by Larry Bond
Tae had to say it. “They may very well be ready to attack before we will.”
“The area is all mountains, filled with troops that have had weeks to dig in,” Sohn replied. “I won’t send in a force that can’t win.”
“Then let the Chinese attack, and inflict some casualties,” Kwon suggested.
Sohn shook his head. “I think we must move quickly. If the holdouts have nuclear weapons, then the risk increases the longer we wait. The Chinese attack across the river may pressure the holdouts to launch.” He gestured toward Rhee. “You remember what the colonel reported about the holdouts’ sentiments—’they won’t go down quietly.’”
Tae was also against waiting. “And if the Chinese do get across the river into the mountains, it could be very hard to push them back out, if it came to that.”
Sohn agreed. “Once they’ve paid in blood for that land, they’ll want to keep it, or charge us a high price to give it back.”
“When the Chinese invaded Vietnam in 1979, then retreated to their own border, all they left behind was scorched earth,” Tae said darkly. “If they couldn’t steal it, they blew it up or burned it. My country has suffered enough without them adding more ruin and destruction.”
“It’s now our country, General Tae, whatever the politicians decide to call it,” injected Rhee firmly. “We will defend it together.”
General Sohn, after nodding to General Kwon, said, “And that’s why you’re here, Colonel. Our orders to General Kwon are twofold: slow down the Chinese advance, and at the same time find a way to break through the holdouts’ defenses. We have to destroy their nuclear weapons and any delivery systems before it’s too late.”
Kwon pointed to Rhee. “Of the two, you can guess which one has the highest priority. I want you to work with me here, designing missions for all the brigades, not just your Ghosts. You’ve done well in this fight, Colonel, and we need you to come through for us again.”
Rhee carefully aimed his response at all the generals. Smiling, he answered, “I’ll do my best.”
No pressure.
5 September 2015, 1600 local time
USS Gabrielle Giffords (LCS 10)
The Yellow Sea
“Captain, Yantai‘s getting set for another pass.” The OOD’s report sounded almost routine.
“Understood.” Commander Ralph Mitchell fought the urge to walk out on the bridge wing and look aft. The Independence class had been built with sloped, smooth sides to reduce their radar signature. They’d done away with the bridge wings, along with a lot of other things.
The old-style helmsman at the wheel and the sailor standing by the engine order telegraph had been eliminated. The bridge watch even got to sit down, which would have been heresy in his father’s navy. The officer of the deck and junior officer of the deck had their own display screens, and sat on either side of a bank of controls for the ship’s operation. To look aft, Mitchell could use the flat-screen display next to the chair, complete with joysticks and zoom controls.
The bridge on the Independence class was larger than those on most ships, and it seemed even more spacious with only two people at the control console, instead of the five or six or more on earlier ships. The normal watch section of two men—a commissioned officer of the deck, and a senior enlisted junior officer of the deck—could run the ship under most conditions. In a pinch, one man could do it. The “CO’s chair” was to the right of the control console, and came equipped with its own workstation. However, Mitchell often preferred the extra chair immediately behind the two watchstanders. Any similarity to science-fiction starships probably came from similar design goals. Probably.
Mitchell’s orders were clear. He was to trail the Chinese formation and monitor their operations. The Chinese clearly didn’t want him around, but just as clearly weren’t ready to fire on him, at least not yet.
“Yantai‘s speed is still increasing.” When you only had two people on the bridge driving the ship, division of labor was important. Mitchell had set up his teams so that the JOOD would concentrate on conning the ship, while the OOD kept his attention on the tactical situation. Monitoring the ship’s internal systems and sensors fell to the four watchstanders in Integrated Command Center 1, or ICC1, just behind the conning station.
Although an enlisted man, the JOOD was a first-class petty officer and technical specialist in one of the ship’s main systems—the gas turbines and waterjets, the weapons and sensors, and so on. He’d then received cross-training in the others. Besides, Mitchell could rely on Petty Officer Booth’s judgment. One of the good things about serving on Gabby was her small crew. You got to know everyone. He trusted Booth to mind the store, which allowed the OOD, Lieutenant Sontez, and Captain Mitchell to focus on the Chinese.
