Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

stolen, their jobs eliminated. All those bad things will happen for the good of all the people and, by the way, Mother China.”

Zhou slumped down, as if the speech had claimed all her strength. Then she cocked her head, regained eye contact, and went on, quietly.

“When I was a little girl, the first song I learned was 'I Compare the Communist Party to My Mother.’” She quietly sang in Mandarin a few lines of what sounded like a sweet, peaceful lullaby. Dillon, fluent in the language, understood every word.

“Jesus. How old were you?”

“Four. Four years old. We stood at our desks every day in school...like your kindergarten in the West...and recited, ‘Father is dear, Mother is dear, but none compare to the dearest Party.’ From the earliest age, we constantly heard that the Party would take care of us, that we had all we needed and could be happy, and all we had to do was remain loyal to the Party.”

She slumped down once more, leaning back on the bench seat, as if the words had worn her out.

“So, what changed you? Why did you turn on your own country? That had to be difficult...”

“I was lucky. I had skills they needed. Mathematics, digital communications, computer technology. I got to go to school in the US. Cal Tech. That was when I learned the real story. Logic convinced me that what I had been told all my life was wrong. Why was it necessary to lie so much if the Party really was the best hope for China? Did you know more than one hundred million people were murdered by the Party during the decades of Chinese communism? One hundred million good, honest, hard-working people who believed there was no better choice of government. I vowed I would make it my life’s work to do what I could do to bring positive chaos to my country and the people there who would prosper if free. Chaos. The good chaos of democracy and a free society.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Dillon responded when she finally stopped. The former SEAL suddenly tensed, his hand inches from the gun inside his suit coat. “So, who do you like in the World Cup?”

Zhou was savvy enough to not react at all, not to Dillon’s tension, not to the sudden change of subject. A young man was quickly approaching them from the rear entrance of the restaurant.

“At ease. One of my guys,” she said. “Hey, thanks for letting me blow off steam.”

“Glad to listen.”

“You have the data on the thumb drive for Ward. We’ll have more details on what all the new activity out there is about shortly, who exactly is involved, and we’ll know what to do. I hope. Looks to me, though, that all the factions are lining up and ready to make a move like right now. That, as you know as well as anybody, means somebody’s going to get hurt in the melee.”

The young man had stopped a respectful distance away, over near the soda dispenser with its scores of competing flavors of pop.

“Chan has your stuff,” she told Dillon. “I assume you can upload the data on the drive. Just like checking your Gmail account, right?”

“I got it. Thank you again for saving my ass tonight. Maybe we can create some chaos. First the bad kind. Then the good kind, like what you’ve been trying to bring about,” Dillon said, with all the sincerity he could muster.

“I don’t think we have a choice, TJ. The whole planet is depending on us.”

9

Lt. Bill Wilson stepped over to the Electronic Chart Display and Information System console (ECDIS) to check the George Mason’s position. As the mid-watch officer of the deck, his job was to make sure everything was ready to surface at first light. They would be just outside the twelve-mile limit off the entrance to Subic Bay, on the western coast of the Philippine island of Luzon.

He could feel his watch-section’s eager anticipation, more than ready to pull into the most storied liberty port in all of Asia. Subic Bay and Olongapo City might have lost some of their allure from the heyday of when they housed the largest US military installation in the world, when the massive US Naval base graced those shores. All of that was gone now. But the stories of liberty in Subic Bay continued to reverberate around the fleet. And since the location still served as a replenishment port for US vessels, submarine sailors had the opportunity to blow off steam there after being submerged for months at a time.

“Sonar Supervisor,” Wilson ordered, “take station to stow the TB-29 towed array.”

ST1 Josh Hannon, standing watch as sonar supervisor, stood behind the narrowband operator. Frowning, he held up his hand. “Officer of the Deck, give me a couple of seconds. We’re analyzing a new contact.”

“Okay, but we need to have the array stowed in time to surface at first light,” Wilson responded, rolling his eyes. What now? “Skipper ain’t gonna like it if we hold up a perfectly good liberty port because sonar was busy analyzing snapping shrimp.”

Hannon looked up. He was still frowning.

“Mr. Wilson, I suspect you had better call the skipper. I’m thinking our Subic liberty may be delayed for just a little bit.”

“What are you rambling on about?”

“Well, those snapping shrimp just got classified as a submerged submarine. The eleven-hertz lines equate to a Chinese Yuan-class,” Hannon reported. “Recommend you call the skipper and station the section tracking party while we get a leg on this guy. Sooner we find out what it is, sooner we can be wettin’ our whistles on Magsaysay Boulevard.”

Two minutes later, Brian Edwards walked into the control room, still wiping sleep out of his eyes but carrying his coffee mug. The section tracking party was just starting to gather information, working to identify this unexpected guest.

“What do you have, Mr. Wilson?” Edwards busily scanned the command display as the young OOD related what he knew for certain.

“Captain, on course