Suddenly Greer felt tired. The ferry had six first class cabins, and he was sharing one with Dalisay. He made his way down a ladder, and back along the side of the main cabin, to the point where Cabin 2 was located. He knocked, paused for a moment, and opened the door. Dalisay wasn’t there.
It felt good to stretch out on the clean coverlet, pull a pillow over his left ear, and fall asleep. Mary was waiting for him.
***
Aboard the Interisland Steamer Alcona, passing through the Northwest Danger Shoals, into the South China Sea
The Alcona was classified as a “self discharging cargo vessel.” That meant she was equipped with a deck-mounted, hydraulically-operated crane which could load and unload cargo without assistance from the shore. And that would be absolutely necessary on the island of Samir. The ship had been built in 1978 in Germany, and had seen service all over the world since then.
But in spite of the dents in her hull, the creeping rust, and the peeling paint, the old girl still had virtures. The crane was one of them. Her capacity to haul deck cargo was another, and a draft of only thirteen feet was the third.
Such were Lieutenant Commander Linda Vos’s thoughts as she made her way forward along the port side. Past the well tarped deck cargo, past the windlass, and into the Alcona’s V-shaped bow. Vos was wearing a pair of aviators and civilian clothes. Her short hair blew in the breeze as she inhaled a deep draught of the sea air.
Vos was as happy as she could be anywhere other than on the bridge of her own ship. Because, even though her current assignment was sideways from the Squadron’s long list of secondary objectives—it was laser focused on the unit’s primary purpose—and that was to find the Sea Dragon.
Plus, Vos liked to organize things. And there would be a whole lot of organizing to do, assuming that Captain Albert Finster remained sober enough to con the Alcona through the Danger Shoals, and into the South China Sea.
The ship’s destination was an Indonesian possession called Samir Island. It was no more than a speck on the nautical chart taped to a cabin wall. But size didn’t matter. Not in this case. What mattered was Samir’s location west of the island of Palawan, and south of Mischief Reef, which was controlled by the Chinese.
As conceived by Commander Ryson, a base on Samir would allow the boats of Squadron 7 to extend their patrol areas, and increase the odds of spotting the Sea Dragon. And that explained why General Haskell had been willing to approve the considerable expense involved.
That was the good news. The bad news was that, once the Chinese took notice of what the Allies were doing, they would send planes to attack Samir. And possibly ships as well.
But Ryson had anticipated that. Also in transit to Samir was a barge loaded with camouflaged weapons, including an American C-RAM (Counter Rocket Artillery and Mortar System), and a tracked missile system called the Tor SA-15 Gauntlet.
Ironically enough the Tor system was Russian made, and one of six units found aboard a Russian ship bound for Karrachi, just days after hostilities began.
The problem would be the need to secure an adequate supply of 9M330 missiles. Squadron 7 would have thirty-two of the little bastards. After that? Well, good luck.
A male voice broke into Vos’s thoughts. “Excuse me, ma’am … Lunch is served.”
Vos turned to find Lieutenant Chin standing behind her. Chin was an American Combat Systems officer who, along with his techs, would be in charge of both the C-RAM and Gaunlet systems. Vos smiled. “In other words the sandwich buffet is open.”
Chin grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Should I visit the bridge? And check on the captain?”
“No need,” Chin replied. “First officer Loe has the con. The captain is in his cabin.”
“Drunk?”
“I assume so,” Chin answered. “Fortunately Loe seems to be quite competent.”
“I agree,” Vos said. “Let’s grab some tucker. I’m hungry.”
Hours passed and the Danger Shoals were behind them. The two foot waves were just enough to cause the ship to curtsy as they rolled under the bow, and the high overcast made it less likely that the Alcona was being tracked from orbit.
Vos was on the bridge, as was Captain Finster, when the island appeared in the distance. The atoll was a low-lying smudge at first. But eventually a grove of palm trees appeared, along with a tight grouping of metal clad buildings. The complex had been constructed by an Indonesian fishing company ten years earlier and abandoned after the start of the war.
The South China Sea accounted for at least 12 percent of the global fish catch each year, and more than half of the world’s fishing vessels were operating there. So the fishing company’s goal had been to shorten the time fishing boats spent offloading their catch to reefer ships, and maximize the time they spent competing for fish. Not that different from Commander Ryson’s plan, come to think of it. In any case, the presence of some buildings and the 30,000 gallon water bladders would be helpful, and Vos planned to take full advantage of what she found.
Finster belched and the smell of alcohol misted the air. “I’ll anchor offshore,” Finster said. “Then you can go in and take a look around.”
“No,” Vos replied, “you won’t. The channel is 20 feet deep. And so’s the lagoon. Don’t waste time. Take her in.”
Finster’s face was flushed. He wiped it with a rag. “This is my ship.”
“For the moment.” Vos said. “But that could change. Do what I say.”
Finster left the bridge and First Officer Loe appeared. He was a good looking young man, who, had it not been for the loss of a leg in a motorcycle accident when he was
