Red Phoenix (66 page)

The boat’s portly weapons officer hauled himself to his feet. “Yes, Comrade Captain!”

“Prepare your SAM team! I want that plane down!”

The
Revolution
and its surviving consort, the
Avenger,
surged south, speeding toward the P-3 and closer to the rocky beaches of Tsushima Island.

USS
O’BRIEN

“I’m sorry, Captain. The island’s blocking our fire. We just can’t hit those Osas from here.”

Levi nodded his understanding. His tactical action officer was right. The two remaining North Korean missile boats were sheltered from his Harpoons by the Japanese island’s hills. The geometry just wasn’t quite right. For a second he wondered if the NK commander had planned it that way. Then he dismissed the thought. It didn’t matter. What did matter was finding a way to get a shot at those fast attack boats before they could launch on him.

Levi ran his eye over the plot, half-listening to the constant stream of reports flowing in from the P-3 twenty miles ahead. There really was only one practical maneuver. He stepped to the intercom. “Mr. Keegan, alter course to zero three zero degrees and increase speed to twenty knots. Signal the
Duncan
to take station astern and order the convoy to alter course to zero nine zero degrees.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Levi stepped back to the plot to speak to the tactical action office. “That’ll help us get a clear field of fire faster. And it’ll keep the merchies behind us if missiles start flying.”

The other man smiled, but Levi’s ASW officer didn’t look so pleased.

“Problems, Bill?”

“If there’s a sub out there, Captain, we’re in a world of hurt. At this speed, our sonars aren’t going to be worth a damn.”

Levi nodded gravely. “I’m aware of that. But that’s a risk we’ll have to take. Our helos will have to shield us while we take out those NK boats.” He stopped, hoping he wouldn’t have to eat those words at the court-martial that would follow any defeat.

SIERRA FIVE

“They’re still closing, Skipper. Now less than seven miles away.”

The P-3’s pilot smiled. “Maybe they think we’re gonna let ’em get close enough to use those machine guns on us. Keep your eyes on them, though. The boys on the
O’Brien
and
Duncan
can use any info we pick up.”

Sierra Five continued its lazy orbit, watching as the two North Korean missile boats charged in. Navy intelligence reports said the NK Osas didn’t carry any significant antiaircraft weapons.

DPRK
REVOLUTION

Sohn kept his eyes moving, swiveling back and forth from the American plane to the SA-7 SAM team crouching low beside the aft 30 mm gun turret. They were almost in range—just a few hundred meters more. Closer. Closer. He brought his hand up, ready to signal the attack. Almost…

SIERRA FIVE

“Range is now five miles, Skipper.”

The P-3’s pilot heard the questioning note in his radar operator’s voice and let it feed the small uncertainty growing in his own mind. The North Korean missile boats were now clearly visible to the naked eye. “Yeah. That’s close enough. Let’s put some airspace between us and get that sonobuoy line laid.”

His hands were already busy banking the aircraft in a shallow turn away from the NK craft.

DPRK
REVOLUTION

“It’s turning away!”

Sohn saw the massive four-engined aircraft changing shape as it changed course, pulling out of the slow figure-eight orbit it had been following. He leapt for the rear bridge railing. “On your feet! Fire! Fire!”

“But Comrade Captain…” The boat’s weapons officer tried to stop him, babbling something about the angles and ranges. It was too late.

The sailor clutching the SA-7 Grail SAM launcher rose from beside the aft gun turret and lifted it to his shoulder, letting the missile’s seeker head find the heat emanating from the P-3’s engines. It locked on and he fired, braced against the pitching deck as the missle ignited and flashed into the sky.

SIERRA FIVE

“Shit!” The P-3’s pilot saw the smoke trail curving after him and jammed the throttles all the way forward. A fuckin’ missile, he thought, they’ve got SAMs on those goddamned things. Who would’ve thought it? You should have, cried a voice inside his skull. He watched the airspeed indicator climb, agonizingly slowly, as the SAM gained on them, streaking in at close to a thousand knots.

Sierra Five got lucky.

The SA-7 closed rapidly on the P-3, veering toward the heat thrown off by its two port wing engines. Then, just two hundred yards or so behind its target, the North Korean missile—its propellant exhausted and momentum gone—tipped over and fell away into the sea. The P-3’s turn and burst of speed had carried it out of range.

