Chapter 4
Aboard the USS Makin Island
1stLt Peter Van Slyke edged forward a bit to get a better view. It was packed pretty tight. All the senior Marines and the available Navy officers and chiefs were crowded into the briefing room while LCDR Grace Sullivan, the Task Force intelligent officer went on with her brief.
“So, as you can see from this timeline, at 2315 local time, an ROC Army comm tech received what started as an emergency message over his system. It cut off immediately as if a switch was turned off. He tried to re-establish the link, but nothing was going through. A few moments later, a call on another circuit gave a routine message that normal communications would be interrupted for a short period while some repairs were being made.
“Normally, that might make sense, but the tech was worried that there was some sort of emergency unknown to the garrison at large, so he tried to contact two ROC ships in the area, but all comm was down, not just to the Marine garrison.
“At 2322, this was reported up the chain of command, and a routine scan of satellite photos was ordered.”
She flashed up on the screen a photo of the lights of an island surrounded by darkness.
“This was taken by an ROC satellite at 2320.”
She then put up another photo so that both were side-by-side.
“The one on the right was taken at 2305. Note the cloud cover, cover that is not present on the one on the left. This raised some immediate flags, so the ROC armed forces command contacted the Pentagon to ask for their help in figuring out what was wrong. As it turned out, it wasn’t only the ROC satellites that were affected. Each US and, as we found out later, UK and Japanese satellites were also affected in the same way. Running our data through analysis, we quickly determined that what we were seeing, real time, was an exact duplicate of what had happened one month before. Our satellites were being spoofed.”
She paused for effect, noting the concerned looks around the room as the significance of that sunk in.
“There was also an anomaly concerning two PLA Navy ships in the region, the Changbai Shan and the Jinggan Shan, which are Type 071 Amphibious Transport Docks. “
She pulled up another satellite photo.
“We track all major combatants, as you know. Well, the computers back at DIA pulled up a small glitch, an anomaly on their track.
“We also contacted the Philippines Armed Forces to ask about their forces in the region, and they informed us that they were in the middle of a communications interruption. So that makes comm problems for both the ROC and the Philippines?” she said, her rising voice making it more of a question than a statement.
“Given all of this put together, the Pentagon issued orders for us to get underway, for the Gerald R. Ford Battle Group to steam south from the Sea of Japan, and for the 13th Air Force at Anderson AFB on Guam to go on alert. As the commander told you earlier, at the time, it was better to be prepared even if we didn’t know what was going on.
“But now, this is new information. At 0730 local time, the USS Mississippi, one of our attack subs, was able to come in close to Thitu Island and take photos through its periscope. Initially, the island seemed deserted. However, the Mississippi eventually took this photo.”
The photo came on the screen. It was clearly taken from long distance, but just as clearly, a soldier in uniform could be seen smoking a cigarette outside a building.
“This is a soldier in the PLA, in fact, a special forces soldier from what is known as ‘The Sword of Southern China.’ And this confirms that whatever is happening, the People’s Republic of China is behind it.
“I should point out, though, that while the Mississippi took the photo at 0730, they could not get it to us until almost four hours later. Whatever is affecting communications over the Spratlys, it can even keep a nuke sub from communicating while it is in its range. It can get out simple text messages using its Extremely Low Frequency antenna, but as most of you know, a sub cannot send images nor receive via the ELF, and we needed NSA to confirm the photo before we could now act on it.’
There were more murmurs as this sunk in. If the Chinese were in back of this, and if they could take over satellites and knock out communications, what else could they do?
“I will be updating everything we know on a continuous basis. And now, I’m going to turn it over to Commander Belling, the Ops Officer.”
Pete leaned back to take it all in. Before the float he wondered if they might have a contingency somewhere. He never imagined that he could be staring at the brink of WWIII.
Chapter 5
Over the South China Sea
Major Camino “Ting” Opena looked over to his wingman, Lieutenant Senior Grade Joseph Acacio, as they hurtled over the water towards Pagasa Island in their Saab Gripens. Both pilots were assigned to the 570th Tactical Composite Wing at Puerto Princesa, the unit responsible for not only Palawan, but also for defense of Philippines’ assets in the Spratlys.
Ting really didn’t know what to expect on this reconnaissance mission. He had been briefed, of course. With communications down over Pagasa and Likas, it made sense that a recon overflight be made, but if the Americans were right, there might be a Chinese threat right now on the islands. Ting’s mission was to get eyeballs on the target to see if there was anything different from what the Filipino weather satellite was currently showing.
He checked the gauges on his old Gripen. The Gripen was a reliable plane, but this one had been purchased back in 2014, and it was feeling its age. For the thousandth time, he wished the Air Force had bought the American F-16 back then, but the bean counters back in Manila objected to the upkeep costs of the Fighting Falcon, and the Swedes promised a much cheaper supply chain for the Gripens. So the serviceable Gripen became the Air Force fighter, replacing the even more ancient F5. If there were Chinese on the island, though, Ting didn’t look forward to any sort of confrontation with any of the top-of-the-line Chinese fighters.
