Empire Rising

by Rick Campbell

  Christine stepped back to examine her work. It was possible the woman could wriggle her way out of the tape after she left, but Christine figured it didn’t matter. She would need only a few minutes. In the meantime, the woman wouldn’t need her badge. Christine transferred the badge from the woman’s blouse to hers, then searched through the woman’s purse on top of the desk, retrieving a compact mirror, which she opened in her left hand.

  Huan’s two punches to her face had done some damage, but thankfully the swelling had subsided. His first punch had caught her squarely on the left side of her face, but there was only a faint blue bruise along her jawline. The second fist to her face had done more damage, splitting open her upper lip. After entering the woman’s office this morning, she had wiped her face clean with a tissue from the box on the woman’s desk. She must have done a decent job, because the guard she encountered a few minutes ago didn’t seem to notice. As she examined her face in the small mirror, tilting her head from side to side, she was pleased. The split lip had sealed, forming a thin scab. She ran her fingers through her hair, making herself as presentable as possible, then returned the mirror to the purse.

  Christine glanced at her watch. It would be a few more hours before lunchtime, when the corridors would be sufficiently crowded for her journey. As long as the security guards didn’t sweep by the office again in the meantime, her plan might work. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.

  72

  WASHINGTON, D.C.

  In the Situation Room beneath the West Wing of the White House, Captain Steve Brackman took his seat at the conference table, waiting for the briefing to begin. Gathered around the table, with the president at the head, were Secretary of Defense Nelson Jennings and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff on one side, Captain Brackman and senior members of the president’s Cabinet lining the other. At the front of the conference room, the image of Admiral Vance Garbin, head of Pacific Command, flickered on the large monitor.

  “The SEAL team mission was a resounding success, sir,” the Admiral began. “All PLA communication nodes and command and control centers are off-line, as well as their newest missile systems. Also, our Atlantic Fleet SSGNs launched over three hundred Tomahawk missiles, destroying the older Chinese missile systems that weren’t networked. Between our Tomahawks, another round of B-1 bomber attacks, and the computer virus, Chinese air defense is practically nonexistent. Our aircraft have complete control of the skies over Japan.

  “After our satellites came up, our submarines downloaded the new torpedo software, which has been extremely effective. The fast attacks sanitized the approach lanes for our MEFs, sinking over twenty Chinese submarines. Our fast attacks have penetrated the Nansei Island chain, and will soon be attacking Chinese ships ferrying men and supplies onto the Japanese islands.”

  “How are the MEF landings going?” the president asked.

  “The beachhead has been secured and the MEFs are off-loading men and equipment. The three Marine air wings are providing support as ground forces move inland. Once we’ve gained control of an airstrip or the Marines finish building one, we’ll begin moving Air Force fighter squadrons and Army troops in to assist. Unless something unforeseen occurs, Mr. President, this war is all but over.”

  The president nodded, a grim look of satisfaction on his face. “What about the SEAL team that injected the virus?”

  “I’m afraid that’s the only piece of bad news,” the Admiral answered. “The virus was inserted five hours ago, but no one has exited the Great Hall of the People. We have to conclude the team members have been either killed or captured.”

  There was silence in the conference room as the president absorbed the Admiral’s assessment. The mission had been an enormous success, but the men—and woman—had likely paid with their lives.

  “Thank you, Admiral,” the president replied. “Keep us informed if anything changes.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  The view screen flickered off, and the president directed his attention to the men and women seated at the conference table. They were silent, awash in relief from the success of their counterpunch against China, but keenly aware of the probable death of the president’s national security advisor. Finally, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, General Hodson, expressed his condolences.

  “Mr. President, I’m sorry to hear about Miss O’ Connor.”

  The president remained silent for a moment, then leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the table, his forearms crossed in front of him. “How well do you know Christine?”

  The chairman answered, “Not very well, I admit. Our interactions were limited to the various briefings we attended together.”

