The kid with the spiked hair sat at his workstation with Liu’s phone held between his shoulder and his jaw, saying: ‘Yes . . . yes . . . okay,’ his fingers flying over the keyboard all the while.
Liu said: ‘The Jiangnan is a multi-role four-thousand-tonne frigate, one hundred and thirty-four metres long, with a crew of one hundred and sixty-five, and a range of more than eight thousand nautical miles.’
The picture on the big screens showed the grey foredeck of a ship, its pointed prow scything through the water. It was the time of the Northeast Monsoon, and the ship rose and fell precipitously in the waves, so that the horizon went up and down on the screen, making Kai feel slightly seasick. Otherwise, visibility was good; a clear day with bright sunshine.
Liu said: ‘These pictures are being shot from the Jiangnan.’
An aide returned his phone to him.
Liu said: ‘You can just about see the Vietnamese ship on the horizon, but it’s five or six kilometres away.’
Kai peered at the big screen and thought he could see a grey smudge on the grey sea, but it might have been his imagination.
Liu spoke into the phone. ‘Yes, show us the satellite picture.’
Some of the screens showed a distant aerial shot. The person operating the screens zoomed in. Two vessels were just discernible. ‘The Vietnamese ship is the one at the bottom of the screen,’ said Liu.
Kai looked back at the video feed from the Jiangnan. It was closer to its target now, and Kai could see the Vietnamese vessel better. It had a drilling tower amidships. He said: ‘Does the Vu Trong Phung have any armament?’
‘None visible,’ said Liu.
Kai realized they were contemplating sinking a defenceless ship, and he felt a shiver of guilt. How many people would drown in that cold sea? It had been his idea, but he had only wanted to prevent something worse.
Liu said: ‘The Jiangnan is armed with anti-ship cruise missiles, guided by active radar, each with a high-explosive fragmentation warhead.’ He turned to the president. ‘Should I order the crew to prepare to fire?’
Chen looked around the room. Several men nodded.
Kong Zhao said: ‘Isn’t this a bit hasty?’
Chen answered him: ‘It’s now more than twenty-four hours since the drone killed our people. Why should we wait?’
Kong shrugged.
‘I think we’re all agreed,’ Chen said in a sombre voice.
No one dissented.
Chen said to Liu: ‘Prepare to fire.’
Liu spoke into his phone. ‘Prepare to fire.’
The room fell silent.
After a pause, Liu said: ‘Ready to fire, Mr President.’
Chen said: ‘Fire.’
Liu said into the phone: ‘Fire.’
Everyone watched the screens.
The missile flew over the prow of the Jiangnan. It was six metres long and it trailed a spurt of thick white smoke. It shot away from the Jiangnan at astonishing speed.
Liu said: ‘We’re getting video from the missile’s onboard camera.’ A moment later a new image appeared. The missile’s speed over the waves was blinding. The Vietnamese ship grew larger every second.
Kai looked back to the view from the Jiangnan again. A second later the missile hit the Vu Trong Phung.
The screens whited out, but only momentarily. When the picture came back, Kai saw a huge blaze of white, yellow and red fire bursting from the middle of the ship. The flames were chased by black and grey smoke and showers of debris. The noise arrived moments later, picked up by the camera’s microphone, a bang then a roar of burning. The flames died down as the smoke bloomed. It rose high in the air, and so did fragments of the hull and the superstructure, heavy lumps of steel flying like leaves from a tree in a gale.
Much of the ship was still visible above water. The middle was smashed and the drilling tower was slowly sinking, but the prow and stern seemed intact, and Kai thought some of those aboard might have survived – so far. Was there time for them to find life jackets or launch lifeboats before the ship sank?
President Chen said: ‘Order the Jiangnan to rescue survivors.’
Liu said: ‘Prepare to lower rescue boats.’
Moments later the Chinese ship picked up speed and began to race through the waves. Liu said: ‘Its top speed is twenty-seven knots. It will get there in about five minutes.’
The Vu Trong Phung remained miraculously afloat. It was sinking, but slowly. Kai asked himself what he would have done if he had been aboard and survived the blast. He thought the best course would have been to put on a life jacket and then abandon ship, either in a lifeboat or simply by jumping into the sea. The ship would go down sooner or later, and anyone still on board would go down with it.