China Sea (26 page)

Swell, if they thought he was going ashore to enjoy himself … but their silent regard was not a good sign. An explosive mix was building aboard
Gaddis
, impalpable yet deadly as methane in a coal mine. Her crew had been Frankensteined together from half a dozen sources over the long trek east. They had no loyalty to the ship and, composed as they were of scrapings and AWOL leftovers, probably not much more to the Navy. Add to that no pay, no liberty, the heat and boredom, their total lack of contact with home … the fights and thefts were an ominous symptom. He had to defuse it before it got out of hand. Either crack down or give them something to do. He decided to think about it later, see what came out of this conference.

The launch came in, throwing spray like a frisky dolphin, the Indonesian flag fluttering at the stern. He judged the distance and stepped onto the gunwale as it bounded past the platform. The coxswain sheered off skillfully, and Dan composed himself into the captain of USS
Gaddis
, settling into the seat cushions, forcing a smile to lips that did not feel like smiling at all, nodding with friendly dignity to the other commanders already aboard.

*   *   *

THEY were met with all due ceremony. White-uniformed sideboys stood at taut attention. Pipes shrilled as they pulled themselves out of the launch, mounting the boarding ladder in order of seniority. The flag captain returned their salutes with crisp slashes of his white-gloved hand. Dan was junior and last. He marched between the immobile ranks of sideboys with a strange sensation. He'd rendered honors for senior officers many times, but this was the first time he'd been piped aboard himself. When the group was assembled, he trailed it up ladders and down shining passageways to a curtained space high in the superstructure. The air-conditioning was blessedly icy. Plaques and awards were screwed to the bulkheads, mostly from European and Japanese ships. The flag mess, he guessed, accepting tea and several small, round cookies or biscuits from a steward.

Suriadiredja came in a few minutes later, weathered cheeks crinkled in greeting. He didn't waste time, just shook everyone's hand and invited them to take their seats.

The flag captain spoke first, reviewing the lessons learned from Phase One. Dan sat flipping his Skilcraft back and forth, only occasionally pressing it to his wheelbook. The flag captain had taken the liberty of preparing a formation steaming guide and signal book, which he distributed. The cover showed the five national flags fluttering above a skull and crossbones. They would evaluate it during Phase Two. If successful, it would be expanded in future exercises. The Indonesian reviewed the unsuccessful intercept of two nights before. In view of their targets' possession of what appeared to be sophisticated radar warning devices, it would be necessary to fine-tune the emissions plan. However, the craft they would be operating against during Phase Two would be less advanced, so for the moment no change in tactics was recommended. Meanwhile Lenson disassembled the pen, studied the parts, then put it back together.

When the flag captain was done, Suriadiredja stood. He asked for comments thus far. There weren't any. He nodded to a lieutenant, who put the first of a series of large charts of the Sulu Sea on an easel.

At last the briefing was over. The commanders stirred, gathering their materials and notes. Suriadiredja said then, face expressionless, “We have been invited to make a short visit to the vessel forward of us. If you will follow me to the pier?”

*   *   *

THE ship looming over them had been at sea a long time. A glance told Dan that, details he no longer saw consciously: blood rust seeping beneath fresh paint, the shadow of kicked-up water along the boot, the faded flag at her stern. Her hull number was R327. A weak stream spurted from an overboard discharge, splashing onto the pier. Three or four times the displacement of
Gaddis
, she towered above
Nala
as well. A bulbous-bodied helicopter of a make he didn't recognize, roughly the conformation of a U.S. Sea Stallion, squatted with blades drooping on a platform. Men in olive fatigues regarded them from the rail. The superstructure was capped by antenna-laced masts bracketing a single squared-off stack. He didn't see anything he could positively identify as a weapon. Heat radiated up from the concrete, reflected and concentrated by the steel cliff above them as they paused at the foot of a ladder.

Dan lifted his cap and smoothed back sweat-soaked hair. It wasn't just the heat that was making him sweat. He didn't want to board this ship. But there was no graceful way out. He followed the others, Suriadiredja at their head, up onto the quarterdeck.

