Empire Rising

by Rick Campbell

  “Enable and shift Search Speed to High-Two, both units!”

  The commands were relayed to Michigan’s torpedoes, and a moment later, Sonar confirmed the orders had been accepted. “Sonar, Conn. Both units have gone active, shifting to High-Two.” Seconds later, the Weps called out, “First fired unit has acquired!” followed almost immediately by, “Second fired unit has acquired! Both units are homing!”

  With both torpedoes at maximum speed, they closed the remaining distance in only fifteen seconds, the arrival of the first torpedo at its target announced by a deafening explosion rumbling through Control.

  The Weapons Officer called out, “Loss of wire continuity, first-fired unit.” A second explosion erupted as the first one died down. “Loss of wire continuity, second-fired unit.”

  An announcement from Sonar followed, confirming Michigan’s two torpedoes had hit their mark. “Breaking-up noises from Master One and Master Two.”

  Unlike earlier, when they had sunk the first Chinese submarine, there was no cheering in Control. Two torpedoes were still bearing down on Michigan, both less than four hundred yards away. Wilson remained on the Conn, monitoring the sonar display, paying no attention to the red inverted Vs angling toward them.

  Christine braced for the torpedo explosions as the red inverted Vs merged with Michigan’s white dot. But instead of jolting explosions, a loud metallic clank echoed from the port side of the ship, followed by an identical clank on the starboard side.

  Sonar announced, “Both torpedoes have impacted the hull. Neither detonated.”

  Questioning eyes turned toward Wilson, who let out a slow breath. “That’s what I was banking on. These were Yu-6 torpedoes, with a minimum arming distance of one thousand yards. We were able to close both torpedoes before they armed.”

  Wilson had calculated everything perfectly, and they had sunk three Chinese submarines blocking their path toward the coast. Turning his attention to the SEAL team insertion, he ordered, “Helm, ahead standard. Right ten degrees rudder, steady course two-nine-zero.”

  The Helm acknowledged and rung up ahead standard as he twisted the rudder to right ten degrees. Michigan slowed, melting back into the ocean.

  59

  USS MICHIGAN

  “Be very careful with this.”

  In the Radio Room just forward of Control, Christine watched Chief Jeff Walkup hand a USB flash drive to Lieutenant Harrison, standing beside her. The Chief held out the flash drive with two hands, cradling it like a vial of nitroglycerin as he added, “This is the electronic equivalent of the bubonic plague.”

  Harrison took the flash drive, placing it into a black, waterproof pouch he sealed as the Chief explained how to inject the virus into the Chinese communication center.

  “Any USB port will do. The flash drive should load onto the desktop, regardless of the operating system used by the computer. Open the drive and inside you’ll see a single icon. Double-click on the icon and the virus will take care of the rest.”

  Christine digested the Chief’s instructions as her thoughts dwelt on the preceding forty-two hours. After sinking the three Chinese submarines, Michigan had headed quietly toward the Chinese coast, searching the surrounding waters for signs of other Chinese submarines. They had avoided detection as they closed on the SEAL team launch point, proceeding to periscope depth an hour earlier at exactly 4 A.M., as instructed.

  A satellite of some type had been repositioned, allowing communications with Michigan for one hour, twice each day. During its last pass above the Western Pacific, it had downloaded the lethal computer virus to Michigan.

  Harrison turned to Christine as he slid the pouch into the left breast pocket of his camouflage uniform. “Are you ready to suit up?”

  “Into what?” Christine asked.

  “You don’t think you’re going on a mission dressed like that, do you?” Harrison’s eyes darted to her blue coveralls for a second. “You’ll need something more appropriate.”

  * * *

  An hour later, the Michigan was back at three hundred feet, heading steadily toward the Chinese coast. Christine was seated in the Executive Officer’s stateroom as Harrison arrived with a stack of equipment in his arms. After closing the door behind him with his elbow, he placed the gear on the XO’s desk.

