“Then, they’ll target your location to the extent they can, remembering that our DF-26 missiles, combined with your missiles, will have destroyed key radars and offensive systems. But, before they can fire on you, the Americans will have to get permission from the Japanese. And that will take time since there are over 400 Japanese citizens living on Tonaki.
“Meanwhile,” Chao added, “it seems likely that Japanese warships will be sent to the scene. And that, Captain Ko, is when you and your submarine escorts will sink as many of those vessels as you can before running home.”
Chao had been leaning forward with elbows on the table. Now he leaned back. “So, Captain, what do you think?”
Ko was impressed in spite of himself. Chao’s plan was daring to say the least and, assuming everything worked the way the admiral imagined it would, the admiral would receive the Order of August the First within days of the attack. But the devil would be in the details. And, as with any complex plan, there were lots of details.
But Admiral Chao was an admiral. And there was only one thing Ko could say. “I like it, sir … Let’s get to work.”
***
Da Nang, Vietnam
Three days had passed since the meeting in Sanya. There had been more meetings. Lots of meetings. Because Operation Hammerfall had a lot of moving parts. And there were some, especially within the army, who questioned the wisdom of firing one hundred expensive missiles as a diversion.
But Admiral Chao was not only fully invested in the plan, he was a skilled bureaucrat, and more than a match for grumpy generals. And, some subtle messaging from the Sea Dragon’s Chief Engineer to his brother-in-law President Lau, didn’t hurt either.
So, the plan was approved. And Ko and his chief engineer were on a trip to Da Nang, where they were going to inspect the container ship Java Dawn, and interview her captain.
The ship was registered in Liberia, like thousands of other ships, but owned by a shadowy company called Neptune Rising. Not that Ko cared, so long as the ship’s captain did his bidding. His name was Frank Bristol. And he was, according to Chinese intelligence, an American. More than that, a mercenary who, like all mercenaries, was for sale.
The Java Dawn was docked at a pier just inside the entrance to Da Nang Bay where the water was deepest. The naval officers were dressed in business suits as they paid the taxi driver, left the car, and paused to inspect the vessel docked in front of them.
The forward section of the ship was loaded with multi-colored shipping containers which were stacked three high. The four-level superstructure was painted white, and topped by a single stack. “What’s she carrying?” Hong wanted to know.
“She’s loaded with machine parts, electronics and textiles,” Ko replied. “All from India, and bound for South Korea.”
“So, she’s traveling from an Allied country, she’s in a neutral port, and she’s headed for an Allied country,” Hong observed. “That’s good. The Americans and the Japanese have no reason to pay special attention to her.”
“Exactly,” Ko said. “From here the Java will sail due east, pass the north end of Luzon off to the starboard, and turn north. Then she’ll pass Taiwan on her port side, and head toward Okinawa.”
“And the island of Tonaki.”
“Yes,” Ko agreed. “That makes her perfect for what we have in mind, so long as her captain is competent, and her engines are in good repair. I will evaluate the captain while you take a tour of the engine room.”
A man in a blue jumpsuit was stationed at the gangplank that ran from the pier into the ship’s gloomy interior. He didn’t speak Chinese or English. The officers were forced to wait while a crewman was dispatched to fetch a petty officer.
The petty officer was dressed in khakis, rather than the blue overalls the deckhands wore, and carrying a radio which he used to contact the bridge. After a brief exchange the naval officers were led across what seemed like a half-acre of oily steel to a hatch marked “Stairs” in three languages.
The metal stairs switch-backed up three levels to the bridge. There a large sweep of windows framed the view of the harbor. A curving console and a dozen screens fronted that. Two raised seats were positioned next to duplicate sets of controls. The sort of setup Ko would expect to see on a navy vessel.
But what he wouldn’t expect to find was the mat behind the chairs and a set of free weights. The American stood at least six-two; he was stripped to his waist. Muscles bulged and tattoos squirmed as he performed alternating curls with fifty-pound weights.
“Welcome aboard gentlemen,” the man said in English. “I’m Captain Bristol. The home office instructed me to cooperate with you. And for a ten-grand bonus, I agreed to do so. What’s the plan?”
“Our requirement is really quite simple,” Ko replied. “You will depart for South Korea as scheduled. At a predetermined time and place our vessel will join yours and cruise alongside.”
Bristol placed the weights on a rack. “Define ‘alongside.’”
“About one hundred feet off your starboard side.”
Bristol’s eyes flicked from Ko to Hong and back again. “For how long?”
“Approximately four hours at your cruising speed of 24 knots.”
Bristol went over to get a towel. “So, we’re going to hold hands for a hundred miles. And this will take place during the hours of darkness?”
“Yes.”
“With or without running lights?”
“Our vessel will be blacked out.”
“And in case of bad weather?”
“Then dress appropriately,” Ko replied.
Bristol laughed. “I like your style. Okay … The Java Dawn will depart Da Nang at 1800 the day after tomorrow. Do you have the coordinates for the rendezvous? And a time?”
“Yes,” Ko answered as he gave Bristol a piece of paper.
The merchant captain eyed it. “Ah, you included a radio frequency as well. Good. Although I suggest that we use it
