Tiger's Claw

THE SOUTH CHINA SEA, SOUTH OF SPRATLY ISLAND

SEVERAL MINUTES LATER

“Unidentified vessel south of Nansha Dao,” Captain Dang Van Chien of the Vietnamese frigate Shark heard in Chinese, “this is the People’s Liberation Army Navy patrol vessel Qíyú; identify yourself!”

“Is this man dense?” Dang muttered aloud. “Comm, you have been sending out those warnings, yes?”

“Yes, sir. For the last ten minutes, in Vietnamese, English, and Chinese.”

“Continue,” the captain said. “Combat, range to that Chinese patrol boat?”

“Ten kilometers. Heading right for us.”

“Secure from gunnery practice, sound action stations, no drill,” Dang said. The alarms sounded again, but the skipper didn’t feel excitement this time, only dread. He picked up the microphone and changed the channel to the emergency maritime frequency. “Patrol vessel Qíyú, this is the frigate Cá map of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam Navy,” he radioed in Chinese. “You are on a collision course with this vessel. Alter course immediately.” No reply. Dang was now watching the radar repeater on the bridge, and he could see the Chinese vessel was not changing course. “Helm, steady up on course two-two-zero.” That would put them head to head, presenting the smallest profile to the incoming ship. “Combat, stand by on the -176, target that Chinese patrol boat, stand by to fire warning shots.”

“AK-176 ready.”

“Fire a warning shot,” Dang ordered. “Radar-guided warning shot, single-round burst, battery released.”

“On the way,” came the reply, and moments later the AK-176 cannon let loose. In warning shot mode, the fire control system on the Shark’s cannon was designed to land a shell precisely one hundred meters directly in front of a radar target.

On the radio again, Dang spoke, “Patrol vessel Qíyú, this is your last warning. Alter course immediately!” Still no response. Dang closed his eyes for a moment. I do not want to do this, he thought, but he wasn’t going to turn and let this little Chinese pipsqueak chase him out of his own waters. “Combat, fire another warning . . .”

“Target turning, sir,” the radar officer reported. “Turning south . . . now continuing the turn to the east.”

Thank the stars, Dang thought—the last thing he wanted to do was shoot at a Chinese naval vessel, even if it was violating Vietnamese waters. “Very well. Reduce speed to ten knots, maintain this heading until the target is . . .”

And at that moment there was a tremendous explosion on the Shark’s starboard side. The ship was thrown violently to the left so steeply that its port rail briefly went into the water. Everyone on the bridge was thrown to the deck even if they were secured in their seats. The bridge filled with thick smoke, and the windows were illuminated from the fires that were erupting on the ship.

An unknown number of minutes later, Dang awoke, lying on the bridge of his once proud ship. He found he was still alive, but he couldn’t see a thing, and his throat was burning from the thick smoke that choked his beautiful bridge. Alarm bells were going off and men were screaming all around him. The ship had righted itself, but it was being buffeted by explosions. He crawled over bodies, blood, and broken glass to the starboard side of the bridge. He could see the fires, but the smoke was too thick to make out anything else. He crawled to the port side of the bridge.

“Captain!” someone shouted. Two sets of arms pulled him to his feet, and to his surprise he found his legs wobbly but working. The men supporting him had firefighting masks on—the damage control parties were on the job. They pulled Dang just outside the port side of the bridge where the air was much clearer.

“Report!” he shouted over the roar of the flames and the alert horns.

“I do not know, sir,” one of the damage control techs said after pulling off his mask and helmet. “Our damage control station is the bridge, so we reported here immediately. I have not heard anything on the radio.”

Dang stepped around the port side of the superstructure aft of the bridge. It seemed as if the entire midsection of the Shark was covered in smoke, and a massive explosion or column of fire would blast out of the smoke every few moments. But it appeared the damage was above the waterline, not below, so it was probably not caused by a torpedo. It was just too early to speculate on what hit the Shark—he had to see to his crew.

“Whoever is responsible for this will pay dearly,” Dang said aloud over the smoke and chaos all around him. “Vietnam is at war with whoever did this, I promise.”