by Andrew Watts
Like someone had planned it that way. They had sailed into a trap.
“Recall our fighters,” Admiral Song said. “We must continue to retreat.”
“Through the minefields?”
“What choice do we have?”
The flight of six F-22s flew at super cruise. Supersonic airspeed without lighting off their fuel-guzzling afterburner. The AWACS command-and-control aircraft had already fed in the targeting information.
Twenty-two Chinese carrier-launched J-15 attack aircraft were flying towards Hawaii, and the F-22s engaged them before they were recalled.
The fight was short-lived.
A flight of F-18G Growlers jammed the Chinese aircraft as they approached. The Chinese threat warning was nonexistent. The F-22s each fired four AIM-120 missiles. The missiles streaked towards their targets at Mach 4.
All but one of the Chinese fighters was hit, the fifty-pound blast fragmentation warheads detonating only a few meters away from their targets. The lone remaining Chinese fighter’s pilot realized he was in peril. He jettisoned his air-to-ground weapons and attempted to engage his yet-unseen attackers. He could just barely make out the silhouette of one of the American fighters when his aircraft was destroyed by gunfire from one of the F-22s. He hadn’t known it was there.
Victoria had flown her helicopter back from the ship on every one of her deployments. After six to nine months at sea, it was always a joy to see American land on the horizon and know that you were going to return to it.
But she had never been so happy to see land as she was now. Johnston Atoll lay ahead of them. The only problem was that she wasn’t one hundred percent sure they were going to make it.
“Fuel low light’s steady now, Boss,” Plug said with worry in his voice.
“I know…”
The island wasn’t much more than a flat rectangular patch of white sand that surrounded a long blacktop runway. There were a few charred buildings and hunks of twisted metal—the remains of the American air defense team that had been positioned on the island. Smoldering ash and several destroyed aircraft. The Chinese must have hit them recently. Victoria wondered if they had been sacrificed by the American war planners as part of the ruse.
The second helicopter in the formation called over the radio, “Dash Two is on fumes. Not sure we’ll get there, but we can see the beach.”
Victoria replied, “Just another minute. Single up engines if you have to.”
“We did.”
Plug looked out the window and depressed his transmit switch. He said, “Try going like this.” He began bobbing his body forward in rapid movements, pretending that it would make the helicopter move faster.
The pilot from Dash Two gave him the bird. “Some guys have no sense of humor.”
“Lead, Dash Two, we might need to ditch.”
“Roger,” was all Victoria said. It was their call. She was going for land.
Just a little closer. They were so close. The aquamarine ocean reflected bright sunlight below. The water was getting shallower. Dark patches of seaweed and coral reef. She felt a burning angst in her chest, an urge to get this damned aircraft on deck before it ran out of fuel. She winced in pain as she made a control input that caused her shoulder muscle to twitch. Plug still hadn’t realized she’d been hit—the blood was all down her right arm, out of his view—and she hadn’t bothered to say anything. A part of her knew that it was wrong to keep this information from him, but another part of her said, Suck it up, Victoria. We’re almost home.
A fireball of orange-yellow caught her eye in the distance. It was thousands of feet up in the sky. An air battle. Now several more fireballs were appearing near the first. Black smoke trailed pieces of aircraft as they fell to the earth. She didn’t know whose they were. She didn’t care. All she cared about was this island straight in front of her.
“Almost there, Boss. You good or you want me to take it?”
Plug had a suspicious tone in his voice now. The smart-ass tone was gone. He was leaning forward, trying to peer at her shoulder.
He said, “My controls.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, Boss. My controls. You’re hurt.”
He grabbed his cyclic and collective, and she could feel his inputs transferred to her own. She let go. “You’ve got it.” Her voice was tired and so was the rest of her.
“Fifty feet.” Plug switched his radio and made a call to the other helicopters. “I’m lining us up for the taxiway. Going for a running landing to keep some speed on in case we flame out.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
Victoria watched as the paved taxiway grew larger and larger in the glass chin bubble window at her feet.
“Parking brake.”
“Off.”
They touched down and slowed down, palm trees and unkept island brush on either side of the runway. Within a few minutes, all three helicopters had taxied to a flight line and shut down. Victoria got out of the aircraft and looked around. She was dizzy, and her muscles were cramped.
“Holy shit, Boss! You’re bleeding bad! Fetternut, you got a first aid kit?”
The rescue swimmer sat her down on the cabin floor of their parked aircraft. She had removed her helmet and taken her arm out of her flight suit—gingerly. A large gash was in her shoulder. Dark red blood and pus emanated from the center.
AWR1 Fetternut said, “I’m gonna fix you up, Boss. You just relax.”
She nodded, looking off into the distance. Her hair was a wet mess of tangles and oil. Her ears were ringing, as they always did after a long mission. She removed her leather flight gloves and wiped her eyes with her left hand. Her right was still as her aircrewman cleaned and bandaged her wounded shoulder.
