Ring of fire cascadia a.., p.10
Ring of Fire Cascadia: A Disaster Thriller, page 10
“It’s in our blood. You got it too. Just pointed it at atoms instead of magma.”
Graham laughed and watched in amazement as the Cybertruck reacted to a sports car that had cut them off by slowing down to maintain a safe distance.
They rode in silence for a few minutes as the landscape shifted. Urban sprawl gave way to rolling forest, then finally to the patchwork pastures and dense evergreens of Washougal.
“It’s always so beautiful out here,” Kana murmured, admiring the river below them as they were driven along Evergreen Highway. “Quiet.”
Duke glanced at her in the rearview mirror, noticing her eyes roam upward to take in the mountains through the glass roof. “If I remember, you like to take in the sunset from the porch. Mount Hood turns pink like a peach, remember?”
She nodded and smiled. She and Graham’s family had an excellent relationship. If there ever was a push by the Mercers to bring Graham, Kana and the kids to the States, she’d be the one leading the charge.
The Cybertruck eased down the winding highway toward Cape Horn. The Columbia River sparkled to their right, cutting a seam through the gorge. As they approached the Mercer family home, nestled into a gentle rise surrounded by pines, Duke’s face brightened at the thought of having the entire family under one roof again.
“Here we are,” he said. He turned slightly to see Winston stretched out across the laps of Emi and Ken. All three were asleep. “I wish I could do that.”
“Come Saturday, Dad, you’ll have all the time in the world to relax.”
“I ’spose,” mumbled Duke.
Graham looked over at his father. “You sure you’re ready to walk away from all of it? The work, I mean. The volcanoes. The fights with bureaucratic dimwits.”
Duke smiled and nodded before slowly exhaling. “Ask me again in a week.”
Nineteen
April 8
1200 Hours
Keris Marine Joint Exercise – MAREX
South China Sea
Riau Islands, Indonesia
THE MORNING HAZE OVER the South China Sea filtered the sunlight into a muted silver sheen. Captain Beau Mercer stood in the bridge of the USS Kearsarge (LHD-3), a Wasp-class amphibious assault ship, as it powered between Indonesia’s Riau Islands. Its gray hull, slicing through the water with ease, was flanked by Indonesian Marine patrol boats. The crew of the Kearsarge was preparing for their return on the last day of the joint marine training exercise between elements of the U.S. Navy and the Indonesian Marines. Known as MAREX, the drills were designed to prepare Indonesia for future hostilities initiated by the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy, or PLAN.
Below deck, the hum of the ship’s engines was steady. The chatter over comms was low, almost drowsy. The drills had been routine. Unremarkable.
That was about to change.
Beau’s mind wandered as he thought about the upcoming trip Stateside to visit with his family. His dad had always seemed young at heart. Energetic. Mentally sharp. It was hard to believe he was forced into retirement simply because he’d turned sixty-five. However, if his retirement party was what it took to bring the family together at the home where he and his siblings grew up, so be it. He looked forward to seeing them all, and he knew his wife, Nina, was excited to go as well.
Beau sipped from a stainless-steel Yeti etched with the Marine Corps emblem, then tilted his head toward his XO, Lieutenant Carla Ellis. “Any word from the Bravo Team on their final beach-landing drills? It’s time to wind this thing up.”
She double-checked their coordinates on her computer before responding, “They’re loaded up and en route, sir. Running five mikes behind, sir. Choppy currents near Natuna.”
Beau nodded, scanning the horizon. “Standard drift. We’ll adjust their drop.”
A small, uninhabited island’s jungle-clad shores loomed starboard, radiant with emerald fronds, while Pulau Senua’s beaches flashed white to port. The windows of the bridge had been opened, the air thick with saltwater spray and diesel’s bite from the surrounding Indonesian Navy vessels. Throughout the exercises that week, hovering over them like a constant cloud, was the faint smell of sulfur, a constant reminder that Krakatoa, the massive caldera to their west, had been grumbling lately.
