by Mike Maden
A wide-eyed lieutenant called out from his comms station. “Admiral Ji! The Tiger II has gone off-line. We can’t raise her!”
Ji and Feng rushed over. “What do you mean, can’t raise her?” Ji demanded.
“She’s not answering radio calls. Text messages, e-mails, cell phones—nothing’s getting through.”
“Is she sunk?” Feng asked.
“No, sir. She’s still on our radar.”
“Contact the carrier air group commander. I want two more surveillance aircraft overhead in five minutes or I’ll have him court-martialed.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” The lieutenant snatched up a phone and dialed in the commander’s number.
“What does this mean?” Feng asked.
“Software malfunction. Power outage. Could be any number of things,” Ji offered.
“The Americans?”
Ji nodded. “Who else?”
Alarms suddenly blared throughout the CIC. The TAD flashed hundreds of inbound aerial bogies less than a quarter mile away—striking distance—coming at the ship from all directions. Automated chaff rockets exploded above decks, throwing radar-confusing aluminum clouds into the air as antiaircraft missiles and Gatling guns roared.
A bespectacled lieutenant next to Ji shouted, “We’re under attack!” The room exploded with nervous chatter as operators called out status reports.
Ji laid a firm hand on the shoulder of the nervous officer. “Calm down.”
“Sorry, sir.”
Ji turned to another officer. “Someone get me the CAP.”
“The CAP commander reports no visual sightings, but his radar has locked on to multiple targets, closing.” The commander of the combat air patrol flew the latest Shenyang J-15 Flying Shark fighter aircraft, which possessed its own long-range radar, also tied into the TAD.
“Air defense. Status report,” Ji said. The TAD screen exploded with dozens more aerial blips. More antiaircraft missiles roared out of their launchers above his head.
“No splashes, sir!”
“Our missiles hit nothing?”
“No, sir.”
“What kind of aircraft?”
“Indeterminate, sir. Too slow for missiles.”
“Super Hornets? Lightnings?” Ji feared the strike capabilities of the latest American carrier fighter-bombers, the F-35Cs.
“Too small. American CAP and surveillance aircraft all accounted for.”
“Shut down automated air defenses,” Ji ordered.
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Is that wise?” Feng asked.
“We’re just wasting ammunition.” Ji turned around. “Damage control. Report.”
“Sir, damage control reports—”
Another alarm screamed.
Dozens of red blips suddenly appeared beneath the Liaoning, swarming in from every point of the compass. Station operators shouted out the information on their screens.
“Contact bearing 173, distance, 1,000 meters!”
“Contact bearing 238, distance, 950 meters!”
“Contact bearing 049, distance, 1,200 meters!”
“Contact bearing 313, distance, 800 meters!”
The ship’s captain called out, “Emergency flank speed!”
The other officers called out their status reports, but Ji ignored them. His eyes told him everything he needed to know.
“Torpedos?” Feng cried out. He was sweating despite the room’s low temperature.
“Too slow,” Ji said.
“What then? Submarines?”
Another dozen red blips appeared as the others drove toward the Liaoning.
“No.” Ji’s calm demeanor masked his grave concern.
Feng’s eyes grew as wide as boiled eggs. “The Americans have infected our computers!”
The commander in the chair next to Feng ran the ship’s IT systems. “Negative. All computers are functional, no viruses detected.”
Another alarm sounded. “Surface contacts, bearing 040, 122, 274!”
“I don’t like this,” Feng squealed. “We’re vulnerable.”
Ji called over to the mission-control officer. “Put the Wu-14 online. Make all necessary preparations for an immediate launch.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
SIXTY-SIX
ON BOARD THE SWORD DRAGON
19 MAY 2017
10:09 A.M. (JST)
Troy, the Wu-14 is online!” Ian’s brogue thickened on the comms as his adrenaline kicked in. “The bot is active. Repeat, bot is active!”
Troy felt his blood pressure drop. Whenever extreme danger arose, his body always responded by slowing down. It brought him a preternatural calm, one of the reasons he was so effective in combat.
The third software bot that Pearce told Ian to plant in the Wu-14’s onboard computer lay dormant until now. It was the only way to guarantee it couldn’t be detected until this point. Now that the Wu-14 and the mission-control station on board the Liaoning were linked and the satellite connection was active, the bot was in play.
ON BOARD THE LIAONING
19 MAY 2017
10:09 A.M. (JST)
A video screen above the mission-control officer’s head displayed the Wu-14 on its mobile launcher at Ningbo.
“All systems go. You have operational control, Admiral.”
Feng dashed over to Ji, grabbed him by the arm. “Are you mad? We’re vulnerable. We should retreat.”
“We’ll never have a better chance than this,” Ji said. “The Americans will be better prepared next time.”
“They appear to be prepared for us now. I order you to retreat.”
Ji’s mouth thinned. “A gutless mouse. I should’ve known.”
“Don’t be foolish. There’s always another day—”
WHAP! Ji backhanded Feng across his jaw. The minister yelped, grasping his bleeding mouth with both manicured hands.
“Throw this coward into the brig!” Ji commanded.
