“I think so,” Lab Rat agreed. “And we may have some information leaks as well, although I’m not certain about that. But the safe thing to do is to keep any plans as tightly compartmented as possible, to minimize the risks.”
“I can just hear Killington now,” COS said thoughtfully. “Based on these assumptions, you’re probably going to want to send him north. He’s going to want to know why, and you’re not going to be able to tell him.”
“He’ll live with it,” Tombstone said shortly. “Be good practice for him, obeying orders for a while.”
“I’ll rough out an air plan for you immediately, Admiral,” CAG said. “We’ll be putting some extra fighters on alert, as well as some ASW assets. Your flight crews are going to be pulling some long hours sitting alert.”
“It builds character,” Tombstone said. “At least that’s what my first CO told me when I bitched about it.”
CAG chuckled. “I can think of at least one young aviator who could use some of that, sir.”
“Gentlemen,” Tombstone said, standing up and picking up his notepad, “thank you for your time. Commander Busby, I think we have some insight into the operational scenario. Good work. Now let’s see what we can do to turn the tables on these bastards!
CHAPTER 15
Monday, 1 July
0518 local (Zulu -7)
On board Vietnamese patrol boat, vicinity of Island 508
Spratly Islands, South China Sea
The Vietnamese lieutenant stared out at the still-dark horizon, trying to see through the early morning fog. Timing was critical to this mission. It was still twenty minutes until sunrise, enough time to maneuver into position near the tiny rock in the middle of the ocean. Ideally, the sun would just be rising as the occupation team deployed.
He looked back toward the fantail, at the small group of men and equipment standing around in the predawn gloom. He pitied them. While life aboard the Soviet Zhuk-class patrol boat was certainly not luxurious, it beat the hell out of where those men were headed.
The Vietnamese naval force was an odd mixture of discarded Soviet and American small vessels. The lieutenant’s Zhuk was one of the most modern additions, transferred to Vietnam in 1989 from the Soviet Union. The twelve-man crew was one of the more motivated crews he’d served with. The boat was twenty-four feet long, and could cruise through the seas at thirty-four knots. While it certainly wasn’t the largest naval vessel to ply the South China Sea, it was more than large enough for this mission.
He wished he could say the same about the occupation team. The stack of boxes and survival equipment that would be placed on the rock with them looked pitifully small. He’d been told that there were enough concentrated rations in one box to feed the five men for two weeks, long enough for the resupply crew to get to them. Beside that box, a tarpaulin to provide shelter from the sun was rolled into a compact cylinder. A few blankets, some rudimentary radio equipment, and a water-distilling pump completed the loadout. And the Stingers — the all-important Stingers. It was the last item that completely blew the team’s cover story of establishing a fishing camp.
Better you than me, he thought. The battle for ownership of the Spratly Islands, according to his superiors, required establishing a presence on the desolate rocks that composed the South China Sea chain. This outpost would be left on a patch of barren igneous rock that was barely bigger than his Zhuk. For not the first time, the Vietnamese navy lieutenant gave thanks that he’d joined the right branch of the military. While navy units might ferry the occupation teams to the rocks, standing presence duty in the South China Sea was solely the province of the Vietnamese army.
“All is ready, Captain,” his phone talker said, relaying the words he received from the other talker on the fantail.
“Very well. Just a little more light, and we will make our approach.” Getting close enough to unload the men and equipment into the small boat that would take them to the rock would be tricky. While the waters were well charted, and his GPS equipment gave him an accurate fix on his own location, too much could always go wrong. Navigating around rocks and shoals in his thin-hulled patrol craft would be safer when his lookouts could see what some lazy cartographer might have overlooked.
Ten minutes later, his forward lookout reported that visibility was clearing. The lieutenant moved back inside the pilot house.
“Take us in, Ensign,” he ordered. The younger officer nodded.
“Engine ahead one-third,” he said firmly.
The lee helmsman echoed the command, and the steel deck began thrumming as the powerful diesel engines that drove the two propellers increased speed.
“Come right, steer course 005,” the ensign ordered. The small craft heeled slightly to the right.
A few minutes later, the ensign said, “There it is, sir.” He pointed to a barely visible rock projecting from the sea.
“Very well. Let’s get on with it.”
In response to the ensign’s orders, the men on the fantail moved over the side into the Rigid-Hull Inflatable boat tethered to the ship. The RHIB, pronounced “rib,” was a mainstay of many naval services. Since it could be deflated, it saved on precious storage space. The outboard motor could drive it through the ocean at far greater speeds than the hull could withstand, so it took careful handling to avoid overturning it.
The young captain of the patrol boat, preoccupied with off-loading his passengers and their equipment, had even less warning than the tank commander had. He saw motion on the horizon and reached for his binoculars. Seconds later, the missile slammed into the patrol boat, impacting amidships at the waterline after cutting through the RHIB and her crew.
