Poseidon
South Spratly Islands, 10°05’23” S, 116°19’25” E, 1530 local – 6 hours later
The thick rubber of the front tyres of the helicopter touched the flight deck just milliseconds apart. The pilot pushed forward on the collective to place downward pressure on the rotors, forcing the big metal beast to stay on the sightly pitching ship.
Two sailors ran from the side of the superstructure and placed chocks under the wheels, preventing any further movement and helping the helicopter to stay in place.
A skilfully executed landing by the young naval pilot.
The six operators climbed down from the back of the MH-60R Seahawk helicopter and onto the flight deck of Her Majesty’s Australian Ship Hobart.
A recently commissioned Aegis capable air-warfare destroyer, Hobart was leading a small Australian task force that included the frigates HMAS Parramatta and HMAS Anzac.
They made their way into the internals of the ship, placing their gear down onto a wooden table at the rear of the flight hangar. Two sailors brought them some food and water, as well as some dry clothes. The intelligence personnel had wasted no time, and were ready and waiting with notepads to ask questions.
The SDV had been cached on the seabed, and if the situation permitted, would be recovered at a later date. The team had then been picked up by the helicopter, winched from in the middle of the ocean.
A navy doctor appeared with another sailor, a medic, who would look over Cav for any internal injuries sustained from the Chinese naval bombardment.
“Are you here to collect your poker winnings?” asked the doctor.
Kryton looked at the doctor, before smiling and extending his hand.
Lieutenant Jim Giles was an old acquaintance of Kryton’s. The operator had introduced the doctor to a young lady, who later became his wife, at some party so long ago they both were unlikely to remember the purpose of it.
“Cav – meet Jig,” said Kryton.
Cav shook the doctor’s hand while the medic took his blood pressure.
“Why Jig?” asked Cav bluntly, curious at what was obviously a nickname.
The naval doctor took a small torch and shone it in Cav’s eyes, checking for pupil dilation and other signs of potential concussion.
“Well, although I still deny it, apparently I once decided to do a little dance on a taxi in Kings Cross one night after a drinking session with this one,” he informed Cav while motioning with his head at Kryton.
“The name stuck!”
Cav thought for second and then smiled.
“Ahhh. Like Irish jig. Nice.”
The doctor looked over Cav, sticking a light into his ears and getting the seated operator to do a few reflex exercises. Kryton stood by watching, hoping that nothing was too seriously wrong with his friend.
“Well, you’ll be fine. We’ll get some fluids into you and monitor you over the next few hours. Some rest would help too,” said the doctor.
“Thanks, mate,” replied Cav, shaking the lieutenant’s hand.
Cav jumped up and went to join his teammates who were unpacking their equipment and answering the questions of the intelligence staff.
Kryton walked with Jig to the middle of the hangar, sharing some small talk and quickly catching up.
“The CO wants to see you on the bridge, ASAP,” Jig informed Kryton. “You know where to find it?”
“Well, it’s my first time on this class of ship, but I’m sure I’ll find my way.”
He pointed over to his team.
“Can you give those guys a once over? We’ve had a long few days.”
The doctor nodded.
“We’ll have a brew in the wardroom later,” said Jig before walking with his medic to where the rest of the team was standing.
Kryton quickly changed into a dry camouflage uniform, before grabbing a bread roll from the plate provided by the sailors and commencing his walk up to the long, narrow passageways of the ship and towards where he knew the bridge would likely be.
The hum of the generators permeated throughout the passageways. Kryton found the ship to be in pristine condition, reflective of a well-disciplined crew.
?After a few minutes and several sets of stairs later, Kryton made his way to the open door at the rear of the bridge. It was a hive of activity. The lookouts with binoculars were keeping watch over the open ocean, while the officers and signallers engaged in animated conversation as they communicated with the accompanying ships.
Kryton was familiar with naval protocol, so he waited until he got the attention of one of the boatswain mates on watch before coming onto the bridge proper. A young, heavily bearded sailor saw him waiting at the door.
“Captain, sir. You have a guest,” said the sailor to the man sitting upright in the comfortable looking chair to the side of the bridge.
The CO looked over his shoulder and towards Kryton. He waved the operator over.
“Sergeant Kryton, sir,” said the operator, introducing himself to the commander of the ship.
“I’m Mitchell. Welcome aboard,” said Commander Scott Mitchell, shaking Kryton’s hand.
A stocky man in his mid-forties, Mitchell had joined the Royal Australian Navy later in life, but had ascended through the ranks through skill and sheer hard work. He was well respected by his crew.