The flight from Puerto Princesa to Pagasa was only 240 miles, a little over 30 minutes in his Gripen, so he knew he should be coming up on the island soon. The plan was for both aircraft to make a pass from south to north, then bear west before looping around and passing over the runway from west to east.
Although not in his orders, he and Joseph had decided to keep off the radio unless it was absolutely necessary. If there were Chinese there, it would do no good to let them know they were coming.
Ting looked out of his canopy and signaled to Joseph that they needed to begin their descent. Joseph gave him a thumbs up, and so Ting started bringing his Gripen down, knowing Joseph would stay on his wing.
It was low tide, so he could see Half Moon Shoal below him as he passed over. It wouldn’t be long now.
He brought his Gripen down to 5,000 feet, low enough to get a good view of the island as he flew over. Bringing his plane to a heading of 3-3-2, he only had to keep in a straight line to fly right over it.
Suddenly, his entire cockpit control went dark. Panic swept through him. This had never happened to him before. He cursed the choice of the politicians who had decided the Gripen was “good enough,” and he went through his restart procedures while his plane began an ungainly glide down towards the sea. Nothing seemed to work. He tried again, but his cockpit panel remained ominously dark. Looking out, he could see that he was perhaps 1,000 feet up, although it was harder to tell than if he had been over land.
He knew he had to punch out. He spared a glance up to find Joseph, knowing the mission was now up to him, but he couldn’t spot his wingman. There was no time. He reached down and pulled on the ejection seat release. This was essentially an explosive charge, not connected to the plane’s power. The explosion slammed Ting into the seat, or rather slammed the seat up into his butt. It felt like he had been hit with a club, and he was thrown into the air at something like 500 miles per hour, he figured, based on the plane slowing down a bit with the engines shut off.
He was stunned, and his right arm wa
s numb, but when he felt the opening shock of his chute opening, he let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. He was going to get wet, but at least he should make it.
He looked back up to try and catch sight of Joseph’s plane, hoping he went on with the mission and was not coming back to see what happened. He could report back to base, and they would send a Huey out to get him.
He was surprised, then, to see the bright orange and white parachute of another ejection seat about a mile away, making its own descent into the water. That parachute came from a Gripen, he knew, so Joseph had also suffered the same catastrophic cockpit failure.
Their Gripens might be old, but they were reliable, and two of them didn’t fail like that at the same time. A sense of foreboding rushed through him as he drifted down closer to the water. If this was a deliberate attack of some sort, then what was going on?
Chapter 6
Beijing
General Chen Jun, the Chief of Staff for the People’s Liberation Army, strode back to his office. To say he was angry would be an understatement. The general was a powerful man in China, and he was not used to being called before the Central Military Commission like a student called before the school principal. Especially when the accusations were groundless.
China invading the Wanli Shitang? It was preposterous. This was clearly a political move by the Americans, the Taiwan government, and the Filipinos. To what end, he wasn’t sure, but they had manufactured some inconclusive “evidence” that the American ambassador had presented to the general secretary. What made matters worse was that the general secretary, in his additional position of chairman of the CMC, seemed to give the accusations some credence.
His aide rushed in front of him, opening doors and getting people out of his way. The aide was used to the general’s famed temper, and he was trying to keep a lid on any potential explosions.
General Chen burst through the double doors to his outer office.
“Where’s General Li,” he asked, handing his cap to a waiting aide.
“Sir, he left the headquarters on a family emergency, and he isn’t answering his phone,” Captain Lin Shi Wei, told him, her eyes downcast, waiting for the outburst.
“And so you stopped at that? I told you I wanted him now. Send a driver to his house, and I don’t care if his wife or his daughter is on her deathbed, I want him here now.” He looked around the office. “Senior Colonel Wang, I’m going to want the entire general officer staff in my conference room in fifteen minutes. I trust that you can get that done?”
“Yes sir,” his junior military aide shouted before rushing to his side office to make the calls.
General Chen went into his inner office and sat down. He would get to the bottom of this and then personally shove the accusations up the American ambassador’s ass.
Chapter 7
Over the South China Sea
Lieutenant Colonel Marco Salcedo looked about the big C-130 as it made its way to Pagasa Island. He had almost 160 soldiers crammed into the big bird, far more than its official capacity of 92 combat-ready troops, but by packing the soldiers in like sardines, they managed to shove them in for the 45-minute flight.
They had been on alert since this morning, and when the two Gripens had disappeared, it looked like things were on hold. But when the OV-10 that had taken off at the same time as the Gripens had stood 20 miles off Pagasa and had taken photos of the island, and when the Hueys had rescued both downed pilots without incident, the powers that be decided that whatever took down the Gripens had to be only aimed at fast movers. So the president himself had ordered the mission.
And with only 15-20 Chinese soldiers on Pagasa, the best they could tell, the 160 soldiers from his battalion would be an overwhelming force, more than enough for the PLA soldiers to just give up without loss of life. Marco got the feeling that perhaps an even more robust option had been considered, but with only one working C-130 available at Puerto Princesa, either waiting for another plane to arrive or perhaps that the response shouldn’t be too big as to start an all-out war made this option the best one.
