Chicken indeed.
“Crew, we’re going right by the Chinese,” said the captain over the ship’s 1MC system. “They’re trying to bluff us. Be very prepared to fire back. If they give us just cause, we will sink them. Until that point, we must not, and we shall not, blink.”
The frigate was churning through the water. Silas drew a breath, mentally calculating the angle.
No doubt at this point. They were going to hit.
The video cameras aboard ship were rolling. They could show that the Chinese had caused this. But would he be able to get close enough to launch the helicopter, then recover it?
“Helm, stand by,” said Silas.
“He’s heaving to!” yelled the watchman.
“Give me everything, engine room,” said Silas, though in fact the engines were already at 110 percent. “Helm, avoid collision. Maintain us as close to course as possible.”
The Chinese frigate turned off, but its momentum was such that Silas could have reached out and spit on the crewmen.
He was tempted.
“Get ‘em off the ship,” said Silas.
By then, the Chinese frigate had moved off to a more comfortable distance. The cruiser was now almost alongside her. Silas pulled up his binoculars, watching the missile launcher on the cruiser carefully. The Seahawk was an easy target at this range, even staying low and using the
One missile launch and he’d sink the cruiser. And the frigate.
If their crews were any good, they’d get a few shots in on their own. At this range, on the open sea, anything could happen.
Anything.
He was ready.
“Seahawk is away, sir!”
“Steady,” said Silas. “Steady.”
A moment later, he knew the Chinese weren’t going to interfere. He’d won. This battle, at least.
“Helicopter is out of range of their antiair weapons,” said Lieutenant Commander Li a minute later. Her voice was noticeably calmer — not casual, but no longer tense. “Pilot reports they are on course and on schedule.”
“Steady as she goes, Commander. Remind the crew that we have more to do.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
25
The inner bay area was still a major tourist spot, a favorite of many residents from the Ho Chi Minh area who drove down on weekends to enjoy the sand and sun. But the oil boom was steadily encroaching on paradise, and for a few years now the eastern end of the large cove had been dominated by an oil-storage area and a small refinery. Three ships sat at harbor, taking on fuel for export. To the south, barges were stacked two deep in a line extending along a half-mile pier, waiting to disgorge raw petroleum collected from offshore platforms. Workboats were parked in another line against the wharf, some idling, others seemingly abandoned.
It was nearly 8 a.m., and in theory the workday should be well under way. But the war had disrupted regular routines, and Mara saw few people on the wharf.
Once they were across the bay, they took the boats back to the west, cruising past a swampy delta area toward an inlet populated by fishermen and their families. Only about half the fleet had gone out, leaving the channel glutted but passable. The two boats moved slowly, crossing the occasional swell from a nearby motorboat.
On the shoreline, buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other. A few were large, solid- looking structures, metal-sided warehouses and small fish-processing factories. But most were shacks, small houses built fifty or sixty years earlier, witness to several generations’ worth of hardships and war.
A handful of children watched them come in, staring in curiosity.
M? stared at them as if they were animals she had never seen before.
“Wave,” said Josh.
He prodded her to raise her hand. When she didn’t, he waved his own. The children ran away.
What kind of life is she going to have? thought Mara. What kind of life are any of those kids going to have?
They found a place to tie up at the southeast, forty or fifty feet from the road.
“The airport’s a mile that way,” said Mara, pointing to the east. “Let’s start walking.”
The first quarter mile took them around the outskirts of the residential area. The swamp to their left had only recently been filled for new construction; two buildings had been started but not yet completed.
They took a turn to the right and entered a dense pack of houses, crisscrossed by narrow roads and even tighter alleys. Unlike the houses they had passed before landing, these were vacation homes. On the whole their owners were much better off than the fishermen farther to the west. Four- and five-story buildings dotted the area.
The SEALs had tucked their weapons back into their rucksacks, but people stared at them as they passed. It was clear that they were out of place.
“What do you figure someone’s going to call the cops on us?” Kerfer asked, catching up to Mara.
“We look like oil workers,” said Mara. “There are plenty of Russians around.”
“With a kid?”
“What do you want to do, stuff her into one of the rucks?”
“I thought of that.”
“If the police come, I’ll do the talking,” said Mara.
He frowned at her.
“What do you want me to tell you?” said Mara, exasperated. “We won’t be bothered?”
“Don’t get bitchy on me.”
“You’re the one that’s being bitchy,” she told him. “Just relax. If we can find a motel, we can check in.”
“What are we using for money? Your good looks?”
“Get us further than yours,” said Josh behind them.
The SEALs laughed. Mara felt her face flush slightly.
There were no police or soldiers in front of the airport, and while Mara initially took that as a good sign, it turned out to be the opposite. The doors to the terminal were locked; a handwritten message taped to one of them declared that it had been closed, and that only military flights would be using the strip for the near future. Sure enough, there were a small number of soldiers in the back, working on helicopters and guarding a pair of MiG fighters near the hangars. Mara decided they’d be better off finding a different place to wait.
There was a hotel across the highway from the airport. From the outside, at least, it looked on par with a Motel 6 back in the States. The architecture was similar, and the rooms were spread out among three buildings.
Mara left the others outside and went in with Little Joe, whose clothes seemed the neatest. The clerk eyed them dubiously.
“Some of my friends and I need rooms for the night,” she said in Vietnamese.
The clerk held up his hands and said they had none.
