by Larry Bond
Simonis looked relieved. He wasn’t the only one delivering unwanted news to the president. “This merely reinforces my point, Doctor. They don’t want us interfering, we have little ability to influence their actions, and we are unnecessarily putting our people at greater risk. For God’s sake, let’s get the hell out of there!”
Patterson took a deep breath. She was in complete agreement with Simonis. The submarines of Squadron Fifteen had done everything asked of them, and more. It was time to cut their losses and get out. But on the other hand, she was also a loyal subordinate to the president, who desperately wanted to stop the fighting, somehow. She didn’t like finding herself at odds with her loyalties, and the fact that Jerry was one of the people who would conceivably have to pay for the president’s decision didn’t help matters at all.
“I hear you, Captain Simonis,” she empathized. “I will inform the president of your recommendation, and I will endorse it.”
7 September 2016
2100 Local Time
MV Tamilnadu
Fifty Nautical Miles Southeast of the Port of Nagoya, Japan
Captain Somnath Manogar sucked nervously on his pipe; the whistling sound it made proved he was only moving air, the tobacco having been consumed hours ago. They were still in what the Japanese Maritime Self-Defense Force called the “danger zone,” and over four hours from safety. The warnings issued over the last two days by the Indian government were now showing up in the Notice to Mariners. The submarine war with China was expected to expand into the Pacific Ocean; the approaches to Japan were now considered a war zone. Manogar wondered what those idiots in Mumbai were thinking. Why would anyone want to intentionally anger the giant dragon to the east! It made no sense to him. All he wanted to do was get his ship tied up to a safe berth, then he could think about taking a hot shower and a long nap. He’d slept little once the ship entered the danger zone, two hundred nautical miles out from Japan.
Manogar walked over to the helmsman, checking their course and speed for the tenth time in the last hour. It was totally unnecessary; the automatic pilot had them squarely on course for the port of Nagoya at twelve knots. The young mate at the helm smiled. He knew his captain was a compulsive worrier. If there were such a thing as sea monsters, Captain Manogar would fret over them. The war that he feared was far away, near China. The warnings were merely a precautionary measure the Indian government felt compelled to issue. Ever since the 2008 terror attack in south Mumbai, they’d started proclaiming warnings every time they thought something bad might happen. If the government felt the potential risk for severe sunburn was high enough, they’d issue a warning. A bunch of paranoid old men, he thought to himself.
“We’re still steady on course three three zero, speed twelve knots, Captain,” he reaffirmed sarcastically.
“I can read, Helmsman,” Manogar replied tersely. Annoyed by the young man’s flippant report, Manogar marched over to the bridge windows. Staring out into the dark overcast night, it wasn’t even ten seconds before he felt the overwhelming urge to raise his binoculars and conduct a search. It was pure habit, one he had acquired since his time as a junior mate. He doubted he’d ever see a submarine’s periscope, but a stupid fisherman cruising around the ship lanes without his running lights on was another danger that he had to keep in mind.
He’d completed a full forward scan and had turned to look at the bridge’s radar repeater when suddenly the ship shook violently. Both men were knocked off their feet; the helmsman suffered a nasty gash to his head and was bleeding profusely, but he was still conscious. Manogar pulled himself up on the control console and saw the alarm panel had numerous red lights flashing. The audible alarms pierced the quiet night. Through the din, the ship’s internal phone rang. The captain silenced the alarms and grabbed the phone. “Bridge.”
“Captain, Engineer here, we’re taking on water in holds two and three. We’ve also lost the main engine, not sure what the problem is.”
“Engineer,” Manogar spoke quickly, “we’ve been torpedoed. Get your men topside immediately!” He hung up before the engineer could reply.
“Jack, pass the word, prepare to abandon ship!”
The woozy helmsman responded and headed over to the shipwide PA system. Manogar reached over and grabbed the ship’s radio mike and moved the frequency band selector to “16,” the international distress channel.
“Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Motor Vessel Tamilnadu. We’ve been hit by a torpedo, forty-eight nautical miles south-southeast of Irago Suido. Location, latitude, three three degrees, five zero minutes north. Longitude, one three seven degrees, two five minutes east. Repeat. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Motor Vessel Tamilnadu. We’ve been hit by a torpedo, forty-eight nautical miles—”
The second torpedo exploded aft, right under the ship’s superstructure, abruptly cutting short Captain Manogar’s distress call.
7 September 2016
1300 Local Time
White House Situation Room
Washington, D.C.
Secretary of Commerce Joyce McHenry pulled up the next chart in her brief. The diagram showed a disheartening trend.
“Trade with China has been severely reduced due to the Littoral Alliance submarine campaign. Even though the alliance was only targeting tankers initially, insurance costs have gone through the roof for any ship transiting through a war zone—and Lloyd’s of London includes India in that mix. The bottom line is the number of Chinese ships entering U.S. ports is down to a quarter of the normal level, and many of the ships that get here don’t want to leave. We’ve also seen a decrease in the number of Japanese and South Korean vessels arriving, by about one-third.”
President Myles rubbed his forehead; he dreaded asking the obvious question. “Joyce, what is your best estimate on the damage to the economy?”
McHenry sighed deeply. “Mr. President, China, Japan, and South Korea are in the top ten of our global trading partners. Indian and Taiwan are in the top fifteen. If the merchant traffic doesn’t decrease further, we’re looking at an estimated loss of sixteen billion dollars in exports to the countries directly in the war zone each month. Unfortunately, Europe was still in a weakened condition and it has been bludgeoned by this crisis. Many of the European Union economies have dropped back into recession—resulting in a similar reduction in our exports. An optimistic figure would suggest that we are looking at a fifteen to twenty percent reduction in monthly exports.”
“And the unemployment rate?” groaned Myles.
“Mr. President, we have a ‘just-in-time’ economy,” emphasized McHenry. “It is predicated on an uninterrupted flow of goods, in and out of the country. There is little in the way of stored inventory. Since we produce only a small fraction of the consumer goods sold, particularly in the electronics, appliance, and clothing sectors, you’re looking at two weeks, tops, before many stores will have little or nothing to put on the shelves. Add in the impact of a precipitous drop in exports, and significant job loss is all but inevitable. Initial estimates suggest the unemployment rate will probably exceed twelve percent. Perhaps as high as seventeen percent.”
Myles winced. Many of the other cabinet members sat in shocked silence.
“And that’s an optimistic assessment, correct?” asked Myles hesitantly.
McHenry looked downward, disheartened. “Yes, Mr. President, I’m afraid so,” she answered.
“I see.” The president paused, absorbing the dreadful news. Myles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, then clearing his throat said, “All right, Joyce, just skip to the bottom line.”
“Yes, sir. If this war continues for another two or three weeks, the economy will very likely drop into a major recession, with unemployment rates exceeding the historical norms for the last seventy-five years. If the fighting goes on for more than a month, two months at the outside, the possibility of a depression becomes … unpleasantly high.”
“Two months?” cried Geisler in disbelief. “How can our economy be ru
ined in such a short period of time?”
“As with mechanical systems, Malcolm, economic trends also experience inertia,” explained McHenry. “Even if we could stop this war right now, its aftereffects would still be felt for months, perhaps years. The longer the fighting goes on, the steeper the downturn in our economy becomes, which means a deeper bottoming out further down the road—one that could take us a decade to crawl out of.”
The cabinet meeting abruptly went quiet; everyone’s morale was in shambles, crushed by McHenry’s devastating projection. Uneasy with the depressing silence, Kirkpatrick moved on to the next topic; there was still more ground to cover.
“Mr. President,” he began. “We’ve confirmed that the PLAN was able to secure Spratly Island, and the airfield is largely intact. China did lose a Yuzhao-class amphibious assault ship, an old Jiangwei II-class frigate, and a container ship carrying the garrison’s equipment, so their hold is a bit tenuous.”
Myles nodded. “Casualties?” he asked.