The formation they were trailing had left the navy base at Qingdao three days earlier. Chinese fleet activity had steadily increased since the crisis started on the fifteenth of August, but the sailing of this group had both Seoul and Washington deeply concerned.
It was centered on three amphibious ships, which between them could carry a regiment of troops, with armor and helicopter support. Three first-line guided missile destroyers and five frigates escorted them, while Chinese fighters from nearby bases along the coast flew top cover.
At first, some in Washington had thought the group might be heading for the Spratlys, raising the possibility of a naval confrontation in the South China Sea, but there were two fleets based well to the south that were more than capable of performing that mission, and still might. All doubts were removed when the Chinese task force hadn’t turned south, but loitered along the border of the Yellow Sea and Korea Bay.
They were likely a contingency force. If the ground troops hit a roadblock, the amphibious force would land their troops to break it up.
As the Chinese incursion into Korea had developed, this task force had steamed about almost at random, keeping clear of the surface traffic that filled the Yellow Sea, but making no attempt to conceal its presence. Every radar on the Chinese ships was energized, broadcasting electromagnetic radiation as it searched for contacts. Helicopters buzzed around the formation, inspecting nearby surface ships and searching for submarines.
Mitchell and Gabby had received orders to proceed westward within hours of a US Navy P-8 getting near enough to identify not only the warships, but the amphibs in the center of the formation. It was a twelve-hour run from the port of Busan, on the southeast coast of Korea, around the peninsula and north into the Yellow Sea, pushing her to nearly forty knots. She could go still faster, but would not have had any fuel when she arrived.
As fast as forty knots was, the Chinese formation could have crossed the water between the two coasts and landed its troops long before Gabby got there. Evidently, they didn’t want to, because they were still steaming in racetracks when Gabby showed up that morning.
Mitchell’s orders were simply to watch and report the movements of the Chinese formation. Loitering anywhere between forty to sixty miles off the coast, the Chinese could turn east, go to flank speed, and begin landing their troops in a few hours, anywhere from Nampo all the way up to the Chinese border. Although the eastern half of Korea was mountainous, the western coastal plain made it possible to put their troops ashore anywhere, especially in this age of helicopters and air-cushion landing craft. Mitchell was specifically charged to report immediately if the formation turned toward the Korean coast and increased speed to more than fifteen knots.
Gabby had been hurriedly fitted with an electronic intelligence collection van before she left port, and specialists were monitoring Chinese radar signals and their communications traffic down in ICC2. All comms were encoded, of course, but even the number of radio messages sent and the circuits used could be useful. In truth, they were studying how well the Chinese navy did its job. Mitchell and his crew recorded every aspect of the PLAN’s operations they could see, from launching and recovering helos to how well the Chinese ships kept position in their formation.
In the old days of the Cold War, the Soviets used to shadow American naval formations the same way. The “tattletales” were either trawlers converted to carry electronic eavesdropping equipment, or small, expendable warships. Russian doctrine was to follow the all-important NATO carrier groups, constantly reporting on their position and activities. If the transmissions ever stopped, it might be the first warning the Soviets had of a Western attack. Similarly, the first sign of a Soviet strike might be a shadowing destroyer suddenly opening fire with every weapon it had, hoping to cripple the carrier in a surprise attack.
Mitchell’s only orders were to follow and report, but one of the five Type 054A frigates was doing its best to chase him off. The frigate kept trying to “shoulder” Gabby aside. By rights, this should have been easy. Although only a little longer than Gabby, the Chinese ship had twice the mass.
Naval ships tried very hard to stay clear of each other. Even a minor ding in the hull could mean weeks or months of repairs in port, not to mention the paperwork. To shoulder another vessel, one ship would pull alongside, matching course and speed, and then slowly inch closer and closer to the other. Eventually, the ship being shouldered would have to change course or collide. It was “chicken of the sea,” although nobody ever called it that.
