by Larry Bond
Important decisions had to be made at any hour of the day or night, usually after subject matter experts and advisors were consulted. And what advisor wanted to be asleep when opinions were sought?
They resorted to catnaps and hurried meals. A doctor had been assigned to the staff to monitor everyone’s health and administer prescription medications as needed. After all, Chen was nearly seventy, and he was not the oldest man in the Central Military Commission.
With the exposure of the Littoral Alliance, problems could no longer wait for thorough analysis and the 0800 briefing. Finally identifying their enemy should have solved their greatest problem —who and where to strike. The announcement had answered that question, but the hundreds that replaced it now shouted for attention.
Chen sat at the head of the meeting table. He’d been there since five in the morning, and that was after only three hours’ sleep. His mind would not stop racing, like a rat on a wheel.
Vice Chairman Li Ju came into the room and approached Chen. The president greeted Li by pushing the tea set on the table toward an empty chair. “Join me, please,” Chen invited.
The general sat down tiredly and said, “Good morning, Comrade President,” as he helped himself to a cup of tea.
“Is it a good morning?” asked Chen expectantly. He’d set Li to work yesterday evening, and doubted that the general had slept at all.
“Yes, I believe so,” Li answered, with a satisfied tone. “We finally received the programmers’ report twenty minutes ago. The problem with the numerically controlled machines was not a virus. It mimicked a virus, though, so we would waste hours taking the wrong countermeasures. When we weren’t stopping its ‘spread’—”
“General Li,” Chen asked patiently, “what was the cause?”
“A back door in the control software. Camouflaged and appearing to function normally until it received the activation signal. Then it came to life and tried to wreck whatever device it controlled. Every controller that malfunctioned was imported from Japan, and not all from the same manufacturer.”
“And the countermeasure?” Chen asked.
Li shrugged. “Shut down every piece of manufacturing equipment in China that uses a Japanese controller, especially the ones that haven’t malfunctioned yet. Forgive me, but I gave the order in your stead some ten minutes ago. We’ve already lost too many machines, millions of yuans’ worth. Then there are the factory workers that have been killed, and many others injured.”
Chen shook his head, as if to clear it. “So, after losing millions in damaged machines and goods, we lose billions more in manufacturing capacity. And since the Japanese made the best control units, we used them in our most important factories. But it cannot be helped. We will all endorse your order.” Others around the table nodded.
“Our technicians will replace the firmware,” Li explained. “They have to remove the back door, of course, and make sure there aren’t any others. They expect it to take about a week, perhaps two. And to be sure it doesn’t happen again, they’re removing all networking capability. The machines will be less efficient, unfortunately.”
Chen laughed a little. “And we may have problems obtaining spare parts in the future.” His smile disappeared. “I wonder how many bombs it would have taken to do this much damage to our industry.”
“General Xi’s cyber warfare people are expanding their security screens. It’s the best we can do.” Xi, looking a little uncomfortable with his new rank and new job as head of intelligence, simply nodded quickly, but remained silent.
The other two vice chairmen, Vice President Zhang and General Tian, had joined the group, listening silently to Li’s report. Others came to listen as well. The “factory sabotage” had become the biggest story in China, after the war itself. By the time Li had finished his explanation, the Central Military Commission was assembled. In the edges and corners of the meeting room, others continued their work.
After Chen signaled that he was satisfied, Li turned to General Tian. “My condolences on the loss of your younger brother, General.”
Tian nodded his thanks. “Tian Ma was only one of hundreds that died on Jinggang Shan, not to mention more on Lanzhou, Xiangfan, and the container ship. I will miss my brother greatly, but I mourn them all.”
Chen added, “Admiral Wei is at Zhanjiang, but he sent me the total casualty list: six hundred and thirty killed, almost a thousand injured, three ships sunk and Lanzhou crippled. Sinking four Vietnamese missile craft is hardly adequate compensation.”
“It’s the only defeat we’ve suffered,” General Shi Peng offered. He was head of the political department.
“If you don’t count the massive tanker losses, the damage to our industry from sabotage and missile strikes, and the economic sanctions the West is beginning to impose.” Vice Chairman Zhang Fei replied sharply. Along with a handpicked team of experts, he’d taken on the task of limiting the damage to China’s economy. They now understood that was the Littoral Alliance’s true target. “We could use the political department’s help with the workers. Wild rumors about ‘killer viruses’ are spreading. We’ve had walkouts, disturbances, and even sabotage at some factories.”
Zhang paused for a moment, then asked, “General Shi, will the political department support immediate fuel rationing? No personal travel. Nonessential industries shut down. Blackouts during the evening hours.”
Everyone at the table reacted with alarm, and Shi, horrified, protested, “We don’t need to do that—we aren’t starved for oil, not yet, anyway.”
“And the sooner we start rationing, the longer that will be,” Zhang responded quickly. “With the loss of all oil imports, we will be drawing heavily from our strategic reserve, which if you remember was not at full capacity when this war began. Vehicle fuel consumption is tripled because of the movement of army units. Jet fuel, marine diesel fuel demand has quadrupled at the very least, it could be even higher. It turns out our strategic reserves were based on unrealistically low wartime expenditure rates, and did not assume such a complete cutoff of imports.”
