A myriad of uneasy thoughts began to fade from Hung-chang's mind. There was no strong wind to push the ship off course. Ming Lin guided the ship through the intricate river bends with practiced mastery. And, most important of all, surprise was on his side. Before the Americans realized what was happening, it would be too late. Hung-chang would have the ship in the precise spot to divert the water through the breach blasted in the levee before he and his crew scuttled the ship and were to be in the air and on their way back to the safety of Sungari and the Sung Lien Star which was prepared to cast off immediately and head out to sea. The closer the United States steamed to trie scuttling point, the more distant such worries became.
He felt an unexpected shudder through the deck and tensed, looking quickly at Ming Lin, searching for a sign of an error, a tiny mistake in judgment. All he could detect was a few beads of sweat on the helm master's forehead and a tight set to the lips. Then the decks became placid again, except for the beat of the engines, as they again went to full speed up a straight reach of the river.
Hung-chang stood with both legs braced apart. He had never felt such incredible strength from a ship before: 240,000 horsepower, 60,000 each to drive her massive propellers, which in turn hurled her up the river at the incredible speed of fifty miles an hour, speed that Hung-chang could not imagine from a ship under his command. He studied his image in the front storm windows of the bridge and saw a face calm and poised with no stress lines. He smiled as the ship passed a large waterfront home with a tall pole flying the stars and bars of the Confederate flag. Soon, very soon, the flag would no longer be flapping in the wind over the mighty Mississippi, but over a muddy creek.
The bridge was strangely quiet. There was no need for Hung-chang to call out orders for course and speed changes. Ming Lin was in complete command of the ship's passage, his hands locked on the wheel, his eyes staring into a large monitor that displayed the vessel and its relation to the river in a three-dimensional image that was transmitted by infrared cameras mounted on the bow and funnels. Through the medium of digital science, a display across the bottom of the monitor also gave him recommended course deviations and velocity instructions, providing him with far better mastery over the ship's progress than if he had piloted by eye during daylight.
"We have a towboat pushing ten grain barges coming up ahead," announced Ming Lin.
Hung-chang picked up the ship's radiophone. "Captain of the tow-boat approaching St. James Landing. We are overtaking you. We are one-half mile behind and will overtake you on the Cantrelle Reach, passing on your starboard. We have a hundred-foot beam and suggest you give us a wide berth."
There was no response from the unknown towboat captain, but when the United States turned into Cantrelle Reach, Hung-chang could see through his night-vision glasses that the towboat was slowly turning to port, too slowly. The towboat captain had not followed the news from New Orleans and could never imagine that a giant behemoth the size of the United States was bearing down on him at unbelievable speed.
"He's not going to make it in time," Ming Lin certified calmly.
"Can we slow?" asked Hung-chang.
"If we don't pass him on a straight reach, it will be impossible after we enter the next series of bends."
"Then it's now or never."
Ming Lin nodded. "For us to deviate from our computer-programmed passage might very well imperil the operation."
Hung-chang picked up the radiophone. "Captain, please veer away quickly or we may run you down."
The towboat captain's voice came back angrily. "You don't own the river, Charlie Brown. Who the hell do you think you're threatening?"
Hung-chang shook his head wearily. "I think you had better look over your stern."
The reply came like a choked gasp. "Jeezez! Where did you come from?"
Then the towboat and her barges quickly veered to port. Although the move came in time, the great wash from the superliner, her hull displacing over forty thousand tons of water with her passing, cascaded over the towboat and barges, sweeping them sideways and depositing them high and dry on the bank of the levee.
In another ten minutes the ship rounded Point Houmas, named for a tribe of Indians who once lived there, before rushing past the town of Donaldsonville and successfully clearing the Sunshine Bridge. As the lights of the bridge faded around the last bend in the river, Hung-chang allowed himself the luxury of a cup of tea.
"Only twelve more miles until we're there," said Ming Lin. His words were not a report but came as casually as a statement that the weather was mild. "Twenty minutes, twenty-five at most."
Hung-chang was just finishing his tea when a crewman who was standing watch on the starboard bridge wing leaned through the door of the wheelhouse. "Aircraft, Captain. Approaching from the north. Sounds like helicopters."
He had hoped for a radar installation, but Qin Shang, knowing the United States was on her final voyage saw no reason for the added expense. "Can you tell how many?"
"I count two coming straight down the river," replied the crewman, staring through night-vision glasses."
No need for panic, thought Hung-chang. They were either state law-enforcement craft that could do little but issue warnings for the ship to stop, or those chartered by the news media. He raised his night-vision glasses and peered upriver. Then the veins in his neck became taut as he recognized the helicopters as belonging to the military.
In the same moment a long row of floodlights blinked on, illuminating the river as brightly as daylight, and he saw a convoy of armored tanks rise from the opposite side of the east levee and train their guns on the river channel where the ship was about to pass. Hung-chang was surprised to see no rocket launchers. Not trained in military weapons systems, he did not recognize the National Guard's older M1A1 tanks with their 105-millimeter guns. But he knew well the damage they were capable of against the unarmored superliner.
The two helicopters, Sikorsky H-76 Eagles, split apart and flew past the side of the ship on a height even with the upper deck. One
slowed and hovered above the stern while the other circled, drew even with the wheelhouse and trained a bright spotlight on it.
A voice from a loudspeaker boomed above the thump of the rotor blades. "Bring your ship to a halt immediately!"
Hung-chang gave no orders to comply. The fates had suddenly turned against him. The Americans must have somehow been warned. They knew! Damn them! They knew that Qin Shang intended to destroy the levee and use the superliner as a diverting dam.
"Halt immediately!" the voice came again. "We are coming aboard to secure your ship!"
Hung-chang hesitated as he weighed his chances of running the gauntlet. He counted six tanks lined up on the levee ahead. Lacking missiles with powerful warheads, the enemy would find the great ship next to impossible to sink by tank gunfire alone. The big engines were well below the waterline and immune to destruction from the surface. He glanced at his watch. Bayou Goula and the Mystic Canal were only fifteen minutes away now. For a moment, he considered stopping the ship and surrendering to the American military. But he was committed. To quit now would mean a loss of face. He would do nothing to dishonor his family. He made the decision to keep going.