And there was a trick: by keeping your bow ahead of the vessel you were trying to drive off, if the two ships actually collided, the fact that the other guy’s bow struck your ship meant it was his fault—much more paperwork for him, and a propaganda victory for you. Ships attempting to shoulder another vessel always had a camera recording the action.
Mitchell didn’t cooperate, though. The formation, with nowhere particular to go, was loafing along at fifteen knots, with the US ship matching course and speed. The Chinese frigate could do twenty-seven, according to the intelligence pubs. But each time Yantai had come alongside, Mitchell had let the frigate get even with his bow and then steadily bent on more speed.
The first time, Yantai had given up after they’d reached twenty-five knots, falling back to her trailing position twenty-one hundred yards astern. After a short interval, Yantai had tried again, this time matching speed with Gabby until they reached twenty-eight and a half knots.
This was when Mitchell had really missed the bridge wing, because he would have walked out, the wind rushing over him, and studied the foreign warship, only a few dozen yards away.
The Type 054A was the newest class of frigate in the PLA Navy. The Chinese admirals must have liked them, because there were over twenty in the fleet and they were building more. Like most modern warships, she had clean lines and sloped sides, although not quite as radically as Gabby. The Type 054A was well armed for her size, with an automatic 76mm gun forward, two rotary 30mm guns aft, and two flavors of missiles—medium-range SAMs and YJ-83 antiship missiles that could reach out almost a hundred miles. Painted a pale gray, she was emblematic of the “new” Chinese navy that had appeared with the new century.
But Mitchell knew Gabby made her look like an antique. Instead of a single conventional monohull, she was a trimaran, with a center hull and two outriggers, with four waterjet propulsion units in the main hull. Ton for ton, trimarans had less of their hull in the water, which meant less drag. Her wave-piecing bow jutted out well in front of the deckhouse, which gave not only the illusion, but the reality of speed.
In fact, everything had been sacrificed to that one goal. Gabby‘s bow gun was only a 57mm, and her only other weapons were a point defense SAM, short-range Hellfire missiles, and four .50-caliber machine guns. She didn’t even carry ASW torpedoes, common on most warships. Too much weight. Besides, she didn’t have a sonar, so she wouldn’t know when to shoot one.
Racing side by side at twenty-eight–plus knots, the two ships were moving almost twice as fast as the formation, but Mitchell wouldn’t let the Chinese skipper get his bow ahead of the US ship. When he was sure that Yantai couldn’t increase her speed any more, he ordered the OOD to increase their speed to thirty-two knots, and they’d smoothly glided away from the Chinese warship.
Gabby circled back, taking station again, this time off the Chinese formation’s port beam. Mitchell had watched the frigate take up its trailing position behind them again, and imagined the conversation between her captain and the Chinese formation commander. He tried to put himself in the Chinese captain’s and the Chinese admiral’s shoes. This might look like a confrontation between ships and weapons, but it was really a contest of minds.
It must have been a short discussion, because Sontez’s report came only minutes later. “She’s launching her helicopter.”
Mitchell could see it rising from behind the frigate’s superstructure. Most warships had helicopter pads and hangars built into their stern, and used them for scouting or sub-hunting missions. Some could even carry light antiship missiles. The Type 054s carried Russian-built Kamov machines, quite handy but reminding Mitchell of an oversized light gray bug.
A helicopter might be slow compared to a jet fighter, or even most commercial aircraft, but this one was fast enough to zoom ahead of Gabby and then circle her several times.
“Probably taking pictures,” Sontez commented.
Meanwhile, Yantai had pulled alongside, matching the formation speed of fifteen knots, but didn’t seem interested in racing. Her skipper actually kept his bow back a little. He knew that bringing it even with Gabby would trigger another contest that he could not win.
“Watch him, OOD,” Mitchell cautioned.
The headset beeped. “Captain, the formation just turned east, new heading two seven five degrees true.”
