Like me.
She could feel the heat in her neck rising toward her face, and she searched for a way to divert her thoughts, to hide the feelings surging inside her while she struggled to discern their meaning. Is it possible I’ve never gotten over him?
“Do you have any kids?” she asked.
“I have one daughter. A ten-year-old. She’s into gymnastics, like you.” Christine smiled as Harrison continued. “Speaking of gymnastics, it looks like you haven’t wandered far from the gym.” He surveyed her body, his eyes moving slowly up her lean legs and narrow waist, his gaze undressing her along the way. Had any other man ogled her so blatantly, Christine would have slapped him. Instead, she struggled to keep from taking his hand, pressing it against her cheek. Her bed lay just a few feet away, and she fought the urge to lock the door and pull Harrison into her arms, dragging his hard body on top of hers.
There was a knock on the stateroom door, thankfully distracting Christine from her thoughts. “Enter,” she said.
The door opened, revealing the XO. “Oh, I didn’t realize you two were still talking.”
“That’s quite all right, sir,” Harrison replied as he stood. “I’ve still got some mission planning to do, now that Miss O’Connor is accompanying us. I better get hot.”
Speaking of getting hot, Christine thought as Harrison left the stateroom and Lieutenant Commander Greenwood entered. She hoped neither man noticed how warm her skin felt.
48
USS RONALD REAGAN
“Sir, casting off all lines.”
“Very well.” Captain CJ Berger acknowledged the Officer of the Deck’s report as he reviewed the status of his aircraft carrier from Auxiliary Conn on the starboard side of the Island. Night had settled over Oahu, and the deck lights illuminated the large warship floating in Dry Dock One of the Pearl Harbor Naval Shipyard. Along the dry dock wharves and on each side of the ship, personnel were casting off the mooring lines, and inside the ship, the Sea and Anchor Detail was set, the crew ready to get Reagan underway. Whether the ship itself was ready was another question altogether.
The last seven days had been a nightmare. After receiving the order to get underway in a week, Berger had met with his department heads, concluding their pre-underway checklists were useless. The ship was still in pieces with many systems inoperable, preventing the completion of pre-underway checks on what was usually considered essential equipment. Berger decided instead to wing it, tossing the checklists into the recycle bin and ordering his department heads to rely on the crew’s experience, especially on their seasoned Chief Petty Officers. Tell each division Chief to be ready to get underway in seven days and leave it at that.
One crisis after another had reared its ugly head, each one presenting a seemingly impossible problem to surmount. But his crew and shipyard personnel resolved each issue until only one remained. One that Captain Berger was staring at, midway down the aircraft carrier’s starboard side. Both nuclear reactors were up and Electrical Division was in the process of disconnecting shore power. From the look of things, however, the long list of problems plaguing their underway preparations hadn’t reached an end. The ship was due to get underway in two minutes and shore power was still connected.
The ship’s Chief Engineer entered the Bridge wearing an unpleasant expression. Stopping next to Berger, Commander Andrew Fellows explained. “We’re having a problem disconnecting shore power. The pierside relay has failed and the shore power cables are still energized. The shipyard estimates it will take four hours to replace the relay.”
Based on the orders hand-delivered to Berger the previous day, getting Reagan underway on time was crucial. They had already been delayed twelve hours due to complications, consuming what leeway existed, and they couldn’t afford another four-hour delay.
Berger asked his Chief Engineer, “Are all personnel clear of the shore power connections?”
“Yes, sir,” Fellows replied.
Returning his gaze aft, Berger noted the dry dock caisson had been removed, providing egress into the channel where four tugs waited, their white masthead lights reflecting off the black water, ready to twist Reagan onto its outbound trajectory. Turning to his Officer of the Deck, Berger ordered, “Get the ship underway, Lieutenant.”
Fellows blurted out, “Sir! Shore Power is still connected.”
“Not for long,” Berger replied, failing to keep a grin from creeping across his face. “We won’t need shore power anytime soon. Besides, I’ve got two dozen shipyard Tiger Teams aboard, and I’m sure there are a few electricians who can repair the damage.”
