“I do not disobey you lightly, Chenglei, but I must take revenge for what she has done. She destroyed years of painstaking preparation, and China is humiliated again by an imperial power. The lives of many men will amount to nothing.”
Xiang replied, also in English. “No one will obtain the revenge they deserve. Not me, for what was done to my mother, not America, for the lives lost in this conflict, and not you. Put down the gun.”
Huan ignored Xiang’s command. Turning back to Christine, he spoke in English.
“Time to die.”
Terror tore through Christine’s mind. Up to this second, she believed she would live; that she would somehow find a way out of her predicament. Her breathing turned shallow and her pulse began to race. She felt light-headed and she braced herself with her right hand, but that only caused her to lean forward, pressing her forehead more firmly into the pistol barrel.
Huan’s finger turned from pink to white as he began squeezing the trigger.
There was a flash of movement along the side of the room. Yang pulled his pistol from its holster, leveling it at Huan as he shouted in Chinese. Huan’s expression transitioned from surprise to malevolence, then he slowly lowered his gun and tossed it onto the floor.
The president’s stern voice captured Christine’s attention. He was yelling at Yang.
Yang ignored China’s president, keeping his eyes fixed on Huan as he reached into his pocket and tossed Christine a key. “Unlock your friend’s handcuffs. We’re going to need his help getting out of here.”
Christine pulled herself to her feet using Harrison’s arm for assistance, as Huan verbally lambasted Yang. A torrent of Chinese streamed from his mouth, his face turning red as he no doubt cursed Yang for his treason. Christine unlocked Harrison’s handcuffs, and he rubbed his wrists as he turned toward Christine and Huan. He was about to say something when a gunshot rang out.
Yang’s body jerked backward. Christine’s eyes went first to Yang. He’d been shot in the side. She looked across the room toward Xiang, still standing behind his desk, the top right drawer open. Xiang held a pistol in his hand, aimed at Yang.
Yang swiveled toward Xiang as China’s president fired again, this time hitting Yang in the chest. Yang collapsed onto the floor, his gun falling from his hand.
As the second shot rang out from Xiang’s pistol, Harrison was already moving. He took two steps toward Xiang, then launched himself headfirst over the president’s desk. Xiang swung his arm toward Harrison as he crashed into Xiang with a flying tackle. The two men disappeared behind the desk as they fell to the floor, and Christine could hear them struggling. There would normally be no doubt as to who would prevail, but Harrison was injured, with a bullet in his shoulder.
Christine looked at Huan, only a few feet away from her. Their eyes locked for an instant, then Huan’s eyes went to Yang’s pistol on the floor. Christine suddenly realized her peril. He was closer to the gun and would reach it first. She glanced down, locating her Glock ten feet away where Huan had tossed it.
Huan ducked down, reaching for Yang’s gun while Christine dove for hers. She landed on her stomach, sliding across the floor, ignoring the pain stabbing through her chest and left shoulder. Her outstretched right hand found the Glock, and she grabbed it. She slid her finger over the trigger as she twisted onto her back. Huan had Yang’s gun and was swinging it up. Christine took aim as Huan’s hand steadied, and both fired simultaneously. Huan’s bullet tore into Christine’s right thigh as her bullet hit him in the chest. He dropped to his knees, the gun tumbling from his hand.
As the sound of the gunshots faded, the door to Xiang’s office burst open. In the doorway stood the Cadre Department bodyguard who had taken station outside the president’s office. His gun was drawn and held extended with both hands. He surveyed the situation in Xiang’s office—Huan, Christine, and Yang on the floor, with the sounds of a struggle coming from behind the president’s desk. His eyes went back to Christine and the gun in her hand, and he took aim at her.
Christine swung the pistol toward the bodyguard and fired first. The bullet hit him in the chest, jerking his aim as he fired. The wood floor by Christine’s head splintered as a bullet impacted an inch to the left of her ear.
The bodyguard stumbled backward a step, but remained standing. He regained his balance, showing no indication he’d been injured. Christine then remembered the two bodyguards outside Xiang’s office had been wearing bulletproof vests. She raised her pistol, steadying up on the bodyguard’s head and squeezed the trigger again.
