Xiulan’s father agreed it was a good plan and gave Jiang three years. As Jiang prepared to enlist, he talked his best friend Feng into joining him on his adventure. Feng had accompanied him each step of the journey and was even now standing next to him in the landing craft. Up to this point, Jiang’s decision to join the PLA had been a wise one. Even as a Lie Bing, the most junior private in the PLA, he made twice what his family made working their small farm. He sent his money home each month, less a modest allowance for personal items and one night out each month with Feng and the other men in his platoon.
The landing craft began to rock between the ocean swells, peaking as they approached the shore. The tension combined with the pitching seas was too much for Feng. Bending forward, he retched noisily, his vomit splattering against the steel ramp. Jiang steadied Feng with a firm grip on his arm as the landing craft crested another swell, tilting forward and picking up speed as it rode the wave toward shore.
The amphibious landing craft ground to a halt and the ramp fell away, plunging into the dark water. Jiang was supposed to charge ashore immediately—it had been drilled into every soldier on the landing craft. Each second wasted before reaching the cover of the shoreline was a second in the open, exposed to strafing gunfire. But Jiang stood there instead, taking it all in.
Dark cliffs rising from the shore were illuminated in fiery red explosions. Missiles overhead streaked inland toward their targets while hundreds of red tracer trails streamed out from the shoreline, sweeping across the ocean. One of the red trails cut across his landing craft, and Jiang heard high-pitched zings accompanied by soft thuds. The side of his face was splattered with warm liquid. Feng lurched against him, crumpling to the deck a second later. A quick glance down told Jiang his best friend was dead.
The explosions along the shore provided enough light to see the fear illuminated in the faces of the men alongside him; to observe the Second Lieutenant in charge of Jiang’s platoon screaming at them. Jiang couldn’t hear his Lieutenant over the deafening explosions rocking the coast, the waves breaking upon the beach, and the bullets churning the water around them, but the sight of the officer pointing toward shore spurred him into action.
Jiang lifted his rifle above his head to protect it from the water, and after taking a deep, shaky breath, he leapt into the madness.
14
WASHINGTON, D.C.
In the basement of the West Wing, the air was cold and the tension thick as Captain Steve Brackman preceded the president into the Situation Room. Seated on one side of the polished mahogany conference table was Secretary of Defense Nelson Jennings, followed by three members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff—the chairman and two of the four service chiefs. On the opposite side of the table were Vice President Bob Tompkins, chief of staff Kevin Hardison, and Secretary of State Lindsay Ross. As the president took his seat at the head of the conference table, Brackman slid into the last seat.
The situation couldn’t have been worse. Four hours ago, Chinese missiles had swarmed Taiwan, destroying defense batteries along the coast and military command centers inland. An hour later, the first Chinese troops began landing on the shore of Taiwan. The United States had well-formulated war plans to defend Taiwan, but it would take time to generate the forces required to repel the Chinese invasion. Time they might not have. The speed and ferocity of the Chinese assault were startling.
“What’s the status?” the president asked, looking toward his secretary of defense.
Jennings answered, “China has landed two army groups along the western shore of Taiwan, pushing inland from six beachheads. Taiwan’s navy and air force have been destroyed, along with the bulk of their anti-air batteries, so China has uncontested control of the sky. With the PLA Air Force providing ground support, the outcome is inevitable unless we intervene.”
“How long do we have?”
“Our best estimate is the last Republic of China pocket will collapse in ten days. We’ll have to land Marines or cut off the Chinese supply lines from the mainland before then.”
“What’s our obligation to intervene? Are we committed or do we have a choice?”
“Technically, we have a choice, Mr. President. Under the former Sino-U.S. Mutual Defense Treaty, we were obligated to defend Taiwan from Chinese aggression. But when we recognized the People’s Republic of China in 1979 and terminated formal relations with Taiwan, the Mutual Defense Treaty was replaced with the Taiwan Relations Act. The wording is purposefully ambiguous as to what our obligations are, but Congress’s intent, as well as the position of every administration up to ours, has been clear. The United States will defend Taiwan.
