by Andrew Watts
The chaplain had just finished reading the gospel and was now giving his sermon. Admiral Manning tried to pay attention but found himself thinking of all the things he needed to do. His eyes wandered as he thought. He could see the sunlit blue ocean through one of the nearby portholes. The carrier was making way, and welcome breeze flowed over his face. Before he knew it, the gospel was over, and they were standing and praying and sitting and praying and shaking hands and then communion and then a few parting words from the priest.
“We pray for our brothers and sisters on Guam. That they continue to show bravery and grace in the face of…” The chaplain paused, and the admiral looked up. “Adversity. Amen.”
He had almost said defeat, Admiral Manning realized. Don’t use that language, Chaps. The chaplains were getting used to this new world of war. Church service attendance had quadrupled since combat operations had begun.
“Amen,” repeated a chorus of voices.
Soon the men and women in attendance were rising from their chairs. Their eclectic mix of uniforms denoted their job and community. The aviators wore flight suits. Those in blue coveralls were ship’s company. The Shooters wore yellow turtleneck shirts, the EOD detachment utilities. Everyone was rushing off after the service, heading off to breakfast or work.
On Sunday mornings, the ship tried to adhere to quiet hours. The galley cooks spruced up the cafeteria-style meals. The routine of cleaning and work was a little bit more relaxed, if only for a short while. Drumbeat meetings like the admiral’s daily brief were on a modified schedule.
Admiral Manning would take advantage of that. He headed to one of the few places on the ship where he could find solace. Nine stories up, on the admiral’s bridge, he’d had an elliptical machine installed. He felt old as dirt when he’d given up running. But time, tide, and formation wait for no man. Bad knees forced him to use this silly machine that made him feel like a cross-country skier. Still, he worked up quite a sweat. Whatever did the trick, he supposed.
He had the admiral’s bridge to himself, except for two Marines that had been assigned as his personal bodyguards. He adjusted the settings on the elliptical machine and started his workout. From his perch in the far-right corner of the bridge, he could see the flight deck below, and a wide view of at least a dozen ships in his strike group. Flight ops had not yet begun. It was a bright, sunny, peaceful morning.
“Good morning, sir.”
Goddammit.
“Good morning, Commodore.”
The commodore was the sea combat commander for the Ford Strike Group. The admiral bobbed up and down with the elliptical machine, a bead of sweat running down his face. The commodore had one of his staffers standing next to him, a tired-looking lieutenant wearing a green flight suit.
“Something I can help you with, Commodore?”
“Sir, frankly, we need more SSC flights.”
“We have two pages of SSC flights on the air plan. What’s the problem, Commodore?”
The commodore turned to his lieutenant. The kid needed a shave and looked like he didn’t want to be there. “Sir, I’m the commodore’s air operations officer. I manage the surface surveillance flight schedule. You’re right, we do have a lot of helicopters flying. Right now, we have twenty-five ships in company. At any given time, there are five helicopters flying.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of helicopters in the air. What’s your point?”
“The helicopters in the strike group are needed close in to the ships to prevent against possible submarine attack, sir. We also need to use them for the constant logistics flights our ships need to move people and parts around the strike group. Both of these requirements affect the armament and fuel capacity of the helos, and the steal-away capacity to conduct surveillance missions.”
“Alright…so let’s fly more helicopters.”
“It’s not that simple, sir. We’re near our limit as is, due to the number of helicopters and pilots available. But the real issue is range. We’re worried about finding two Chinese fleets. The Southern Fleet with the Jiaolong-class and Liaoning aircraft carrier, and the Northern Fleet with the two other Chinese carriers. If we use helicopters to locate them, it’ll be too late. As you know, our drones are susceptible to electronic attack, and I worry that we don’t have good enough control over those resources anyway. We need organic, long-range surveillance aircraft, sir. That will alleviate the stress on the helicopters in the strike group. It will allow them to handle the closer-in missions.”
“What are you asking for?”
“Sir, we need to ask for more maritime patrol aircraft and…” He hesitated. “Sir, we need our fighters to start flying medium- and long-range surveillance flights around the carrier. We need to extend our surveillance area greatly. This will give us enough lead time to detect the enemy fleets and react appropriately.”
The admiral read the name on his chest patch.
“Plug? Is that your call sign?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What ship were you on?”
“The Farragut, sir.”
The admiral’s wheels were turning. Now he remembered what was significant about this kid. He had been one of Victoria’s pilots.
Plug said, “I served under your daughter, Lieutenant Commander Manning, there. Best boss I’ve ever had, sir.”
Admiral Manning arched an eyebrow and glanced at the commodore.
Plug’s eyes widened in horror. “Commodore…sir, I mean besides you, of course.”
The commodore just shook his head. Plug often got that reaction from senior officers.
The admiral turned forward and continued exercising. He allowed himself a moment of pride in his daughter, and then a moment of worry. Then he put her out of his mind and turned back to the two officers who were interrupting his peaceful Sunday morning workout.
