Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) Read online
Warshot
George Wallace
Don Keith
WARSHOT
Copyright © 2021 by George Wallace and Don Keith.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Severn River Publishing
www.SevernRiverPublishing.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-64875-123-3 (Paperback)
Contents
Also by Wallace and Keith
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Epilogue
Next in Series
Join the Reader List
You Might Also Enjoy…
Thanks for Reading
Read Silent Running
About the Authors
Also by Wallace and Keith
The Hunter Killer Series
Final Bearing
Dangerous Grounds
Cuban Deep
Fast Attack
Arabian Storm
Warshot
Silent Running
Hunter Killer
By George Wallace
Operation Golden Dawn
By Don Keith
In the Course of Duty
Final Patrol
War Beneath the Waves
Undersea Warrior
The Ship that Wouldn't Die
Never miss a new release! Sign up to receive exclusive updates from authors Wallace and Keith.
Wallace-Keith.com/Newsletter
Dedicated to all the men and women who go down to the sea in ships in defense of the American way.
Prologue
The mineral-rich fumarole had formed over a million years before. The volcanic opening in the planet’s crust was ten thousand meters below the ocean surface in what mankind would, much later, name the Tonga Trench. Of course, when it first burst forth, the trench was several hundred miles to the west and north of its twenty-first-century location. As land masses continued to adjust their positions in response to inexorable geo-forces, the Pacific Plate was shoved beneath the Tonga Plate, taking the trench and the fumarole along with it as it slowly moved to the east and south. Now it rested at the center of a triangle of palm-studded islands: American Samoa, the Tongan island of Niuatoputapu, and the tiny nation of Niue.
Situated on the Pacific Rim’s notorious and volatile “Ring of Fire,” the fumarole provided an inexhaustible supply of thermal energy. It heated seawater to almost a thousand degrees before shooting it up into the cold blackness of the ocean depths. But before that, the water was forced through layer upon layer of sulfite-bearing rock. The sulfites dissolved, forming a sulfuric acid mixture. That acid, under searing-hot high pressure, dissolved the surrounding rock as the water rose through the fissured crust, and it all emerged as a mineral soup. Black tubes slowly built as the super-heated, acidic water hit the very cold ocean waters and dropped its mineral load. Micron by micron, over the eons, the tubes grew higher and higher, forming into towering pipes.
The nutrient-laden deposits were rich enough that a complete ecology of strange inhabitants slowly formed and evolved amid the growing black forest. Mammoth tubeworms drew their energy from the heat and minerals, using chemosynthesis since there was no light for photosynthesis at this crushing depth. Blind shrimp and huge, ghostly yellow crabs fed off the tube worms before falling prey themselves to other deep-water predators that stalked the dark abyss.
But one unique feature of this forest of black mineral pipes was another byproduct, one that lay on the ocean floor. One that would have glittered brightly had any hint of light penetrated these depths. The corrosive sulfuric acid passed through a thick, deep-seated vein of gold on its trip from the earth’s innards, slowly dissolving it away. Once the mixture emerged into the cold ocean water, the gold precipitated out as a fine dust. Slowly, over the millennia, the gold dust had built up to form a deep layer of lustrous, invaluable mud, lying loosely on the sea bottom, undiscovered and untouched by man.
Ψ
Dr. Rex Smith rested in a chaise lounge on the deck of his ship, enjoying, as best he could, a fine cigar. It was difficult, though, due to the troubles he and his ship were facing.
The research vessel, Deep Ocean Explorer, currently considered Pago Pago, the capital city of American Samoa, as home. At least so long as Smith and his team of scientists were in the area exploring the geology of the Southern Hemisphere’s deepest trench. The tropical town was, in reality, far too small to be called a city. But what there was of it had just dropped below the horizon as Smith’s white-painted ship motored away, leaving a frothy wake in the flat-calm, azure sea.
Smith relished the relaxed, warm beauty of the moment, the power and majesty of his vessel, the smooth taste of the cigar. But he really could not fully enjoy any of it. He had himself an especially knotty problem that spoiled the moment for him. At the end of the week, he would jet back to California to meet with his expedition’s sponsors, who had made their expectations quite clear. They anticipated that his months of expensive exploration would have by now delivered some very real results. So far, his team had come up with very little, meaning he would not be able to secure the funding that he needed to continue his research. His ship and her crew required operating capital and plenty of it.
