Red Tide, стр. 80

“That was quick thinking,” Ryson said. “Well done. Was there anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Carry on.”

With the exception of hazy ships in the far distance, and a seagull that decided to follow the missile boat, there was nothing to see for the next couple of hours.

Then a fleet of fishing boats appeared. Kelsey was on the bridge, and eyed the boats through a pair of binoculars. “See the white over green paint? Those boats are part of the Dyak Fishing company’s fleet,” she said. “They belong to Mr. Milo Eguchi. And they’re on the lookout for the Sea Dragon.”

Ryson accepted the binoculars and brought them up to his eyes. He was impressed. What Kelsey had been able to accomplish was nothing short of amazing.

After spotting the warship, the fleet split in two with boats veering port and starboard. Was that based on experience? Did Chinese warships plow through the middle of such flotillas rather than alter course? Ryson thought they did. Even though vessels that did so risked fouling their propellers in nets.

Fortunately, the Camo Queen was equipped with waterjets. That meant there were no propellers to foul. It also meant the boat was less likely to be detected by submarines. So, with an open lane in front of him, the helmsman saw no reason to alter course.

As before, Ryson took no chances. “All non-Chinese personnel will go below. Chinese personnel will make an appearance. No waving this time. There’s bound to be a Chinese spy or two in that fleet. And it seems unlikely that Chinese sailors wave to lowly fishermen.”

Some of the fishing boats were so close that Ryson could make out individual faces as the Camo Queen passed through the fleet. What were the fishermen thinking? According to Kelsey they were from Borneo, which was theoretically neutral. But surely, with the exception of a tiny minority, they didn’t like the Chinese or their warships.

The afternoon passed without incident. As the sun sank into the western sky the tension on the bridge continued to increase. The Queen was running low on fuel. And, if something prevented the supply submarine North Dakota from making the rendezvous at 2100 hours, the missile boat would be dead in the water before long.

The North Dakota had been one of the first Ohio class nuclear powered, ballistic missile submarines to be commissioned. And when newer boats came along, the Dakota was converted for use as an undersea tanker, and special ops troop transport.

That was the good news. The bad news was that Chinese attack submarines “owned” the South China sea, and were constantly searching for Allied boats of any size or purpose. So, if the North Dakota had been sunk, the men and women on the Type 22 were truly SOL.

Time seemed to slow. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, 2030 rolled around. And that was the moment when the transport was supposed to deploy a floating wire antenna and establish radio contact.

Seconds ticked away. And then, just as Ryson was beginning to worry, Qwan spoke. “I have the Dakota on the horn, sir … They’re running on time, and giving away freshly baked cookies with each tank of diesel.”

Ryson grinned. “Tell them we could definitely use the cookies. And some diesel too.”

Once in position it was time for the Queen to cut power and wait. Stars glittered, and waves passed under the twin hulls, as the missile boat rose and fell.

Then came a disturbance off to starboard. Bubbles broke the surface and the water churned when a black conning tower appeared. Seawater ran off the sub’s oblong hull as it rose above the waves. Fenders were dropped into place, and Ryson felt a gentle thud as hulls met.

A line was passed and used to pull a hose across the intervening gap. An adapter was installed on the hose. Fuel began to flow moments later. Both Ryson and the sub’s CO had reason to worry. The vessels were nearly helpless while refueling was underway.

Radar would detect incoming planes and ships in time to break contact. But, if an attack sub was stalking the duo, and managed to evade the Dakota’s sonar, both vessels would be destroyed.

However, it wouldn’t do any good to dwell on that and Ryson didn’t. He made a point of discussing baseball with Conte while sipping coffee.

Even though it felt like hours. the entire process took less than forty-five minutes. Once the hose was withdrawn, a container of warm cookies was passed across, and the missile boat was ready for the next leg of its journey. “A message from the North Dakota,” Qwan said. “‘We’ll see you on the flip side. Good hunting.’”

With full tanks and empty screens Ryson thought it would be safe to grab some sleep. “You have it,” he told Conte. “I’ll relieve you in four.”

After getting a ham and cheese and a bottle of water from the galley, Ryson retreated to the captain’s cabin, where he ate half the sandwich—and drank nearly all the water. Ryson was fully dressed as he pulled a blanket up over his chest. Kelsey, he thought. She spends most of her time in her cabin. I wonder why? Sleep pulled him down.

Trouble arrived, as trouble often did, shortly after dawn. It took the shape of a sleek Type 055 guided-missile destroyer. That was how the Chinese classified their ship.

But by U.S. standards the Type 055s qualified as cruisers because of their size, multi-mission capabilities, and on-board flag facilities. All of which meant the “destroyer” could crush the Queen like an ant should it have a reason to do so.

“It’ll pass us by,” Conte predicted when the ship appeared on the horizon. And there were plenty of reasons to believe that would be the case. Why, after all, would the tin can’s CO want to hassle a pissant Type 22?

But the bastard did. As became apparent when the destroyer was about a mile away. “She’s the Yinchuan,” Qwan said. “And she wants to know