Red Tide, стр. 24
“Admiral Nathan is Australian? Do I have that right?”
“You do,” Jensen replied.
“What do you think of him?”
Jensen gave Ryson a sideways glance. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted.”
“The good news is that Nathan believes in fast patrol boats. He took part in the annual Key West Offshore Races before the war. And he was the runner-up.”
Ryson knew that, when the water was smooth off of Key West, specially designed super boats could achieve speeds in excess of 121 knots per hour. That seemed to suggest that Nathan was knowledgeable about basic seamanship and the technical issues associated with fast boats. “And the bad news?”
“He’s egotistical,” Jensen replied. “And might have an eye on a postwar political career.”
The extent of Jensen’s forthrightness raised her up in Ryson’s estimation. There was good reason to be cautious however. An American Master Chief was unlikely to have much exposure to an Australian admiral. Therefore, it seemed safe to assume that Jensen’s opinions were based on hearsay. Ryson decided to wait and form his own opinion of Nathan.
As they entered Manado, Ryson was struck by the absence of high-rise buildings. Homes and businesses stood shoulder-to-shoulder on narrow streets. A cloud-capped mountain could be seen in the distance. It was shaped like a volcano.
When a bay appeared at the foot of the street they were on, Ryson saw a vessel with the unmistakable silhouette of a cruise ship anchored there. “That’s the Agger,” Jensen said. “She’s on loan from Denmark. You’ll have to take a launch to reach her. The Harbor Master was forced to reserve the dockside moorage for container ships.”
Someone had given the Agger a haze-gray paint job so she could fit in with convoys. And Ryson knew she could keep up. Most cruise ships could make 20 knots or so. “So where is the squadron moored?” Ryson inquired.
“A couple of miles that way,” Jensen said, pointing north. “Our boats are moored to floating docks underneath a steel-reinforced concrete warehouse. There isn’t much clearance at high tide, and it’s pretty gloomy down there, but the bad guys can’t watch us from orbit. And we’re safe from old-school bombing raids.”
“Have there been air raids?”
“A few,” Jensen replied. “But they weren’t very successful. The Chinese have to fly more than a thousand miles to reach Manado. So by the time they arrive, our planes are waiting for them. But that could change if President Costas allows the bastards to fly out of the Philippines.”
Ryson could imagine it. If the Chinese had a base on the island of Mindanao, they would be only minutes away by air. Jensen stopped the SUV a hundred feet away from a sign that read, “Passenger Terminal. Military Personnel Only. No weapons allowed.”
“Thank you, Master Chief,” Ryson said. “Assuming things go the way I hope they will, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ryson lugged his knapsack and duffle bag to a metal grate where soldiers from the 2nd Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, were providing security. A sergeant came to attention and popped a British style palm-forward salute. Ryson returned it. “Good morning, sir. Are you headed for the Agger?”
“I am,” Ryson replied.
“All right then,” the noncom responded. “I’ll need to see your ID, plus a copy of your orders.”
It took the better part of twenty minutes for Ryson to pass through the checkpoint, follow a stairway down to the dock, and make his way out onto one of the Agger’s waiting launches. After taking a party of civilian crew people aboard, the boat left the dock, and made straight for the cruise ship. The sun was setting and the ship’s lights were on.
The landing stage was bobbing up and down, forcing Ryson to time his jump. A miss would not only be humiliating, but dangerous, should he be caught between the launch and the float. He made it. An aluminum gangplank led to an open hatch and the reception area where thousands of tourists had been required to show their ID prior to the war.
And it was no different with the military in charge. A female warrant officer was waiting to greet him. “Welcome aboard, Commander Ryson. My name is Riley. Admiral Nathan is ashore at the moment, but would like you to join him for breakfast in his cabin at 0800. Would that be acceptable?”
Ryson grinned. And Riley did as well. Both knew that there was only one possible answer. “Yes,” Ryson said. “Thank you.”
Riley led Ryson to a cabin on Deck 6, which was still referred to as “The Verandah Deck.” Once inside Ryson discovered that a stack of paperwork was waiting for him on a counter. But he was too tired to do anything more than take a brief shower, slip into bed, and close his eyes. Sleep was waiting. It pulled him down.
***
Aboard the semi-submersible cruiser Sea Dragon, south of Japan
Captain Peng Ko was standing in the forward conning tower, binoculars to his eyes, thinking about his personal hero Zheng He, a 14th century mariner, explorer, diplomat and fleet admiral during the Ming dynasty. Zheng He was also a eunuch—which was one of the reasons why Ko had chosen to remain celibate—to focus all his energy on his profession.
But that left Ko with nothing else to live for. And it was painful, so very painful, to watch Admiral Wen squander China’s precious resources on a plan that was doomed to fail.
As the American General George Washington had said, “Never underestimate your enemy.” Especially the same navy that successfully attacked Pearl Harbor, forced the British out of Southeast Asia, and occupied China.
The plan to tease the Japanese out of their safe harbor to do battle with Wen’s battle group was a nonstarter. And it would be only a matter of hours before Wen would have to admit that and return to port. And then, Ko