“Beijing’s likely response,” asked Deangelo, not willing to be pressured, “has that changed in the light of these losses?”
The U.S. forces in the South China Sea had been prepared for anything, from a full-scale missile attack to an underwater assault from China’s modern fleet of attack submarines. So far, there had been nothing on the military front, merely a barrage of condemnation from the Chinese media, America accused of doing exactly what China had done with Vietnam – attack with a brutal disregard as to the number of casualties.
“It makes a missile strike against one of our carriers even more likely,” Adams replied. “The USS Zumwalt would also be high on their target list.”
Deangelo nodded in understanding, the outrageous research and build costs of the Navy’s stealth destroyer making the Zumwalt a five billion dollar prize and a worthy test for China’s new breed of anti-ship missiles.
“Beijing has little choice in terms of a realistic target,” added Thorn quickly. “It has to be the Navy; if not a carrier or the Zumwalt then they’ll try to take out several of our other ships, two at least.”
Jensen was inclined to agree, intelligence from the CIA confirming that China’s Navy was more than ready to try out its ‘carrier-killer’ anti-ship missile. Designed specifically with the U.S. in mind, the missiles could easily sound the end of an era, with America’s supercarriers following the battleship into obscurity. Despite the heavy Chinese losses, the Politburo might still baulk at such an over-reaction and China’s capabilities in cyber-warfare offered up various less aggressive possibilities, America’s communications network and military satellites also potentially at risk.
Deangelo still wanted Jensen’s specific opinion, “Paul, forget the military arguments; how do you read it from the Politburo’s perspective?”
“There’s definitely serious disagreement within the Politburo as to the extent of any response,” said Jensen, choosing his words carefully. “The appointment of General Liang to the Central Military Commission is a sign that President Zhao is gaining the upper hand, but the old guard will still demand suitable recompense. The USS Zumwalt would also be my guess: a high-value target to make America think twice and so prove China’s technological advances are at least equal to our own.”
The political split in Beijing wasn’t that of Moscow and public opinion was clearly being manipulated to ensure the Politburo’s militant stance was now accepted without serious dissent, the authorities even regaining a measure of control in Hong Kong. Beijing’s willingness to compromise over Taiwan was still not public knowledge, no formal agreement signed and no obvious indication that the two governments were even talking to each other. Deangelo was similarly reluctant to act purely on what the CIA had learnt, prepared to hear out Taiwan’s Ambassador first. The most optimistic assessment was that it wasn’t yet a done deal, Deangelo with a chance to have an input and perhaps even to veto the Spratly exchange. China would no doubt herald it as an opportunity for both countries and the positive aspects were fairly obvious, especially for Taiwan; yet many in Beijing close to the seat of power would expect something dramatic in return for giving up the island of Taiwan, two rocky outcrops in the South China Sea unlikely to be enough.
In Washington too, the problem of conflicting views would be conspicuously displayed during Thanksgiving and America’s recent show of belligerence had already become the spur for further protests. A peace march from the Lincoln Memorial to the Pentagon was planned for the morning, and with Henry due to say a few words before the formal winding down of the tented city, the National Mall was about to be squeezed between those for and against the President’s actions against China.
Comments from various members of Congress, whether Democrat or Republican, as to the capture of Mischief and Subi Reefs were again surprisingly restrained, almost neutral, and Deangelo wasn’t quite getting the political backing he might have hoped for. It was as though by voicing their support for the attacks, they were somehow also helping endorse Dick Thorn’s credibility, his future confirmation still open to question.
The Capitol Building was as secure as it could it be without officially going into lockdown, the official excuse kept sufficiently vague with a terrorist threat implied but not confirmed. All leave for the Capitol Police had been cancelled and scores of heavily-armed FBI agents remained on standby in the adjacent office buildings, even patrolling the tunnels underneath. It might only be for a few days but there had been no point in trying to keep such precautions a secret; if there was to be some attack, then Sean Kovak and the D.C. Police would surely now realise the impossibility of success and the National Guard was the only remaining danger, Jensen unwilling to countenance some dramatic assault from the 82nd Airborne.
Whether recent events would influence the number of demonstrators attending the Thanksgiving protests would soon become clear. For some the memory of Iraq and Afghanistan was still raw, a peaceful resolution their one demand; others could simply point to the scenes from Vietnam, vengeance for the innocent lives lost a powerful and worthy cause.
The FBI were hoping to be able to watch the complex arguments from afar, a visible presence in the National Mall just as likely to start a riot. For Jensen too, Thanksgiving would be another holiday missed and he anticipated a busy day stuck in his office while trusting that the CIA or ONI could give the U.S. Navy a few hours warning as to where China might possibly strike.
Chapter 14 – Thursday, November 24th
Zhanjiang, China – 10:48 Local Time; 02:48 UTC
General Liang stood in the Naval Command Centre watching the latest dispositions as to the U.S. Navy in the South China Sea, the two carrier strike groups soon to be joined by a third. So far China’s navy had chosen a cautious line in the conflict, fully prepared to test itself against its powerful foe, just waiting for the necessary orders from Beijing.