Two armed guards grabbed the whimpering politician by his arms. Feng cried out as he was dragged out of the CIC, “He’s a madman! Turn around before it’s too late!”
“Where’s the George Washington?” Ji demanded. Another mission-control officer had a God’s-eye satellite view of the American carrier on his monitor. Joysticks and a computer screen were also fixed at his desk. He would be the one to guide the Wu-14 to its hypersonic final destination.
“The George Washington is still holding just outside the red line, sir. But within strike distance.”
“Are they launching more aircraft?”
The officer glanced at his monitor. The George Washington’s deck was covered with fighter-bombers waiting to launch.
“They’re holding so far.”
Ji took a deep breath. The Americans were hesitating just as he predicted. They were fearful of provoking his own powerful fleet. Fortunately for him, the George Washington’s crowded flight deck was crammed with fully fueled and bomb-laden aircraft. That made it even more vulnerable to a missile strike.
Perfect.
SIXTY-SEVEN
SITUATION ROOM
THE KANTEI
TOKYO, JAPAN
19 MAY 2017
10:10 A.M. (JST)
Prime Minister Ito’s situation room was modeled on the American one, though its video displays and electronics were superior. One of the large video displays was linked to American satellite feeds of Ningbo naval base, and a second featured a live video link to the Liaoning at sea, its aircraft scrambling into the air as it turned a hard circle in an evasive maneuver.
A third video monitor was used for a live video conference feed between Ito and his cabinet with President Lane and his circle of civilian and military advisors back in Washington. Other video feeds showed the George Washington at sea and the re
mote North Korean launch complex at Musudan-ri, where the North Korean’s DF-41 MIRV was still on the launch pad.
Myers sat next to Ito. Pearce was still on board the Sword Dragon and wasn’t visible to either room but was audio linked to both.
“The Chinese are panicking,” Shafer said. Lane’s advisors were seated around the table while he stood, pacing.
“Maybe,” Lane said.
“Your handiwork, Mr. Pearce?” Ito asked. He was surrounded by his cabinet as well, along with the uniformed service chiefs of the ground, air, and naval forces of the JSDF.
“Yes, sir,” Pearce said over the speakers. “My drones are only throwing large electronic signatures to fool the Chinese. So far, they’re working.”
“By now Admiral Ji must realize they’re not really under attack,” Myers said.
“But at least we’ve rattled their cage,” Lane said on the video screen.
Tanaka shook his head in disbelief. “And when they figure out they’re in no danger, won’t they simply resume their assault?”
“Would you?” Lane asked.
“Of course!” Tanaka barked.
“Frankly, it’s that North Korean missile that scares the hell out of me,” Lane said.
“Join the club,” Ito said.
A collective gasp filled the room as a flash of light exploded on the Ningbo screen.
SIXTY-EIGHT
THE SITUATION ROOM
THE WHITE HOUSE
WASHINGTON, D.C.
18 MAY 2017
21:10 P.M. (EDT)
They’ve launched the Wu-14!” General Onstot shouted, pointing at the screen. A cacophony of panicked Japanese blasted over the audio system. Lane’s advisors sat in stunned silence.
“Cut the sound, please,” Lane said to a VTC technician manning the video teleconference controls. The MIC OFF sign flashed a moment later. Lane glanced at Ito’s cabinet room video monitor. Everyone there stood on their feet and pointed excitedly at the Ningbo missile launch. Lane swore Tanaka was smiling. Myers was clearly shocked.
“How long do we have, Admiral?” Lane asked.
The chief of naval operations stared at the screen. “Best guess, six minutes at most. Probably half that. Once that bird reaches terminal velocity, it will be traveling at nearly eight thousand miles an hour. Whatever you have in mind, sir, do it now.”
The George Washington lurched into flank speed. Giant white wakes foamed behind her fantail. With two nuclear reactors cranking two hundred and sixty thousand horsepower, the hundred-thousand-ton vessel could make more than thirty knots, half again as fast as World War II–era battleships like the USS Arizona.
“Can the George Washington outmaneuver the Wu-14?” Wheeler asked. She was a foreign-policy expert, not a military one.
“We don’t think so,” the CNO said. “But it’s damn well worth trying.”
The giant American aircraft carrier began launching its aircraft, too.
“Options?” Lane asked.
“Call President Sun. There must be a self-destruct on that thing,” Shafer said.
“Too late. Not sure he’d do it anyway,” Lane said.
“Pearce, you said you’ve got a software bug planted on board?” General Onstot asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you crash the damn thing into the drink?” the admiral asked. “Or can we blow it up ourselves?”
“Yes. To both,” Pearce said.
“Can we capture it?” Garza asked. “Guide it out into the Pacific; let the Navy pick it up off the ocean floor?” He turned to the admiral. “Would that even be remotely possible?”
“Depending on where and how you dropped it. Yeah, it’s possible.”
The service chiefs launched into a fevered discussion about pulling a salvage operation together on short notice.
Pearce’s voice rumbled on the audio speaker. “Mr. President, I need to speak with you privately.”