Commander Fellows nodded slowly as the Officer of the Deck complied with Berger’s order. “Helm, all back, one-third.”
Berger felt the subtle vibration in the deck as the aircraft carrier’s four propellers began churning the water. Slowly, the hundred-thousand-ton carrier started moving aft, pulling the shore power cables taut as the ship eased out of Dry Dock One. As Reagan continued aft, the shore power cables ripped from the ship in a brilliant shower of yellow sparks.
A grin settled on Commander Fellows’s face. “Sir, shore power has been disconnected.”
Seconds later, the Officer of the Deck reported, “Shifting colors, Sir. The ship is underway.”
“Very well, men,” Berger replied.
Very well, indeed.
49
BEIJING
In the Great Hall of the People, the early morning sun slanted through tall colonnade windows as Xiang strode down a corridor along the eastern facade. Huan joined him on his right as they traversed the long hallway toward the conference room, where the other seven Politburo members awaited Xiang’s arrival. The unscheduled meeting had been arranged barely an hour ago; it was necessary to evaluate the new American threats.
Although China’s military offensive was proceeding as planned, a few wrinkles had appeared. The United States was creative in its response, and whether the new American initiatives posed a threat to China’s plan was a question Xiang and the rest of the Politburo wanted answered.
Huan pushed the heavy conference doors inward, providing passage for China’s president. The other seven members of the Politburo were already seated around the polished ebony conference table. Huan took his seat along the perimeter of the room as Xiang settled into his chair at the head of the table.
At the front of the conference room, Admiral Tsou stood at attention, awaiting acknowledgment from Xiang.
“At ease, Admiral.”
Admiral Tsou relaxed somewhat, although most would still have described him as standing at attention.
“Before you begin this morning’s brief, Admiral, I commend you on the success of your plan thus far. Your preparations were meticulous and the execution, flawless.”
Admiral Tsou nodded in appreciation. “Thank you, Mr. President.”
“However,” Xiang added, “even the best-laid plans can go awry, and it has come to our attention that America has not conceded defeat. Can you expound on their response and how we plan to counter it?”
Admiral Tsou answered, “The United States is responding in ways both expected and unexpected. I’ll begin with the expected. The first phase of our offensive—the invasion of Taipei—produced the desired result. America committed its Pacific Fleet and most of it was destroyed. America still has their Marine Expeditionary Forces, but without the Pacific Fleet to clear a safe passage for them ashore, the MEFs will remain at sea aboard their amphibious ships, unable to assist Japan.
“However, the United States is attempting to rectify that. Satellites have detected the Atlantic Fleet carrier strike groups heading south, presumably around the tip of South America or Africa into the Pacific. We also detected Atlantic Fleet submarines sortieing from their homeports, all headed north during their surface transit to their dive points. We suspect they are headed beneath the polar ice cap and will reach the Pacific in the next few days. We’re not sure what their plan is once they reach the Pacific, since their torpedoes can also be
disabled.
“Additionally,” Admiral Tsou added, “satellite recon has determined that America was able to get their last Pacific Fleet aircraft carrier, Ronald Reagan, underway during the middle of a one-year overhaul, and an Atlantic Air Wing has departed the East Coast of the United States.
“However, my assessment is that the Atlantic Fleet carriers and the Reagan pose no threat to our plans. We will sink Reagan once it comes within range of our Dong Feng missiles, and the Atlantic Fleet carrier strike groups will arrive too late. We also have plans to address the Atlantic Fleet submarines making the under-ice transit. Without getting into the details, let me assure you that most of these submarines will never reach Pacific waters, and any that do will meet the same fate as their Pacific Fleet counterparts. We did not expect America to give up after their Pacific Fleet was destroyed, and we have prepared well for their response.
“Now for the unexpected. America is planning to insert a SEAL Team into Beijing from one of their guided missile submarines. We will eliminate this team once they arrive, hopefully after determining their objective. The United States has apparently identified a weakness in our plan, and it would be wise for us to understand and correct this deficiency.” Admiral Tsou paused a moment before continuing. “Subject to your questions, this concludes my brief.”