“However, not only has China invaded Taiwan, it appears they have also attacked the United States. We had three fast attack submarines stationed off the Chinese coast, monitoring each of the PLA Navy’s three fleets, and all three of our submarines have likely been sunk. Our SOSUS arrays detected three underwater explosions off the coast where our submarines were stationed, and all three fast attacks have failed to report in.”
The president’s eyes clouded in anger. “How do we respond?”
Jennings answered, “I’d like to refer your question to the chairman, who will outline the current status of the Chinese offensive, then to General Williams and Admiral Healey, who will detail our response.”
After a nod from the president, four-star Army General Mark Hodson, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, seated next to SecDef Jennings, picked up a remote control on the conference table, energizing an eight-by-ten-foot monitor on the far wall, displaying a map of Taiwan overlaid with red and blue icons. “China has committed two army groups, represented by the red squares with Xs through them, to the invasion of Taiwan, landing over one hundred thousand men so far. Opposing them, represented by blue icons, are seventy thousand ROC combat troops. Chinese forces have made substantial progress, completely encircling Taipei City, with China controlling fifteen percent of Taiwan as of 10 A.M. this morning.” Red borders appeared on the screen, outlining the progress of China’s invasion.
“On the naval front,” General Hodson added, “China has sortied seventy-two surface combatants and fifty-eight submarines to sea, with several hundred landing craft ferrying troops across the Strait. In response, we have five carrier strike groups at our disposal in the Pacific—George Washington based in Japan, the Nimitz Strike Group currently eight hundred miles east of Taiwan, with the LANT carrier Lincoln in the Persian Gulf. Vinson and Stennis are departing from their homeports of San Diego and Bremerton. Additionally, every available submarine in the Pacific is heading toward Taiwan.”
Hodson handed the remote control to the Marine Corps four-star General to his left. “General Ely Williams will discuss our amphibious response.”
General Williams pointed the remote at the back wall, and the monitor shifted to a map of the Pacific Ocean. “We have two Marine Expeditionary Forces in the Pacific, ONE MEF based in California and THREE MEF in Okinawa. THREE MEF is loading aboard their amphibious assault ships and should be underway by tonight. ONE MEF will be headed across the Pacific by tomorrow.”
Williams pressed the remote again, and the display zoomed in on the island of Taiwan. “To avoid significant losses to our MEFs as they land, it’s imperative the Republic of China retain control of at least one beachhead.” Eight beachheads on the eastern side of the island illuminated in green. “To ensure Taiwan holds out long enough, we need to provide air support, slowing the Chinese advance. We also need to clear Chinese submarines from the approach lanes to the beachheads. Admiral Grant Healey is responsible for both of those efforts.”
General Williams handed the remote to the four-star Admiral seated next to him, who zoomed the display back out to the entire Pacific Ocean. Another click and red and blue icons appeared, with Chinese units indicated in red and American naval forces represented by blue.
“Our initial goal is to provide air support to ROC ground forces,” Admiral Healey began, “and we’ll do that wit
h Air Force fighter jets from Kadena Air Base on Okinawa, plus the Nimitz and George Washington Carrier Strike Groups operating east of Taiwan. Unfortunately, that places both carriers within range of the Chinese DF-21 ballistic missile, which can disable an aircraft carrier with a single hit. To protect our carriers against the DF-21, Admiral Vance Garbin at Pacific Command has decided to wait until the Nimitz Strike Group joins George Washington, so we have enough Aegis cruisers and destroyers, with their SM-3 missiles, to provide an adequate ballistic missile defense. Of course, their success will depend on the density of the incoming missile barrage.