“The clock’s ticking, sir,” Garza said.
“You’ve got thirty seconds,” Lane said. He dashed to a private secure conference room designed for just such a meeting. Lane slammed the door shut. The room’s only window fogged electronically, shielding him from view.
“What’s on your mind, Troy?”
“I’ve put an option in play.”
“What option?”
Pearce explained.
Lane couldn’t believe his ears.
“You’re sure?”
“Ian guarantees it. That’s good enough for me.”
“You could’ve told me this before.”
“Wasn’t an option until the missile was launched.”
“Does Margaret know?”
“No, sir.”
A knock on the door. Garza’s voice. “David, you’re out of time.”
Pearce had just handed Lane a live hand grenade. Most presidents would have panicked. But Lane wasn’t like most presidents. His pilot training kicked in. John Boyd’s famous OODA loop popped into his mind: “Observe, orient, decide, act.” It had saved his life many times before.
Maybe it would save his country now.
SIXTY-NINE
ON BOARD THE LIAONING
19 MAY 2017
10:21 A.M. (JST)
Ji hovered over the shoulder of the mission-control officer. The computer screen was tracking the Wu-14’s downward trajectory.
“Speed, Mach 9 and accelerating,” the officer said. “Fifteen seconds to impact.”
A second targeting screen kept the George Washington in the center of a red target reticle. So long as the laser targeting reticle remained fixed on the center of the deck, the HGV couldn’t miss. A massive white wake trailed behind the nearly eleven-hundred-foot American carrier, which was now turning sharply.
“He won’t escape,” the officer said, grinning. “Mach 10!”
Admiral Ji stood, erect. Every eye in the room was focused on the main overhead screen, intently watching the hapless American carrier attempt to execute its futile escape maneuver.
Ji flushed with pride. Any second now and he would deal the Americans their worst naval defeat since Pearl—
—
The Liaoning erupted in a cloud of fiery steel as the Wu-14’s explosive warhead plowed into the main deck at 7,680 miles per hour. The thirty-year-old carrier hull shattered beneath the thundering strike, breaking in two amidships when several thousand tons of munitions exploded, sending both halves of the broken carrier to the bottom. A thousand Chinese sailors perished in the first three seconds, another nine hundred in the next minute.
The fate of the pilots and crew of the dozens of Chinese jets and helicopters still in the air remained uncertain; they suddenly had nowhere to land.
—
In the Kantei’s situation room, the Japanese were on their feet cheering, clapping, laughing at the flaming wreckage of the breaking hulk until Tanaka threw two fists in the air and shouted, “Banzai!” Several others echoed him back. Tanaka threw his arms into the air and shouted again and again, “Banzai! Banzai! Banzai!”
Everyone else in the room joined him in chorus, throwing up their arms, joyously crazed.
Everyone except Myers.
She still sat in her chair staring at the video screen, incredulous.
SEVENTY
U.S. EMBASSY
TOKYO, JAPAN
20 MAY 2017
The following morning, Pearce and Myers sat alone in the embassy’s secured conference room. The ambassador was making preparations for Secretary Wheeler’s arrival in a few hours. President Lane appeared on the large VTC screen on the far wall.
“Glad you’re back safe and sound, Troy. Congratulations on a job well done. It couldn’t have been easy for you.”
Pearce nodded his thanks. “Nor you.” He hid a yawn behind a closed fi
st. He hadn’t slept or bathed in nearly three days.
Lane rubbed his face. Dark circles under his eyes, too. “It was the hardest damn decision of my life.”
“Regrets?”
“None.”
“Was this the plan all along?” There was an edge in Myers’s voice. “I feel like I’ve been played.”
“No,” Lane insisted. “Our plan never changed. The goal was always to steal the Wu-14’s software to determine whether or not it was operational.”
“But you don’t ‘accidentally’ gain control of a sophisticated system like that,” Myers said.
Pearce reached for the coffee carafe on the table in front of him. “I had Ian write up the software. I figured once we were in there, we might as well get everything out of it we could, including operational control.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Myers asked.
“Wasn’t sure you’d approve,” Pearce said. Poured two cups.
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.”
Pearce handed her a cup. “Maybe not.”
“You took a helluva risk, David,” Myers said. “Why didn’t you just have Troy dump it in the ocean?” She took a sip of coffee.
Lane stiffened. Didn’t expect to be getting the third degree from the former president. “Admiral Ji and Vice Chairman Feng were hell-bent on grabbing the Senkakus. Even if we’d dropped the Wu-14 into the ocean, they still would’ve invaded Japanese territorial waters. Then I would have had to commit the George Washington into battle. Despite the Sixth Fleet’s superiority on paper, the truth is that in war you can never be certain of outcomes. I had to choose between risking American lives or taking Chinese ones. The choice was clear.”
“Doesn’t that put blood on your hands?” Myers asked.
“Already had that problem long before I got elected. Besides, keeping my hands clean isn’t part of the job description, best as I can recall.” He didn’t mention it was actually Pearce who had used the Japanese submarine as a remote mission-control station, personally steering the hypersonic warhead into the deck of the doomed carrier.