There was silence in the room as Xiang’s eyes moved across the other seven men seated at the table. One by one, each man nodded their satisfaction. Xiang turned to Admiral Tsou. “Thank you, Admiral. Keep us informed.”
50
SHEMYA ISLAND, ALASKA
On the westernmost tip of the United States, where the Alaskan archipelago curls north toward the frigid Russian peninsula of Kamchatka, a light snow was falling across an already-white landscape. On the shore of the small, four-by-six-mile island, inside a nondescript two-story building blending into the snowbanks, Tina Dill rubbed her cold hands together as she sat in front of her radar console, monitoring air traffic along the Pacific Northwest. She pulled her thick jacket close around her neck as she glanced at the air-conditioning vent in the ceiling, wondering if it was blowing hot air or cold. It seemed the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees since she relieved the watch two hours ago.
Tina tried to remain focused, glancing at the other five operators at their consoles. They seemed similarly bored, despite America’s predicament. The Pacific Fleet had been virtually wiped out, and now High Command—whoever that was—was worried China would send their Air Force east toward American bases on Guam and Hawaii, or even Alaska. Satellites in orbit would normally have detected China’s bombers the moment they took off from their airfields, but China had managed to take the satellites down. However, Tina figured it didn’t really matter.
Although the radar installation Tina worked at was a relic of the Cold War, it was up to the task. The COBRA DANE radar system, built in 1977, utilized a powerful phased-array radar, which was now incorporated into America’s Ballistic Missile Defense System. Tina found it ironic the facility was built to safeguard the United States from the Soviet Union, given that her supervisor, seated at his desk behind her, was a Russian. Actually, Dimitrious Loupas was a U.S. citizen. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Dimitri emigrated from Siberia to the United States with his family.
A blip on Tina’s radar screen caught her attention. She sat up in her chair, selecting the sector in question, then zoomed in for a better look. A sortie of aircraft had taken off from Anqing Air Base in the Nanjing Military Region of China, headed out over the Pacific Ocean. A frown formed on her face; Anqing was the home of the PLA Air Force’s 10th Bomber Division. Tina called for her supervisor over her shoulder.
“Dimitri. I’ve got multiple bogies departing China’s airspace on course of zero-nine-zero. Probable Xian H-6 bombers.” Tina began assigning COBRA DANE trackers to the aircraft.
Dimitri looked up from his computer, and a moment later was standing behind Tina, examining her display. “How many?” he asked.
Tina finished assigning the trackers. “One hundred and twenty.” She looked up at Dimitri. “10th Bomber Division has only forty H-6s. They must have ferried 8th Bomber from Guangzhou and the 36th from Lanzhou to Anqing.”
“That’s every H-6 in their inventory,” Dimitri replied.
As Tina and Dimitri studied the radar display, the aircraft began veering to the north.
“That’s odd,” Tina muttered. “Why would they head north?”
Dimitri peered over Tina’s shoulder as the bombers steadied on a northeast course, paralleling the coast of Russia’s Kamchatka Peninsula. “Yes, that is odd. I wonder where they’re headed. They don’t have the legs to reach the continental United States.” The red icons continue their trek northeast, and Dimitri followed up. “Maybe they’ve implemented a refueling capability. Keep an eye on them, and if they go over the top, hand them off to NORAD.”
“Will do.” Tina’s eyes narrowed as she studied the icons marching steadily northeast, wondering what the hell they were up to.
51
ARCTIC OCEAN
First Lieutenant Liang Aiguo examined the navigation display in the cockpit of his Xian H-6F bomber. His aircraft was flying over the Arctic ice cap, and there was still no indication of his target. Looking through his cockpit window, Liang could see additional Xian bombers strung out in a linear formation, the line of aircraft extending as far as he could see in both directions.
The voice of Liang’s Navigator came across the speaker in his flight helmet. “We will reach the release point in five minutes.”