The SEALs and aircrews were in a circle in the center of the three shut-down helicopters. Plug was dragging something over there. She wasn’t sure what it was, but it looked heavy. A few of them laughed when they saw it. Then she realized what he’d done. Plug had stored a Yeti cooler on her bird. He removed several bottles of liquor, plastic cups, and a few bottles of soda.
The SEAL team commander approached her. “What’s your boy doing?”
She rolled her eyes, feeling like a mother who could never take her eyes off the problem child. “I don’t know.”
They motioned Plug to come over.
“You brought alcohol on the mission? I mean…how does something like that even enter your mind?”
He said, “What? I…I just figured if we lived, we’d want to celebrate.”
Victoria said, “What if we need to fly again?”
“Boss, look at this place. We’re done flying. The only thing that’s gonna happen now is we either get rescued or starve here.”
“They could take us back to Hawaii and ask us to fly again.”
Plug smirked. “Well, not right away. That would violate my precious crew rest.” He pointed at the beach, which was only fifty yards away. “Or if the Chinese show up…wouldn’t it be better to be a little buzzed?”
The SEAL commander said, “Kid’s got a point.” He looked out over the waves. The island was deathly quiet, save for the crash of waves and the distant roar of fighter jets. “I tell you what. Get everyone a drink and round them up over here.”
Victoria shot the SEAL commander a questioning look. He shrugged.
AWR1 finished patching up Victoria’s shoulder. “There you go, Boss. That’s the best I can do. You should see a doctor when we get back. I think they’ll need to pick some more pieces out of there, unfortunately.”
“Thanks.”
The DEVGRU SEALs and helicopter crews gathered around. Everyone raised their plastic cups as he said, “In memory of the warriors who perished beside us today.”
Cups were raised in front of tired faces. Plug and a few others were in a celebratory mood, but most were somber. Some refrained from partaking in the toast, but most took sips of Plug’s whiskey in respectful silence.
Victoria felt the war
mth of the liquor hit her belly and was instantly light-headed. Her stomach was empty, which didn’t help.
She announced to the group, “Stay close. We should expect a SAR attempt within the next few hours.”
Nods and smiles. Somber eyes. A group mourning the loss of their brothers but elated to be alive, all at once.
Victoria said, “Screw it.” She walked over to the cooler and filled her cup, then headed over to the beach with a few of the other aviators. They drank and relived the mission, watching the waves and distant air battle. Wondering what would come next in the day. And in the world.
39
Jinshan stood on a wooden deck overlooking the mountains. His security chief had strenuously objected to the outdoor excursion, but Jinshan had overruled him. It was only a thirty-minute walk, and unplanned. He needed to clear his mind.
He took deep breaths, looking out over the distant rolling green hills, remnants of cloud filling the valley. There was nothing out here for hundreds of miles but this network of military bunkers. It had taken thousands of men years to make this structure. It had been sold as a doomsday bunker, but Jinshan had earmarked the project for a more planned scenario.
Running this war.
He had made sure that the builders had installed the best communications and computing equipment. Redundant systems. Adequate quarters not for just surviving, but for living and working over a prolonged period. Still, one needed to see daylight every once in a while.
He sighed. Was this all for naught?
“You wanted to see me, Chairman.”
Jinshan didn’t bother to turn. General Chen’s voice was distinct. At once arrogant and ignorant. Not a good combination. Jinshan didn’t often make mistakes in choosing personnel, but he hadn’t thought of General Chen’s position as one that needed anything more than a figurehead. A warm body to serve as his puppet. One that he could control.
But Jinshan hadn’t counted on his cancer and treatments lowering his strength so much. His weakness had left him out of commission just long enough for this oaf to stumble into making a real decision. And that decision had cost them. If the carriers of their Northern Fleet had remained in play, they might have been able to overcome the American air attack on the Southern Fleet. But now…
General Chen said, “The Liaoning has made it through the minefield with minimal damage.”
“And the ships that were escorting her?”
“A quarter of them have made it through.”
A quarter. Seventy-five percent losses. Unthinkable only a few days ago.
“The fleet is heading to Dinghai for replenishment and repairs.”
Now Jinshan turned. “You say this as if it is good news.”
“It is better than the alternative.” He looked as if he regretted saying it as soon as it came out.
“What alternative?”
The old general was wide-eyed, but he continued. “It is better than if the carrier had been sunk.” He still actually thought himself faultless, Jinshan realized.
Jinshan’s face contorted in disgust. “If you had not ordered our other carrier fleet to attack Hawaii early, this battle could have turned out differently.”
Even General Chen knew to be quiet now. The look in Jinshan’s eyes was the last vision of many men.
Jinshan waved him away. “Get out of my sight.”
Jinshan thought he heard a whimper as the general walked away. He almost had relieved Chen on the spot, but he would need to find a replacement first. Someone trustworthy and competent. A truly rare combination.
“Mr. Chairman, it has been thirty minutes, sir. We should go.” His security detail waited on the footpath to escort him back into his subterranean hell.