The pistol hammer fell on an empty chamber.
She was out of bullets.
Christine glanced at Yang’s pistol on the floor near Huan. He was still on his knees, supporting himself with both hands, oblivious to what was happening.
The Cadre Department Bodyguard adjusted the aim of his pistol. Christine knew there was no way she could reach Yang’s gun in time. The bodyguard’s hand steadied, his pistol pointed squarely at her head, and a shot rang out.
Christine flinched, but no bullet penetrated her body.
Instead, the bodyguard jolted backward again as two more shots were fired. Two bullets hit him in the chest, and a third in his forehead. His head snapped back and he fell to the ground.
Christine looked around and spotted Harrison standing behind Xiang’s desk, the president’s pistol in his hand. Behind him, Xiang was slowly pulling himself to his feet, his hand on the edge of his credenza along the back wall. Harrison moved quickly, heading toward the door to Xiang’s office. He dragged the bodyguard inside, then closed the door and locked it. He turned to assess Christine and the two men on the floor.
Both Huan and Yang were alive. Huan was still on his knees, his head bowed and hands on the floor, blood spreading across his shirt from the bullet hole in his chest. Yang was trying to push himself into a sitting position. Harrison kicked the gun away from Huan, then after a quick glance at Christine’s leg, hustled over to Yang, propping him against the wall. Harrison examined Yang’s wounds, glancing occasionally at Huan and Xiang.
Christine stood, doing her best to ignore the pain shooting through her thigh, and retrieved Yang’s pistol from the floor. She had unfinished business. She turned and leveled the gun at Xiang, who was standing behind his desk again.
“Order your military to stand down,” Christine said. “End this war.”
Xiang said nothing, glaring at Christine instead.
“Terminate all military operations,” she said, “or I’ll put a bullet in your head.”
Xiang finally responded, “You would not kill an unarmed man in cold blood.”
Christine studied Xiang, searching for a way to coerce him. She needed to convince Xiang she was serious about killing him—in cold blood as he described it. As she stood with the pistol aimed at China’s president, pain from her broken ribs sliced through her chest with every breath, blood trickled down the side of her face from the laceration in her scalp, and blood from the bullet hole in her thigh soaked her pants leg. She glanced at Huan, the man responsible for all three injuries, still kneeling on his hands and knees a few feet away.
Christine swung the pistol toward Huan. He looked up at her, hatred burning in his eyes. She steadied her aim and squeezed the trigger. The back of Huan’s head exploded outward and he slumped to the floor.
Harrison, who had been tending to Yang’s wounds, stood and turned toward Christine, examining Huan’s body. “What the hell are you doing, Chris?”
Christine ignored Harrison as she swung the pistol back toward Xiang. “Let’s try this again. Order your military to stand down, or I’ll put you down.”
Xiang’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he reached for his phone.
“No funny business,” Christine said. She glanced at Yang, sitting up against the wall. “Are you lucid enough to listen to what he’s saying?”
Yang grimaced, then replied, “Yes.”
Xiang lifted the receiver to his ear and punched
one of the buttons on the phone. A few seconds later, he spoke into the mouthpiece in Chinese. After a short pause, he hung up the phone. Christine looked at Yang, who nodded his head.
Christine returned her attention to Xiang, keeping her gun pointed at him.
“Thank you, Chenglei. Now it’s time for you to pay.”
Harrison intervened. “He’s done what you asked, Chris. There’s no reason to kill him.”
Christine replied, “This man is responsible for the death of tens of thousands. He needs to suffer the consequences for what he’s done.”
“You can’t kill him. He’s the president of China.”
“He’s the head of their army,” Christine said. “He deserves to suffer the same fate many of them have.”
“Put the gun down, Chris.”
Christine didn’t reply, focusing her attention on Xiang again. He stood there, stoically, giving no indication he feared for his life. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t kill you,” she said.
Xiang was silent for a moment, then replied, “Because if you kill me, you will not make it out of the Great Hall alive. You are not simply choosing between my life and death, you are deciding yours. Let me live, and I will ensure you and your friends receive medical care and a safe return home.”
