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

“Before I can get back to work with my guys?”

“Doctors are saying that if you behave yourself and follow orders, you should be out of here and ready to fly home in a week or so. I have already told them that you are not good at either behaving or following doctors’ orders. The nursing staff is authorized to use extreme measures to ensure your compliance. Understood, tough guy?”

The younger Ward nodded sheepishly. Just his luck, having a father who not only out-ranked him by quite a lot but also knew his son’s every thought.

Sometimes before he even thought it.

“Now, there are several rough-looking SEALs hanging around outside your room who really want to talk with you.”

Ψ

The flight of four blue-gray Shaanxi Y-9 turboprop transport aircraft slowly circled the jungle-shrouded island as they noisily descended. One hundred fully-combat-armed PLAN Marines sat in the cargo bay of each plane, rocking with the motion, trying their best to hang on to their lunches as the planes bounced around in the hot, turbulent air.

A low, rainy mist hid the tops of the craggy volcanic mountains that formed the island’s twisting, curvy spine. The heights threatened to grab any flyer who might be unwary while attempting to descend into such thick clouds.

Finally, the airfield, hard on the island’s north shore, broke into view. Honiara International Airport and its single six-thousand-foot runway was barely long enough to land the heavily loaded Chinese aircraft.

In many ways, not much had changed since the airfield was named Henderson Field and was the sight of one of the most violent battles of World War II. Guadalcanal was far more peaceful these days, but it was still a backwater with little value except as a hopping-off place for air traffic bound for somewhere else. And that was exactly the intention of the Chinese Air Force.

Once on the rough concrete, the planes pulled off the runway onto a little used apron that led to an area beside a pair of dilapidated Quonset Hut hangars. The buildings appeared to have been left over from the Henderson Field days. One still had a weather-beaten sign wired in place above a doorway that might have once had that name inscribed on it. Grass and weeds were making significant inroads on the cracked and broken tarmac. Vegetation was slowly reclaiming a couple of wrecked, rusting airframes that appeared to have been shoved to the side and forgotten for three-quarters of a century. Indeed, this entire corner of the airfield looked as if it had been shoved aside and forgotten.

It was soon obvious that someone was expecting them, though. The transport pilots were still spooling down their engines when two fuel trucks emerged from one of the hangars.

Meanwhile, inside the first plane, the mission commander was already on the radio, back to headquarters on Hainan Island. He reported that the ten-hour flight was complete, that re-fueling was already underway, and that they would be standing by for orders on what was necessary to complete their mission.

The PLAN Marines climbed out of the stuffy cargo holds to stretch their cramped muscles. The heat and humidity were stifling. Just drawing a breath in the cloying air took real energy. The Marine officers set about having their troops set up a temporary camp. Their orders said that they might be required to stay for a week or more but must be ready to take off in under an hour when word came. That meant the camp would lack any of the comforts of an established base.

Several of the more enterprising non-commissioned officers, the NCOs, slipped off and headed down the Kokum Highway in search of a few cold beers. None of them likely were aware that they were walking on the same ground that another nation’s Marines had once fought and died for, all to wrest it from Imperial Japan.

Or the fact that the same war and the bravery of those American Marines had freed China from conquest.

Ψ

The presenter at the front of the conference room rattled on and on, mostly reading the contents of each slide being projected onto the big pull-down screen behind him. Yon Ba Deng, Assistant Vice Deputy to the Minister of National Defense for Naval Matters, struggled to stifle a yawn. He dared not close his eyes or he might well have drifted off to sleep. He needed to at least pretend to be interested in the minutia of correct political training for PLAN officers.

These interminable meetings were becoming more and more taxing on his limited patience. But he knew that the Party structure performed much like a beehive. He could learn from watching the drones at work. Despite little individual accomplishment, if enough dedicated, indoctrinated worker bees were applied to attempt to accomplish a task, it would eventually be completed. These lesser committees under the auspices of the Politburo were populated with just such dedicated drones. Deng knew the value of keeping a finger on them as they provided the pulse of the hive. And each of these drones reported back to someone higher up in the Politburo structure. Painful as it could be, he needed to maintain the appearance of an apparatchik, a loyal functionary of the Party.

Yon Ba Deng glanced over toward the heavy oak door entrance to this drab conference room. As if by Deng’s will, Bing Dou, his obsequious aide, opened the door and stepped inside. The little man literally tiptoed around the conference table, bent down, and whispered in his boss’s ear.

“Elder brother, it is confirmed that our marines have landed safely in Guadalcanal. The four planes with our tanks are still in flight but due there within two hours. By first daylight tomorrow morning, they will be ready to carry out the next-stage orders from you.”

Yon Ba Deng’s expression remained impassive as he gave a short nod. Then he could not avoid a quick smile flitting across his face. His complex scheme was finally coming together. Now, all he needed was for his brother