Tiger's Claw

SPRATLY ISLAND, SOUTH CHINA SEA

SEVERAL WEEKS LATER

The Socialist Republic of Vietnam’s Gepard-class frigate, HQ-013 Cá map, or Shark, was on patrol near the Vietnamese-occupied Spratly Island. The frigate was Vietnam’s newest warship, Russian designed but license built in Vietnam. It was purpose built for antisubmarine warfare (ASW) with a helicopter with dipping sonar and armed with torpedoes, a variable-depth sonar, four torpedo tubes, and an RBU-6000 multibarrel rocket launcher that sprayed antisubmarine rockets in a dense pattern that were programmed by the fire control officer to detonate at a specified depth. Fast and agile, it was the pride of the Vietnamese navy.

The HQ-013’s shallow draft of only fifteen feet made it the perfect vessel to patrol within the reefs, sea mounts, and sandbars near the Vietnam military communications facility of Spratly Island. Only thirty-five acres in size but with a population of almost a thousand—mostly army and navy soldiers—the island was the fourth largest in the Spratly Islands archipelago and the largest of the islands occupied by Vietnam. The island was bisected by a two-thousand-foot-long coral and sand runway that ran the entire length of the oblong-shaped island. A jetty on the southeast side of the island extended past the reef surrounding the island, where the water dropped to almost six thousand feet deep in an almost vertical wall, and a long pier was built at the end of the jetty large enough for ferries and big supply vessels making the fifteen-hour cruise from Ho Chi Minh City and to support the many fishing vessels that plied these waters.

Although the Vietnamese Navy communications detachment there was real and provided a radio and telephone link between fishing vessels and the mainland, in the age of satellite communications the detachment was mostly superfluous—its real mission was to maintain a strong military presence on the island to reinforce Vietnam’s claim on it and eleven other islands and cays it occupied in the archipelago. Five other countries claimed islands in the Spratlys, and two other countries, the People’s Republic of China and the Philippines, claimed ownership of the entire archipelago.

The captain of the Shark, Thuong tá (Captain) Dang Van Chien, was on the bridge sipping a mug of tea. Thin and athletic, the veteran sailor was obviously enjoying being in command of one of his country’s finest pieces of military hardware. He could not sit still: if he was not on the bridge marveling at the electronic controls and extensive communications systems, he was in the combat center or the engine room, studying everything and asking to be briefed on how something worked. He knew he was making a nuisance of himself, but he was the captain, and he felt it was his responsibility as well as his right to ask his sailors about their specialties.

Dang checked his watch and smiled. They had scheduled a surprise gunnery exercise, and that would start in a few minutes. Only he and a few department heads knew about it. Their target was an old fishing vessel that had been seized by the Border Guards several months earlier for smuggling heroin—its crew had been executed after a one-day trial, and now they were going to destroy their drug-running ship for the benefit of the navy. The target ship should be showing up on radar at any moment.

“Bridge, Combat,” he heard a few moments later. “Radar contact, aircraft, bearing three-zero-zero, heading south, range fifty kilometers, altitude one thousand meters, speed three hundred, no transponder.”

Low, slow, and with no identification beacon, way out here in the middle of the South China Sea—that usually meant smugglers or foreign patrol planes, Dang thought. But the target ship was off to the south and the airplane was north, so it shouldn’t be a factor. “Very well,” he responded. “Continue to monitor.”

“Bridge, Combat, surface contact, bearing one-six-five, range twenty, speed ten, heading east, friendly beacon code received and verified. Second surface contact, appears to be following the first contact, one hundred meters behind it.”

The ship with the electronic radar beacon would be an oceangoing tug towing the target ship, Dang knew. “Any other surface contacts nearby?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

“Very well.” He checked his watch to note the time, then turned to the officer of the deck. “Action stations,” he said. “Prepare to engage surface target. Flank speed.” The alarm bells, the gradual acceleration of the Shark, and the sound of boots running on the decks and ladders and hatches slamming shut was always exhilarating, and he felt his heart race in anticipation.

The bosun’s mate handed Dang a helmet and life jacket. By the time he donned them, the officer of the deck reported, “The ship is at action stations, sir. We are at flank speed, heading one-nine-zero.”

“Very well. Combat, range to target?”

“Fifteen kilometers, sir.”

“Prepare to engage with the AK-176,” Dang ordered. The AK-176 was the multipurpose 76-millimeter gun mounted forward. Able to fire twelve kilogram shells as far as fifteen kilometers, the Shark had been fitted with the newest model, able to fire at up to two rounds a second and not requiring a long cool-down period afterward. The gun was also steerable with television and imaging infrared cameras as well as by the AK-630 fire control radar.

“AK-176 is ready, deck is clear, sir,” the tactical action officer reported.

“Very well. Make sure you target the right ship—do not kill our tug, xin.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Shoal water ahead, sir,” the navigation officer reported.

“Maneuver east,” Dang ordered.

“Maneuver east, yes, sir.” That put the target off the nose. Dang checked the electronic chart—they would be clear of shoal water in just a few minutes.

“Bridge, Combat, air target has closed to within twenty kilometers, still heading south. It has descended to five hundred meters. They are sweeping us with search radar.”

Probably not a smuggler, Dang thought. “Still no transponder?” he asked.

“No, sir.”

He wondered if he should cancel their gunnery practice, then decided as long as the plane stayed to the north they were safe. They were close enough that they should see a pretty good show. “Very well,” he responded. “Continue to monitor. Let me know if he gets within ten kilometers.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Clear of shoal waters, sir,” the navigator reported.

“Very well. Steer one-nine-five, prepare to engage surface target.” The Shark responded like the thoroughbred she was. Dang felt the anticipation grow even more as he watched the AK-176’s turret turn left to track the target.

“Range to target?” Dang shouted.

“Ten kilometers to target, sir.” A moment later: “Bridge, Combat, new surface contact, bearing two-three-zero, range thirty, heading east at twenty-five knots.”

“Pretty fast,” Dang commented to the officer of the deck. “Comm, Bridge, broadcast on all frequencies in Vietnamese, Chinese, and English our identity and position; advise that we will be conducting gunnery practice shortly; and warn other ships to stay clear of the area within thirty kilometers of Spratly Island. Combat, verify you are not locked onto the target with the beacon.”

“Verified, sir. Tug is not being tracked.”

“Very well. Officer of the Deck, sound alarm.” When the alarm horn stopped, Dang picked up the shipwide intercom handset. “All hands, this is the captain, prepare to fire guns.” He switched channels back to the Combat Center. “Combat, this is the captain, batteries released, fire when ready, rate thirty, radar guided.”

“Batteries released, fire when ready, rate thirty, radar guided, yes, sir.”

The sound of his 76-millimeter gun firing was music to his ears, and he rarely wore ear protection. Dang raised his binoculars to his eyes and was excited to see flashes of fire and puffs of smoke as the rounds hit the fishing vessel. “Cease fire,” he ordered. “Good shooting, Combat. Switch to infrared tracking, rate thirty. I do not want to blast our target apart quite yet. Batteries released, fire when ready.”