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

Glass ordered, “All stop.” And then, “Radio, establish comms with that Chinese sub and tell him I want to talk.” Then he turned to Ward. “Lieutenant, I just saw something I’d bet your daddy never saw. We just ran over a son of a bitch in a speedboat. And I don’t think you or the United States Navy will mind the scratches on our hull one damn bit.”

Epilogue

“Conn, Radio. Have the Chinese sub on marine band, channel sixteen. Sub is the Wishiwu, as best I can make out. Her skipper is on the phone. Patching to the Conn.”

Glass grabbed the 21MC microphone and acknowledged, “Conn, aye.” Then he grabbed the red radio handset, depressed the push-to-talk key, and spoke. “Chinese submarine Wishiwu, this is American submarine Toledo. Commander Joe Glass commanding. Do you have someone who understands English? I need to speak with your captain. Over.”

As Glass was listening for the reply over the pop and crackle of the airwaves, Billy Ray Jones handed him the “Top Secret” message board, opened to a specific communication. Brian Edwards over on George Mason was reporting that he was bobbing on the surface and needed help.

Lot of that going around lately, Glass thought, glancing over at Jim Ward. The SEAL seemed to be enjoying his opportunity to observe the control room activity. Glass read the message a second time and said, “XO, plot his location on the chart and the quickest course to get us there.”

“American submarine Toledo, this is People’s Liberation Army Navy submarine Changcheng Wushiwu,” buzzed a voice on the radio. “This is Captain Yon Hun Glo. And, as you may note, I speak perfect English. Now, what do you need, Commander Glass. Over.”

“Captain, the leader of the terrorist plot that attacked your ships is clinging to a small capsized boat a hundred yards off my port bow. We have an urgent mission to help another one of our boats. Request you provide assistance in recovering the terrorist. His name is Nabiin. Over.”

Jones looked quizzically at Glass through the entire transmission. What was his captain planning this time? Glass noticed the curiosity on his XO’s face and held up his hand, signaling Jones that he would explain in a moment.

Glass also noticed the long wait before a response from the Chinese sub skipper. He could imagine the questions running through the man’s brain. The same ones Glass would be considering were the situation reversed. And likely top among them was considering whether or not this was some kind of trap being laid for him by the American vessel.

“Toledo, this is Wushiwu. Understand. We will recover Nabiin and take him into custody.”

“Captain, thank you for your assistance. We will be departing the area. Fair winds and following seas to you. Toledo out.” The Chinese captain clicked his microphone button twice to acknowledge receipt.

“XO, draft a message to Fifth Fleet. Copy Admiral Tom Donnegan in Naval Intelligence,” Glass continued. “Tell them that the Chinese submarine recovered Nabiin before we were able to capture him. We are departing the area to assist George Mason. ETA thirteen hundred zulu tomorrow. Request mod to opord giving us the water to run there submerged.”

“Got it, Captain,” Jones replied, now understanding what had just happened.

“And XO, think of how much paperwork I just saved you,” Glass said with the slightest of grins. “That Nabiin guy is going to disappear into a really dark hole somewhere in the Chinese legal system. No ACLU. No Congressional inquiries. No analysis by the talking heads on CNN. Clean and simple.”

“And I suspect we have just cut the head off one very nasty snake,” Jones said.

“Roger that.” Glass turned and looked at the charts on the little table behind him. “Now, let’s see what we can do to help the George Mason. Looks as if AAA doesn’t venture out quite this far.”

Ψ

“Admiral, you aren’t going to believe this!” Jimmy Wilson shouted excitedly as he ran into the office.

Jon Ward looked up from the pile of papers stacked on the conference table that he had been perusing. He still could not bring himself to sit at the old oak desk over in front of the big window. That piece of classic office furniture still belonged to Papa Tom as far as he—or anyone else, including the US Navy—was concerned. But by now, he knew for sure that Admiral Tom Donnegan would never again direct his complex intelligence network from behind the desk. It was finally time for him to spend his days instead raising his orchids. And he would do so from the house up in Aiea Heights on Oahu. From there he would be able to gaze out at the submarines going in and out of Pearl Harbor.

“What has you in such a lather, Jimmy?” Ward asked. “I haven’t seen you this excited since the Redskins beat the Cowboys. And that was a long time ago.”

“George Mason is reporting that the Iranian sub popped to the surface. They report that it is badly damaged, and it is not going anywhere. Some guy named Dirbaz—an Iranian civilian and an engineer on the boat, they said—was the one who surfaced her and is apparently in charge.” The young lieutenant stopped to take a breath. Ward waited for him to go on. This all was an interesting turn of events. “And he has surrendered his ship to the George Mason and requested asylum!”

Ward whistled. “Wow! That is something. When is the last time that we captured a warship? The Civil War? Now what? Do we put a prize crew on her?”

“Don’t know, sir,” Wilson answered, puzzled. “I’ll have to look it up and get back to you.”

Ward laughed and shook his head.

“Jimmy, those are rhetorical questions. And we’ve seized ships plenty of times, some still classified, some not. What to do with her and her crew? Those are Fifth Fleet problems, thank goodness, but it’ll all be very interesting to watch.”

The two men were