It had been nearly one hundred fifty years since the day the world exploded as Krakatoa unleashed a violent VEI 6 eruption considered one of the deadliest and most destructive volcanic events in history. In the past six months, local seismologists had been closely monitoring the renewed activity at the volcano, whose 1883 eruption had been equivalent to four times the yield of Tsar Bomba, the most powerful nuclear device ever detonated.
The bridge hummed, consoles flashing with radar and screens switching between drone feeds that relayed the Indonesian mortars impacting Great Iyu island’s dune targets.
Lt. Ellis reported on the successful final day of live fire. “Sir, KORMAR’s mortar team’s nailing it. The drones confirm hits.”
Beau nodded, his voice steady, shining, “Good. Syncing their fire with our UAVs’ interoperability is the goal.”
Major Reza Pratama, forty, the Indonesian Marine liaison aboard the Kearsarge, flashed a grin. “Your drones, our rounds. Perfect harmony, Captain.”
Beau’s grin said it all. “Like a damn symphony, Reza.” The crew got a good laugh, enjoying the comradery as the drills wound down.
From the corner of his eye, Beau noticed the radar station light up with activity. A second later, Seaman Valenti called out, tension snapping into the air like a live wire, “Unknown contacts. Three vessels bearing zero-seven-zero. Closing fast.”
Beau strode to the screen. Three blips. Big ones. “Show me visual,” he ordered.
A beat later, the surface cam blinked. There they were. Gray hulls, boxy silhouettes, red flags flapping in the wind.
He relayed the information to his crew. “PLAN signatures. Type 052D destroyers and a Type 054A frigate. Now bearing 350. Speed twenty-five knots.”
The bridge tensed before erupting in activity.
Twenty
April 8
1300 Hours
Keris Marine Joint Exercise – MAREX
South China Sea
Riau Islands, Indonesia
MAJOR REZA’S JAW tightened. “What are they thinking, Captain?” He roamed the helm, alternating his attention between the computerized displays and the visuals of the approaching ships on radar.
At first, Beau ignored his question, issuing orders to his crew instead. He set his tumbler down with a solid thunk. “Battle stations. Sound general quarters.”
The alarms blared. Lights began flashing below deck, where the rubber soles of their boots sounded like squeaky, thundering hooves. Doors were sealed shut in preparation for battle.
The calm routine was over following China’s provocative thrust beyond the First Island Chain, the series of islands that form a natural barrier along Indonesia’s territorial waters. It was a line in the sand, geopolitically. One that had been somewhat respected until recent years as China chose an aggressive posture on the seas around Indonesia.
“Open an encrypted line to Task Force Command,” Beau said calmly, stepping to the helm, “and hail the lead vessel. Identify and request intent.”
In the background of the frantic activity on the bridge, Lt. Ellis could be heard. “This is USS Kearsarge, conducting joint drills with the Indonesian Navy in international waters. Identify and state intentions.” She repeated the hail three times.
“Captain?” asked Reza, who’d tried to respectfully remain out of Beau’s way.
Beau relayed his thoughts. “They’d be foolish to attack us. If they’ve paid attention, we have some serious firepower associated with this drill. It could be an intimidation move, or they’re simply learning from our reaction to their apparent full-frontal assault.”
“No response from the approaching vessels, sir,” Lt. Ellis said seconds later. “They’re dark.”
Beau’s jaw tightened. “Then we force the issue.”
Upon Beau’s orders, the Indonesian patrol boats broke formation, veering off in textbook caution. The Kearsarge held course.
“Get me a sitrep from sonar. Any subs in the area?” Beau asked his sonar crew.
“Negative, sir. Surface only. We’re in shallow waters, so there’s no place for them to hide at depth.”
The Chinese frigates kept closing. Five thousand meters. Four.
“They’re pushing us,” Reza said. “Will our vessels be able to engage before they reach the Kearsarge?”
Beau glanced around. All eyes on him. He didn’t shout. Didn’t waver. He certainly didn’t panic.
“Back ’em down,” he muttered before raising his voice to issue the command. “Helm, two degrees port. Cut speed to ten knots. Show restraint without engaging. Yet.”