“You blokes must be bloody important for us to take such a risk to come near this part of the world,” said the CO, seemingly in a friendly manner but with a hint of pointed seriousness about it.
“Well, we appreciate you coming to get us, sir,” said Kryton respectfully. He appreciated these were contested waters, but he expected nothing less from the navy.
The CO returned his gaze out through the window of the bridge. One of the frigates passed ahead of the Hobart’s bow, taking a position to the port side of the destroyer.
The task force was sailing south-east, seeking to remove itself from the area where Chinese vessels were starting to appear not far over the horizon.
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Their job was to observe happenings and to support any U.S. action – not to go looking for a fight.
The phone next to the CO’s chair rang. The commander picked it up and had a short conversation with someone on the other end. Once finished, he placed the receiver down.
“We’re going to move closer to the Filipino coastline,” said the CO while looking out the window through a pair of binoculars. “We’ve got orders to get you ashore as soon as possible.”
“Orders? From whom?” asked Kryton.
The CO jumped down from his elevated chair.
“Officer-of-the-Watch, I’ll be in the ops room,” he said.
“Aye, sir,” came the reply from the young female officer who was controlling the activity on the bridge.
Commander Mitchell looked up at Kryton.
“Follow me, someone wants to talk to you.”
17
HMAS Hobart, Near the South China Sea, 1640 local
Kryton followed the CO down a set of stairs and along one of the many passageways. Situated below the bridge was the operations room – the ops room for short.
The ship’s captain opened the door and walked in, Kryton followed close behind and closed the door. The CO pulled back a curtain and stepped into the ops room proper.
A dull eerie blue glow illuminated the room. Several sailors were sitting at the myriad of consoles, each conducting various duties including monitoring the sea, surface and sub-surface space around the task force. Numerous television screens covered the walls; some showed CCTV vision of the flight deck and the forecastle of the ship, others had television broadcasts being beamed in via satellite. The main screen in the middle of the wall displayed the threat picture. Blue icons displayed the location of friendly ships and aircraft, while red icons displayed known Chinese positions.
“The Delaware was detached to chase the Chinese sub you encountered on the island. They’re having trouble, though, as the Chinese also seem to be trying to find it,” said the CO to Kryton.
“What is its direction?” asked Kryton.
“Last known position was close to the coastline and heading north. We think that it’s trying to use the shore to confuse sonar,” said the CO.
“Can you maintain tracking?” asked Kryton.
“It’s hard as there’s lots of disturbance in that area due to the number of reefs and because tracking a sub while hiding from other ships is hard work. I’m sure the Delaware will be able to keep on its tail. They’ve been instructed to trail it and find out where it’s going.”
The CO pulled Kryton closer to the wall to allow the intelligence sailors who had been talking to his team space to get back into the ops room.
“Being an older diesel-electric sub, it needs to snorkel near the surface every so often to change out its air. Apparently, the Americans are now tracking communications from the sub. It seems your mission was successful enough.”
Kryton nodded, closely looking at the threat picture on the screen before him.
There were still so many unanswered questions, but at least they now had a lead.
“Why not just sink it?” he asked the CO.
Commander Mitchell chuckled. He guided Kryton over to the side of the ops room where a table with several charts were laid out.
“Orders are to follow it only. Your friends in Canberra can explain as to the reasons why,” he said.
One of the intelligence sailors spoke to the CO.
“Sir, the encrypted video conference is ready for Sergeant Kryton.”
The CO nodded.
“I’ll leave you to it, I have to get back up to the bridge,” said the CO. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your team.”
“Thanks, sir,” said Kryton. He appreciated the commander’s hospitality.
Kryton looked back at the sailor.
“Over here, Sarge,” said the young sailor.
He guided Kryton to a small, secluded office where a laptop computer had been set up.
“They’re ready for you. Headphones are on the seat,” said the sailor, before he walked off to return to his duties.
Kryton assumed he was about to talk to the SOCCE back on Guam. He sat down and placed the headphones over his ears. He tapped on the spacebar to activate the call.
Two familiar faces appeared on the screen.
“Jesus, you look like hell,” came the Australian voice through the earpiece.
It caught Kryton by surprise. He laughed.
“Good to see you too, Jonas,” he said sarcastically. “I thought that the service had been cut out of this,” he said, referring to Australia’s foreign intelligence agency, the Australian Secret Intelligence Service – ASIS.
It was Jonas on the screen. Sitting next to him was Jo. They were huddled around their own computer at some office in the suburbs of Canberra where the ASIS headquarters was located.
“Well, initially. But it turns out the President wanted us involved, particularly yourself. The U.S. are stretched very thin globally, so they need all the allies they can get at the moment.”