  “This is your wet suit.” Harrison held up a one-piece black wet suit with a zipper up the front and a hood. “We’ll be traveling in water that’s fifty-eight degrees Fahrenheit this time of year, and hypothermia will set in unless you’re protected.” He placed the wet suit back onto the desk, picking up a pair of rubber shoes in his right hand and a harness in his left. “Rubber booties and a double tank harness. We’ll be underwater for a while, so you’ll need two air tanks. Rubber boots, but no fins for you. I’ll get you to the surface without them.” Harrison returned the gear to the desk and he picked up the final piece of equipment. “A full-face mask, which supplies air you can breathe through your mouth or nose.”

  Harrison piled the equipment into a neat stack. “You wear nothing under your wet suit except underwear. Let me know if you need help getting dressed.” Harrison flashed a mischievous grin. “I’ll be waiting outside your stateroom.”

  Christine offered a condescending smile and matching tone of voice. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  * * *

  Five minutes later, after wriggling into her wet suit, Christine had donned the gear Harrison had deposited on the XO’s desk. She opened the door to find Harrison leaning against the bulkhead, his muscular arms folded across his chest. He turned and eyed her from head to toe, reaching out to adjust the harness straps over her shoulders.

  “Not bad for a novice.” Harrison smiled warmly this time. “Wait in your stateroom while I suit up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Harrison headed aft while Christine returned to her stateroom, closing the door behind her, settling into the XO’s chair. As she waited in silence, outfitted in Navy SEAL gear, she reflected on the upcoming mission. Harrison believed their odds of making it out of the Great Hall were slim to none. Until this moment, she had refused to dwell on the possibility that she might not survive. But now, less than an hour from launch, a cold shiver slid over her body. Although her outward demeanor remained calm, inside she was beginning to panic.

  Christine drew in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to calm her nerves. She told herself that, one way or another, she would survive and return to Michigan. They would all survive.

  Another knock and the door opened, revealing Lieutenant Harrison decked out in a matching wet suit and associated gear. He said nothing and Christine stood without a word. He turned and she followed him down the passageway, through the watertight hatch into Missile Compartment Second Level. The four SEALs who would accompany them were standing outside Missile Tube One, dressed like Harrison. They eyed Christine without greeting her. Their faces were grim.

  Also wearing dour expressions were Captain Wilson and Commander John McNeil. Harrison and Christine stopped beside the six men, and it was Commander McNeil who spoke first.

  “Does everything fit correctly?”

  It seemed an odd question for some reason, like he was inquiring whether a new pair of shoes felt comfortable. She wondered if there was a more direct question he wanted to ask.

  Are you ready to die?

  Commander McNeil stared at her, and Christine realized she hadn’t answered. “Everything fits fine, Commander.”

  McNeil nodded, then turned toward the four SEALs beside him, motioning to the first man. “Accompanying you is Chief Dan O’Hara, the senior enlisted man on the mission.” O’Hara was the oldest of the four SEALs, the sides of his short red hair speckled with gray. O’Hara extended his hand. “Glad to have you with us, Miss O’Connor.”

  O’Hara’s light blue eyes conveyed the sincerity of his words. As she shook his hand, McNeil continued the introductions. “Also on the team is Drew Garretson—Communicator; Tracey Martin—a Breacher, an explosives expert;
and Kelly Andrews—Rappeler.” Christine recognized Tracey and Kelly as the girls Harrison had mentioned during the mission brief, apparently due to their feminine first names. Both SEALs, however, were over six feet tall and two hundred pounds of solid muscle.

  Christine shook each man’s strong hand, ending with, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  McNeil added, “You’ll be riding with Lieutenant Harrison in one SDV, with the other four SEALs in the other. Do you have any questions?”

  Christine shook her head slowly.

  “Let’s get going then.” Upon McNeil’s order, Harrison approached an open hatch, about waist high, in the side of Missile Tube One, while the four other SEALs headed toward Missile Tube Two.

  As Christine followed Harrison toward the hatch, Wilson reached out and touched her shoulder. She stopped, turning toward him as he spoke. “Be careful, Christine.”

  She eyed the submarine Captain, searching for the right response. She had no idea what to expect in the coming hours, or whether Harrison was right—that she would be more hindrance than help.