  “Let me provide some background,” the president began. “There are two important things you should know. The first is that she’s a tenacious woman, willing to put up with a lot in an effort to achieve her goal. Hell, she puts up with me. And Hardison!” Hardison nodded glumly as the president continued. “She agreed to work in an administration of the opposite party, butting heads every day with the likes of me, Hardison, and SecDef, with the hope she could make sense out of our hare-brained national defense policies.

  “The second thing you need to know is that Christine has a vindictive streak. You don’t want to cross her or the United States. Do you remember the Kentucky incident?” The General nodded. “And you remember what happened to Israel’s Intelligence Minister afterward?”

  General Hodson replied, “He was assassinated by his own Mossad.”

  “Not the Mossad,” the president replied. He kept his eyes locked on Hodson until what really happened dawned on him.

  The General’s eyes widened. “Christine killed him?”

  “She insisted on the assignment,” the President answered. “And she did a stellar job.

  “My point, gentlemen,” the president added, “is that I wouldn’t underestimate Christine. She could very well be alive, somewhere in the Great Hall. And if so, my best bet is—she’s not thinking about escape.”

  73

  BEIJING

  Xiang Chenglei entered the Politburo conference room, taking his seat at the head of the table. The lights were dim, matching the mood of the other seven Politburo members. Joining the Politburo today was General Cao Feng, head of the PLA’s Fourth Department, responsible for China’s cyber warfare, who was seated at the far end of the table. Also present—in electronic form—was Admiral Tsou, his grainy image displayed on the large monitor on the wall opposite Xiang.

  It seemed impossible. Events this morning had unfolded at a whirlwind pace, quickly reaching a crisis level. Xiang found it difficult to believe the situation had deteriorated so drastically, and decided it was prudent to obtain the information firsthand. Surely, the data streaming into the Great Hall had been garbled. It was time to obtain an accurate update.

  Xiang was about to address General Cao when the doors to the conference room opened and Huan, who had been unexpectedly absent all morning, entered. Wrapped around Huan’s head was a white gauze bandage, a tinge of red seeping through the right side. Huan settled gingerly into a vacant chair at the end of the conference table. Xiang decided his questions about Huan’s absence and physical condition could wait until after the meeting. He returned his attention to General Cao.

  “What is the status of this American virus?”

  General Cao cleared his voice. “A virus was uploaded into the main communications center here in the Great Hall, and it is spreading throughout the entire PLA command and control infrastructure, infecting all communication and tactical networks. The virus manifests itself in two ways. The first is that it corrupts the computer operating system, shutting down the computer and preventing start-up afterward. The second effect is that even when the computers are restarted from backup operating system discs, the virus corrupts the computer IP assignments, preventing the transfer of information between computers.”

  “How long will it take to clear the virus
and restore our communication and tactical networks?”

  There was a pained expression on the General’s face as he answered. “It will take weeks to recover, Mr. President. All infected computers must be wiped clean—their hard drives erased, reformatted, and software reloaded. The IP links to other command centers and every unit in the field will have to be manually reentered.”

  “How did this happen? We made an enormous investment in cyber warfare, and it was the one area we had supremacy over the Americans.”

  “We have made an enormous investment,” General Cao replied, “and our command and control networks are impervious to outside attacks. However, we did not consider an attack from within, from inside the Great Hall of the People. That was our shortcoming.”

  There was a momentary silence before Xiang turned to Admiral Tsou’s image on the monitor. “What is the impact on the People’s Liberation Army?”

  Admiral Tsou replied, “All communication and tactical links are down, and the virus has also infected individual combat units, taking their IP voice circuits off-line. All of our newest, networked weapon systems are inoperative, leaving only legacy weapons, most of which have been destroyed by Tomahawk missiles and air strikes. As a result, America has control of the sky over Japan, protecting their Marine Expeditionary Forces, which are off-loading onto a beachhead on Honshu’s eastern shore.

