested in confirming that sale, if it really happened. As I said, this could be a simple visit by a Russian submarine to a Chinese port of call. However, we have not been able to identify this particular Akula. That means she's new… but the Russians have not been adding to their own fleet lately. Upkeep has been too expensive, and too many of their first-line warships are already rusting to death in ports from the Baltic to the Pacific. If this is a new build, she may have been launched solely for sale to an export market.

"I don't need to add that even one Akula in the PLA naval forces would drastically tip things in their favor in any naval confrontation over Taiwan or the South China Sea. Ten Kilos are bad enough. An Akula is a nuke boat with unlimited range, almost as quiet as a Kilo… quieter than one of our Los Angeles boats, in fact. Besides torpedoes, she can launch SS-N-15, -16, and -17 missiles… the equivalent of our Tomahawks. One Akula could decimate a carrier battle group. One Akula supported by a wolfpack of Kilos could threaten the entire U.S. Seventh Fleet."

He paused, gauging the temper of the men in the room. They were all listening with grim intensity; Hartwell's fingers were drumming lightly and quickly on the polished mahogany surface of the table.

"Gentlemen, we need hard intel. We need to know exactly what the Chinese have in their inventory… and we especially need to know whether they have an Akula in their fleet. Washington had worked out a plan to garner that intelligence, but the missile attack on

Taiwan this morning may have stolen a march from us.

"Nevertheless, Washington's orders are to proceed with the operation, which has been dubbed 'Red Dragon,' with modifications along the way as necessary. We are immediately deploying the attack submarine Seawolf to the Strait of Formosa, where she will listen for PLA submarines and attempt to gather acoustical data on their presence and operations there. She will make a special effort to find and identify the Akula in the Hong Kong area and make an attempt to determine her nationality.

"In the meantime, the Stennis battle group will deploy to the Strait of Formosa to present Beijing with a show of our determination to stand by Taiwan. Should war break out between China and the United States, the Seawolf will already be in position to strike PLA assets along the coast between Hong Kong and Fuzhou. Commander Lawless? Is your boat ready to sail?"

One of the naval officers at the table nodded. He was Commander George Lawless, the current skipper of SSN-21, the USS Seawolf. "Yes, sir," Lawless said. "We're ready to sail on twenty-four hours' notice. My wardroom is still down by an XO, however. Commander Joslin was airlifted out to San Diego three days ago."

"I know." Lieutenant Peter Joslin, Seawolf's exec, had developed sudden and severe heart problems, problems severe enough that Seawolf had put into Yokesuka, the nearest major Navy port at the time, to transfer Joslin to the naval hospital there. He'd been transferred back to the States when it became clear that he needed better hospital facilities to treat his condition.

For Frank Gordon, Joslin's illness had provided an unexpected but most welcome opportunity. He'd been arguing for the past month that he needed one of his people on board the Seawolf if that boat was to be sent hunting for Kilos in the Formosa Strait. But even Sea-wolfs were crowded, and no skipper wanted people on board who weren't pulling their own weight. There'd been resistance to the idea.

"Some of you may know Commander Tom Garrett," he went on, "by reputation if not in person. He is a former skipper of a Los Angeles boat—my old boat, in fact — the USS Pittsburgh. In addition, he has particular expertise tracking Kilo-class submarines. I would like to suggest him as a temporary executive officer for the Seawolf. You may find his skills damned useful on this one, Commander."

"As long as he's not driving," Lawless said. He made it sound like a joke, and several at the table chuckled, but Gordon knew that Lawless still didn't like the idea. He'd broached it to him by phone yesterday and received a lot of static… mostly having to do with the fact that Garrett was still under a cloud after his collision with a Chinese sub and the subsequent hearing.

Gordon also knew that Lawless would go along with the idea. Admiral Dulany, back in San Diego, had been most emphatic. Gordon wanted a particular man on the Seawolf for Operation Red Dragon, and he would have that man, no questions asked.

And Gordon wanted Garrett on the Seawolf.

He wondered how Garrett felt about that.