Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (dark books to read TXT) 📕

topside and pile it onto the pier. Then they would need to catch a ride to the airport where a flight was supposed to be ready to haul them back home.

Jim Ward, his heavy pack strapped to his shoulders bending him over at the waist, was just stepping off the brow onto the wharf when someone stepped between him and the broiling sun.

“Need a hand, sailor?”

The voice startled Jim Ward. Somebody very familiar. Then he realized who it was as he slid out of his pack and stood up straight.

“Dad! What in the world are you doing here?”

Rear Admiral Jon Ward smiled broadly, enveloped his son in a tight bear hug, and pounded him on his back.

“Pretty much the same thing you’re doing, son. Enjoying the tropical sunshine. Doing some sightseeing.” He pulled back and looked his boy in the face. “And you are a sight for sore eyes, Commander. Even if I have to fly halfway around the world at taxpayer expense to get a look at you.”

“Speaking of flying, Dad, you being a flag officer and all, reckon you could arrange us a ride over to the air terminal? We got a plane over there that’s supposed to be waiting for us. I’m due for a month’s leave and I can’t wait to get home and have some of Mom’s cooking.”

Jon Ward cleared his throat, frowned, and looked around the area where they stood. The rest of the SEALs were still on the submarine’s deck about to cross the brow to the wharf, carrying loads of gear to add to the steadily growing pile. Nobody else was nearby.

“About that, Jim. We need to talk. Let’s step over here out of the way for a minute. Maybe find some shade.”

Jim knew his dad well enough to understand that he had just switched from father role to head-of-naval-intelligence role. The two men stepped out of the way of the heavily loaded, hard-working team as they brushed by them.

“You men don’t mind if I borrow this pack mule for a minute, do you?” Jon Ward asked.

“He’s just gettin' in the way anyhow, sir,” one of the SEALs replied. “He’s all yours.”

The two men found a narrow sliver of shelter from the sun behind an idle forklift and a stack of shipping crates, well out of earshot.

“Son, I’m afraid Mom’s cooking is going to have to wait for a bit,” the admiral said, a solemn look on his face. This conversation was decidedly serious now. “Much as I enjoy the opportunity to meet you at the pier, this is a business call, not a personal one.”

“I assumed so.”

“I have a couple of things to discuss. First off, the intel weenies have been deconstructing that sensor you brought back. First cut, it looks like some kind of acoustic monitoring system. We think the Chinese are making preps to set up one of their ‘we dare you to stop us’ bases on the North Luconia Shoals. We’ve given the Indonesians a heads-up.”

The elder Ward took a breath and wiped perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. He noticed his son had hardly broken a sweat. “Now, the part that really affects your leave plans. A very reliable intel source tipped us to some possible Chinese activity. If it’s what she thinks it is...”

“She?”

“Gender is not important right now. If it is what she thinks is behind the activity, we need to be in a position to observe.”

“And by ‘observe,’ I assume you mean ‘and possibly engage.’”

Jon Ward grinned, nodded, then got serious again, glancing around the pier. Still no one within hearing distance.

“You’re getting ahead of me. Another tendency you inherited from your mom. Here’s all I can tell you right now. You’ll get details at the briefing in an hour. It seems the Chinese are really working hard to piss off the Vietnamese. Troops right up against the border, strike fighters flying attack profiles before banking hard, right at the border. And shooting up anything Vietnamese that blunders into waters that they claim. They just wiped out a bunch of fishermen a couple of weeks ago.”

Jim Ward nodded somberly. “Nothing new in any of that. What do you need us for? Worth giving up Mom’s pork chops and applesauce?”

“Two things. First, the Chinese are being especially blatant about all of this. It is almost as if they are waiting for a satellite pass to initiate action. I’m surprised they aren’t calling up CNN and asking for a camera crew to be on hand. But the big reason? Our Vietnamese friends have asked for our help. We sent in a very special team to set up a covert signal intercept station near their border with China. They are there to give the Vietnamese early warning of any imminent Chinese attack. We have actually gotten quite good at intercepting both their comms and data links. Plus, with their carefully orchestrated command and control philosophy, they have no choice but to be quite talkative. An intercept station close to the border is capable of giving us fifteen minutes to half an hour of a heads-up. More than enough time.”

The admiral took a breath and once again glanced around before continuing. Jim Ward’s SEAL team had gone back aboard the Hawaii and were now bringing over the last of the equipment that had been heaped in a mound near the sub’s hatch. The men were in a good mood, joking with each other, ready to head for home.

“The Chinese may have gotten wind of our having ears there. Noisy and belligerent as they have been, we don’t think having us there fits into their plan. Our source says that they are sending a special ops team, and I don’t think they are just making a social call. We can’t let them find our team. Or, worse, capture anything or anyone. Especially that close to their border. You know they’ll claim we violated their sovereignty. They’re really good at doing that lately.”

“Okay, Dad,” Jim said. “Can you give