Korea Strait by David Poyer

into space. After a moment Leakham said, “Okay, I’m ready to share on tactics.”
    â€œShare?” Hwang repeated. “Not sure what you mean, Captain. I mean, Commodore. We use the standard tactics. Out of ATP 28.”
    â€œI mean some things we came up with out of JIMPAC.” The joint U.S.-Japanese exercises a few months before. “I was in Sasebo for the hot washup, and it really opened my eyes. Some new ideas the Japs are coming up with. Special shallow-water tactics—”
    â€œWe know the Eastern Sea,” Hwang said, and Dan saw that yes, despite the courteous tone he was annoyed. “We know what tactics work there. It’s just a matter of adjusting to environmental conditions, sea state and so on. And guessing the intent of the enemy, of course.”
    â€œIn this case, the Red side,” Shappell put in.
    â€œNo, you need to think outside that box,” Leakham said, reeling a little as he sat. Sweat ran down his face as he drained his beer. “You know Kasugata? Admiral Kasugata? The Japs are putting a lot of study into this. Getting really smart on it. He’s got a new way to use towed arrays in shallow water. A hunting matrix, he calls it. Here’s how they work.”
    He searched around for paper. But Jung said coldly, “I don’t really care what Kasugata thinks. We know our seas better than any of the Japanese.”
    Dan remembered how much the Koreans hated the Japanese, who’d behaved with appalling brutality during the occupation. Obviously Leakham either didn’t know or didn’t care. Shappell was shifting on his cushion. He tried to break in, but Leakham interrupted. “There’s never a point where you say, you know it all, Commodore. You go by ATP 28, you’re back in the seventies as far as tactics go.”
    â€œWe know our seas,” Jung repeated stubbornly.
    Leakham beamed, patting the air like a used-car salesman tryingto close a stubborn customer. Sweat dripped from his chin. “Hey, that’s why
we’re
here, Commodore. We’ll work with you, no problem. Get you some help, get you up on the step here—”
    Jung said nothing; his eyes were slits. His chief of staff leaned forward and tapped a finger on lacquered wood. “That is not the point of this exercise, Commodore.
You’re
here to learn from
us
. Our expertise, in our home waters. Who caught the Sang-o yesterday, after all? We did.”
    â€œOh, like hell, man,” Leakham blustered, a man-to-man tone that might have worked in a stateside golf club. “Let’s not bullshit each other, okay? The USN’s always been number one at this game. And the Japanese, they’re a close second. That piece of junk broached and self-destructed. You guys had no idea she was there until she popped up. And
then
you let ’em scuttle.” He glanced at Dan. “Right, Lenson? You were there, yes-no? Didn’t I hear you went down to the wreck?”
    Jung was struggling to his feet, scowling. Dan caught Owens’s glance of alarm. Yet she was sitting still, saying absolutely nothing…. He realized why. She couldn’t step into this; being rescued by a woman would lose Jung even more face.
    He cleared his throat and said, “You’re wrong, Commodore.”
    Leakham froze. “Huh?”
    â€œâ€”and you’re right. Just as you, Commodore”—he turned to Jung—“are right, but also mistaken. We’re doing SATYRE 17 to learn from each other, and bring new ideas to the table. No one country has a monopoly on seamanship. Neither the heroic Korean Navy nor the equally brave U.S. Navy.”
    Hwang put a hand on his boss’s shoulder. Said something rapidly and low in his ear. Jung grunted, swayed, at last sank to his cushion again. But Dan caught Leakham’s glare. He hoped he hadn’t made himself an enemy.
    The silence was interrupted by a thin wail that began outside the