The missile penetrated completely through the patrol boat before it exploded. The blast disintegrated the entire midsection of the boat, driving a rain of steel fragments through every other part of the interior. Metal shredded flesh, killing most of the crew instantly. The explosion cracked the hull in half, broke the keel, and peeled the weather decks away from the supporting framework of stanchions and strakes. The warm sea poured in The fire had just enough time to ignite the small arms ammunition and the Stinger missiles before the sea claimed the boat and crew.
Monday, 1 July
0900 local (Zulu -8)
Operations Center
Hanoi, Vietnam
The two men were alone in the conference room, as alone as possible in the former Communist country. “What are the Americans thinking?” Ngyugen hissed. “To invade our waters, destroy our islands — it is war!” The Vietnamese ambassador to the United Nations seemed to swell up with indignation, which was part of his standard repertoire when talking about the Americans.
“Be calm for a moment and let me think,” Bien ordered. “There are matters that must be decided, and anger will not help us.”
“You would see them ashore in our country again? Burning, raping, destroying in the name of their democracy?”
“Come now. They have hardly landed on our shores. There is not even an amphibious vessel with the ships. No marines, no army.”
“Guns and aircraft alone can do enough damage,” Ngyugen muttered darkly.
“So can foolish talk!” Bien snapped. “Think for a minute! Do you really believe that the Americans have destroyed both of those islands?”
Ngyugen shot him an uncertain look that gradually solidified into outrage. For a general to talk so to him — it was unacceptable. But to have said those words, Bien undoubtedly possessed some key bit of information that he believed exempted him from the respect due to the older man. Still, the facts were obvious. “Of course. Their aircraft were above both locations as the explosions took place. What other purpose could there be for the ships being in our waters? And Colonel Mein Low assures me that the Chinese intelligence and satellite reports-“
“-say exactly what the army wants them to,” Bien finished.
“Are you implying that I have been misled?” Ngyugen’s face darkened as he considered the possibility. If it were
so, then Bien indeed did have knowledge that would prove exceedingly useful. Perhaps it would be better to overlook the earlier disrespect, at least until Ngyugen could determine what secrets the general held.
“I imply nothing. Ambassador, you must remember that you are a prime target for Chinese manipulation and deceit. They understand how important you are to your country, and have chosen to try out their scheme first on you,” Bien said soothingly. “Luckily, I can tell from your comments that their plan will not succeed.”
Ngyugen recognized the attempt to placate him and allowed himself to be calmed. Bien might think him a fool, but Ngyugen was a critical part of Bien’s source of power, and the military commander knew better than to alienate his political connections. At least not until Bien could replace Ngyugen with someone more useful. Ngyugen watched Bien smile ingratiatingly at him.
“They do know of my army career,” Ngyugen said meaningfully, as the possibility that Bien might be right began to make sense.
“Of course they do. How could anyone overlook your two years of military service? Undoubtedly why they chose you as the key test of how believable their story is,” Bien said calmly. “Their foolishness is our gain. Very few members of the delegation could have hidden their insights so well. I am pleased that you chose me as the test of your facade. You must remember, I know you far better than most, yet I was deceived by your reaction for almost five minutes.” Bien forced a chuckle. “I almost believed that you believed their story. My apologies.”
“Accepted,” said Ngyugen, since nothing else in Bien’s entire conversation made sense to him.
“So you see the truth to this, of course. It is not the Americans who are behind this, if for no other reason than because the Chinese claim that they are. There are other facts, certainly. The fact that the Americans rarely intervene anywhere anymore without a United Nations resolution to validate their meddling. That they were here for a month before the bombings began, and have followed a routine pattern of operations and deployments for the South China Sea.” Bien shook his head. “Clearly the Chinese will have a difficult time convincing anyone of their deception, much less the more astute political observers such as yourself.”
“We must expose this sham to the world!” Ngyugen declared.
“Perhaps — in time,” Bien said musingly. “But I think there are other ways that it can be used to our advantage at this time.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That regardless of which country is behind the destruction — or even if it is a renegade group of terrorists acting alone — the Americans are taking entirely too much for granted in our area of the world. Withholding normalization of relations with our country, dictating trade terms to our neighbors — no, it would be extremely useful to all of us if the Americans perceived a united Pacific Rim standing against them. Then they would be desperate to gain a toehold in this area, which could only help us gain valuable trade concessions.”
“So we unite the region against both the Americans and China!”
“Not just yet. Remember, even after the Americans leave, we will still have to live with China. Better, perhaps, to pretend to believe China’s story for now. Place them in debt to us for our cooperation, assist them in persuading the others. That could be more useful to us in the long run.”
“But the Spratly Islands! The oil! That is our property, Bien! You suggest we just sit idly by while America and China apportion out our rights?”
“No, of course not. But another approach might work just as well.”
Bien talked for another fifteen minutes, explaining a plan that his eight-year-old son would have understood in five minutes. Finally, Ngyugen started nodding.
CHAPTER 16
Monday, 1 July
1600 local (Zulu -7)
CVIC
USS Jefferson
“You’re certain this will work?” Tombstone asked the Intelligence Officer.
“If it were certain, it wouldn’t be intelligence,” Lab Rat replied wryly. “High probability, Admiral, based on the patterns we’ve observed, but no guarantees.”