“High, Mr. President. The Chinese probably lost more men because of the amphibious assault ship, but the Vietnamese squadron was all but annihilated. Only a single damaged patrol boat returned to port this morning.” Kirkpatrick saw the pained expression on Myles’s face. “They did stop the Chinese southern thrust,” added the national security advisor.
“I gathered that, Ray,” exclaimed Myles testily. “But the cost in territory and blood is making it even harder for either side to see the folly of this war. Both sides are blind to the fact that there can be no winners in this conflict, only losers.” Kirkpatrick’s jaw tightened slightly, as he struggled for words. The president saw his advisor’s reaction and realized the man was just as frustrated as he was.
Sighing deeply, Myles said, “I’m sorry, Ray. I know you’re just trying to do your job.”
Kirkpatrick bowed slightly, silently accepting the president’s apology.
“How is our submarine spoiler campaign coming along?” inquired Myles, changing the subject.
Kirkpatrick turned to Joanna, and gestured for her to address the question.
“Not as well as we would like, Mr. President,” she began. “It’s getting more difficult for our subs to break up an attack.”
“They’re getting acclimated to our presence,” Myles observed.
“Yes, Mr. President. I spoke with Captain Simonis this morning and he said their effectiveness had dropped considerably in the last couple of days. On average, they were only able to interrupt Littoral Alliance submarine attacks about one-third of the time. And there has been a noticeable increase in aggressive behavior as well.”
Myles’s forehead wrinkled. “Aggressive behavior? Explain, Joanna.”
“Littoral Alliance submarines now typically use active sonar to track and harass our submarines while they carry out their attacks against Chinese merchant ships. Extensive use of active sonar is very atypical submariner behavior; they are making it clear that they know we are there, and they aren’t being shy about it.
“Captain Simonis has also seen a disturbing new tactic involving Littoral Alliance submarines maneuvering very close to our boats. There was a close pass this morning by a Japanese submarine with USS Santa Fe, a ‘near collision,’ as the commanding officer called it. When combined with the deliberate ramming of one of Commander Mitchell’s UUVs by the Indian Akula, the squadron commodore believes that a new, and more dangerous phase of the spoiler campaign has begun.”
“I’m probably going to regret asking this next question, but does Captain Simonis have any recommendations?”
“Yes, Mr. President. He strongly recommends getting our boats out of the war zone,” Joanna replied quickly. Then, taking a deep breath, added more slowly, “And I, reluctantly, agree with him.”
Myles was surprised by Patterson’s admission, and it showed. “I must say, I’m a bit astonished, Joanna. I thought you were supportive of the spoiler strategy. What changed your mind?”
Joanna was torn, emotionally. She desperately wanted to be a loyal subordinate, and supportive of the president’s policy. But now, she felt another equally strong force pulling at her, placing her loyalties in tension. Her bonds to the submarine community ran deep, and she had many friends who still served on the black boats. Subconsciously, she was very protective of the men and women who made up their crews, and she had difficulty putting them in harm’s way, especially when the military or political gain was so meager. It didn’t help that her husband and Charles Simonis, both former submarine commanding officers, had such diverse views on the matter.
Lowell Hardy, on the one hand, had counseled her to work hard to advance the president’s goals even when she had nagging doubts. The officers and crews on the submarines served at the pleasure of the president; he had the moral authority to place them at risk if he felt it was necessary. Simonis, on the other hand, objected to putting his people on the line with rules of engagement so restrictive that the loss of one of his boats was a very distinct possibility. He’d salute and carry out his orders when told, but until then he’d fight like a rabid dog for his people’s well-being. Patterson respected both men’s views, and it didn’t help that both men were right.
And then there was Jerry Mitchell. Jerry’s boat was up against the best submarine in the Littoral Alliance. Normally, his advanced Virginia-class submarine would be the hands-down winner in any fight against an Improved Akula. But the spoiler campaign required Jerry to give up many of his advantages, thus significantly leveling the playing field. The thought of Jerry’s boat being sunk because she blindly supported the president’s strategy left her cold. And tucked away in the back of her mind was the memory of another run-in with an Akula-class submarine, one that nearly killed Memphis and everyone on board, including her. More than once in the past week she had awakened from a troubled sleep, sweating, after reliving that nightmare.