Christine considered Xiang’s words. He had a point. By killing him, she’d be sentencing herself, Harrison, and Yang to death. There was no way they could fight their way out of the Great Hall of the People.
“How can we trust you?” Christine asked.
“Despite what you may think, I am an honorable man, Miss O’Connor. You have my word.”
Christine’s hand wavered as she evaluated her options. Finally, her hand steadied as she made her decision.
78
USS RONALD REAGAN
On the Bridge of USS Reagan, Captain CJ Berger examined the two displays on the bulkhead in front of him. One, connected to the ship’s organic sensors, was void of enemy contacts, failing to display the danger headed toward them. The other monitor, however, told the real story. Connected to the Link 16 system, it recorded the location of every contact reported by the E-2C Hawkeyes above them, and well as every ship on the grid. Streaming in from three directions were another four hundred Chinese aircraft.
Despite the impending onslaught, it was eerily quiet on the aircraft carrier. The Air Boss on the Tower Deck had no incoming aircraft to direct, and the Flight Deck below was empty. All of Reagan’s aircraft were aloft, and there was no time to bring them back to refuel or rearm them.
Berger watched as the Chinese aircraft steadily closed the distance to the remaining thirty U.S. fighters. The Chinese would slice through the remnants of Reagan’s Combat Air Patrol like a hot knife through butter, then unleash a barrage of missiles that would overwhelm Reagan’s self-defense systems.
There was a slim chance the aircraft carrier would survive. She was a huge ship and could weather dozens of air-to-surface missile strikes, depending on where they hit. Reagan’s cruiser and destroyer escorts were not as fortunate. They were much smaller and would be devastated by even a few missiles. The amphibs were large but some of them had less capable self-defense systems.
The TAO’s voice crackled across the speaker next to Berger. He could hear the desperation in the TAO’s voice as he directed the strike controllers to engage all incoming Hostiles. As the orders went out from the strike controllers, Berger’s eyes returned to the displays in front of him, surprised by what he saw. The red icons had halted their advance toward Reagan.
Berger picked up the microphone, selecting CDC, his eyes still fixed on the display. “OPSO, Captain. Report status of inbound Hostiles.”
Captain Kent’s voice came across the speaker. “Captain, OPSO. We’re evaluating, but it appears all Hostiles have turned to an outbound course.”
Berger studied the display. Sure enough, the icons began inching outward. It took a moment for him to process the information. He had no idea why, but the Chinese aircraft were heading home.
He watched the display a while longer, verifying that the Chinese aircraft were indeed returning to base, then he finally allowed himself to relax. He knew that down in CDC, they would be relieved as well. But there would be no cheering. They had lost too many good men and women today.
EPILOGUE
APRA HARBOR, GUAM
Under a clear blue sky, the air was still and the sun hot on Christine’s shoulders as she stood on the wharf in Apra Harbor, the main port in the American territory of Guam. The small Western Pacific island was home to the only American submarine homeport, aside from Pearl Harbor, outside the continental United States. But today the port serviced more than submarines. Christine’s eyes scanned the wharves, noting the dozen surface ships tied up, their superstructures blackened or their decks listing to one side. Except for Ronald Reagan and her escorts still at sea, this was all that remained of the once-powerful Pacific Fleet.
Next to her stood what remained of the five-man SEAL team inserted into China. Lieutenant Harrison had his left arm in a dark blue sling, matching the one Christine wore. Harrison’s injury had not been serious, nor were her wounds. The bullets had been removed and her shoulder and thigh were now bandaged, and she leaned on a crutch under her right arm.
Standing in Xiang Chenglei’s office six days ago, she had decided to spare his life, and he had kept his promise. After an overnight stay in Tiantan Hospital under the close supervision of Cadre Department personnel, she, Harrison, and Yang were transported to Beijing’s Nanyuan Airport, where they embarked an American Air Force 747, which had arrived with a diplomatic entourage. They had headed east while negotiations between China and the West had begun.
