Red Tide, стр. 63
“I take your point,” Nathan replied. “But torpedo tubes would be so—so ugly! No offense Captain.”
The Indonesian smiled. “And none taken.”
“I get that,” Ryson said. “But please give the idea a chance. Is your gunner’s mate available Captain? I’d like to inspect the launchers, and ask some questions.”
“Yes. Sersan Mayor (Master Chief) Darwis is present. Please allow me to introduce you.”
Once the introductions were complete, the captain excused himself, and allowed Darwis take over. As it turned out the ship was equipped with four launchers, with two vertically stacked tubes on each side of the ship, all equipped to fire NATO compatible torpedoes.
The ensuing Q & A session lasted for half an hour. It ended with a question from Nathan. “So, tell me the truth Master Chief … In the final analysis are the torpedoes an asset? Or a pain in the ass?”
Darwis smiled. “That depends, sir. If the target is a long way off then missiles are ideal. But in close? Against a large vessel? Torpedoes are the answer. Especially since our bow-mounted autocannon isn’t likely to win that kind of contest on its own.”
The officers went ashore shortly thereafter. Ryson wanted to push for an answer where the torpedo launchers were concerned, but managed to restrain himself. Nathan liked to make his own decisions. Or at least have the room to pretend.
The convoy took them to the airport and Ryson slept through most of the flight home. And it wasn’t until they were aboard the Agger that Nathan broached the subject that was still on Ryson’s mind. “Against my better judgement I am going to take the torpedo idea up the chain of command. But it will, I suspect, run aground immediately.”
Ryson nodded. “Thank you for trying, sir. May I ask why you believe the concept will face resistance?”
Nathan made a face. “You won’t like this. But there are those in senior posts who are, shall we say, a bit out of step with the realities of this war. They may object to the way the Armindales would look were we to hang tubes on them. Please don’t take offense, but one admiral said that your hydrofoils, ‘Resemble tug boats on skis.’”
Ryson frowned. “You’re serious.”
“Yes, I am.”
Ryson sighed. “I appreciate your honesty, sir. Please let me know how it goes. I’ll be leaving for Samir in the morning.”
“Good hunting,” Nathan said. “Find the bitch, Commander. And put her down.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Port Moresby, Papua New Guinea
After a lengthy discussion with her father, and a good night’s sleep, Kelsey Parker was ready to leave. The first leg of her trip would take Kelsey to the city of Balikpapan, in Borneo, which was about 2,160 miles away. That necessitated a stop for fuel at Kokenau, New Guinea, since the family plane had a factory-built range of just over 1,000 miles plus an auxiliary tank that would provide the aircraft with a sufficient safety margin.
The floating hangar was located in among the Parker family docks, warehouses, and administrative buildings that stood shoulder-to-shoulder along the south shore of the bay. Kelsey’s luggage consisted of a beat-up TUMI backpack and an equally disreputable leather briefcase. The bag was home to her laptop, three phones, and a .9mm Glock 26. Because, as her lead bodyguard liked to say, “Shit can happen.”
The lead’s name was Ronda Chaney. And, as Kelsey entered the hangar, Chaney and her crew were hard at work loading the flying boat with luggage and gear.
The Dornier Seastar was a parasol wing plane, powered by two Pratt & Whitney Canada PT6A-112 engines, both mounted over the wings in a push-pull configuration. Two engines being a must for the sort of long, over-water trips the Parkers made.
Other things that made the plane unique included a fuselage fabricated from composite materials, a low center of gravity, and enough room to carry twelve passengers. Although the Parkers’ plane was equipped with only eight seats aft of the cockpit. A configuration that allowed for more legroom, a cramped lavatory, and the cargo compartment located in the tail.
“Good morning, boss,” Chaney said. “Let me take that pack.”
Chaney was a thirty something ex-marital arts fighter, ex-surfer girl, and ex-wife. And though pretty, Chaney had a tendency to frown all the time, as if there was no reason to expect anything other than the worst.
Her “associates” included six-foot six-inch Larry Howe, aka “The Hulk,” and Michael “Pretty Boy” Donnelly.
The flight crew consisted of an ex-airline pilot Candice Wride, who was starting to show some gray, and the only member of the team with a smoking habit.
Her co-pilot was an American named Jeremy Brody, better known as “Spock,” due to the vague resemblance. He paused in the middle of his pre-flight walk-around. “I hear Borneo has some great diving.”
“It does,” Kelsey agreed. “Sipadan Island being the most famous. But you won’t be going there. Sorry.”
“Bummer,” Brody said. “Maybe next time.”
“Yeah,” Kelsey said unsympathetically. “A guy can always hope.”
The third member of the crew was aircraft mechanic Justin Smith, aka “Toolz.” A man who could carry out repairs in remote locations, and lend a hand if things got hairy, which they sometimes did.
Once everyone was aboard, and Wride had a clearance, the plane taxied into the bay. There was some chop but nothing the Seastar couldn’t handle. The plane took off to the north. Their immediate destination was a bay in the coastal town of Kokenau, New Guinea where they would stop to refuel.
One of the things that Kelsey liked about long trips in the plane was the opportunity to get a lot of work done. There were financial statements to review, insurance policies to renew, and the construction of a new ship to keep an eye on. Never mind wartime shortages and regulations associated with them.
Time flew. And it seemed that only minutes had