The pilot breathed out, a little more shakily than he would have liked. That had been too close. He looked into the mirror. Now far behind him, the two surviving North Korean boats were curving away, heading southeast.

“Tell the
O’Brien
that she’s gonna have company in a few minutes. Those NKs look like they plan to go head-to-head.” Then he clicked the intercom to speak to the whole crew. “Okay, guys, that was fun. But now let’s get back to doing what they pay us for—killing subs.”

A faint cheer echoed his words. Submarines didn’t shoot back.

USS
O’BRIEN

Levi wheeled toward his tactical action officer. “Light ’em up. Signal
Duncan
weapons free!”

The response was immediate. “Two small surface contacts! Bearing three five one. Range eighteen point four miles!”

At the same time, Levi could hear one of this ratings yelling, “ESM report! Strong Square Tie radar emissions, bearing three five one!”

“Fire four Harpoons! Two at each contact.”

Four missiles roared away from one of the ship’s two Mark 141 launchers.

DPRK
REVOLUTION

“Five radar contacts, Comrade Captain. Two medium-sized, bearing one seven one, range twenty-nine point five kilometers. Two large and one medium-sized, bearing one six nine, range thirty-five kilometers.”

Sohn smiled. He’d been right. He’d found the American convoy. “Inform all units of the position, course, and speed of the enemy.”

“Missile alert! Four missiles fired at us from the lead group of enemy vessels!”

Sohn slapped a hand on the bridge railing, making his officers jump. “Very well! Those must be the enemy escorts. If we sink them, our submariner comrades will find it easy to deal with the merchant tubs left afloat.” He looked at the chubby weapons officer. The man’s face was wet—though whether from salt spray or fear-induced perspiration was beyond Sohn’s ability to guess. “Fire our own missiles at the lead enemy vessel.
Avenger
will fire at the other.”

The man turned to obey, and Sohn and all the rest ducked away as the
Revolution’s
four SS-N-2C Styx missiles thundered out of their enclosed launchers and sped toward the as-yet-unseen American ships, trailing tongues of fire and choking thick white clouds of missile exhaust.

USS
O’BRIEN

The radar operator’s voice squeaked into a falsetto that would have been comical under other circumstances. “Missiles inbound! I count… seven, eight small, high-speed contacts!”

Levi stayed calm. He’d already calculated the odds. “Warn
Duncan.
We’ll engage when the inbounds are within range.”

The situation he and his ships confronted showed the need for close teamwork. As a
Perry
-class frigate, the
Duncan
didn’t carry the destroyer’s big five-inch guns or an ASROC launcher. On the other hand, its Standard SAM missiles far outranged the Sea Sparrows on the
O’Brien.
Essentially, Levi knew, his destroyer was the escort’s sword. And
Duncan
was his shield.

He stood watching the CIC’s display screens, listening to the chatter from the men around him as the opposing missiles sped toward their respective targets. For the moment he was as much a bystander as if he’d never taken a Navy commission. This battle was in the hands of the computers and the men who served them.

He watched as six Standards raced out from the
Duncan
toward the first group of four North Korean missiles. The rival groups merged in just thirty seconds, and three of the Styx missiles disappeared—blown out of the sky. The fourth kept coming. Two more Standards reached out and intercepted it while it was still more than ten miles from the
O’Brien.
Four others met the second wave of Styx missiles and drowned two of them. The two survivors made it to within seven miles before they were shot down by the destroyer’s own Sea Sparrows.

At the same time,
O’Brien’s
four Harpoons skimmed the waves on their way toward the NK Osas. Aware of the threat, the two North Korean boats turned and fled north, jinking wildly from side to side in a vain attempt to shake off the pair of American missiles pursuing each of them. Their close defense weapons missed, and Levi kept his eyes on the radar plot as the Harpoons struck, annihilating their targets in a series of blinding explosions. All the screen showed was a sudden absence of any blips. But sixty North Korean sailors were dead.