Liang acknowledged the report, then returned his attention to the barren landscape. Five minutes ahead, there was nothing. Just ice and snow. He wondered what the purpose of his mission was. He studied his radar display again, then lifted his tinted visor and peered more closely through his cockpit window. All he could see was the flat white ice, interrupted by wandering ridges where the ice floes buckled.
“One minute to release point,” the Navigator reported.
Liang lifted a switch on his panel, opening the bomb bay doors, then turned his attention to the ordnance they were about to drop on nothing. His aircraft carried twenty thousand pounds of free-falling bombs. Enough to blast a small city into the Stone Age. A green light illuminated on his panel, indicating the bomb bay doors were open and locked in place.
Liang activated the speaker in his flight helmet. “Bombardier, you have permission to drop.”
The H-6’s Bombardier acknowledged the order, and when their aircraft reached the release point, he began dropping their ordnance. To Liang’s left and right, the entire line of H-6 bombers began releasing their payloads, the bombs falling to earth in a cascading rain of metal.
Liang shook his head. He had no idea why they were dropping their bombs here. But one thing was certain. They were going to blow the ice pack to bits.
52
USS ANNAPOLIS
Just below the Arctic ice cap, USS Annapolis surged south toward the Bering Strait and the Pacific Ocean, leading the twenty-four Atlantic Fleet submarines making the inter-fleet transit across the top of the world. Standing on the Conn of his Los Angeles class fast attack submarine, Commander Ramsey Hootman leaned against the railing, his eyes fixed on the display of his Sail High-Frequency under-ice sonar. His eyelids were getting heavier, but this was no time to leave Control for an hour or two down. Annapolis was approaching the most hazardous portion of her passage under the ice cap and there was no way he could tear himself away now. Had he managed the transit better, he might have been able to nab a few hours of sleep before reaching this point. But the ice pack seemed to be conspiring against him.
Two days earlier, Annapolis had slipped under the polar ice pack, proceeding at ahead flank through the deep water portion of the Arctic Ocean. The Commanding Officer’s Eyes Only message had instructed him to abandon all caution; time was paramount. As Annapolis began the most dangerous leg of its underwater journey—transiting the Alaskan continen
tal shelf toward the Bering Strait passage—Ramsey had maintained a high speed, slowing only to ahead full. But the high speed increased their peril.
The last portion of their voyage beneath the ice cap required transit in water depth less than six hundred feet. Although the bottom was mapped, not every feature was known and water depth could decrease rapidly. Additionally, although the thickness of the ice pack was normally uniform, there were also random ice keels jutting downward, blocking the submarine’s path. Ramsey had already been forced to detour twice. That was difficult enough traveling alone, even more perilous with two submarines following closely behind.
Two Virginia class submarines, New Hampshire and the Virginia herself, were hot on Annapolis’s heels. Not far behind them were both of the Atlantic Fleet’s SSGNs. Their loadout of 154 Tomahawk missiles each was sorely needed in the Pacific, now that Ohio and Michigan had launched theirs, and most of the surface ships were lying on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.
As Ramsey pondered the Navy’s decision to risk both of the Atlantic Fleet’s SSGNs in the dangerous under-ice transit, his immediate concern was the two Virginia class submarines following closely behind Annapolis. The trio were transiting at an uncomfortably high speed, and if Annapolis had to slow down unexpectedly, he had to rely on the awareness of Virginia’s crew to prevent them from ramming into the back of Annapolis, and the same for New Hampshire’s crew behind Virginia, avoiding a disastrous underwater fender bender.
As if on cue, the Sonar Supervisor’s voice came across the 27-MC. “Conn, Sonar. We’re picking up some unusual broadband noise ahead.”
Ramsey examined the spherical array display on the Conn. The background noise level directly ahead had increased significantly. The Sonar Supervisor followed up, concern in his voice. “Conn, Sonar. The intensity is increasing rapidly. If it continues at this pace, it’ll interfere with our under-ice sonar. We won’t be able to detect where the ice keels are.”
Empire Rising Page 24