Fans roared steadily in the hangar. A red star with two golden ideographs on a chain-fouled anchor was mounted high on one bulkhead. The stream of warm air only seemed to accentuate the humidity, but he was grateful for the shade. The receiving line was made up of the commanding officer, whose name he didn't catch, and several others—department heads, most likely. Each bowed, shook his hand, then dropped it instantly and turned to the next guest, who in this case was Suriadiredja's flag aide. When Dan emerged from the gauntlet he collected a glass of lemonade. He glanced at the admiral, hoping this wouldn't be a long visit. After a moment, he strolled out toward the helicopter.

Before he escaped the hangar, he was intercepted by a crisp young fellow in a red-tabbed, slightly rumpled uniform. “United States Navy?”

Dan straightened, then reluctantly returned his head bob.

“How do you do. My name is Shan Jihong.”

Dan took the limp hand for a moment. “Daniel Lenson.”

“Welcome to
Dajaing.
I hope you will not mind if I practice my English with you. I last saw U.S. Navy officers in Shanghai. I was translator for the Military Mission in 1989. Do you know General Ferguson? U.S. Marine general David Ferguson?”

“I don't think so.”

“I see you are admiring our helicopter. That is a French helicopter. The Super Frelon. We will be building our own version soon, but with many improvements.”

Shan was not as young as he'd seemed at first glance. Dan leaned out past the edge of the hangar, far enough to get a glance across the choppy green bay at
Gaddis.
She looked OK, tending around a bit to the west from where she had originally hung at anchor. A fuel barge lay alongside. He turned back and said to the Chinese, “You have quite a ship here. I was wondering, actually, what type of craft this is.”

“
Dajaing
is a research ship.”

Dan nodded, trying to disguise his surprise at this piece of news. He took another hit off the lemonade and said, as blandly as he could, “You do a good deal of hydrography, I imagine.”

Shan did not answer that one, simply smiled. “I am not involved in that work.”

Still thinking about the implications, a submarine support ship this far to the south, Dan pushed the next pawn forward. “What's your position aboard, Mr. Shan?”

“I am the political officer of
Dajiang.
And you are the commander of
Gaddis
? Part of the Indonesian task force?”

The oppressive feeling Dan had fought at the foot of the ladder returned. “Political officer” meant Party member. But to him it meant the people who'd ruined his career at Joint Cruise Missiles, driven an espionage network into the Pentagon and Congress and the Air Force, and hired the gang bangers who'd killed Kerry Donavan on a towpath in D.C. He took a deep breath and eased it out. In a controlled voice he said, “That's right. But it's multinational, not Indonesian.”

“You are sailing under Admiral Suriadiredja's flag.”

“With ships of many coastal nations, on a mission of commerce protection.”

“China would have been pleased to participate. I wonder why we were not invited.”

Because you're the assholes behind the worst of it
, Dan thought, but aloud he just said, “I wouldn't have anything on that for you, sorry.”

He was excusing himself, turning away, when a smooth-faced Chinese-Singaporean he recognized as the
Sea Lion
's commander joined them, and with him another officer who introduced himself as on the staff of the Royal Brunei Armed Forces Flotilla. Dan thanked the latter for the complimentary fuel. The discussion then turned to the developing tropical depression east of the Philippines and the possibility it would move west into the Phase Two op area. Dan felt uneasy discussing their intended movements in front of the Chinese. He tried to relax, tried to look as if he were enjoying himself swapping shop talk on a hot afternoon. But presently Suriadiredja drifted over, too. The task force commander stood listening without comment to the patrol craft's skipper. With the admiral was another Chinese Dan recalled from the receiving line. The
Dajiang
's captain was slight as a boy, but with crow's-feet around penetrating eyes that flicked from face to face with sour amusement.

When the Singaporean was done, he turned to Dan. “So, America has returned.”

“We never left.”