If the PLA soldiers did give up, Marco was under strict orders to ensure none were hurt. The Chinese would have made their statement, and the ball would be then in the politician’s court.
Marco had been in combat before, fighting against Abu Sayyaf as a lieutenant and captain. But no one currently serving in the Philippines armed forces had been in full-scale combat. The Navy had had some clashes around Scarborough Shoal and in the Spratlys, and the Air Force had that one dog fight with the Malaysian Air Force a few years back, but the ground forces hadn’t really been called upon to defend the country against a foreign enemy.
Part of him wanted the Chinese to fight back. Even with only a part of his battalion, Marco was sure his men would prevail, and against the Chinese? Well, his future would be assured, either in the Army or in politics. On the other hand, he knew the Philippines could not risk a real war with China, a war that the country could not hope to win.
He knew that actual combat was not likely. But the Philippines was making a statement that it would not be pushed around, and that they would not relinquish their claim to their portion of the islands, the ones in their own territorial waters. And if nothing else, then this operation would be a success.
The big plane banked to the left, ready to make the loop that would bring it aligned with the runway, landing west to east. With the ramp down, his troops would rush out the back and present an overwhelming force to the Chinese who seemed to be centered around Kalayaan town itself. As the C-130 rolled slowly down the airstrip while the troops disembarked, his unit would be essentially on line, able to circle around the town, surrounding it. The line might have some gaps considering the numbers he had with him, but against such a small number of Chinese, it shouldn’t matter.
No, the Chinese would have to surrender and without harming any of the civilians or the garrison soldiers they must have surprised and captured.
Marco moved up to the hatch leading up to the cockpit. He wanted an aerial view as they came in. Captain Ibasco was an outstanding officer and would be one of the first out of the plane, and he could be counted upon to get the attack formation going, so Marco felt confident taking the time to get a better view of things as they landed.
As with the OV-10 that did the recon, the C-130’s radios quit working as they approached the area. But the plane flew fine.
As he sat down on the small jump seat, the co-pilot leaned over and yelled into his ear, “That’s Pagasa Island, sir, right over there.”
Marco had been on the island before, but this view was new to him. Ahead, in the distance, the island was clearly visible despite the slight haze. The C-130 was lined up on the runway, slowly making its descent. Off on either wing, two OV-10s flew alongside. The OV-10’s were not heavily armed, but their four M60C machine guns and two pods each of 2.75 inch Folding Fin Aerial Rockets still gave him a stronger sense of security.
He looked back into the cargo bay. The ramp was being lowered. The troops were packed in tight, and Marco prayed that the plane didn’t hit any turbulence, possibly throwing one of his soldiers out.
He looked back forward, a nervous sense of excitement building. This was where he would make his mark on history, he knew. This was where all of his training, all of his hard work, would come to fruition.
They were only two hundred feet up and possibly half a mile out when there seemed to be an explosion on the island and smoke billowed into the air. But it didn’t billow straight up—four fingers of smoke seemed to reach out to them.
It took the pilot’s “Oh, shit” to register what was happening. He then knew this wasn’t some giant hand reaching out to them, although it might as well have been. He only had time to clutch the silver cross he wore around his neck before his world erupted into heat and flames before going dark.
Chapter 8
Aboard the USS Makin Island
“Pete, you’ve got to take d
own the anti-air or we’re well and truly fucked,” Capt Niimoto told him as he gathered his notes.
“Don’t worry, sir, we’ll do it,” he replied.
Peter Van Slyke was pretty confident about his platoon’s capabilities, but he hoped his bravado was not misplaced. Going in without normal comm was worrisome, but the Marines prided themselves on making do.
This mission would be tricky even in optimum conditions. Taking off from the Makin Island in an Osprey, they would link up with the USS Mississippi, fast rope down to the submarine, then use that platform to insert onto Thitu Island before daylight took away their cover of darkness. The photos they had received from the Philippines Air Force were not the clearest, so it was difficult to make out exactly what kind of anti-aircraft missile battery the Chinese had, but whatever it was, it had to be taken out or Kilo Company would be blown out of the sky like the Filipino C-130 had been.
While his platoon was being inserted, the amphibious group would continue at flank speed towards the Spratlys, and tomorrow, Kilo Company would land and seize control of Thitu while the rest of the MEU would proceed to Taiping to reinforce the ROC Marines who had managed to hold back the first Chinese attempt to take the island.
That was based on the last known intel, of course. The Philippines had been asked to send an OV-10 over Taiping, and it looked to still be in ROC hands. But somewhere out there, two PLA Navy Amphibious Transport Docks were unaccounted for, and if they arrived and took the beleaguered island first, then all bets were off. A single MEU probably could not take the island back from up to 1,800 PLA troops, so the MEU’s orders were to stand off if that happened and let the politicians try to defuse the situation. No one knew if the Chinese would feel the same way with an American MEU on the island, though. Would they back off rather than risk WWIII, or would they forge ahead and try to take it?
The Return of the Marines Trilogy Page 47