President Chen stated flatly, “It is necessary, Shi. Do you want to use our strategic reserve to supply civilian cars?”
“No, Comrade President, the political department will not object.”
“The political department will do its best to prepare the country for the hardships it will have to face,” Chen said firmly. “Zhang, how long do we have with the rationing implemented?”
Zhang didn’t answer right away. Finally, he said, “By law, it is supposed to sustain us for ninety days. Even with rationing, we have at most five weeks. After that, we’ll have to start making more dramatic cuts—it appears the war effort will consume most of our indigenous production.”
Chen’s mind whirled with the implications. China needed fuel to run its farms, to move the food, for cooking and heating. It was late summer now, thank goodness. They had fuel for the harvest, but after that …
“We must do more!” Shi insisted.
Zhang, unhappy at having had to deliver such bad news, was visibly irritated with Shi’s remark, and started to speak, but then closed his mouth abruptly and sat back, glaring.
“Admiral Wei is in Zhanjiang organizing a submarine campaign,” Chen explained. “We will sink anything afloat with a Vietnamese or Indian flag, naval or civilian. Pakistan is willing to provide intelligence on Indian ship movements. There will be more cyber attacks, as well.”
General Su, chief of the General Staff, nodded approvingly, but added, “Unfortunately and obviously, we can’t attack Japanese or South Korean vessels. We can’t give the United States a reason to involve itself. My junior commanders, and even a few of the senior ones, want us to ‘take off the gloves.’ They want to punish them all, but my officers don’t want to consider the price we would pay.”
“What about North Korea?” General Wen Feng asked. “Can they act for us? Could they increase their sabotage campaign against the South? They have an extensive network of age
nts in Japan and South Korea.”
“No!” Chen and General Shi both answered at the same time, and so forcefully that Wen sat back in his chair, open-eyed with surprise.
Shi sighed, explaining, “Pyongyang has become a nuisance, agitating for more food and increased fuel supplies so they can increase their readiness to attack the South. Nobody in my department actually believes they intend to do so. And they are full of wild schemes to injure or embarrass Japan and South Korea, whatever the consequences. We have not shared these with all of you, because there are more important matters to consider.
“Besides,” Shi complained, “That ‘extensive network’ of agents is useless. It didn’t give us a hint of warning about Japanese or South Korean participation in the submarine campaign. If Pyongyang had discovered any useful information, they would have passed it on to us—for a price, of course, but they would not sit on something as valuable as that.”
General Su added, “And an increased threat from North Korea would require the United States to send more military units to South Korea. We must avoid anything that draws more American forces into this region.
“We will begin our ground campaign against Vietnam soon,” Su continued. “Our aircraft losses are higher than we’d like, but we are clearly taking control of the air. Once that is secured, we will seize control of Vietnam’s oil fields. That will be the beginning of their repayment…”
7 September 2016
0800 Local Time
USS North Dakota
South China Sea
“Watch her.” Dave Covey was the OOD, and Jerry watched silently as he conned North Dakota, following Chakra through another turn. It was obvious the sonarmen were watching the Indian sub closely, but Covey’s imperative referred specifically to the size of her turn. He needed to know when she was going to stop turning, or if she wasn’t going to stop at all.
“Doppler has not changed, OOD, she’s still in a slow starboard turn.” The sonar operator’s report involved a lot of subjective judgment, but after several days in close company with Chakra, they had gotten used to the way she moved.
“Pilot, make turns for three knots,” Covey ordered. The more the other boat turned, the slower North Dakota had to go if she was going to stay in her trailing position. The U.S. sub was well astern and offset to starboard, on Chakra’s “quarter.” The Indian’s hull-mounted sonars were blind at this angle, and at ten thousand yards back, her towed array would not detect the Virginia-class boat, mirroring her movements.
“Doppler shift is zero—she’s steadied up,” the sonar operator reported. A moment later, the fire control computer finished its analysis. “New course is zero two zero,” announced Ensign Andrews.
Covey checked the time, doing the math in his head for the fourth time on this watch … twenty seconds … and now. “Pilot, right fifteen degrees rudder, steady course zero two zero. Make turns for five knots.”
“Right fifteen degrees rudder, steady on course zero two zero, make turns for five knots, Pilot, aye.”
“Sonar, is there anything out there in front of Chakra?”
“No, OOD, the nearest contacts are in the first convergence zone, thirty-plus miles out, and thirty degrees to port. And this is not even close to an intercept course.”
Sitting in one of the empty fire control console chairs, Jerry speculated aloud. “Heading north to close on the shipping lanes?”
“Except there’s not a lot of shipping traffic left, Skipper,” Covey replied.
“Valid point, OOD. But whatever the reason, where he goes, we go.”
“Aye, sir. UUV operator, how’s Minot doing?”
“Minot is on station, five thousand yards abaft the port beam, matching Chakra’s new course.” Keeping the vehicle on station was trivial compared to North Dakota. Much smaller than any submarine, and quieter, she could turn on a dime. Software on the UUV actually calculated any course and speed changes, so the operator’s job was usually just making sure Minot was behaving itself.
