Page 135 of Clive Cussler's Quantum Tempest
What caught everyone’s attention wasn’t the photo so much as the list of weapons on the spec screen. The top of that long list showed the carrier-killer kitted out with hypersonic anti-ship missiles, torpedoes, two helicopters, and even an experimental rail gun. Despite its label as a destroyer, it was more of a cruiser given its size and armaments.
Max whistled. “She’s a monster, all right. And a quiet one at that.”
TheOregon’s electro-optical display estimated theFuzhouwas steaming at less than ten knots toward theBaktun, some three miles distant, and due west of the slightly smaller ship. At that speed and with its noise-reduction engineering, it was impossible for the anchoredOregonto pick up her screw noise this far away.
“They beat us here—but how?” Linda said. “And why didn’t our passive systems pick her up?”
“The hydrodynamic-flow noise from our engines at max speed interfered with our passive hull sonar,” Juan explained. “The good news is that theFuzhoucouldn’t hear us, either.”
One of the many advantages of theOregon’s revolutionary propless propulsion system was that it didn’t produce the acoustic signatures detected by passive sonar systems. Without active pinging by the Chinese, theOregonwas functionally invisible to them.
“Interesting,” Linda said. “So now we have three ships, including ours, all running silent.”
“That means whoever farts in church first is gonna have to pay the preacher,” Max said.
Eric stifled a snorting laugh.
“Doesn’t matter how she got here,” Juan said, falling back into the Kirk Chair. “We knew they’d show up some time.”
“At least they don’t know we’re here,” Max said.
“No radar, no sonar, no weapons activated,” Linda said, checking her instruments. “What are the Chinese up to?”
Cabrillo leaned forward, studying the screen. “A rendezvous. Either they’re going to escort theBaktunback to a home base or they’re going to transfer tech and personnel right here.”
“Skip…” Gomez said.
All eyes turned back to the wall monitor. The Madyar’s automated optics put a red square around a distant object lifting off the rear helo deck.
“That’s one of theFuzhou’s choppers,” Max said.
Cabrillo stood, his eyes fixed on the Chinese helo lofting high into the air, his voice calm and measured.
“Hali, sound battle stations. We’re blown.”
74
Aboard theFuzhou
Peng and Captain Zhao leaned over the shoulders of the tactical data link operator, observing the live video feed from theFuzhou’s Z-20F helicopter.
The seasoned chief petty officer optimized the digital image, sharpening the pixelation and smoothing the motion blur from the chopper’s shaky 30x telephoto camera. The officer zoomed in on the ship’s hull and pulled up the name,Oregon.
“A cargo ship?” Zhao asked. “Impossible.”
“It’s the American spy ship, certainly,” Peng said. “We were expecting them.”
“But a cargo ship? Not a combat vessel?” Zhao asked.
“It matches the description my former agent provided. Though how it reached this location in such a short amount of time is a true mystery.”
“It must be a stealth ship of some unknown type.”
Peng turned to Zhao. “And for the record, why didn’t your sonar sensors pick up its arrival?”
Captain Zhao straightened to her full height.
“We’ll get the answer as soon as I slap theOregon’s captain in irons.”