  “Additionally, our submarine fleet has been devastated in only a few hours. It’s hard to get a clear picture of what is occurring, but several of our submarines that have been sunk have relayed information via their emergency beacons on the surface. The American torpedoes can no longer be shut down by our submarine sonar pulse. It appears they are also now able to home on our submarines when they attempt to shut the torpedo down. The American fast attacks have sunk all of our submarines screening Honshu and have penetrated the Nansei Island chain, and they will soon cut off all reinforcements and supplies flowing onto the Japanese islands. If we don’t react quickly, our troops on Japan will become stranded.”

  There was a long silence as Xiang and the other Politburo members absorbed Admiral Tsou’s words. America had defeated them. And if they didn’t act soon, hundreds of thousands of men would become prisoners of war.

  China must retreat.

  Xiang’s eyes moved around the table, surveying each member of the Politburo. Without asking, he saw the consent in their eyes. Xiang was about to address Admiral Tsou when Huan interjected.

  “What about the PLA Air Force? If we sink Reagan and her escorts, can we continue the campaign?” There was desperation in Huan’s voice.

  “Yes and no,” Tsou answered. “The PLA Air Force has fared well thus far in our campaign against Taipei and Japan, but the main reason is because we have avoided engaging American aircraft and their carrier strike groups, attacking them with missiles instead. Our aircraft technology and pilot training are no match for that of the Americans. However, we have a significant numerical advantage, and if we commit the PLA Air Force to a direct assault on the Reagan Task Force, I believe we can overwhelm their defenses and destroy Reagan and her escorts, along with their amphibious ships. Unfortunately, we will suffer significant losses—several hundred aircraft—and only delay the inevitable.

  “With American submarines controlling the water between China and Japan, we will be unable to ship adequate supplies to our forces in Japan; our airlift capacity is insufficient. Also, once the four Atlantic Fleet carriers arrive, we will lose control of the airspace again, since we can no longer prevent the carriers from approaching Japan. Our new missile systems and submarines that were supposed to keep the carriers away have been defeated.

  “America’s Marine combat units have already been transferred ashore, and although we can destroy their amphibious ships and whatever material remains aboard, we cannot dislodge the Marines from Honshu before the Atlantic Fleet carriers arrive. Once America has control of the airspace and is able to build an airfield for their Air Force to operate from and land Army units, it’s over.”

  “We must make America pay,” Huan replied, turning toward Xiang, “in every way possible. If we can sink yet another carrier strike group, then we should. It will help teach the Americans a lesson.” Huan paused, then revealed the true intent of his recommendation. “There will be severe political implications once the people learn we have been defeated and so many lives lost for nothing. However, if we can claim we have destroyed the entire American Pacific Fleet, it will soften the blow. We can even retool the intent of our offensive, ending America’s domination of the Pacific.”

  Xiang did not immediately respond, evaluating the situation and Huan’s proposal. Finally, he sat up, his shoulders straight as he spoke to Admiral Tsou’s image.

  “Send orders to our PLA commanders through whatever communication circuits remain and begin their extraction from Japan. However, leave our units on Taipei. I will use our occupation of Taiwan as a bargaining chip during negotiations with the United States.”

  Xiang paused for a moment, then continued. “Commit the PLA Air Force. Destroy the Reagan Task Force.”

  Admiral Tsou acknowledged Xiang’s order, then his image faded from the display. There was a painful silence in the conference room as the men around the table digested the sudden turn of events. Finally, Xiang stood to leave, as did the seven junior members and Huan. Xiang stepped into the hallway and Huan joined him at his side, the two men flanked by Cadre Department bodyguards, who had been waiting outside the conference room. As the four men headed down the corridor toward the president’s office, Huan brought Xiang up to speed on what had occurred earlier that morning.