“Very well.” As he hobbled along the rocky path, he thought of Lena Chou.
Jinshan hated losing the battle, but a battle was not a war. He still had cards to play. His mind was already thinking up ways to overcome the loss.
But the thought of losing her. That hurt just as much. And to think that her ignorant father had had a part in it. She was Jinshan’s special creation. His prima ballerina. It was such a shame to lose her.
Lena sat in a small rectangular room, resting her elbows on a bare white table. Concrete floors. One long mirror taking up a full wall. She knew what was on the other side of that mirror. She used to sit in one of those seats.
God help her, Lena felt awful. Maybe she had caught something. Some kind of stomach bug. Or maybe it was this same feeling of anxiousness that she had been dealing with for the past few weeks. Whatever it was, she wanted to puke.
The door opened and in came a middle-aged white woman. Lena recognized her. She knew her by reputation, though not personally. Susan Collinsworth was a career operations officer within the Agency. She was hard-nosed and detailed.
And the look on her face told Lena that Collinsworth had information.
“What is it?” Lena asked. Her hands were cuffed, so she blew away the errant strand of long black hair that flowed down her face.
Susan’s expression changed slightly as the move exposed more of Lena’s facial burn scars.
Susan said, “The Chinese think you’re dead.”
Lena stared unblinking. “So?”
Susan placed a manila folder on the table. She tapped it. “There’s something in here you’ll want to know about.”
“So then tell me.”
“It may come as a shock.”
“Nothing shocks me anymore.”
Susan said, “We can help you.”
Lena let out a short laugh. “Unlikely.”
Susan turned the folder around and opened it to reveal two black pictures. Lena stared at the images, her mind trying to fit them into place. At first, she thought they were satellite images or some type of acoustic signature, but that wasn’t it. What the hell was she looking at? They almost looked like…
Lena’s face went pale. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
Susan said, “That’s to be expected, in your condition.”
This couldn’t be possible. She shook her head, staring at the images, then looking up at Susan’s face. The woman was calm. Lena knew that she was telling the truth. Because…because Lena herself had known it, deep inside.
“How…” Her voice faltered. She took a deep breath, then said, “Is it healthy?”
“Our doctor says that it is a healthy boy. So you really didn’t know?”
She shook her head, anger and shame rising up within her.
Lena was looking at the sonogram, breathing heavier. Then she stopped breathing as the thought occurred to her. She looked up at Susan. Does she know who the father is?
Susan said, “This changes things for you, Lena.”
Lena stared back across the table, a new set of emotions forming. A desire to protect this being inside her womb. And a most unfamiliar sensation: fear.
Susan said, “Now let’s talk about ways that we can work together.”
40
San Diego, California
Two weeks later
Chase sipped through the froth of his IPA and then guzzled down big gulps of cold beer.
Victoria watched him with one eyebrow arched. “Easy there, tiger.”
They sat in an open-air beer garden. Green trees and curated lawns, flagstone flooring, white-cloth table umbrellas and finished wooden lawn chairs. The place was full. Probably one of the first weekends that business was coming back, now that electricity and utilities had been restored.
It had been two weeks since the Battle of Johnston Atoll, as it was now known. The Chinese attack had been repelled, and the United States was on the mend. The patrons of the brewery looked happy. You could almost forget there was a war going on. But everyone was talking about some aspect of it.
David arrived at the table holding two more full glasses and placing one in front of his sister.
“What’s this place called again?” David asked. “It’s pretty great.”
“Stone Br
ewery. It’s good stuff,” Chase said.
Victoria raised her glass. “To Dad.”
The other two followed suit. “To Dad,” they said in unison and clinked glasses.
They ordered plates of hot appetizers and burgers. They spent most of the evening recounting tales of the past few weeks and remembering their father. It felt good to be together, even if it was only temporary.
“Where will you go now?” Victoria asked.
David said, “We’re both headed back to Florida tomorrow morning. I’ll be staying there, working on the same team I’ve been with.”
She punched his arm. “Pretty vague.”
David smiled. “You know the saying. Loose lips…”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Chase said, “What about you?”
Victoria shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I report to the Wing tomorrow.” The Wing was the unit that commanded multiple squadrons of aircraft based in a given region. “I guess they’ll give me my next set of orders when I check in.”
David stared out into the distance. After a moment of silence, he turned back to his siblings. “Whatever happens, let’s enjoy the time we have together.”
<<<<>>>>
Find out more about the technology and ideas behind Overwhelming Force when you subscribe to the Andrew Watts Reader List at andrewwattsauthor.com/WP5readers/
About the Author
Andrew Watts graduated from the US Naval Academy in 2003 and served as a naval officer and helicopter pilot until 2013. During that time, he flew counter-narcotic missions in the Eastern Pacific and counter-piracy missions off the Horn of Africa. He was a flight instructor in Pensacola, FL, and helped to run ship and flight operations while embarked on a nuclear aircraft carrier deployed in the Middle East.