“As far as submarines go,” Admiral Healey continued, “we have thirty-two fast attacks in the Pacific, but with two in deep maintenance and another three sunk, that leaves us with twenty-seven fast attacks to counter fifty-eight Chinese submarines. The first three fast attacks—Texas, which was already on her way to the Persian Gulf, plus two more submarines surging from Guam, will support George Washington and Nimitz, with the remaining submarines arriving with the other three carrier strike groups. Our submarines will clear a path to Taiwan for the Marine Expeditionary Forces while the carriers provide air cover—and once the MEFs have landed, our strike groups will sweep inside the Strait, cutting off supplies streaming across from the mainland. Without resupply, it will be only a matter of time before the Chinese ground forces are defeated.”
There was a long silence as the president considered the military’s plans. Before he spoke, Captain Brackman broke in. “Sir, there’s one wild card in play.”
The president looked down the table toward Brackman. “What’s that?”
“Christine was detained after a meeting with President Xiang, but escaped to a CIA safe house in Beijing with the assistance of a CIA agent in the Central Guard Bureau’s Cadre Department. In the process, the CIA agent gave her a flash drive we hope contains information about China’s military offensive. We haven’t been able to access the information on the drive, so we’re going to transport it out of Beijing to a facility with the ability to extract the information. We’re hoping we can use that information to our advantage.”
The president said nothing for a moment, reflecting on the detainment and subsequent escape of his national security advisor. “How are we going to get Christine out and obtain the flash drive?”
“One of our guided missile submarines, Michigan, is on its way to Taiwan. She’ll insert a SEAL team into the coastal city of Tianjin while the CIA escorts Christine to the port, where she’ll meet the SEAL team and be brought aboard Michigan. Hopefully, we’ll be able to extract the data from the flash drive using the submarine’s onboard systems. If not, Michigan will launch one of her UAVs with the flash drive aboard.”
Brackman fell silent and the men around the table waited for additional questions from the president. After none were forthcoming, SecDef Jennings spoke, his voice subdued. “Mr. President. Request permission to engage the People’s Republic of China.”
As Jennings waited for the president’s response, the only sound in the Situation Room was the faint whisper of cold air blowing from the ventilation ducts above. On the wall across from the president, the display flickered silently.
Finally, the president gave the order. “Engage the People’s Republic of China with all conventional forces at our disposal.”
GAMBIT ACCEPTED
15
USS MICHIGAN
Five hundred feet beneath the ocean’s surface, Captain Murray Wilson felt the vibration through the submarine’s deck as he leaned over the Navigation Table in Control, examining the ship’s progress toward their new operating area. The main engines were straining, pushing the eighteen-thousand-ton submarine forward at ahead flank speed, through the Luzon Strait into the Philippine Sea. During their transit, Wilson had slowed every twelve hours to proceed to periscope depth to check the broadcast for new messages. No new orders had been received, expounding on their original, ambiguous proceed to designated operating area.
Wilson checked the clock in Control. It was midnight and Section 2 had just relieved the watch. The watchstanders were settling into their routine in the chilly Control Room, and the Fire Control Technician was wearing a green foul weather jacket to keep warm. A few years earlier, his face would have been illuminated by the green combat control display, the hue of his features matching the color of his jacket. Tonight however, a myriad of colors played off his face.
Although Michigan was a Trident submarine, it was a far different ship today than when it was launched over thirty years ago. When the START II treaty went into effect, reducing the allowable number of ballistic missile submarines from eighteen to fourteen, the Navy decided to reconfigure the four oldest Ohio class submarines as special warfare platforms, replacing the Kamehameha and James K. Polk, which were approaching the end of their service life. Even better, in addition to carrying Dry Deck Shelters with SEAL mini-subs inside, Michigan and the other three SSGNs could be configured with seven Tomahawk missiles in twenty-two of the submarine’s twenty-four missile tubes. Only seventeen of the tubes held Tomahawk missiles on this deployment, however. The two Dry Deck Shelters covered four of the twenty-two tubes, with Unmanned Aerial Vehicles in another.