  74

  USS RONALD REAGAN

  Off the eastern shore of Honshu, Captain CJ Berger leaned forward in his chair on the Bridge of USS Ronald Reagan. His eyes scanned the video screens mounted below the Bridge windows as he listened to Reagan’s strike controllers over the speaker by his chair. So far, things had been quiet in the air, and everything was proceeding smoothly ashore. The Marine Expeditionary Forces were incredibly efficient, rapidly off-loading their troops and equipment. All ground combat troops were ashore and their Harrier jets and Viper and Venom attack helicopters had been striking targets inland all morning. Within twenty-four hours, their remaining equipment would be off-loaded. In the meantime, it was the task force’s job to protect the vulnerable amphibious ships. That responsibility fell largely on Reagan.

  The Atlantic Fleet submarines had cleared a safe path to Honshu’s shores, then expanded outward, preventing China’s Navy from approaching close enough to become a threat. The PLA Air Force, however, was another matter. They fielded over one thousand fourth-generation fighters, while the Reagan Task Force, augmented by the Marine Joint Strike Fighters, mustered only ninety-six fighter aircraft, of which only half were on station. Three of Reagan’s fighter squadrons, along with one of the Marine squadrons, were flying CAP—Combat Air Patrol—with one squadron on its way out to relieve and another squadron on its way back for replacement pilots and refueling. On the Flight Deck, the sixth squadron of Reagan’s fighters were performing hot-pump crew switch—refueling with their jet engines still running, turning off an engine on one side of the aircraft long enough for the pilots to swap out.

  Against potential Chinese air attack, the Reagan Task Force employed a layered defense. The aircraft were on the perimeter, with Reagan’s escorts—only two cruisers and four destroyers—forming an inner ring, with Reagan and the amphibious ships in the center. The maximum range of Chinese air-to-surface missiles was debatable, but Intel’s current estimate was that the range of the most capable missile variants was 150 miles. As a result, Reagan had established its Combat Air Patrol at 250 miles to allow time for their fighters to engage and destroy any inbound Chinese aircraft before they could launch their air-to-surface missiles.

  Any Leakers—hostile aircraft that made it through Reagan’s Combat Air Patrol—would be shot down by Standard SM-2 and extended-range SM-6 missiles l
aunched by the task force’s cruisers and destroyers. Any missiles launched by the Chinese jets would also be engaged with Standard missiles. And finally, if Chinese missiles made it past the SM-2s and SM-6s, Reagan and the other ships would employ their close-in Ship Self-Defense Systems, which on Reagan consisted of the ESSM and RAM missiles and the CIWS Gatling guns.

  Berger preferred to have his Combat Air Patrol farther out, but the Air Warfare Commander aboard the Aegis cruiser USS Chosin had made the decision to pull them closer in. Their aircraft were already stretched thin at 250 miles. Thankfully, half of the task force’s fighters were the new Joint Strike Fighters. They were extremely capable aircraft—on paper. None had been tested in combat. But that might soon change.

  Berger’s attention shifted from the video screens on the bulkhead to the speaker by his chair. The strike controllers were directing the squadron of Joint Strike Fighters returning to Reagan to turn around and head back out.

  * * *

  In Reagan’s Combat Direction Center, Captain Debbie Kent watched airborne contacts populate her display. Their E-2C Hawkeyes, flying high above the task force, were transmitting tracks to the cruisers, destroyers, and carrier. Kent looked up from her console, examining one of the two eight-by-ten-foot displays on the Video Wall. It was littered with several hundred contacts streaming toward the Reagan Task Force from three directions—over Honshu and around the northern and southern ends of the island.

  Kent waited as the E-2C Hawkeyes above queried the incoming aircraft using the IFF—Identification Friend or Foe—system. If they were friendly aircraft, the transponders aboard would transmit the correct response to the Hawkeyes’ challenge.

  The inbound icons began changing color, switching from yellow to red.

  The aircraft were Hostile.

  A few seconds later, the Air Warfare Commander’s voice emanated from the speaker next to Kent. “Alpha Papa, this is Alpha Whiskey. Divide your CAP into three segments and engage incoming Hostiles. You are Weapons Free.”