Tombstone sighed. “No guarantees if we don’t do something, either.”
“Exactly. At least this plan takes advantage of what we do know about the Chinese.”
“It sounds too simple.”
“Simple doesn’t mean easy. Timing is everything on this.” Lab Rat held up his hand, ticking the points off on his fingers. “We know that the attacks are occurring while we have aircraft in the area. Coincidental? Probably not. Presumably, someone intends to make it look like the U.S. is responsible, especially since it’s happened more than once. That leads me to the second point.” Lab Rat held up the next finger.
“How do they know when we’re in the area? Couple of possibilities, offhand. First, satellites. A possibility, especially if they have long-range Tomahawks on alert the entire time, but not a high probability, since the reaction time is so fast. Remember, though, that our satellite coverage may be of intense interest to them. This would be important to them because a satellite might catch the missile in the process of launching, which would completely blow their cover. So I’m looking at our satellite coverage, not theirs.
“The second possibility is surveillance of some sort. But we haven’t detected surface ships or aircraft at the time of every incident. Maybe the submarine, but I doubt it. It’s too slow and has too low a horizon. Third — and my favorite possibility — reports by the sites themselves of visuals on American aircraft. Now that makes sense!”
“I’m not sure I agree completely,” Tombstone said reflectively. “There’s always the possibility that they just understand how carrier flight ops work, and are taking their chances that we’ll fly by to look at their rocks during cycle times.”
“A possibility, of course, but one that leaves too much open to chance. First, what if we’d changed flight cycle time, for whatever reason? Fouled deck, you name it — a thousand things can throw a flight schedule off. Second, even if they know when we’re launching aircraft, they can’t know exactly where the fighters are headed. We don’t even know that, other than they’re headed for CAP stations with a few surveillance checkpoints along the way. No, too much to chance. Remember, there are three reported incidents. Every one took place when our assets were in the area. More importantly, none took place when we weren’t there.”
“Sounds like the best way to avoid more incidents is to pack up and go home,” Tombstone said wearily. “That’s not an option, by the way.”
“But there’s more to this problem, Admiral. Remember, we’re just up to the second step — the timing. The next factor to consider is the attacking platform.”
“I thought we’d agreed that it was long-range cruise missiles,” Batman said. “That’s the pretext I used for getting the JAST birds out here, anyway.”
“That’s one possibility. Remember, there’s nothing that says all three attacks were done by the same means. Additionally, you know how unpredictable atmospheric conditions are out here. Could be we just thought we saw low-fliers, just like the E-2 picked up those ghosts the other day. Some unexplained circumstances, a few radar ghosts — hell, we’re letting the fog of war do all the Chinese’s work for them, inventing explanations and causes.”
“I personally think it’s possible that the Chinese have developed their own version of the Tomahawk,” Lab Rat continued. “Except, perhaps, in one instance.”
“Which one?” Batman asked.
“The attack on Mischief Reef. That was too short notice. Building a Tomahawk package takes time.”
“Could have done it with something like a Harpoon and fly-to points,” Kos said reflectively.
“Of course. But now we’re back to a mobile platform. Except for the submarine, no evidence that a platform that could carry something like a Harpoon was even around.”
“Okay, so what do you think it was?” Batman asked, exasperated.
“If I can, Captain, I’d like to
hold that thought for just one more moment. I think you’ll see why shortly,” Lab Rat said boldly.
Tombstone waved at Lab Rat to continue with the briefing.
“Finally, the last attack on the Mischief Reef base camp,” Lab Rat continued. “Again, executed just as our aircraft were overhead. No indications of anything inbound, no surface platforms in the area, and a massive detonation. One survivor, who reports that he’d seen our aircraft executing a fly-over. Surely he wasn’t the only one to see it. Picture the sequence, gentlemen. An aircraft flies over, ten seconds later the camp explodes.” Lab Rat fell silent and watched their faces.
“Oh, my god,” Tombstone said softly. “They did it them selves, didn’t they?”
Lab Rat nodded. “I think so.”
“The Chinese blew up their own bases to make us look bad?” Batman asked. “What’s so radical about that — I thought that’s just what we’ve been discussing.”
“It’s more than that, Batman,” Tombstone said, his voice taking on a grim note. “More than just intentionally attacking your own people. Think about the timing. There was nothing in the area and no sign of a submarine-launched weapon. I think La-the commander has the right idea.”
“Deception is the key to all Asian warfare planning,” Lab Rat said. “It’s fundamental to the way they make war, and they plan for it in ways that we can’t even begin to imagine. There’s only one way for that base camp to have been destroyed so quickly. It was command-destructed. Somewhere ashore — or maybe on the sub, I don’t know for sure — someone has a transmitter that can send a signal to each Spratly Island. Somewhere in the foundation for the larger camps is a self-destruct package. It’s not under the on-scene commander’s control — he may not even know it’s there. But when the mainland gets word from the base camp that American fighters are overhead, there’s a way to make it look like we’re the cause of the destruction.”
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