“Watch the range, OOD. Make sure we don’t drift too far aft.”
“Aye, aye, Skipper. Sonar, keep an eye out for another maneuver. Pilot, make turns for six knots.”
Jerry watched his OOD and was more than satisfied with his performance. Covey had been busy like this since he’d taken over the conn, and had handled it well, but they were trailing a tiger on the hunt. This was a very different situation than when he’d trailed that Chinese Shang-class boat not so long ago.
Back then, Jerry had fought to keep his watchstanders alert, trailing a boat with the acoustic signature of a heavy metal band. The Russian-built sub was a different animal entirely. She was still noisier than North Dakota, but not by that much. And to make matters worse, he had to stay tucked in close. He could have trailed from twice this distance, or just let Minot track and report the Indian’s movements, but Jerry had to be ready to move in and spoil any attack Chakra attempted to make.
Jerry’s only hope was to use his smaller signature and better sonars to stay one step ahead of the Indian sub skipper—figure out what he was doing, and if it involved a potential target, get in his face. But it all depended on knowing what the other boat might do next.
INS Chakra
“There, sir. Do you see it?” The sonar operator pointed to a faint trace on the waterfall display, more a loose series of dots than a true line.
“I see something, but it’s not distinct enough to be a man-made source.” Captain Samant pointed to a different part of the screen. “This trace looks exactly the same. Probably a biologic.”
“But that one will drift aft. This one keeps a constant bearing. I’ve been watching it for some time now. When we made that starboard turn just now, it dropped aft, with a left drift, then drifted right again until it was at the same relative bearing.”
Samant didn’t appear convinced. At this point, Lieutenant Rajat, the sonar officer, added his opinion. “Sir, I compared this signal with the recording of the submerged contact two days ago. This type of trace was on that same bearing right before the torpedo appeared.”
“What’s your recommendation, then?” Samant was willing to let the sonar officer have his say. He certainly didn’t want to discourage this type of independent thinking, even if the boy was likely full of nonsense.
“There are no contacts nearby. Let’s attempt to close on it. Go and say hello. If we force it to maneuver or reduce the distance to the contact, we may get a decent acoustic signature.”
Samant considered the idea. The area was clear, and if there was indeed some extremely quiet platform out there, he wanted to know about it before it fired another torpedo.
“All right, Lieutenant, get your best people on the equipment.” Then, sticking his head out of the sonar room, Samant called to the deck officer. “Lieutenant Parul, sound action stations.”
USS North Dakota
“OOD, rapid left bearing drift, down Doppler … and now a speed increase! Chakra has turned sharply to port.”
“Pilot, make turns for seven, correction, eight knots. Make your depth two hundred fifty feet.” Covey’s response was immediate and correct. Jerry nodded his approval. If they were on the outside of the turn this time, they’d have to speed up to keep station.
Like everyone else in control, Jerry felt a jolt of adrenaline at the sonar supervisor’s report. Dave Covey was coping, but he looked worried.
“Skipper, he doesn’t normally increase speed when he clears his baffles.”
“Concur, OOD. Sonar, what’s the blade rate?”
“The rate jumped up quickly, sir, passing ten knots. Slight cavitation.”
This time both Jerry and the OOD frowned. “He’s not interested in staying quiet,” Jerry remarked. “What’s he up to?”
Covey looked at the port VLSD. “Skipper, new course is two seven zero, a one-hundred-ten-degree turn to port. Speed is thirteen knots.”
Jerry noted Chakra’s new course, and he didn’t like what he was seeing. “UUV operato
r, what’s Minot see?”
“Minot’s information matches ours, it’s turned to two eight five and gone to maximum speed. The logic is trying to compensate for the maneuver, but Chakra’s faster. Range is decreasing rapidly.”
INS Chakra
“There you are!” the sonar operator announced triumphantly. “Submerged contact, bearing two zero five, slow left drift, down Doppler!”
“Confirm down Doppler. It’s headed away from us?” Samant asked quickly.
“Yes, sir, it’s trying to open the distance, but we’re faster. Range is decreasing. It’s headed westerly.”
“Good, I’ll hold this course, then. What does it look like?”
“I can’t say, sir. Only a weak tone around forty hertz. Maybe an electric motor?” Lieutenant Rajat had put the senior sonar rating on the set. The captain trusted his ears.
“Nothing else?”
“It’s not like any submarine I’ve ever heard. It’s far too quiet. Forty hertz suggests a relatively high rotation rate if it’s a propulsion motor, but that’s all I can say. Contact is drifting slowly to the left.”
“What, we’re being shadowed by a blender?” An idea began to form in Samant’s mind. “Right ten, steer three one zero. I don’t want to get too close. Current range?”
“Just under three thousand meters.”
Samant ordered, “Confirm there are no other contacts close by.”
“Confirmed, Captain.”
“Very well. Go active with the port flank array. One pulse.”
USS North Dakota
“Skipper, Chakra’s gone active! She’s pinging Minot! Skat-3 sonar!” The UUV operator’s report mixed surprise with dismay.