The Kearsarge shifted subtly, deliberate and firm.
“They’re matching,” Valenti called. “Sir, they’re lining up their main battery. This could go hot.”
Beau activated an open line, which could be heard by anyone worldwide rather than a ship-to-ship broadcast. They won’t engage us, not with global eyes and ears upon us.
“This is Captain Beau Mercer of the United States Navy. Your actions are provocative and dangerous. Disengage immediately, or we will defend ourselves.”
No reply.
Seconds dragged like hours. The radar chirped from a target-lock warning. One of the Chinese ships had painted them.
Beau didn’t blink. “Fire control, arm countermeasures but hold,” he ordered. “Ellis, scramble deck drone. Put eyes in the sky. Crew, stand firm. We’re the line, not the spark. Show them we don’t break under pressure.”
An apprehensive minute passed. The Chinese ships didn’t fire. But they didn’t turn either.
Suddenly, a voice crackled over comms; a man with heavily accented English was reaching out to the Kearsarge. “This is Yulin-class frigate Longzhou. You are operating in disputed waters. Cease maneuvers, or you will be fired upon.”
Beau’s response was crisp. “We are in international waters in a joint training operation with the Indonesian Navy. You are the aggressor here. Withdraw.”
Another pause. Then a new voice. More articulate, less accent. “This is the commander of the CNS Haikou, People’s Liberation Army Navy. You are near Chinese-claimed waters. Withdraw, or face consequences.”
The bridge froze. Major Reza’s eyes lit up like they were shooting fire. “They’re citing the Natuna EEZ. Disputed, not theirs,” he growled. “Arrogant bastards.”
The Natuna Exclusive Economic Zone, or EEZ, was part of China’s overlap with Indonesia in the South China Sea. Beau was aware of this agreement and, through preplanning, was sure to avoid Chinese waters.
Seconds passed, and then suddenly, almost anticlimactically, the PLAN frigates slowed. Turned. Peeled off into the haze, their engines boiling white spray behind them.
Beau exhaled. Tension broke. Someone on the bridge whispered, “Holy hell …”
Major Reza stared out the window. “They blinked.”
“For today,” Beau said. “They’ll be back when the opportunity presents itself. The PRC only takes. They don’t give.” He turned to Lt. Ellis. “Order the crew to stand down.”
As the adrenaline faded and the ships participating in the drills were brought into formation, Beau retrieved his phone from the bridge locker. There was one unread text message from Nina:
You’d better not be starting World War III out there.
They’re on pins and needles on the base.
He smiled, then thumbed a reply:
How’d you know? Never mind. No worries. No war today.
Tell ’em I’m bringing back sea stories and souvenirs from the beach. Ha ha!
She replied with an image and a message:
Don’t forget a gift for your handsome nephew.
Winston’s face popped up on his phone, tongue hanging and lower teeth protruding.
Beau chuckled. In the unplanned excitement, he’d forgotten he and his wife would be catching a military transport from the airfield at Batam to Joint Base Lewis-McChord located south of Seattle.
Then he looked back at the turquoise waters as the Chinese ships disappeared from sight. The waters were now unchanged, wide, but still potentially dangerous. He took another sip of coffee.
“Same old ocean,” he muttered to himself, “just new rules.”
Twenty-One
April 9
0900 Hours
Home of Duke and Betsy Mercer
Washougal, Washington
THE MERCERS’ GUEST HOUSE stood beneath the towering pines like a memory half-restored. Its cedar shingles weathered, windows newly replaced but still without inside trim, and the faint scent of sawdust lingering from Duke’s latest attempt to finish the interior permeated the air.
Despite its unfinished appearance, it was the view from the wraparound porch, which opened wide to the Columbia River Gorge, where mist hugged the cliffs, and the morning sun cast light across the rolling swells, that gave Graham the warm fuzzies of being home.
Duke pushed open the door, Winston at his heels, and gestured inside the partially-finished space. “Still like you remember it?” he asked Graham. “I know it still needs some work. Bathroom tile’s done, but don’t lean too hard on that stair railing to the loft. It’s decorative and hanging on by drywall screws. For now.”