“We thought so for a time. After Vietnam.” He smiled around the group. Dan straightened, a flash of anger pumping his blood pressure so high he felt a sudden pain in the small of his back. Was the son of a bitch taunting him? He started to snap back, then caught Suriadiredja's glance.

“There are political differences between China and the United States.” The Bruneian, with an unpleasant smirk.

“Political developments are always of interest,” said Shan, and the little circle's attention came back to the political officer. “But it is unfortunate you halted our technical and scientific partnership. I personally do not understand the reason.”

“Tienanmen was the reason,” Dan said.

“The few students wounded at Tienanmen were an internal matter. Like your Kent State massacre. China needs discipline. The people's rights to material development must take priority over bourgeois concepts of political liberty.

“But if America prefers to break her commitments, we have been through the same process with the Soviet Union. First assistance, professions of friendship, and then abandonment. We managed to continue modernizing. Our new
Luhu
-class destroyers will carry French missiles, German diesels, British radar, and Chinese nuclear-capable antiship missiles. They will be the equal of any ship in the United States fleet. Mr. Gorbachev, too, seems quite willing to discuss sales of advanced systems.”

Admiral Suriadiredja coughed into a fist, and the others fell silent. The Indonesian said, “There are questions about your government's intentions in the southern reaches of the South China Sea. We attempted to negotiate the subject of the Spratleys. The response was evasive. Something about Chinese imperial dynasties and national heritage.”

Shan listened to a statement from
Dajaing
's CO. He said something that sounded reassuring and returned to English. “The captain cautions me that these are matters of high diplomatic importance, not for us to venture opinions on without guidance. I will only repeat Chairman Deng's words, said many times over, that China has no desire to threaten other countries or to play the hegemon.

“You must bear in mind, however, that we have been deprived of large areas in the course of our history. Russian imperialists occupied our territory in the north. France, Britain, Germany, even Portugal seized cities and harbors. The Japanese annexed Manchuria and stole Taiwan. China's leaders depend on peaceful evolution for the rectification of these historic injustices. For myself, though, I will point out that all these southern seas were unquestionably Chinese before the piratical incursions of the European powers. The People's Republic will defend our historic rights.”

Dan observed, before he could stop himself, “Your historic rights seem to extend farther and farther out to sea as time goes on.”

“Along with every other nation in the world,” said Shan. “Last year the Japanese extended their naval boundaries one thousand miles, all the way to the Paracels. We are simply moving our defenses outward from the homeland as we take our place in the community of powers. Just as America has. One could say your ship has little business in what even you call the
China
Sea.”

“We're acting in concert with other nations to restrain piracy on the high seas.”

Dajaing
's captain spoke again, in Chinese.

Shan said, “My commanding officer asks me to caution you. He has seen notices to mariners your task force has filed for operations in the Tungsha Tao area. That is within China's coastal sea. It would not be perceived as friendly to the Chinese People's Liberation Army Navy if a task force operated north of fifteen degrees latitude. That is an area which it is our duty to defend.”

The group was silent for a moment; then Suriadiredja said something about the UN Law of the Sea Convention boundaries. But Dan had had enough. He couldn't take it any longer, couldn't hold a lemonade glass and listen to courteous threats when what he wanted was to shoot every son of a bitch who wore a red star. He turned his back on all of them, if that was impolite to hell with it, and went out onto the open deck to check on
Gaddis
again. Damn it, he was getting CO-itis. Juskoviac was aboard, in temporary command while he was absent. Yeah, and that was the problem. If that anchor started dragging, Greg would be the last guy to notice.… Chick and Dave were there, though. He was getting paranoid. He sucked at the hot wind and tried to push away the anger and the regret, the sense of impending danger and past loss that ached in his bones like the residue of some toxic heavy metal.

Past the sheltered bay a lilac sky glowed like distant fire beyond the black smudge of the low coast, beyond the dark immobile silhouettes of shipping anchored in the roadstead. The wind had fallen as evening came; and an immense and brooding stillness hovered above the waiting sea, which reflected, in its turbulent depths, the flame and color of the dying sun.