Edge of War

preparations seemed far more ad hoc than an American or NATO operation would have been. They were using much smaller boats, more like what would have been seen during World War II than those favored by current NATO planners. The support craft that the U.S. would have used — most notably the large amphibious-warfare ships that were essentially helicopter carriers — were nonexistent. Then again, the Chinese already had a substantial fleet out in the water to the south, where presumably they were going to invade. They would be able to use the airports on Hainan and the mainland for support.

The airport at Sanya remained open to civilian flights, with a steady stream of airliners coming in and going out. But it was also being used for military sorties — Zeus saw two flights of J-8 fighters land in the hour or so it took for them to sail leisurely across the outer harbor.

Leisurely being a relative term.

Their pass complete, they moved the ship farther offshore, reasoning that the farther away it was, the less likely it was to attract attention. They moored the fishing boats nearby. The marines took turns sleeping, trying to get some rest for the operation later that night.

Wiping out the radio had been necessary to avoid being detected, but now it was needed to monitor broadcasts and figure out if the Chinese authorities were concerned about the missing ship. Christian went to work rigging up a substitute antenna. It worked well enough to pick up transmissions on the standard Chinese navy frequencies, as well as some other chatter on the general maritime bands.

The main com handset had also been damaged in the battle. Christian also rigged a substitute that seemed workable, though Zeus put off testing it until absolutely necessary — no sense taking the risk of drawing more attention to themselves than they had to.

If he weren’t so obnoxious — or maybe obnoxious in a different way — Christian might be a decent officer, Zeus thought. But he seemed always to be doing something to rub Zeus the wrong way.

After covering the damage done to the superstructure with a tarp, one of the marines found some gray paint to make it less noticeable from a distance. Christian complained about the smell as if it were the most putrid scent he’d ever taken a whiff of.

Worse, as Zeus finished sketching out the basic layout of the Chinese ships, trying to figure what their easiest target would be, Christian began beefing that technically, he, rather than Zeus, should be in command of the mission. Zeus gave him a dirty look, then went on with his work.

“Seriously, Zeus. You think you’re better than me. I graduated at the top of the class. Not you.”

Fortunately, they were alone. Zeus continued to ignore him.

The most vulnerable parts of the force were located at the two extremes of the secondary harbor, away from a pair of gunboats that sat at its mouth. Striking some of the landing craft there would not be terribly difficult, and if they blew up the gunboat at roughly the same time, the effect would be dramatic.

“So why does Perry like you better?” insisted Christian.

“Maybe because I don’t whine about the smell of paint,” said Zeus. “Or brag about the grades I got in kindergarten.”

“You’re calling the Point kindergarten?”

“Want some coffee?” Zeus asked, putting his pencil down on the chart table where he’d been working.

“You’re not going to answer?” Christian said. “It’s a serious question.”

“I’m sure it is. Coffee or not?”

Christian frowned. He was serious. He didn’t get it at all.

“Stop acting like a jerk,” said Zeus.

“I don’t think I am.”

“You are.”

“I just don’t get it.”

Well maybe that was the first step toward recovery, Zeus thought: the admission of ignorance.

“We’ll discuss it another time,” said Zeus. “Coffee or not?”

* * *

If there was coffee in the galley, Zeus couldn’t find it. There was plenty of tea, though, and he settled for that. Solt came down while he was waiting for the water to boil.

“Mr. Quach wants you,” she told him. “Ship nearby.”

Zeus turned off the kettle and went up to the bridge. A Chinese destroyer, possibly the one they had seen earlier, had appeared on the horizon to the west.

“They’re hailing us?” Zeus asked Quach.

“We haven’t heard. But we don’t know whether to trust the radio.”

“Let’s pretend we’re busy. Take us over to the fishing boats,” Zeus told the helmsman.

The destroyer kept coming. The marines, dressed in sailor uniforms, made a show of boarding the fishing boat. Meanwhile, Christian and the marine captain manned the forward and rear gun turrets, ready to rake the larger ship if necessary.

It would be a desperation move. Even though old, the destroyer was much larger than the patrol craft, and while they could shoot up the bridge easily enough, disabling all of the destroyer’s guns would be virtually impossible. Meanwhile, even if the destroyer’s complement had been reduced proportionately as the gunboat’s had, they would still be outnumbered four or five to one.

Quach played with the radio, scanning the frequencies and trying to conquer the squelch, desperately trying to hear if they were being hailed. Finally, with the destroyer closing to fifty yards, he heard it hailing them.

“This is patrol vessel 2328,” he said in Chinese. “We are conducting our patrol.”

“Do you require assistance, 2328?” asked the radioman aboard the destroyer.

“Negative. The fishermen are stupid and ignorant, but present no problems.”

“Why didn’t you answer earlier?” asked a different voice, deeper and more scolding. Zeus gathered that it belonged to the destroyer’s first mate or captain.

“The captain has ordered the mate to re-inspect the radio,” said Quach.

“Your mast has been damaged?”

“We have been due for repair for three weeks,” said Quach. “Since our accident. Our captain has low priority with the fleet.”

“Be more alert next time,” scolded the radioman.

The destroyer passed so close to one of the fishing boats that from Zeus’s angle it looked as if it were going to collide.

“Did they buy it?” Zeus asked Quach as it cleared.

“For now. It’s not rare for maintenance to go a long time, especially if the vessel’s captain is held in low esteem.”

Zeus watched the destroyer turn off, making a wide wake as it headed back to the southwest. It was funny — in the computer simulations, he tended to think of the destroyers as relatively small assets, of little use. Here it loomed huge.

“You are a good gambler,” Quach told Zeus after the destroyer disappeared behind them. “You would make an excellent spy.”

“Gambling’s easy when you’re desperate,” said Zeus. “Problem is, sooner or later the odds nail you right between the eyes.”

* * *

Around three in the afternoon, Zeus began planning where to set demolition charges on the patrol boat to make it look as if it had been hit by a torpedo. The marine captain, realizing what he was doing, began arguing that they shouldn’t blow it up at all.

The patrol boat represented a large prize — if it was brought back to Vietnam, it would be a substantial addition to the fleet. He also thought it would make getting back much easier — the Chinese wouldn’t stop one of their own ships. By the time they realized it was missing, the raiding party would be in Hai Phong.

“Our job isn’t to steal their ships,” Zeus told him. “We have to make them believe they’re vulnerable to attack. If they think the patrol boat was blown up by submarines, they’ll believe every one of those landing craft over there, and the troopships around them, are vulnerable. Even better, they’ll worry about their aircraft carriers. They’ll hesitate. They may even call off the invasion. That’s our goal. That’s why we’re here.”

The captain began pressing his case with Quach in Vietnamese. The spy listened a little more intently than