The ungainly vessel could never be said to have beautiful lines, but as a deep-ocean workhorse, she was ideal. A converted drill rig supply vessel, broad-shouldered and heavy, she was originally constructed to deliver to the North Sea oil fields in any weather, a job she had done for the first twenty years of her life. But those very attributes made her equally ideal for Dr. Smith’s purposes, even if her capabilities had not yet fulfilled the hopes of those who wrote the checks. If only he could report some discovery of value, whether it be scientific, economic, historical, or valuably shiny.
Just then, Smith’s attention was drawn to a bustle of activity on Deep Ocean Explorer’s open afterdeck. Mitch O’Donnell, every bit the red-haired Irish roustabout, was flailing his arms wildly, clearly in a heated discussion with Sandy McDougal. From the sounds drifting up from the deck, it appeared the petite scientist was more than holding her own with the gruff Irishman. It seemed, from the snatches that Smith could catch, that McDougal wanted to get the Sea Raptor unmanned underwater vehicle (UUV) into the water immediately to start a survey run. O’Donnell was every bit as profanely adamant that the newly modified submarine was not yet ready, that it required at least another day of testing.
Rex Smith sighed deeply and pulled himself out of the chaise lounge. He figure
d he had better get down there and intervene before the two hotheads actually came to blows. One of them could end up in the drink, and Smith knew them well enough by now to not take any bets on which one it would be.
“When did being chief scientist morph into being the playground monitor?” he grumbled under his breath as he started that way.
Just as Smith grabbed the ladder, Bill Bix stepped around the starboard side of the superstructure. The Deep Ocean Explorer’s captain was making one of his rare trips away from the bridge while the ship was underway. That alone was enough to cause Smith to pause and see what was up. Bix glanced down at the two bickering crewmembers, shook his head, and chuckled.
“Kids still arguing about their toy, huh?” The captain turned to Smith, all the humor dropping from his voice. “Rex, you see the latest? Just came over SOPAC News that ‘King Two-for-One' has gone and signed the Chinese deal. He all but gave them a navy base at Nuku’alofa and the rights to build an international airport on the island.”
Bix was clearly exasperated. King Tofuwanga II was derisively known by the moniker “King Two-for-One" for his propensity to sell any and everything on the islands of Tonga—where he was the nation’s leader—to finance his lavish lifestyle. King Tofuwanga had taken the historic graft and greed of his ancestors to an entirely new level, though, making deals with the Chinese for loans that were theoretically to be used to build a shipping terminal, factories, sumptuous new infrastructure projects, and even—from scratch—a Tongan international airline, to be owned, of course, by Tofuwanga’s government. Now those debts were coming due, little had been built with the money, and with practically no revenue, the king had no hope of even coming close to repaying them. The joke was that his people could hear him squeal as the Chinese tightened the screws. The shipping terminal, which handled very little shipping, would now become a navy base. And the airport, which serviced precious few flights, would almost certainly become a welcome host for the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Air Force. Tonga International Airlines? It still consisted of a single aircraft, whose only passenger was King Tofuwanga II when he wanted to visit Sydney for a few nights of entertainment in King’s Cross, or Bangkok for a week of who-knew-what.
Bix slammed his fist against the rail, his Australian accent becoming thicker and more difficult to understand as he grew angrier.
“Don’t we ever learn anything? Our fathers fought a long, hard war to stop the Japanese from cutting off Australia’s lifeline to the US. Hell, I lost two uncles when the Canberra went down during the Battle of Savo Island. Not to mention all the good people of these islands whose fathers and mothers suffered so much back then and who will now catch the brunt of all this corruption. All while we allow some two-bit Tongan grifter to give it to the Chinese without so much as a g’day?”
Smith put his hand on the skipper’s shoulder.
“Easy now, Bill. We don’t find something interesting out there on this run, Hitler could take over Tonga and it wouldn’t make any matter to us.” The scientist took the stub of the cigar from his lips and flipped it over the side, into the deep green water. “Let me see if I can just keep those two down there from murdering each other and try to salvage this situation. Let the politicians worry about the politics.”
Bix shook his head as he turned and walked away, back to his wheelhouse.
Ψ
Several of the seats in the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence secure hearing chamber, hidden deep under the Hart Senate Offices, were empty, indicating members did not see the need to show up. Other senators had their laptops open, checking the day’s stock market update or poll results from back in their home states, clearly uninterested in the hearing about to be gaveled into session. Even though it was an open hearing, C-SPAN had not deemed this afternoon’s testimony worthy of television coverage. Not even on their third network.