  Christine nodded, then stepped through the hatch into the missile tube. Behind her, the hatch swung shut with a faint clank, and she watched the handle spin as the hatch lugs were engaged, sealing her and Harrison inside.

  * * *

  The seven-foot-diameter missile tube was brightly illuminated by fluorescent lights mounted overhead. Harrison and Christine stood on a metal grate in the second level of the missile tube, containing a steel ladder leading up two levels to another hatch. Harrison adeptly climbed the ladder and Christine followed carefully. She paused at the top of the ladder, peering into the relative darkness, bathed in diffuse red light. A hand thrust downward, and after she grabbed Harrison’s hand, he pulled her up into the Dry Deck Shelter.

  The Dry Deck Shelter was a conglomeration of three separate chambers—a spherical hyperbaric chamber at the forward end to treat injured divers; a spherical transfer trunk in the middle, which she and Harrison were currently in; and a long, cylindrical Hangar section containing the SEAL Delivery Vehicle—a black mini-sub resembling a fat torpedo—twenty-two feet long by six feet in diameter. The Hangar was divided into two sections by a Plexiglas shield dropping halfway down from the top of the Hangar, with the SDV on one side and controls for operating the Hangar on the other side.

  Harrison stepped into the Hangar and Christine followed, to find the Hangar already populated with five Navy divers; one on the forward side of the Plexiglas shield to operate the Hangar controls, and the other four divers in scuba gear on the other side of the shield. Harrison sealed the hatch behind him, then ducked under the Plexiglas shield.

  Christine followed, stopping at the forward end of the SDV, which was loaded nose first into the Dry Deck Shelter. The SDV had two seating areas, one in front of the other, each capable of carrying two persons. Two large, black duffel bags occupied the rear compartment.

  Harrison lifted a pair of scuba tanks from a rack in the DDS bulkhead, dropping them into Christine’s harness behind her. After connecting her air hose to the tanks, he donned two tanks of his own, then helped Christine into the front seat of the SDV. Harrison put on his fins and climbed in beside her, then manipulated the controls in front of him. The SDV displays energized, illuminating the cockpit in a soothing green glow. A contour of the Chinese coast appeared on the navigation display. They were ten miles from shore.

  Harrison put his facemask on, motioning for Christine to do the same. Then he popped his head out the top of the mini-sub, rendering a thumbs-up to the diver on the other side of the Plexiglas shield.

  A few seconds later, dark water surged into the DDS, gushing up from vents beneath them, pooling at the bottom of the Hangar and rising rapidly. The DDS was soon completely flooded down, except for a pocket of air on the other side of the Plexiglas shield, where the Navy diver operated the Dry Deck Shelter. Christine heard a faint rumbling grind as the circular hatch at the end of the DDS opened. Through the murky water, illuminated by the green glow from the SDV console, she watched the two divers on each side of the SDV glide toward the chamber opening with a kick of their fins.

  The divers pulled rails out from the Hangar onto the submarine’s Missile Deck, and the SDV began moving backward. As they emerged from the chamber, Christine spotted the other four SEALs in a second SDV being hauled out of the other shelter, guided aft along rails by divers floating beside them.

  The SDV exited the Dry Deck Shelter and Christine felt a subtle thud as the backward motion of the submersible ceased. Harrison manipulated the SDV controls and a gentle vibration began coursing through her body. The SDV’s propeller had begun spinning, and the submersible lifted off its rails. It rose slowly, then began moving forward, passing above the Dry Deck Shelter and then along the starboard side of Michigan’s sail. After passing the sail, Christine spotted the other SDV on the port side of the submarine, and the two SDVs cruised over the submarine’s bow fifteen feet apart. Turning around, Christine watched the black silhouette of USS Michigan fade into the murky water.

  60

  BOHAI SEA

  Christine lost all sense of time as she cruised toward the Chinese coast. The underwater world was cloaked in darkness, illuminated only by the SDV console. Despite her insulated wet suit, a chill had set in and her muscles were tense from the cold. Christine sat quietly in the SDV as she tried to pass the time and chill away.

