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

Jon Ward closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was one of the situations to which he had not yet grown accustomed. Parents of SEALs or other special military units typically had no idea where their sons or daughters were, what they were doing, what risks they might be undertaking at any given moment. Certainly not before and usually not afterward, either. He did not have such a blessing of ignorance. Most of the time, he knew exactly what his boy was doing, where he was, and the kind of danger he was facing. More often than not, he was the one giving him the orders.

The admiral answered, “We need you and your merry band of miscreants to high-tail it up there to answer the door when they come calling. Let’s hope they don’t. But our source has not steered us wrong yet.”

Jim looked perplexed. “Why aren’t the Vietnamese providing the security? It is their country, after all.”

“Well, the fact is not everyone in Vietnam knows that we are there, and we would kind of like to keep it that way. Some of them would not approve. We are using an industrial park, a khu cong nghiep, as the Vietnamese call it, just outside Quang Dien, for our listening post. It’s a Texhong fabric mill that normally has a slew of CONEX boxes stacked in its lot. A few extras don’t raise any eyebrows. Far as we know, not even the workers know we are there. But it looks like somebody is aware now. I’ve got a flight laid on for you up to Haiphong. You will be met there.”

Jon Ward stopped and dropped his head, almost as if he was suddenly exhausted. Jim touched his dad’s shoulder. Anyone watching the exchange would have assumed this had been a typical but emotional father-and-son visit.

“When you gonna quit worrying about me, Dad? I’m not borrowing the car to go to the prom for the first time.”

The elder Ward looked up with a quick grin.

“I’ll quit worrying when your mom does. And you know when that’ll be?” The young SEAL shrugged. “When a red man with horns and a pointed tail comes running up screaming, ‘It froze over! It froze over!’”

The two men hugged again and then stepped back out into the blistering heat of the Singaporean sun.

11

“Skipper, on this course, our Chinese friends are making directly for the Mindoro Straits.” Jackson Biddle looked up from the Projected Track display on the ECDIS aboard the submarine George Mason. “If our solution is worth the electrons we spent solving it, they will be in Philippine territorial waters in about half an hour.” The XO’s report contained an obvious unasked question: What the hell are we going to do, Skipper?

Brian Edwards nodded as he gazed at the electronic display. The yellow generated solution track crossed the bright red territorial waters boundary into the open waters of the Sulu Sea. Operating a submerged submarine in someone’s territorial waters without permission was considered an act of war by international law. It certainly appeared that the Chinese wolf pack meant to do just that, counting on not being seen while they did. But Edwards and his boat were about to do the very same thing while tailing the PLAN boats.

The George Mason’s CO knew that he had some decisions to make and not a lot of time to make them. And there was a good possibility that whatever he did would be wrong.

Should he follow the Chinese into the Sulu Sea and risk a major international incident with an allied country that had been a bit prickly lately? Or should he peel off at the boundary line to call home? If he precisely followed his instructions to shadow the Chinese boats and got caught, he knew that he would not be able to hide behind his orders. COs were expected to know and follow international law. On the other hand, if he peeled off and called home, the Chinese would almost certainly be long gone by the time anyone got back to him. And COs were expected to complete their missions, if at all possible.

Edwards stepped back and rubbed his chin, deep in thought. His mind was telling him to be cautious, pull off track, and call home to request instructions. His gut was screaming that this bunch was up to no good and he was the only one in position to stop them.

What should he do? What would his old skipper, Joe Glass, do in this situation?

“Well, XO,” Edwards said with a crooked grin. “There are two old submarine sayings that cover this situation.”

Biddle looked at him quizzically. In their time together, he had never seen Brian Edwards resort to riddles.

“Okay.”

“Yep,” Edwards went on. “‘No balls, no blue chips.’ And, ‘What’s the use of being a submarine if you can’t hide from everybody every once in a while.’”

Biddle looked even more confused.

“XO, here’s what we’ll do. We’ll get up ahead of our friends and pull off to the side a little. As they march through the door into Philippine waters, we’ll call home and tell them what is happening and that we intend to remain in trail as long as we hold contact. We’ll ask them to please clear with the Philippine government. The next comms period will be in twelve hours. By the time they get everything sorted out, we’ll be well on our way to figuring out what our Chinese friends are up to.”

Biddle smiled as he caught on. “You really think it will take Group Seven twelve hours to figure out what we should do?”

Edwards looked at his XO and, with considerable seriousness, said, “XO, I expect you to scrupulously follow the chain of command and copy every addee that was on our tasking order. There were enough four-star brass and three-letter government agencies on that list that it will be the second Tuesday of next week before they all