Red Phoenix

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.”

Polite laughter greeted his small jest.

SIERRA FIVE

“Hear anything?”

The sonarman sat straighter in his chair and stretched weary muscles. His back was killing him. “Nope, Skipper. Not a peep on any of the buoys. Maybe we got ’em all.”

“Maybe.” The P-3’s pilot didn’t sound convinced. “Anyway, this is why Uncle Sam sends us such big monthly checks. So stay sharp, guys. Only four more hours till we have to land and refuel.”

The expected groans met his announcement. They’d already been airborne for eight hours.

DPRK GREAT LEADER

The chief cook grumbled to himself as he bustled about in the Great Leader’s tiny galley. Officers! First do this. Then do that. And none of them appreciated the difficult conditions under which he worked. They wanted tea prepared — tea for all of them to guzzle. Well, he’d be willing to bet that not a single one of them realized his tiny electric burners could only boil two kettles of water at a time. Yes, he’d wager a month’s ration books on that.

He rummaged through storage cabinets, looking for the special tea leaves the sub’s officers insisted on using and cursing under his breath all the while. Behind him, one of the kettles started to whistle thinly. Too soon, damn it! The cook spun round to turn the burner down.

Disaster struck. As he turned, his elbow knocked a stack of metal pots off the shelf. Instead of simply falling quietly onto the Great Leader’s rubber-coated deck, they tumbled and clattered against each other all the way down. Startled by the sudden noise, the cook slipped and his hand landed palm-first on the boiling kettle. The man’s scream echoed throughout the submarine.

Chun reacted instantly. “Slow to five knots! Rig for silent running! And tell that fool to shut up!”

SIERRA FIVE

“Transient! I have a metallic transient and other noise on number forty!” The sonar operator’s shout brought the Orion around in a tight turn, orbiting around the plotted position of sonobuoy number forty.

“Anything?”

The sonarman shook his head unconsciously before realizing that his commander couldn’t see him. “Negative, Skipper. Whatever’s down there just went real quiet. And I mean quiet. Like, they’re doing a pretty good impression