boxes and survival equipment that would be placed on the rock with them looked
pitifully small. He’d been told that there were enough concentrated rations
in one box to feed the five men for two weeks, long enough for the resupply
crew to get to them. Beside that box, a tarpaulin to provide shelter from the
sun was rolled into a compact cylinder. A few blankets, some rudimentary
radio equipment, and a water-distilling pump completed the loadout. And the
Stingers–the all-important Stingers. It was the last item that completely
blew the team’s cover story of establishing a fishing camp.
Better you than me, he thought. The battle for ownership of the Spratly
Islands, according to his superiors, required establishing a presence on the
desolate rocks that composed the South China Sea chain. This outpost would be
left on a patch of barren igneous rock that was barely bigger than his Zhuk.
For not the first time, the Vietnamese navy lieutenant gave thanks that he’d
joined the right branch of the military. While navy units might ferry the
occupation teams to the rocks, standing presence duty in the South China Sea
was solely the province of the Vietnamese army.
“All is ready, Captain,” his phone talker said, relaying the words he
received from the other talker on the fantail.
“Very well. Just a little more light, and we will make our approach.”
Getting close enough to unload the men and equipment into the small boat that
would take them to the rock would be tricky. While the waters were well
charted, and his GPS equipment gave him an accurate fix on his own location,
too much could always go wrong. Navigating around rocks and shoals in his
thin-hulled patrol craft would be safer when his lookouts could see what some
lazy cartographer might have overlooked.
Ten minutes later, his forward lookout reported that visibility was
clearing. The lieutenant moved back inside the pilot house.
“Take us in, Ensign,” he ordered. The younger officer nodded.
“Engine ahead one-third,” he said firmly.
The lee helmsman echoed the command, and the steel deck began thrumming
as the powerful diesel engines that drove the two propellers increased speed.
“Come right, steer course 005,” the ensign ordered. The small craft
heeled slightly to the right.
A few minutes later, the ensign said, “There it is, sir.” He pointed to
a barely visible rock projecting from the sea.
“Very well. Let’s get on with it.”
In response to the ensign’s orders, the men on the fantail moved over the
side into the Rigid-Hull Inflatable boat tethered to the ship. The RHIB,
pronounced “rib,” was a mainstay of many naval services. Since it could be
deflated, it saved on precious storage space. The outboard motor could drive
it through the ocean at far greater speeds than the hull could withstand, so
it took careful handling to avoid overturning it.
The young captain of the patrol boat, preoccupied with off-loading his
passengers and their equipment, had even less warning than the tank commander
had. He saw motion on the horizon and reached for his binoculars. Seconds
later, the missile slammed into the patrol boat, impacting amidships at the
waterline after cutting through the RHIB and her crew.
The missile penetrated completely through the patrol boat before it
exploded. The blast disintegrated the entire midsection of the boat, driving
a rain of steel fragments through every other part of the interior. Metal
shredded flesh, killing most of the crew instantly. The explosion cracked the
hull in half, broke the keel, and peeled the weather decks away from the
supporting framework of stanchions and strakes. The warm sea poured in
The fire had just enough time to ignite the small arms ammunition and the
Stinger missiles before the sea claimed the boat and crew.
Monday, 1 July
0900 local (Zulu -8)
Operations Center
Hanoi, Vietnam
The two men were alone in the conference room, as alone as possible in
the former Communist country. “What are the Americans thinking?” Ngyugen
hissed. “To invade our waters, destroy our islands–it is war!” The
Vietnamese ambassador to the United Nations seemed to swell up with
indignation, which was part of his standard repertoire when talking about the