During the conversion from SSBN to SSGN, Michigan and her three sister ships received a slew of other modifications. The combat control consoles were now the most modern in the submarine fleet, as were Michigan’s new Sonar, Electronic Surveillance, and Radio suites. Michigan’s old legacy combat control system—green screens, as the crew called them—had been replaced with the advanced BYG-1 Combat Control System, the dual multicolor screens on each console reflecting off the operator’s face.
Wilson turned his attention to the electronic navigation chart and Petty Officer Second Class Bill Coates, on watch as Quartermaster. The young Electronics Technician was busy analyzing the ship’s two inertial navigators for error.
“How’re we doing, Coates?”
The petty officer looked up. “Good, sir. Both inertial navigators are tracking together.” Coates reviewed the ship’s projected position as Michigan continued its northeast advance. “Will we be staying at ahead flank the entire way, sir?”
Wilson nodded. “That’s the plan, except for excursions to periscope depth. How long until we reach our operating area?”
Coates mentally converted the distance to their destination into time based on the submarine’s ahead flank speed.
“Ten hours, sir.”
The lighting in Control shifted to Gray, catching Wilson’s attention. The watch section was preparing to proceed to periscope depth, and the Officer of the Deck’s eyes would need time to adjust to the darkness above. The Officer of the Deck, Lieutenant Kris Herndon—one of three female officers aboard—was standing on the Conn between the two periscopes. She called out an order to the Helm, and Michigan began to slow and swing to starboard, checking its sonar baffles for contacts behind them. A few minutes later, the lighting was extinguished, drowning Control in darkness aside from the glow of red, green, and blue indicators on the submarine’s Ballast Control and Ship Control Panels. Another order from the Officer of the Deck, and Michigan returned to base course.
Lieutenant Herndon stopped next to Captain Wilson. “Sir, the ship is on course zero-two-zero, speed ten knots, depth two hundred feet. Sonar holds three contacts, designated Merchant, all far-range contacts. Request permission to proceed to periscope depth to copy the broadcast and obtain a navigation fix.”
“Proceed to periscope depth.”
* * *
The ascent to periscope depth was uneventful, and Michigan was soon tilted downward, returning to the ocean depths. After the lighting returned to Gray, then White, a Radioman entered Control, message clipboard in hand, stopping by Captain Wilson.
“New orders, sir.”
Wilson flipped through the message, reading the pertinent details. Michigan’s Tomahawks were being held in reserve. It looked like her SEAL detachment would get a workout instead
.
16
BEIJING
Twilight was creeping across the city beneath a blanket of dark gray clouds as Christine exited the CIA safe house, stepping onto a sparsely populated sidewalk. A cold wind whipped down the narrow street as she moved toward a blue sedan containing a driver and a single passenger in the back. A third man held the rear door of the car open, and Christine slid into the sedan. Although she had never seen the driver before, she instantly recognized the man seated next to her.
Peng Yaoting had grabbed her from behind in the courtyard three days ago, leading her to the rear entrance of the CIA safe house. Peng explained he’d been notified of her impending arrival, intervening just in time. Once safely inside the CIA town house, Christine had offered Peng the flash drive, but the data couldn’t be extracted—it was a secure flash drive, which required a password. More sophisticated equipment would be required to extract the data. That, of course, was why she was on her way to the port city of Tianjin with the flash drive in her pants. Her assignment as the courier pigeon would kill two birds with one stone.
Peng nodded to the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror and the car eased into traffic. Peng said nothing during the short trip to the Beijing South Railway Station. Christine knew the basic plan: a high speed bullet train to Tianjin, where she’d be picked up at the station and taken to the port, where an awaiting SEAL team would take her to a submarine loitering off the coast. They hadn’t explained how she would get from the port to the submarine, but the fact they had encased her flash drive in a waterproof pouch told Christine the transit from Beijing to the submarine wasn’t as straightforward as they made it seem. Especially in light of the checkpoints that had been set up to capture her if she attempted to escape Beijing.
Empire Rising Page 8