The captain picked up the intercom microphone. “Comm, better send a message to headquarters and to our liaison office in Ho Chi Minh City; tell them we may be getting harassed by the Chinese navy, and ask for assistance. Give them our position.” He switched to the ship-to-ship emergency channel. “Chinese navy vessel Baohuzhe, Chinese navy vessel Baohuzhe, this is the United States survey ship Lady Garner; we are not in Chinese waters, repeat, not in Chinese waters. We are well within Vietnamese waters and are operating under a license from the Vietnamese government. Do not approach. We are not under way and are conducting scientific probes of the sea bottom authorized by the Vietnamese government. Over.”
“Survey ship Lady Garner, this is the cruiser Baohuzhe, warning, you are illegally in Chinese territorial waters, and you are ordered to depart immediately,” came the reply. “Exploration of this region of any kind is not permitted. Acknowledge!”
“Dette er gal!” the captain muttered. “This is crazy! Notify the security detail and have them set up extra lookouts—I want to know if the Chinese send out any small craft to . . .”
At that moment they heard a tremendous BOOOM! directly overhead, loud enough to rattle the thick storm windows on the bridge. “What was that?” the captain exclaimed. “Did we just get overflown by an aircraft going supersonic?” It was night—there was no way anyone was going to see an aircraft flying supersonic. Richardsen mashed the microphone button. “Cruiser Baohuzhe, you are on a collision course with us. We are at anchor in the Vietnamese exclusive economic zone, with permission from the Vietnamese oil ministry. And order that jet not to fly over us again going supersonic!”
“Survey vessel Lady Garner, this is the People’s Liberation Army Navy cruiser Baohuzhe; you are in Chinese waters illegally,” the voice from the Chinese cruiser said. “Prepare to be boarded for inspection. Do not resist.”
“This is the captain of the Lady Garner, and I do not give you permission to board!” Richardsen radioed.
“Lady Garner, you are in Chinese waters. We do not require your permission to board any vessel in Chinese waters.”
“Officer of the Deck, sound alert condition three, all hands on deck,” Richardsen said, using Clark’s title instead of his name to emphasize the increasing tension level. On the intercom he radioed, “Comm, notify headquarters and the liaison office that the Chinese cruiser is approaching at high speed and says he means to . . .”
“Bridge, Sellers on the port stern lookout, I hear a helicopter approaching,” a security officer radioed. “One or two hundred yards away, maybe less.”
“Survey ship Lady Garner, this is the cruiser Baohuzhe. Our patrol helicopter reports that you have armed men on deck. Weapons are not permitted on civilian vessels without permission from the People’s Liberation Army. You are ordered to throw all your weapons over the side. Our personnel are authorized the use of deadly force. Comply immediately!”
“What’s going on, Skipper?” the executive officer, Kurt Branson, said as he stepped quickly onto the bridge.
“The damn Chinese navy,” Richardsen said. “They got a helicopter on the way and . . .”
Just then they heard on the intercom: “Bridge, this is Larson; that helicopter is opening fire on the fantail with a machine gun!” The sounds of heavy machine-gun fire were evident in the background.
Richardsen and Branson raced to the port-side observation wing, a narrow walkway that protruded outboard far enough to see the entire port side of the ship. They saw it immediately—winks of light and tracer rounds zipping out of the darkness, hitting the side of the ship . . . where Sellers the port stern lookout would have been. Sparks flew in every direction from the fantail as the rounds ricocheted off. “Min Gud!” Richardsen cried. “My God! Officer of the Deck, sound alert one, all hands to damage control stations!” He got on his portable radio: “Sellers, how do you hear?” No response. “Sellers!” Still no response. “Kurt, get back there and see if Sellers is all right.” The exec raced off. Richardsen keyed the portable radio’s mic button. “All security details, this is the captain; get your rifles and sidearms out of sight, quickly! Comm, radio to headquarters: we are under automatic machine-gun fire from the Chinese helicopter, possibly one fatality. Then broadcast a distress call and request immediate assistance!”
A few minutes later, Richardsen saw it: a large blue-and-white helicopter with coaxial rotors, a large radome under the cockpit, a very bright spotlight sweeping across the deck, the unmistakable red, yellow, blue, and white flag of the Chinese navy—and a crewmember with a large machine gun sticking out a sliding door on the starboard side. The helicopter slowly made its way along the port side of the Lady Garner, continued around the bow and down the starboard side, back up the port side, and then set down on the helicopter pad on the bow, the machine gun trained on the bridge.
“Skipper, this is Kurt,” Branson radioed. “Sellers is dead, and Larson is hurt bad.”
“Survey ship Lady Garner, this is the cruiser Baohuzhe. You are ordered to lower all waterline docks and gangways. Boarding will commence shortly on both gunwales. Assemble the entire crew on the forecastle deck. Bring your logbooks, manifests, and portable computers. Acknowledge.”
“Chinese cruiser Baohuzhe, this is the captain of the Lady Garner; you do not have my permission to land a helicopter on my helipad, and you do not have the right to board this vessel. This is illegal, and we intend to inform our governments of this unlawful action. Now get off my helipad and . . .” Suddenly they saw winks of light coming from the Chinese helicopter . . .
. . . and milliseconds later the forward windows on the bridge exploded as 7.62-millimeter rounds from the helicopter’s Norinco machine gun hit. Clark and Portman screamed as the glass shattered, but the screams didn’t last long as the bullets tore through their bodies, and they both collapsed onto the deck in pools of blood. Richardsen hit the deck and raised his portable radio to his lips. “Stop shooting! Stop shooting! ” he cried amid the thunder piercing the bridge.
The shooting stopped. “Acknowledge my orders, Captain,” the voice from the Chinese cruiser said.
“My God!” Richardsen breathed. He crawled back onto the bridge over broken glass and found the body of the navigator, his upper body little more than a mass of blood and tissue.
“Captain, acknowledge my orders immediately.”
“All right, all right, drittsekk,” Richardsen responded on his portable radio. He picked up the intercom microphone on the observation wing console. “All hands, this is the captain. We are about to be boarded by the Chinese navy. Lower the gangways on both rails. All hands, report to the forecastle deck. Medical team, report to the bridge, we have more casualties.”