Graham paused to take in the interior of the eighty-year-old two-story cottage. It was built to accommodate friends of the original owner after they’d returned home from doing battle in World War II.
“You’d better put up a caution sign for Sloan and Reid. You know those two’ll throw back a few whiskeys unless you lock the liquor cabinet. They’ll fall through the railing.”
Duke laughed. “And sue your old man, probably.”
Graham stepped farther inside, ducking slightly under the low doorway. He scanned the interior featuring open beam ceilings, a stone fireplace still blackened from decades past, and pinewood floors half-sanded.
“It’s always had character,” he said, setting his duffel bag down. “Better than half the hotels I’ve stayed in overseas.”
Duke chuckled. “Yeah, well, it needed to be done, and sometimes it takes guests, such as family, coming to visit to get things fixed up.”
Graham smiled and turned to Duke. “It’s good to be home, Dad.”
The men hugged again despite having spent the entire day together after Duke picked the family up from the airport. This was their first time alone to have the kind of father-son chats Graham missed.
Winston, taking a respite from wrestling with the grandkids, moaned and slowly eased his sixty-four-pound rock-solid body on the cool floor near the hearth. Duke leaned against a beam, arms crossed, watching his eldest son take in the place.
“You flew halfway across the Pacific and haven’t yawned once. Business-class magic?”
Graham grinned. “They gave the kids those lie-flat pods. Kana and I actually got some sleep. But really, I slept like a rock last night. No jet lag, luckily.”
“Good,” Duke said. “Because this week’s not just about mourning my retirement. We’re long overdue for a Mercer family reunion.”
Graham paused for a moment to think through what his dad had just said. He had to ask, “Did you say mourn your retirement?”
Duke laughed. “Yeah, just seein’ if you were payin’ attention. I can’t talk like this around your mother. She throws stuff at me when I do. The other day she chased me around the kitchen with a butcher knife.”
Graham shook his head in disbelief. “No, she didn’t.”
“Well, she was thinking it. Anyway, I can always unretire, but then none of my children would come to visit me.”
Graham was feeling the unintentional guilt trip his dad was laying on him. It had been too long, but he lived in Japan in a high-stress job, and Beau was practically living in Communist China’s backyard. In recent years, hostilities between China, North Korea, and everyone else in the Far East had reached a fever pitch. It was always on Graham’s mind.
They sat on a pair of folding chairs Duke had dragged in from the garage. Graham poured them a mug of black coffee Betsy had packed for them in a thermos. The guest house had a full kitchen and solar panels for electricity. However, its cupboards weren’t stocked yet.
The sun slanted through the windows, catching dust on the old house’s beams. Outside, the sound of the Columbia River whispered in the distance, the wind high in the trees.
They sat a moment as Graham took it all in. “I’d forgotten we lived in the land of cedar. Some people pay a lot of money to make their closet smell like this.”
“Well, I incorporated Douglas fir, too. It’s stronger, so I used it for anything structural. The western red cedar is more resistant to rot and insects, so it went pretty much everywhere else. In fact, that’s what I’d like to finish up today. I’ve got a little flooring to lay and walls to cover in the loft. Do you wanna be my cut man?”
“Sure. I saw the DeWalt chop saw. You call out the measurements. I’ll cut and deliver. All you have to do is bang ’em on. Bada-bing, bada-boom.” Duke’s good mood was evident. He may not have been looking forward to retirement but he was certainly relishing the prospect of having his family together once again.
Graham rolled up his sleeves, truly beginning to enjoy himself. The men exchanged a high five and took another sip of their coffee. As they got to work, Graham wanted to turn the discussion back to his dad’s retirement.
“What’s retirement look like for you, Dad?”
Winston grunted. He’d heard the word too many times in the last few weeks. Whatever it was, he wished they’d do it.
Duke paused before answering. Not because he hadn’t thought of an answer to a question like that. But because he’d overthought it.
