Phantom force the uss cu.., p.52
Phantom Force (The USS Cunningham Quintet Book 5), page 52
The waters around the flagship were a maritime charnel house of burning ships, burning lakes of fuel, burning dreams reflecting off oil-streaked waters. Life rafts and struggling life-jacketed bodies were illuminated around the peripheries.
And the Teluk Surabaya was driving deeper into the heart of it all.
Beyond this hell there was only the darkness. Ketalaman could not see the mountains.
On the foredeck, the amphibious ship’s 76mm twin mount began to fire under local control, blazing futilely at the night beyond the bow, trying to strike at the hantu that waited for them, the devourer of lives and futures that had hunted Merpati Ketalaman and invoked this upon him.
“Turn!” Ketalaman heard a raw croaking voice that he scarcely recognized as his own. “Turn! Turn! Turn!”
The Bridge of the MV Galaxy Shenandoah
2324 Hours; Zone Time, November 20, 2008
The squall line was passing and the tropic air stank of picric acid, raw diesel and charred flesh. Amanda Garrett fought down the urge to vomit. She was aware of Makara Harconan standing close beside her in the dimness. She could feel the war weariness in him as it was in her. He too had seen enough of big ship war.
It was time to put an end to it.
Amanda spoke into her headset. “CIC, stand by torpedoes. Get me a firing solution for the Teluk Surabaya, a full four fish salvo.”
“Wait!” She felt Harconan’s hand on her shoulder. “Save your taxpayers your torpedoes. Ketalaman is doing the job for you. Watch.”
Amanda lifted her binoculars. She could see the big Ivan Rogov, fires dotting her decks. The ship was hurt. She was hurt badly. Its bow turret guns were still firing, but the shells were falling nowhere near the Shenandoah. The Indonesian vessel was like a battered, defeated boxer lashing out blindly before collapsing.
Then Amanda could see the silhouette lengthen. The Teluk Surabaya was turning away, reversing her course northwestward up the channel. She was trying to run.
“Wait,” Harconan repeated softly. “Wait.”
MacIntyre’s voice was sounding in her headset. “We have a firing solution. Bridge, I repeat – we have a firing solution on the Indonesian flag. Range is closing! Standing by for firing order! Amanda, dammit! Fire!”
“Wait!” came a whisper.
“Wait,” she echoed.
Amanda kept her glasses trained. The Teluk Surabaya was halfway through her turn, then three-quarters of the way; then she stopped dead in her own length, her bow lifting and the entire outline of the ship distorting.
Amanda lowered her binoculars. She could imagine the scream of tearing buckling steel and the roar of the inrushing sea. “Combat Information Center, stand down torpedoes and secure the moon pool. We’re not going to need them. The target has run aground.”
“I told you there was a reef line out there to the north,” Harconan said smugly.
The Bridge of the Teluk Surabaya
2334 Hours, Zone Time, November 20, 2008
The dead ship lay across the reef like a corpse draped across a log. Solidly impaled, she was an artificial island now, the men aboard her no longer crew and passengers but castaways. On the battle-damaged bridge, the sweating radio operator nodded. They had emergency battery power to the Talk-Between-Ships.
The Chief of Staff lifted the hand microphone.
“Attacking force. Attacking force. Hold your fire! Hold your fire! This is Captain Amadari of … of … the Indonesian Navy speaking from the Teluk Surabaya. We surrender. We are hard aground and we surrender. All our surviving ships surrender! Hold your fire!”
There was a ship out there. Unidentified and unidentifiable, it held in deep water off the stern of the ruined amphib. Where it had come from, the Chief of Staff didn’t know. The only vessel they had detected before the holocaust had been a harmless freighter.
A voice, a woman’s voice – firm, decisive and speaking English – replied, “This is the attacking force commander. We are receiving you, Teluk Surabaya. Be advised, your surviving transports have been targeted but we are holding our fire.”
“This is Captain Amadari to Attacking Force Commander. What are your terms for surrender?”
“Immediate and unconditional. I repeat, immediate and unconditional. We will guarantee the lives of all rebel faction personnel as Prisoners of War under the Geneva Convention – but only if all orders and instructions are obeyed to the letter. Is that understood, Captain?”
The CoS took a shuddering breath. “Understood. We will comply.”
“Very well, Captain. There is a small island off the Lingga coastline approximately six miles astern of your current position. Your two ferry transports will proceed at slow speed to a point in mid-channel directly opposite this island and they will drop anchor. Your ships will shut down their engines and power down all radar and communications systems. They will maintain full illumination on deck at all times.
“You will be kept under continuous observation until the arrival of Government naval forces. If these orders are violated in any way, or if any attempt is made to put boats over the side and land your troop contingents, the attack will be resumed and continued until you have been wiped out. Is that understood?”
The Chief of Staff glanced out into the night. “Attacking Force Commander, we understand and will comply – but we have many people in the water. Very many people. We request permission to conduct rescue operations.”
“Permission granted,” the woman replied promptly. “Each of your surviving vessels may put one motor lifeboat over the side with a minimum rescue crew aboard. The rescue boats may not land ashore. They must return to your ships after each sweep. We are dropping life rafts to your survivors as well.”