At the table opposite the senators’ perch, behind a microphone and a printed name card, a stunningly beautiful Asian woman, maybe thirty-five years old, patiently waited. The name on the card was Li Min Zhou. When the chairman of the Senate Intelligence Committee finally opened the proceedings, only a few of the senators perked up and appeared even remotely interested in hearing the woman’s remarks. And a couple of those openly leered at the striking witness.
“Miss Zhou, we appreciate you coming here today at the behest of the...who was it, Pat?” A staffer whispered to the chairman. “Oh, yes. The junior senator from Virginia.” Senator Thad Murson was quite openly called the “Senator of the Navy.”
The chairman’s voice was almost a caricature of a Southern drawl. “We have an important vote on the Senate floor staring us in the face, I’m afraid, ma’am. Some banking bill the Democrats just had to bring up today when they thought we weren’t paying attention. We have a copy here of your statement, which we’ll certainly consider, so we’d appreciate it if you’d make brief opening remarks and we’ll...maybe...have a few questions afterward. Okay?”
Li Zhou cocked her head and considered the senator for a long moment. She finally spoke, her voice strong, her face resolute, her eyes afire.
“Mr. Chairman, thank you. In the time it took you to introduce me, thirty-two children were born in China. That is over 1,900 every hour, almost sixteen million people per year. Despite what you may believe, virtually none of them will ever experience even the most basic of human rights or freedoms. Those who believe modern communications, the internet, or cable news will serve to inform and liberate the Chinese people by showing them a better way are, at best, delusional. And the communist government of my native country has long been using money, ironically obtained through their own version of capitalism, to...”
The senior senator from the state of Michigan, a four-term Democrat, abruptly and loudly closed his briefcase, stood, and stomped out of the hearing room. The senator had once personally intervened in and helped secure a huge Chinese investment in a renewable energy consortium in his state. One that had long since become defunct. He had heard enough.
Another member of the committee, the seventy-seven-year-old, six-term Republican from Mississippi, was jarred awake by the sound of his colleague’s briefcase slamming shut.
Li Zhou’s jaw tightened as she tried to remain calm.
“My father died in Tiananmen Square in Beijing on June 4, 1989. That day—my fourth birthday—brought to a bloody end the final realistic effort to bring any semblance of a free and open society to my country. Meanwhile, China has continued its mission to not only maintain brutal control over its own people but to gain influence around the world through the use of what I call ‘dollar diplomacy’ and they call the ‘Belt and Road Initiative,’ building industrial parks in Ethiopia, airports in Chile, shipping terminals and super-highways on Tonga, shopping malls in Nigeria, all with money loaned to those governments—who are often riddled with corruption—with no hope of ever repaying their debts other than capitulating to...”
“Miss Zhou, I’ve just been informed...” the chairman interrupted. Another staffer whispered in his ear. “Just been informed that the vote on the Senate floor is imminent. Is this information you were wanting to share this afternoon contained in the files you have left for us?”
“Yes, Senator, but...”
“Then we will recall you for further testimony at a future date, and we do appreciate y’all coming before this body...”
Li Zhou again cocked her head.
“Senator, what I hope to share with you could be the most crucial testimony to ever come before this committee. The most important information regarding the future of not only the United States but the entire...”
“I’m sure it is, Miss Zhou. I’m sure it is. But if we don’t get this banking bill shut down, we’ll all be in deep trouble come election time, considerin’ where most of us get our campaign funds these days. And you have no idea how much it costs, even for an incumbent to continue to serve his...”
With a bang of his gavel, the chairman closed the h
earing.
Li Min Zhou sat there at the table, her lips still inches from the microphone, seething.
1
Yon Ba Deng greatly enjoyed the respite his commute offered him each morning. Once the three-car motorcade—a bodyguard in front, another behind, and his own Mercedes-Benz limousine sandwiched in the middle—left his sprawling home in the exclusive Jade Spring Hill section of Beijing, they passed through some of the most exclusive parts of the capital city. He could almost—but not quite—imagine a totally peaceful world existed beyond those gardens and ornamental gates. But then, he ultimately arrived at his ceremonial offices in the heavily guarded Zhongnanhai leadership compound, immediately adjacent to the Forbidden City. That would certainly nudge him back to reality.
This morning, Yon Ba Deng could smell the foliage from Jade Spring Hill’s quiet, park- like setting, even inside his vehicle with the bulletproof windows rolled up. Soon the red leaves would burst forth with their autumn splendor, announcing yet another winter was on its way. He watched the walled estates, the homes of the country’s ruling elite, as they passed, but they quickly gave way to the bustling Xicheng district with its many restaurants, clubs, and vibrant nightlife.