“Plug?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Are you familiar with the term drive-by?”
“Sir?”
“The commodore might not be your favorite boss, but I advise you to learn from his technique. The commodore and his minion—you—are executing what’s known as a drive-by. The term has two meanings. One is used to describe criminal gangs shooting up a house as they drive by in a car. The other is used when a subordinate finds his superior at an unplanned and opportunistic moment with the intent of pitching an idea.”
Plug’s face reddened. The commodore looked amused.
Admiral Manning continued, “Both situations are ambushes. Tactics used to defeat an unprepared opponent.” The admiral looked at the commodore. “Or in this case, an opponent that isn’t present.” The commodore’s smile vanished.
The admiral stopped midcycle and got off the exercise machine. He walked to the front of the bridge and picked up a phone.
“CAG. I apologize for the climb, but we’re having a conversation that you should be a part of. Mind joining us on my bridge? Yes, now. Thanks.” He hung up the phone.
A few moments later, a Navy captain in a flight suit appeared through the door, huffing and puffing from climbing the nine ladderways to this deck.
Admiral Manning gave Plug the floor, and the four men spoke about the surveillance requirements. In the end, the CAG made concessions to provide more of his fighters for dedicated surveillance flights.
“Thank you, CAG. I think this will be a big help. Sooner or later, one of those Chinese fleets is going to reach us. When it happens, we want to find them before they find us.”
An hour later, the admiral had finished working out and showering. He was brought a breakfast of eggs, corned beef hash, and toast, with a pot of coffee dark as night. The admiral read through his unclassified emails. One popped up that especially caught his interest. A drone must have flown over the Farragut, allowing the data transfer.
He read his daughter’s email and grew sad. She was rarely emotional, but it sounded as if the war was taking its toll on her. There was nothing specific in the email. Like everyone in the military, spe
cifics were left out. But Admiral Manning could read between the lines. She had seen combat and suffered loss. She was a changed person. He closed his eyes, praying for her safe passage.
He wrote her back, not knowing if or when she would get the message, but feeling more like a father than he had in a long time.
27
Chase and the prisoners were ferried to Wright Patterson Air Force Base near Dayton via Chinook helicopter and then flown to Eglin AFB in the back of an Air Force C-130. At Eglin, the prisoners were taken into specially made holding cells in a large hangar.
Chase was greeted by his brother just outside of the facility. They embraced and patted each other hard on the back. David looked tired.
“Lindsay here with you?”
“Yeah, we’re in base housing, if you can believe it.”
Chase smiled. “They gonna make you put the uniform back on? They gave me one. No rank insignia, though.”
“Sorry to hear that. I’m sure you still make everyone salute, though. I know how important that was to you.”
“Damn right I do.” Both men knew the opposite was true.
David chuckled. It was good to laugh, considering that the world was falling apart around them.
“You heard from Dad or Victoria?” Chase asked.
“I’ve been monitoring our daily intel reports for their ships or names. Dad should be fine.” David looked around the parking lot of the converted hangar. “Come on inside. We’ll talk there.”
They walked through a double layer of security checks. Chase was struck by how big the hangar was on the inside. Several football fields easy, with a sheet-metal ceiling over one hundred feet high. Rows and rows of what looked like shipping containers were lined up as far as the eye could see.
“Those are the holding cells?”
David said, “Yeah. One for each prisoner. Military interrogators are working round the clock on them.” He waved. “Come on, this way.”
Chase and David continued walking along the central corridor between the shipping containers.
Armed security personnel were escorting prisoners in and out of several of the holding cells. The prisoners wore black cloths over their heads as blindfolds and had their wrists handcuffed behind their backs. The scene was tense, but quiet.
David led his brother into an empty room on the far end of the hangar. Susan and several of the SILVERSMITH personnel were observing one of the interrogations on a nearby monitor. They wore over-the-ear headsets through which English-language translations were being piped in. Susan greeted Chase with a nod, then resumed listening to the interrogation.
David and Chase sat in the back of the room. David whispered, “Like I was saying before, I read the intel reports daily and pay close attention to the Ford and the Farragut. Dad’s strike group has been placed near Midway Island and hasn’t come into contact with Chinese ships since the day the war began.”
“And Victoria?” Chase asked.
David’s face grew dark. “Her ship took hits from Chinese antiship missiles near Guam. They had multiple killed and wounded, although I didn’t see her name on the list.”
Chase turned away, not saying anything.
David said, “I’ve emailed her. Just innocuous stuff, obviously. Just asking how her day was. But I haven’t heard anything back. Which could mean anything at this point. The Navy’s data transfer has shifted from satellite to a network of drones that they’ve got positioned over the Pacific as relays and surveillance. But the Chinese cyberoperations are sophisticated enough that we can’t be sure the information we’re getting hasn’t been tampered with. And the drones that were in the Philippine Sea and around the Mariana Islands have been shot down. So…”
Chase faced his brother. “Where is her ship headed?”