“Mr. President, I begrudgingly supported your policy because there was a legitimate political benefit to the United States, and the risk to our people was fairly low. I no longer believe that is the case. The risk has grown significantly, while the benefit has all but disappeared. And to be frank, I have a very good friend who is putting his life, and those of his crew, on the line, for what I see as little to no gain.” Patterson swallowed hard after she finished her explanation.
Myles nodded soberly. “Thank you, Joanna. I appreciate your candor. But as hard as that decision was, I still think putting some brakes, however small, on this conflict is in our best interests.”
“Mr. President,” Alexander interrupted. “As much as I hate to argue with you, how can you say we’re having a slowing effect on this war? From where I sit, it’s accelerating away from us. The Philippines’ decision to join the Littoral Alliance was a very rude surprise. And now there is evidence that their ‘prophet,’ Dr. Komamura, went to Indonesia, and possibly Malaysia, to convince them to join as well. If both countries do sign on, China will be completely surrounded along her maritime border by a hostile alliance.”
Andy Lloyd picked up right after Alexander. “The demarches we received yesterday accused us of being rather one-sided in our execution, as the vast majority of the attacks we’ve interfered with are those by the Littoral Alliance. If we continue with the spoiler strategy, we are risking alienating countries who have been our allies for decades.”
“Ones whose economies, when combined, rival China’s and will probably recover faster once this is all over and done with,” added McHenry.
Myles grimaced unhappily, his voice loaded with frustration. “Andy, I know you and Joyce have presented arguments that we should join this alliance and help rein in China’s aggressive behavior. But do you really want to go to war with another nuclear power?”
Before Lloyd could respond, Kirkpatrick barged in. “I don’t think that’s a viable option, Mr. President, for the simple reason that I don’t believe the Littoral Alliance wants us to join.”
“Ray, what do you base that on?” crie
d Lloyd, clearly miffed.
“Andy, everything this new alliance has done is in complete conformity with Dr. Komamura’s book. If he is their guiding light, their ‘prophet’ as Greg put it, then he will be strongly advising the alliance leadership to not include us. The chapter in his book that addresses relationships with the United States, ‘Sailing Alone,’ is a strident argument for Asian countries to distance themselves from our ‘overbearing’ policies. Have you had a chance to read it yet?”
Irritated and embarrassed, Lloyd replied, “No, no, not in its entirety. I’ve only skimmed some of it.”
“I strongly recommend it to all of you,” Kirkpatrick insisted firmly, as he looked around the conference room table. “This book provides considerable insight on the beliefs and goals of this new alliance. Sun Tzu put it best—know your enemy, people.”
“All right, Ray, you’ve made your point,” admonished Myles while gesturing for Lloyd to calm down. “So why don’t we just cut to the chase and have you provide your recommendation. Not that you have a strong opinion on the matter.”
Kirkpatrick chuckled; the president’s light humor successfully dispatched the growing tension amongst his key advisors.
“My apologies, Mr. President. I didn’t mean to preach. But there is one point of agreement between the People’s Republic of China and the Littoral Alliance—neither side wants the United States to become involved in this conflict. Therefore, I recommend we comply with their mutual desire and withdraw our forces from the South and East China Seas. Regardless of which side ultimately prevails, it is in our best interests, long-term interests, to be perceived as neutral.”
Myles leaned back in his chair as he considered Kirkpatrick’s suggestion. The president knew that his national security advisor never took a strong position on anything without first dissecting every fact. And yet, Lloyd and McHenry also had strong arguments. The president loathed situations such as this when he had a diametrically opposed cabinet. It made the job of making a decision far more difficult, as he respected the views and opinions of each of his closest advisors. This time, Myles chose to do something he hated almost as much—he’d kick the can down the road.