“It is understood. We will comply. Thank you.”
“We will also be dispatching a boarding party to your vessel. We require that Admiral Ketalaman surrender himself to the authority of the Indonesian government.”
The Chief of Staff moistened his lips. “I regret we will not be able to deliver Admiral Ketalaman into your custody.”
“Why not, Captain?” the woman’s voice demanded.
“Because Admiral Ketalaman is dead.” The CoS looked at the dark huddled mass lying in the corner of the wrecked bridge. “We can only hand over his body.”
There was a long pause at the other end of the circuit. “Surrendering his body will be satisfactory. How did Admiral Ketalaman die?”
“By self-inflicted gunshot. The Admiral has committed suicide.”
“Understood, Captain Amadari. Prepare to receive our boarders. We regret the loss of your ships and personnel.”
“As do I.” The Chief of Staff returned the microphone to its clip.
Something rasped oddly underfoot as he moved and he looked down into the shadows. Kneeling, he picked up something from the deck.
It was a piece of stone.
Tengah Air Defense Force Base
Singapore
0002 Hours; Zone Time, November 21, 2008
This was another of those things you could only practice in the simulator, the glowing blue dots of the runway and approach lights reaching out for the airplane that wasn’t really an airplane.
“Easy Vince,” Pinkerton chanted over the radio. “Easy … Easy … Easy …” Pink’s SPEED Cobra held off his starboard side, monitoring the approach.
Perhaps it would have been more sensible to have simply hit the chicken switch and bail out – but Vince Arkady was the stubborn, unsensible kind of aviator who fought for the aircraft.
They were over the approach lights. Over the tarmac.
The emergency vehicles parked along the edge of the runway flashed past, their blue blinker lights pulsing.
“Down to ten, Vince! Down to five! Keep the damn wings level!”
Of course, I’m keeping the damn wings level! Arkady snapped back mentally. The undercarriage on this thing is about as wide as a goddamn rollerskate!
Narrow-set wheels buffed the runway. Let her settle! Feel the load coming off the wings. Come back on the stick! Remember she’s a tail dragger! Get her ass down! Down on three points. Power back! Brakes on! Good girl, Jeannie!
That wasn’t so bad.
The tower ground controller interjected, “On behalf of the Singapore Defense Forces, welcome to Singapore, Commander Arkady. We have a hangar and a security team standing by. Do you require a tow vehicle?”
“Thank you, tower. Negative on the tow vehicle. I can taxi in. Standing by for the follow-me truck.”
“Star Child reports they have a utility bird launched and inbound for you,” Pinkerton said, hovering down beside the taxiway. “I’m taking departure and returning to base.”
Arkady popped the canopy, swinging it aside. Humid or not, it felt good. “Roger that, Pink. Tell the ladies I’ll be home for breakfast.”
Sebangka Strait
0034 Hours; Zone Time, November 21, 2008
At anchor with their decks now brightly lit, the two PELNI ferries lay off the island. The sole survivors of the ill-fated transport force, they had now become floating prison camps for the Muslim militia they carried.
“Targets registered,” the Ranger NCO reported. “Ready to engage if we have to.”
“Good enough.” Stone Quillain leaned back in his tree crotch and propped his boondockers on a convenient branch. “Looks like we got this thing just about wrapped up.”
“Yeah, maybe.” The ranger sounded dubious. “But we still have about five thousand hostiles just off the beach. Mind if I worry about them a little?”
“Sure, if you fancy.” Stone removed a John Wayne bar from a MOLLE harness pouch and began to unwrap it. “But this sort of reminds me of a situation General Pendleton had to handle once …”
The MV Galaxy Shenandoah
Off the western approaches to the Lingga Archipelago
0512 Hours, Zone Time, November 21, 2008
There was a hint of a coming sunrise and the dark of Lingga Island could barely be differentiated from the dark of the sea. The squall line had passed and the day promised to be a beautiful one.
The Shenandoah lay hove to, allowing the AAAV platoon to snort and growl its way back into the amphibious vehicle bay. With the approach of the Indonesian Government squadron, the commando carrier had hauled up the strait to the northwest. Neither the surviving rebels, nor the arriving government ships, would ever get a clear look at her.
“Captain Quillain reports recovery complete and the bay secured for sea. All members of the mortar detail are aboard, present and accounted for.”
“Very good, Mr. Carstairs.” Amanda lifted off her helmet, relieving the strain on her aching neck. “What’s the latest sitrep on the Rebel transport force?”
“The ferries and the Teluk Surabaya have all been boarded and secured by the Indonesians, ma’am. Survivor rescue operations are continuing.”
“Very good.” It was time for the Shenandoah to don her civilian identity and get herself elsewhere. “Lee helm, all engines ahead standard, civil power. Make turns for fourteen knots. Helm, steer three double zero.
“Mr. Carstairs, stand down from general quarters and flight stations. Strike all secondary mounts below decks and reconfigure for covert cruise mode. Resume running and deck lighting as soon we’re secure.”
“Very good, ma’am.”