“They’re moving them to join the Ford Strike Group.”
“Are there other carriers over there?”
“One is supposed to leave San Diego in a few days. Another is having maintenance problems and still isn’t underway. The others are—well, not in this part of the world.”
“Yet.”
David shrugged. “That’s above my pay grade.”
The interrogation of the Chinese prisoner ended, and Chase could see on the TV monitor that he was being led out of the room. Susan and the others removed their headsets and turned to Chase.
“Chase, how has the progress been?”
Chase said, “Solid results. Good improvements. The JSOC teams have been very effective. At first, it was rough. We’d get reports from local law enforcement or surveillance drones about a Chinese troop movement or attack. Data on Chinese strength and capabilities was unreliable. The Chinese were moving quick, attacking utilities or infrastructure and then leaving before we could respond. But as we implemented tactics learned from the sandbox, things got progressively better. We set up forward operating bases with small teams, each with their own organic air support detachments. This allowed us to react faster. Every night—sometimes multiple times per night—we would conduct raids on suspected Chinese locations. Most of the ops were kill-and-capture. JSOC has its own interrogators. We would get information as soon as the raids ended and used that to uncover new targets. Every night the same thing. Hunt. Kill and capture, interrogate, learn new information, orient, get new targets, and do it again.”
David could hear the intensity in his brother’s voice. Chase’s eyes darted around as he spoke, remembering what he’d done, thinking as he spoke.
“The big breakthrough came the night before last. Two companies of Chinese infantry. Most of them surrendered. We think the total strength in the US is now less than one hundred personnel.”
“Excellent work. Those prisoners that you captured are providing us with a treasure trove of information.”
Susan fidgeted with her pen as she studied Chase’s face. She seemed to be deciding something. “How much has your brother told you about this place?”
Chase looked at David, whose face was impassive.
“He just told me it was the prison…where you’re holding some of the Chinese soldiers that we captured.”
Susan turned back to the TV screen as another prisoner entered the interrogation room. His mask was removed, and Chase saw that he was just a kid. Probably no more than eighteen or nineteen years old. The overhead speaker broadcast the conversation from the room. It began in Chinese.
Then the prisoner said, “We may speak in English, if you want. I speak English good.”
The interrogator looked up at the camera.
Susan reached for a microphone device on the shelf and tapped the transmit button. “That’s fine. English, please.”
She turned to Chase and said, “We’ll continue after this is over.”
Chase recognized the kid. He was one of the prisoners they had taken from the highway raid a week earlier.
The interrogator was a young woman. A white girl. Dark hair. Chase found himself wondering whether she’d had to learn Chinese in Defense Language School. It was probably pretty tough to interrogate someone in Chinese if you had just learned the language a few years ago. She was probably pretty happy to be conducting the interview in English. “Lin Yu, we appreciate how much help you have been thus far. Your show of good faith will greatly improve your situation when China and the United States make peace.”
“I only want peace. I want no more war,” the kid mumbled. He looked shell-shocked.
“Of course. Listen, I have some paperwork that my superiors need us to get through. Would you mind signing this statement here? It’s just some administrative stuff. Making it official that you’ll agree to help us however you can. After all, we want the same thing, right? Peace.”
The Chinese kid looked at his interrogator and gave a weak smile. “Sure. Yes. Okay.” He took the pen and signed the paper, which the interrogator quickly placed into an envelope and moved away.
She asked a series of questions about what he had been doing over the past few weeks. Then she said, �
��The last time we spoke, you mentioned that your platoon had come into contact with a—how did you put it?—an elite special team. These were Chinese special operations soldiers, is that correct?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“And your team was not special operations?”
“They were a different type.”
“What made this elite team different?”
“They have more training. Better training. They are the best of our region. Guangzhou. I believe this is where they were from. I heard them speak, and the dialect and accents were from the south.”
The interrogator glanced at her notes. “That’s where you are from as well, is it not?”
“Yes.”
“So did this team have a name?”
“I know the Chinese name.” He said something in Chinese. “I think you call this South Sword.”
“Yes. South Blade or South Sword. Okay. So what was the South Sword Team doing?”
“They receive special instructions. They meet with my commander and use our radios. Then they get special instructions and leave quickly.”
“Do you know where they were headed?”
“I do not know.”
“What were their special instructions?”
Lin Yu shifted in his seat. His interrogator waited patiently.
Lin Yu said, “They were to meet with a Chinese woman. She enter United States soon. I hear this when they speak to my commander. I was not supposed to hear. I think this is important.”
“Do you know the name of the woman they were to meet with?”
“No.”
“But you are sure she is Chinese? And that she is entering the US soon?”
“Yes. She very important, I think. She have to send radio communication back to China. This is why they take radio communicator device from my commander.”
The interrogation went on for another fifteen minutes, and then the prisoner was led away.
Susan turned back to the others.