After Xiang issued the cease-fire order in his office, the PLA Air Force had terminated its attack on the Reagan Task Force, and by the time she had confronted Xiang, Chinese troops had already begun their withdrawal from Japan. But not Taiwan. That was China’s bargaining chip. Taiwan was firmly in communist Chinese control, and PLA troops had dug in and been well supplied. Even with the arrival of the Atlantic Fleet carrier strike groups, the PLA could not be dislodged from Taiwan easily. China would not leave Taiwan without concessions.
Although China had withdrawn its forces from Japan, a thinly veiled threat remained. The PLA Navy had been mostly destroyed, but the PLA Air Force, despite the losses inflicted by the Reagan Task Force, was still the most formidable air force in Asia, as was China’s Army, still numbering near three million strong when fully mobilized. There were other natural resources in the region that China could wrest from its neighbors without reliance on its Navy. If the fundamental issue of affordable access to natural resources wasn’t addressed …
It looked like China would achieve their objective after all. The negotiations were not yet complete, but China’s military offensive—diplomacy through other means—had succeeded. The MAER Accord would be modified, restructuring the price calculations, allowing “equal” access to the region’s natural resources. China would cede control of Taiwan in return.
As negotiations concerning one island—Taiwan—neared completion, Christine found herself on another. After boarding the 747 for its return flight to Washington, she had directed the pilot to proceed to Guam instead, informing the president she had unfinished business that required her presence on the small Pacific island.
Christine checked her watch; it was almost time. She shifted her gaze toward the entrance to Apra Harbor, searching for the silhouette of USS Michigan, spotting the black shape on the horizon. Michigan was pulling into port. Two tugs, Goliath and Qupuha, idling in the harbor up to now, began their outbound transit to mate with the inbound SSGN, guiding her final approach to the wharf. As Christine prepared to wait the remaining twenty minutes before Michigan tied up, her thoughts shifted from the submarine that was about to return to port to the thirty fast attacks that would not.
At least that was what everyone had initially thought. China had made the same strategic error t
hat Japan made during World War II, attacking the Pacific Fleet in shallow water. On the evening of December 7, 1941, the Pacific Fleet lay in ruins in the shallows of Pearl Harbor. Yet in the following months, the Pearl Harbor shipyard raised every ship that had been sunk except for USS Arizona, returning every destroyer, cruiser, and battleship to service except for the Arizona and Oklahoma—the latter had capsized while being towed back to the mainland for repairs. China sank twenty-four of the American submarines in the shallow Taiwan Strait, where the water depth averaged only two hundred feet, well below a submarine’s Crush Depth. As a result, if the submarines could be raised from the bottom, only the compartment that had been breached by the torpedo would need to be repaired.
Could it be done? The answer from NAVSEA engineers was—yes! The capability had already been demonstrated when the Russian submarine Kursk was raised from the bottom of the Barents Sea in 2001. The green light had already been given to the monumental project of raising the twenty-four fast attacks from the bottom of the Taiwan Strait, along with the first three submarines that were sunk in the shallow waters outside the South, East, and North Sea Fleet ports.
The four carriers sunk in the Strait would also be raised, although that feat would be significantly more challenging, since the carriers were hundred-thousand-ton behemoths. But hopefully enough of the carriers’ compartments had been sealed during General Quarters that the carriers were lighter than their official tonnage. The major unknown was the status of their keels. If their keels were intact, the four Nimitz class carriers could be raised without breaking apart. All across the country, naval and private shipyards were gearing up for round-the-clock shiftwork, preparing for the arrival of the remnants of the Pacific Fleet. It would be expensive and take time, but it appeared that the Pacific Fleet could be restored in a matter of years, not decades.
A blast from one of the tugs brought Christine’s attention to Michigan, gliding slowly toward the wharf. She spotted Captain Murray Wilson on the Bridge, supervising Lieutenant Herndon, who was on watch as Officer of the Deck and busy passing orders to the Helm. The eighteen-thousand-ton submarine coasted expertly to a halt alongside the wharf and a flurry of activity commenced, men passing lines across from the wharf to personnel on the Missile Deck, while others prepared to hook up shore power so the reactor could be shut down.
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