Amanda unpinned her hair and shook it down around her shoulders. The helmsman kicked up the binnacle and control lights to standard setting and, in the green glow, she could make out Harconan leaning back against the chart table, his arms crossed. He was smiling at her. “It was a privilege to see a master at work, Amanda. Thank you.”
“It’s what I do, Makara, and I am rather good at it, I suppose.” She shrugged out of her flak & flotation vest and stacked it on the chart table.
He shook his head. “I can’t help but think of what you and I could do with a ship like this. Consider the possibilities! We could make Captain Kidd look like a Sunday school teacher.”
Amanda smiled, rather sadly. Nothing would change Makara Harconan, short of a firing squad. “There’s no sense in starting that again, Makara.” She extended her hand to him. “Thank you for your piloting assistance back there.”
The king of the sea straightened and bowed over her hand. “My pleasure, my dear Amanda. And both Lo and I thank you for your assistance. We may both rest now.”
“Admiral on the bridge!”
Footsteps sounded in the access passageway and Admiral MacIntyre pushed through the bridge light curtain. Christine Rendino followed him, as did a Marine security team.
“Well, you got to see your sea battle,” MacIntyre said ruefully.
“And I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Harconan grinned back.
“Chris, what’s the word on Commander Arkady?” Amanda inquired.
She caught the happy flash of the Intel’s smile. “He’s airborne out of Singapore and should be back aboard in another twenty minutes. His SPEED Cobra is secure and one of our transports will be airlifting it back to the States.”
Amanda nodded and shared in Christine’s smile.
“The rebel staff officers and Ketalaman’s body will also be flown out of Singapore,” MacIntyre added. “We’ll be taking them to Bali to be handed over to the Indonesian authorities for trial.” The Admiral cleared his throat. “We’ve also received orders from the State Department. Mr. Harconan is to be delivered on the same flight.”
The bridge went silent. “Ah well,” Harconan said finally. “‘All good things’, as the saying goes.”
“It’s not quite that simple, Mr. Harconan,” MacIntyre went on. “You’ve seen a number of things you weren’t supposed to. You’re aware of the existence of this ship and of this force and that complicates the equation.”
Harconan shook his head soberly. “Not really, Admiral. I am in great debt to you and to this vessel. Would you accept my word that I will not reveal any information about her, or the true status of her captain?”
“Oddly enough, Mr. Harconan, I would,” MacIntyre replied with a grim smile. “But that still leaves us with orders to turn you over to the Kediri government. I say again that I will personally see to it that you will receive every possible legal consideration for the assistance you’ve given NAVSPECFORCE in this campaign.”
“And that goes for me as well, Makara,” Amanda added quietly. “I promise I won’t forget you.”
Once more there came that bold and knowing corsair’s grin that encompassed her. “And I promise that you won’t either, my queen.”
Harconan moved before anyone else could even make a start, turning and bolting for the open door to the portside bridge wing. Even as the Marines were fumbling for their sidearms, the taipan vaulted the bridge railing, launching himself into the pre-dawn darkness. By the time Amanda and the others could reach the bridge wing, there was only a pale splash on the surface of the sea, already sweeping aft.
“Stop all engines!” Amanda exclaimed. “Man overboard! Hard left rudder! Mr. Carstairs, start your recovery plot! Whaleboat crews stand to, on the double …”
“Belay those orders!” Elliot MacIntyre’s bellow overrode Amanda’s yell. “Helm, hold your course!”
Amanda and Christine stared stunned at the Admiral. “We’ve loitered around out here for too long already, Captain,” he growled. “Our security is at risk. I’m ordering you to get this ship into Malacca Strait and the cover of the shipping channels before full daylight.”
“But what about Harconan?” Christine asked.
“Commander, it’s an eight-storey drop from this bridge to the ocean’s surface,” MacIntyre replied, bracing a hand on the rail. “If the fall didn’t kill that aggravating bastard outright, then he was probably sucked into the propellers. And, if that didn’t finish him, it’s a two-mile swim through shark infested waters to reach the nearest land. Any way you look at it, the man’s dead and good riddance.”
Amanda exchanged glances with MacIntyre and, in the faint but growing predawn light, she could make out a faint, wry smile. “Or at least that’s what we can tell the Indonesians.”
Disengagement of Forces
Merdeka Square
Jakarta, Indonesia
1000 Hours; Zone Time, November 23, 2008
Like a man regaining consciousness from a protracted fever nightmare, Jakarta was awakening. Ravaged, exhausted – but with its temperature broken – the patient had survived. The people who had stayed were back in the streets, rebuilding their lives, jobs and homes – and the people who had fled were returning.
There were no more riots or protests. For the most part, the Indonesian populace had become weary unto death of confrontation, politics and violence. At least for a time, they hungered for peace and order.
Ambassador Randolph Goodyard stood on the wall gangway of the American embassy, looking out across the square. He was back in Jakarta with a skeleton staff, albeit sleeping on a cot in his gutted office. As per expectation, the embassy compound had been well and thoroughly looted – but a platoon of Navy Seabees were hard at work, making preliminary repairs and serving as a temporary security force.