“Yantai is closing!” Sontez was almost screaming.
Mitchell was ready. “All ahead flank! Hard left rudder! All hands brace for collision!” Booth hit the collision alarm and the warning sound filled his ears. The Chinese ship was probably close enough to hear it as well.
Where another ship might have heeled over in the turn, Gabby just pivoted in the water and leapt forward, away from the frigate’s knife-sharp bow. Her trimaran hull gave her stability, but also worked against her. Because of Gabby‘s radically sloping sides, her hull projected farther out underwater than it did at the waterline. In other words, the frigate was a lot closer than it might look.
They all felt the shock through the ship’s structure; people not strapped into their seats were thrown to the deck. Rattled around in his chair, Mitchell watched on the starboard quarter camera as the flat of Yantai‘s bow slammed into the LCS’s stern, the frigate heeling over against Gabby‘s sloping hull.
The Chinese vessel righted herself immediately, but although the two ships were clear at the waterline, a grinding, scraping vibration lasted for several moments before the frigate fell astern. Mitchell could see a long gash in his ship’s thin aluminum hull along the water’s edge.
The intercom relayed, “Bridge, Engineering. We’ve got flooding in at least two of the after ballast tanks on the starboard side hull. One of the fuel tanks may have been ruptured as well. The flooding seems to be contained, but I’ve sent a damage control team to verify our condition. The propulsion plant is still capable of answering all bells.”
“Very well. Have the XO inspect the damage.” Mitchell acknowledged the report with relief. The damage seemed to be contained. It could have been much worse. Fortunately, the starboard outrigger took the brunt of the blow. There wasn’t a lot of equipment in there to get hurt. The diesels and gas turbines were buried deep in the center hull, and there were no screws or rudders to foul, so as long as that damaged section of hull held together, they were in good shape. He checked the pit log. Their speed was still building, now close to forty knots.
“Any problems, JOOD?”
Petty Officer Booth replied, “She’s having a little trouble staying on course, Captain. And she’s a bit sluggish in answering the helm.”
Understandable, Mitchell thought, considering the starboard outrigger had just been pierced and partially flooded. The extr
a weight would also slow them down.
He ordered, “Bring us to two seven five degrees,” then pressed the intercom. “ICC1, Bridge. Make sure all this is getting sent to Seventh Fleet. What’s the Chinese ETA to Korean territorial waters?”
“At twenty-two knots they’ll reach the twelve-mile line in two and a half hours. If they stay on this course they’ll be off the mouth of the Taeryong River delta. Looks like the Chinese marines are going to try landing on the southern bank. It’s on your display, Skipper.”
Mitchell checked the screen to his right. From the south bank of the Taeryong River delta it was only twenty-five kilometers to the spot where Chinese bridging had been seen on satellite imagery—on the other side of the Chongchon River.
He carefully marked a spot on the chart just outside the mouth of the delta and asked, “What’s our best course and ETA to this location?”
After a moment’s pause, a line connected the symbol showing their current position to the new destination. “Course zero four eight, two and a half hours at flank, sir.”
“Petty Officer Booth, new course zero four eight, all ahead flank.”
Mitchell used the time to personally inspect the damage to the starboard outrigger. He met his executive officer at the access hatch. The XO quickly ran down the list. The two aft ballast tanks were breached and completely flooded. Number three fuel tank was leaking, and he had already ordered the engineering officer of the watch to transfer what fuel was left to another tank. Mitchell then followed his XO to the impact site. There he saw the thin aluminum plating high above the waterline had been deformed inward, but had held. The more severe damage was below.
Sure that his ship was seaworthy, Mitchell then took the time to make a report by voice to Seventh Fleet. After that, he made the rounds—a casual inspection, but an inspection nonetheless. The only place he didn’t visit was the signals intercept van and ICC2. His security clearance wasn’t high enough. The cryptological tech in charge did report they had been rattled, but not harmed by the jolt, and he’d be very grateful if that didn’t happen anymore.