Arabian Storm (The Hunter Killer Series Book 5) by George Wallace (different ereaders .txt) 📕

beneath the Jia Yang, sending back petabytes of data and tons of bottom samples for the engineers and scientists to analyze. Just one more notch on China’s Belt and Road Initiative, which had already put its tentacles into more than 150 countries and international organizations in Asia, Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and the Americas under the guise of capital investment and development.

The attack came suddenly, without warning, a lightning bolt from a clear sky.

One minute it was a peaceful tropical night beneath the stars. The next the sky was ablaze as drones crashed into the Jia Yang and exploded spectacularly. The night sky was filled with hundreds of the angry hornets, buzzing around and crashing into the now burning vessel.

The research ship was caught by surprise. Her very meager self-defense systems were immediately overwhelmed. Though it seemed much longer to those aboard, the vicious, fiery attack was over within fifteen minutes.

The once proud Jia Yang was nothing more than burning wreckage, barely afloat in the warm tropical sea. Those crew who still survived climbed into the bright orange life rafts that dotted the water or clung perilously to floating wreckage, awaiting rescue.

The PLAN (People’s Liberation Army Navy) command center had barely received and deciphered the panicked pleas for help from the Jia Yang before Yemeni’s Houthi rebels began their assault on social media. They audaciously claimed that their vicious attacks had been launched for the sole purpose of driving the imperialist Chinese and all other brazen infidels out of their Islamic seas. The same fate was promised to any other infidels foolishly trying to steal Allah’s wealth.

Past history led most of the world to swallow the story without hesitation. And to merely chalk up this travesty as another rabid attack by mad-dog terrorists. Few took time to consider where such a ragtag band of guerillas might have obtained such sophisticated and lethal weaponry. Or the know-how to so effectively employ it.

The exception was the PLAN. The Chinese Navy leaders did not really care, yet, where the Houthi obtained the means for their attack. That might come later. For now, retribution and vengeance were in order. The Houthis must be taught fear and respect. The Indian Ocean Battle Group pointed their bows west and made best speed. And the Chinese issued an announcement that any vessel or aircraft approaching within fifty kilometers of a Chinese flagged vessel in the Arabian Sea would be treated as hostile.

13

Joe Glass read the message on his computer monitor one more time before he sat back, contemplating both the specifics and the implications of the new orders. He absentmindedly ran his fingers through his rapidly thinning hair. One thing was for certain. There was about to be significant planning and considerable hard work, all completed as quickly and efficiently as humanly possible if they were to accomplish Admiral Donnegan’s instructions. Of course, that was precisely what they were trained to do.

Glass half turned and yelled through the open door down the submarine’s narrow passageway. “XO, grab the Eng and Nav. We need to talk. And right now.”

Next door, Billy Ray Jones looked up from the pile of papers stacked on the desk in front of him in his stateroom. “What’s the fire, Skipper?”

“Admiral Donnegan has a hot job for us,” Glass answered. “We need to get out of this tropical paradise ASAP and hotfoot it up north. Chinese task group up that way and the good admiral wants to know what they’re up to.”

Jones stepped through their shared head and leaned against the door frame. He read the words on the screen over Glass’s shoulder, his brow furrowing the more he took in. Finally, he looked up and rubbed his chin.

“Skipper, this is going to take some preparation. I’ll get things going here while you hop up and brief the commodore. That’ll get the squadron weenies thinking water-space management and op plans instead of material inspections.”

“XO, be nice.” Glass chuckled. “You know they are only here to help.”

Jones grinned. “Yeah, and if I had a nickel for every time I heard that precise sentiment from some squadron weenie, I’d buy the next round at the O Club.”

Glass rose and grabbed his ball cap. The one with “USS Toledo” stitched above the bill.

“But a good idea to brief the commodore,” he called over his shoulder as he stepped out of his stateroom, double-timing for the ladder topside.

Ψ

The sun was slipping mercifully below the horizon as Joe Glass descended the long, steep brow connecting the massive submarine tender, Simon Lake, to the Toledo. Another scorching-hot tropical day was abruptly slamming to a close with the typical glorious wash of reds and pinks painted across the western horizon. Soon the stars would seem to usher in a cooling breeze that would bring some relief to the small islands nearby.

As Glass set foot onboard the Toledo, the topside watch hauled down the absentee pennant, replacing it with the commissioning pennant—the boat’s commanding officer was back aboard—and then announced over the 1MC intercom, “Toledo returning.”

Looking aft to where the sub’s hull rounded smoothly down to the waterline, Glass spotted Walt Smith, the engineer, in an animated conversation with the tender repair officer. They were too far off for the skipper to make out what was being said, but it was apparent that the engineer had some considerable issue with the other man and was loudly and energetically making his point. Smith held a large hunk of metal, waving it about to make his case.

Glass strolled aft to where the pair was having their discussion, near the tent that now covered the coffer dam that snaked down over the side into the crystal-clear, turquoise water of the Diego Garcia Lagoon.

As he approached, Glass could hear the engineer expressing his opinion even more loudly. Hell, they could probably hear him in Tehran!

“This linkage is just not strong enough! You saw in the video how badly it was flexing. That’s what’s causing