The problem remained as it always had done, the Politburo – like the White House – wary of the conflict escalating into a more vicious war. America’s capture of Mischief and Subi Reefs had been the first serious set-back, President Deangelo’s rapid response and the Pentagon’s choice of target unexpected. It was assumed at least one more reef would be attacked, America able to pick them off at its leisure, every one of China’s island territories at risk. China’s decision to step back from a direct confrontation with America was clearly now unsustainable, a cycle of attrition the likely next stage with each side trying to seek some small advantage before the aggression turned into a genuine search for peace. The counter would have to be chosen carefully, China’s missile systems ready to exact revenge, the navy and air force potentially with the ability to take out as least one of America’s carriers.
A month – even two weeks – ago that would have certainly been the preferred choice; now the Politburo was looking for a way out, one last attempt being made to persuade America as to the real dangers of the path ahead before the inevitable concessions could be thrashed out across the negotiating table. Whatever the final accord, it would need to be sold as a clear victory, otherwise the agreement over Taiwan would in turn be seen as nothing more than a step too far, Liang likely to be one of the first to suffer the subsequent backlash.
“One minute to go, Sir,” said an officer politely. Liang nodded in thanks, moving across to join the Admiral, both men keen to see how the Americans reacted to this new threat. It was a ploy Liang had once regarded as too great a risk and simply one more factor the CMC would be unable to control, barely even to influence; now, it was seen as a quick and effective way to strengthen China’s hand.
The first news report flashed across the screen, it at least on time. The Western media took a few minutes to respond, Reuters quickly spreading the word. One brief statement from the state-run news agency of a Third World country and the rest of the world immediately sat up and took notice – it was impressive and at the same time disturbing.
Liang guessed at a couple of hours for the U.S. to react, prepared to wait it ou
t. He would have preferred to have remained in Beijing; however, the Politburo had wanted a steady hand in Zhanjiang, worried as to what President Deangelo might do, Liang able to override the Admiral’s subsequent orders if he saw fit.
In fact it took less than an hour for a surge of activity in the Command Centre to warn Liang that something was happening, the Admiral quick to confirm the Americans had taken the bait.
“The Carrier Group headed by the USS Gerald Ford is definitely turning north-east and away from the Spratly Islands; Japan and South Korea have also increased their state of alert.” The Admiral was nervous, well aware of the dangers ahead, others now controlling China’s fate.
More reports came in, Liang deeply worried yet also a little relieved. So far, the Politburo’s tactic had worked as planned, the U.S. having to redeploy her naval forces to protect against an additional threat.
The joker of North Korea had finally been played, a typically bellicose announcement from the government in Pyongyang just the first step. It was barely a hundred words, confirming that North Korea’s military had been ordered to support its ally the People’s Republic of China, every possible means to be used to assist China in its defence of the Paracel and Spratly Islands.
Now America had a second adversary to worry about, one whose actions not even China could predict, Pyongyang as likely to order a missile strike on Seoul or Tokyo as do absolutely nothing.
Moscow – 09:44 Local Time; 06:44 UTC
Markova led the way cautiously along the northern edge of Vozdvizhenka Street, careful to ensure she was never too far from the protection of a doorway or wall. Other than her ten-man section, the street was completely deserted – no people, no traffic, and everyone had either moved out or was in hiding, well knowing what would happen next. Less than half-a-kilometre to the east the Kremlin’s Trinity Tower stood out proud and tall, beckoning them forward.
Markova’s one night at Khodynka had been as difficult as any. Starting soon after midnight the sound of far-off gunfire had become a regular companion, several explosions lighting up the sky to the south-east. The fighting didn’t seem to be confined to a single street or even a small area; never that close, it had covered a good part of the city to both south and east. One GRU patrol had tried to circle round to the north and get through to Red Square but had come under attack from at least two snipers; bodies lay as they’d fallen on virtually every street, the patrol counting well over twenty.
Surveillance drones had revealed some of the truth behind the rumours reaching Khodynka, with the Kremlin Arsenal the centre of a fierce gun battle. The Kremlin Regiment had finally chosen to declare its own divided loyalties, friends and comrades apparently engaged in a vicious battle for supremacy, no quarter given. The fighting had lasted until early morning, several parts of the three hundred metre long Arsenal building on fire, the Kremlin’s stone courtyards stained red all the way to the Senate.
A more detailed account had emerged from those that had managed to slip away: the faction supporting Morozov had first attempted to break through into the Senate but had been beaten back, taking refuge in the Arsenal. The rest of the Regiment had been forced into taking sides and even those wishing to remain neutral had come under fire. A tenacious stand of defiance had soon turned into a struggle to survive, hundreds having to battle their way out of the Kremlin, the exchange of gunfire spilling over into the surrounding streets.
More reports told of fierce fighting outside the Ritz-Carlton hotel and again near to the Ministry of Defence. A live feed from the Lubyanka, less than a kilometre to the north-east of the Kremlin, had shown several armed gangs moving through the semi-darkened streets, all heading south. As far as anyone could judge, they were pro-Morozov, some perhaps a little too keen to exact their revenge.
