"You don't sound very happy about it."
"I am not," Smith said bitterly. "While we want to avoid the repercussions of U.S. commercial vessels attacking Louisbourg, we cannot allow the Canadians to attack U.S. ships."
"What can we do about this?"
"Remo, I am about to order our Coast Guard to counterattack. In the meantime the Cayuga will move to support the U.S. forces."
"Forces? We're not at war."
"We are now," said Harold Smith. "And U.S. prestige is on the line."
"It's your call," said Remo, "but I don't want to be the one to break this to Sandy."
"Break what to me? And for the last time, it's 'Lieutenant,"' Sandy's raw voice called out.
"I will handle this," said Smith. "Remain available for my calls."
Smith hung up. His long thin fingers spun the rotary dial of the blue contact phone, and after only two transfers, he had the commanders of the nearest U.S. Coast Guard station to Halifax in a conference call.
Once Smith had filled them in, they were only too pleased to render assistance. For one thing Harold Smith outranked them both.
Or as one put it, "Those goddamn Canucks have been throwing their weight around since that phony Turbot War. It's time to show them who rules the North Atlantic."
Chapter 27
Lieutenant Sandy Heckman had one eye trained on the north horizon where the relentless cannonading of small-arms fire was emanating and one ear tuned to Remo, whose last name she had completely forgotten.
"Our boss says we go to the ships' rescue," Remo was saying.
"Gladly. But I don't work for the National Marine Fisheries Service."
"Neither do we. We're really Naval Intelligence."
"He is naval. I am the intelligent one," Chiun said.
Sandy dragged her glasses down off her eyes and turned as her face assumed an assortment of expressions ranging from humor to stunned astonishment. She settled on an incredulous twist of her mouth.
"You don't expect me to believe that bilge, do you?"
"It's true. We've been investigating Canadian-"
"Subterfuge," said Chiun.
"The real reason the fish are missing," added Remo.
"Everyone knows why the area's fished out. It's not red tide, or algae blooms or the greenhouse effect or any of that fancy nonsense. It's fishermen. They scooped up all the prey fish. Now the predator fish that lived off them are dying off. All that's left are the scup and cusk and turbot."
"There's more to it than that," said Remo. "But it's-"
"I know. Classified." And presenting her back to them, she said, "Classify my sweet ass."
"Very well," squeaked Chiun. "It is fat."
Sandy whirled and gave Chiun a particularly bilious eye. "You can walk the plank for all I care."
And Sandy resumed her scanning of the horizon. "When I hear from my commander, we go into action. Not before."
"Wait for it," said Remo.
It wasn't long. Sparks came flying down from the bridge waving a yellow flimsy. "Orders," he huffed.
"Why are they written?" Sandy asked, snatching the flimsy.
Then she saw why. It was a sea-gram:
USGC Cayuga is hereby ordered into the seas off Halifax to succor U.S. fishing vessels under attack by Canadian Coast Guard cutters. Reinforcements steaming your way. Good luck and Godspeed.
Crumpling up the flimsy, Sandy Heckmen took in a deep, cold lungful of air and hollered, "Battle stations! Helmsman, hard about and full steam ahead. We're going into action!"
"Told you so," said Remo.
"Fine. Meanwhile you two landlubbers are confined to quarters. It's going to get too hot for you to be on deck."
"Make us," invited Chiun.
Under Sandy's direction a pair of seamen attempted just that. They were helped into the drink by the Master of Sinanju, and the Cayuga had to double back to pick them up. Another attempt led to a seaman climbing the radar mast to avoid the old Korean's needlelike fingernails. After that the crew of the Cayuga pointedly pretended that Remo and Chiun were simply not there. It made for smoother sailing that way.
At full speed, the Cayuga came around the edge of the battle, which was in full swing, and found a Canadian cutter whose port flank was exposed and undefended.
Sandy got on the UHF radio. "Attention Canadian Coast Cuard cutters Angus Reid and Stan and Garnett Rogers. This is the USCG Cayuga. Repeat, this is the United States Coast Guard cutter Cayuga ordering you to break off your attack or be fired upon."
The Canadian Coast Guard cutter captain was exceedingly polite when he came on the air. "This is Captain Fothergill of the Stan Rogers. Bugger off, please."
"That sinks it," Sandy roared. "Open fire!"
Seamen were spread out along the rails bearing M-16 rifles. They lined up on the cutter and let loose. The Canadians returned fire.
The rattle and crack of automatic weapons grew more strident. Bullet holes began dotting the Cayuga's complicated superstructure. The vicious ripsqueak of bullets chewing trim and combing became a near-constant sound.
Standing calmly in the heaving bow, Remo and Chiun watched.
Bullets whizzed around them. From time to time they bobbed their heads or ducked or simply stepped aside as casually as kids dodging spitballs. To them the flying lead was not much more than that.
"You two heroes lend a hand," Sandy howled at them over the din.
Remo shook his head. "We don't do guns."