  The vibrations pulsing through the SDV suddenly ceased and the mini-sub began slowing. Harrison looked up from the SDV console, peering ahead, and Christine followed his gaze. Barely discernible in the darkness, barnacle-encrusted wood pilings drifted toward them. Harrison deftly maneuvered the SDV, angling alongside the pilings, letting them pass slowly down the starboard side of the vehicle. A rusted metal ladder appeared between two of the wooden pilings, and Harrison shifted the propeller into reverse, then cut the engine after the SDV slowed to a halt. After a few taps of the controls, the SDV drifted downward, coming to rest on the sandy ocean bottom. A few seconds later, the other SDV settled on the ocean floor beside them, only a few feet away. Another tap and the SDV console went dark.

  Yellow lights wavered on the water’s surface, faintly illuminating the eerie underwater world. Christine watched as Harrison and the four other SEALs deftly extracted themselves from their SDVs. Harrison helped her out of the SDV, depositing her onto the side of the mini-sub where she hung on with one arm draped inside the cockpit. Then he grabbed the two black duffel bags from the back of their SDV, slung both bags over his shoulder, and sidled up against Christine as one of the other SEALs ascended toward the surface.

  A minute later, the SEAL returned, offering a thumbs-up. He grabbed one of the duffel bags, rejoined the other three SEALs, and all four surged toward the surface. A moment later, Harrison gripped Christine’s arm firmly and propelled them both upward with a powerful kick.

  They slowed as they approached the surface, angling toward the rusted metal ladder. Christine grabbed on to the ladder while Harrison removed his fins, motioning for her to follow him up. After climbing a few of the rusted metal rungs, Christine’s head emerged from the dark water. She pushed her facemask onto her forehead, taking a deep breath of the cool night air.

  Harrison reached the top of the ladder and disappeared. Christine continued climbing, and after a few more rungs, reached the top of a wharf, framing what looked like an abandoned quay. The first four SEALs were arranged in a semicircular perimeter about twenty feet in diameter, each man on one knee wielding a Heckler & Koch MP7 submachine gun—a compact assault rifle barely more than a foot long with an extendable stock, an optical sight, and a suppressor screwed onto the barrel.

  The wharf extended for several hundred yards in each direction, and a few hundred feet to the left was an abandoned two-story building. A sign above the dark entrance, inscribed in English, identified the building as the Xingang Port Passenger Terminal, which had been abandoned after the new terminal had been built
a few miles away. They were in Tianjin, Beijing’s neighboring port city.

  Christine pulled herself onto the wharf, moving awkwardly toward Harrison; her muscles were stiff from the cold underwater journey. Harrison opened his duffel bag and retrieved a flashlight that he pointed inland, energizing it briefly three times. As Christine stopped next to Harrison, a pair of headlights appeared in the distance, and a white van soon approached the deserted wharf, stopping next to the five SEALs and Christine. A side door slid open, revealing one of the men from the CIA safe house.

  Harrison picked up the duffel bag and guided Christine into the van, and they were joined by the four other SEALs as they collapsed their perimeter. The van sped away and Christine and the five SEALs settled into seats lining both sides of the van, while the Chinese man remained standing, gripping handholds suspended from the top of the van. He eyed Christine and the five men briefly before speaking.

  “I am Tian Aiguo. Welcome to China.”

  * * *

  In the back of the van, the SEALs shed their scuba gear, stripping the wet suits from their bodies, and put on the trousers and shirts that Tian pulled from a sack at his feet. Harrison helped Christine remove her gear and glanced at her wet suit.

  “Tian has clothes for you, if you don’t mind stripping down in the van. We won’t look.”

  The underwater journey had sucked the heat from Christine’s body, and the prospect of warm, dry clothing instead of a cold, damp wet suit outweighed her modesty. “I’ll change.”

  Tian handed her a white towel, along with a loose-fitting white shirt and baggy khaki pants with a drawstring at the waist. Christine pulled her arms from her wet suit, wrapping the towel around her chest as she pulled the rest of the suit away from her body, steadying herself with a grip on Harrison’s shoulder as the van jostled along the highway. True to Harrison’s word, the six men averted their eyes as she changed into dry clothing.