Now Markova was about to do the same, the memory of eighteen months earlier when she and Nikolai had fought through the corridors of the Senate Building still fresh in her mind. General Morozov and his troops had been their saviour that day, persuaded by Golubeva to intervene. Now the main fight could well take place outside of the Kremlin walls, T-14 tanks ready and waiting in Red Square, the rumours that Golubeva had fled Moscow obviously nothing more than that.
Although some parts of the Kremlin were normally open to visitors, it remained the preserve of Russia’s president, the key building of the Senate just visible from Red Square. Roughly triangular in shape, the apex of the Kremlin points due north, Red Square to the east, Alexander Garden to the west, the southern edge facing the Moskva River; in places the protective red brick walls are more than six metres thick, up to nineteen metres high.
Outnumbered and quite possibly outgunned, General Morozov’s hopes rested almost entirely on a renewed surge of support and to some extent his optimism had already proved justified. Overnight their small force had grown to some two thousand and it now included four APCs (Armoured Personnel Carrier), all armed with a 30mm cannon, Morozov trusting it would be enough to give them at least a chance of winning what would be the final battle. The people, the army, everyone – they all needed to see a clear-cut victory, not some drawn-out siege and yet another short-lived leader emerging from the shadows.
General Morozov might be determined to put a speedy end to Golubeva’s presidency but his experience with urban warfare was insignificant, and his plan was for a slow and steady advance – no point in wasting such frugal resources in the hope of an impossible victory. On the plus side, the General had a clear advantage in terms of intelligence, the FSB and GRU shrugging of Golubeva’s authority to work together, ably assisted by everything from rumour to high-resolution images from both satellites and drones. Whether it was down to Morozov’s reputation or the fact that – unlike Irina Golubeva – he was actually from the military, then the President’s allies now numbered far less than anyone had anticipated. A handful of the tanks and IFVs that had been tasked with protecting the Kremlin had already swapped their allegiance and it was almost as if everyone expected Morozov to win with ease, Golubeva’s support haemorrhaging by the hour. The latest estimate of around twenty tanks and three thousand men still gave her a clear advantage, the five hundred men of the Presidential Security Service (PSB) likely to be totally loyal: similar in function to the U.S. Secret Service, any lack of heavy weapons could easily be rectified from the Kremlin’s vast supply.
General Morozov was attempting multiple attacks, various routes towards the Kremlin being probed for some weakness; he had been insistent that it would be criminal to try and breech the massive walls and somehow a more acceptable alternative had to be found – if it duly came at a relatively high cost, then so be it.
Markova kept to the sidewalk, wary of direct line of sight from the eighty-metre high Trinity Tower. It in turn was guarded by the outer Kutafya Tower, a narrow hundred metre ramp – the Trinity Bridge – arching over the Alexander Garden to join the two towers. The Trinity Gate formed the main visitor’s entrance to the Kremlin, the Senate another two hundred metres beyond.
Strung out behind Markova was the rest of her section, all with military experience, half of them – like her – members of the FSB’s elite Alpha Group. Looking like some ragtag company from some long-forgotten war, well over two hundred more fighters followed on, keeping to the side streets to north and south. Kremlin Regiment, army, FSB, GRU, National Guard, police and civilians – they wore a wide range of uniforms and insignia, some casually dressed in padded jacket and jeans, a blue ribbon or a piece of cloth signifying their allegiance to General Morozov’s cause. All of the civilians claimed they’d had significant military experience, their average age at least fifty, their reasons for joining Morozov varied and often confused, Markova having to hope they were all genuine. The National Guard and police volunteers were going against the compromise thrashed out the previous day but again no-one turned them away, every additional man and woman welcomed without comment.
For those risking their lives on the deserted and icy streets of Moscow, the chain of c
ommand was often a debatable concept. The few in an officer’s uniform generally had some semblance of authority and while Markova’s decision to lead from the front was outdated, it seemed the quickest way to gain the unit’s respect. Loosely organised into five platoons, most of the makeshift unit were armed with assault rifles, anything from a brand-new AK-12 to a sixty year-old AK-47; other than six anti-tank rockets and two reusable launchers, they had no heavy weapons and just one APC, the General’s own attack on Red Square considered the priority.
The chatter of gunfire could clearly be heard in the distance, together with the dull thump of an occasional explosion. Markova had already lost three men to a sniper stationed in the Trinity Tower and the route south then east was proving slow and tortuous, every building and alleyway treated with suspicion. Beyond the tower a dark ribbon of smoke floated gently upwards, the battle for Red Square having begun almost an hour earlier. Golubeva’s protective line of tanks would prove a difficult challenge for Morozov’s own armoured units, the General also lacking in suitable heavy weapons.
Markova’s approach to the west wall of the Kremlin might be less open than a broad square but that didn’t mean it would be easy. Reports suggested the PSB had occupied several key buildings close to the Kutafya Tower, a single T-90 tank sitting patiently alongside. A drone had managed to confirm the position of the tank but nothing more, it shot down almost immediately.
The Rule Of The People (Conspiracy Trilogy Book 3) Page 25