Levi heard the collective sigh of relief from his CIC crew and felt the tension draining away from all around him. Some of that was good, but too much relaxation on their part would be bad. He brought them back on guard with a rapid series of orders. “Signal the convoy to resume normal steaming positions, course, and speed. Mr. Keegan?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Slow to twelve knots and take us back to the front of the convoy.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Satisfied that his men were back in hand and paying attention to their duties, Levi allowed himself his own slight smile of relief.

The action had taken just over two minutes.

ABOARD DPRK
ADMIRAL YI,
EAST OF TSUSHIMA

“Sonar reports multiple explosions bearing three four three, Comrade Captain.”

The North Korean captain’s pockmarked face looked up at the interruption. He’d been jotting down notes for his next political lecture. The captain had never been a particularly agile public orator, and he found it difficult to speak coherently, especially when using the standard Party jargon. As a result, he often found himself trying to cram additional
preparation time in whenever he could—even while his submarine was busy hunting an enemy convoy.

“Explosions? Any other noise—propellers, sonars, that sort of thing?”

“No, Comrade Captain. Just the explosions.”

The captain grunted, unsurprised that his sonar operators hadn’t heard anything more. In these confined waters the Romeo-class submarine’s Feniks passive sonar was lucky to pick up any kind of sound within five kilometers.

“Very well. I’ll come forward.”

With a stifled groan he stood up from his narrow writing desk and waddled forward to the Control Room. His chief officers were all there waiting for him. He fixed his eyes on the senior lieutenant. “Anything more to report?”

“No, Comrade Captain. There have been no further explosions or other sonar contacts.”

“I see. Well, let’s take a look at what’s going on. Raise the periscope.”

The captain waited for the scope to come all the way up out of its housing before stooping to stare through the eyepieces. Something in
Admiral Yi’s
plain fare had given him a severe case of indigestion—indigestion that made sharp movement painful. “Nothing there.”

He started to spin the scope through a full circle. After all, he might as well check the whole horizon while he was at it.…

ABOARD HOTEL THREE

“So I said, ‘Sorry, babe, I’m fresh out of quarters.’ Man, you should have seen the look in that bimbo’s eyes. Talk about pissed off…” Hotel Three’s pilot broke off as he saw something strange off the helicopter’s port side. “Holy God! That’s a mothafuckin’ periscope!”

The SH-2F Sea Sprite dipped and spun round to face the long, thin cylindrical object sticking six inches above the sea. Sunlight sparkled off the lens. There couldn’t be any doubt that it was a periscope.

“Want an active buoy?” the helo’s copilot asked, still stunned by the suddenness of it all. Not one of their passive buoys had picked the submarine up. Not one.

“Hell, no! Drop a torp! Left search pattern,” the pilot snapped as he brought the Sea Sprite into hover right over the spot where the rest of the enemy submarine had to be.

“Weapon away!” The helicopter lurched upward, freed from the weight of the Mark 46 as it plunged into the sea. It acquired the enemy submarine within seconds and dove straight for it.

The captain and crew of the DPRK submarine
Admiral Yi
died without
ever knowing they were under attack or even how close they’d come to finding the American convoy.

ABOARD DPRK
GREAT LEADER
NEAR THE NORTHWEST TIP OF TSUSHIMA

Chun sat rigid, holding
Revolution
’s last contact report crumpled in his hand. His plans had failed. His forces had attacked piecemeal and they’d been defeated piecemeal. Worse yet, the Americans were ahead of him—a fact that would make it difficult, if not completely impossible, to successfully intercept them.

“Do you have any change to make in our orders, sir?” His first officer sounded solicitous. Chun’s lips thinned. The man was right to worry about him. A failure now would erase any memory of Chun’s earlier successes and would probably result in his being stripped of command, rank, and all their accompanying privileges.

He shook his head. “No. Carry on with your duties, comrade.” He tried to smile and partially succeeded. “We’ll catch them yet.”

The first officer smiled back and nodded. “Of course, Comrade Captain.” He started to turn away and then stopped. “Would you care for some tea, Captain?”

This time Chun’s smile was more genuine. Tea would be just the thing to help settle his nerves and occupy his mind during the long quiet run ahead. “Indeed, comrade. And have the cook prepare enough for all of us. After all, you know I hate to drink alone.”