“Yes, of course,” replied the ambassador. “How foolish of me not to have identified the culprit at once.”
“Well, for the time being, that would appear to be all. But heed what I say, Ambassador. Because I would not want things to become any more tense between us. And you guys have done quite sufficient damage for one month.”
“And, quite frankly, Admiral, so, might I say, have you.”
Same time (2145 local).
Off the island of Ishigaki.
Hardly moving through the water, both Kilos waited silently, 10 miles apart, in the path of the carrier’s approach from the southeast. The JFK was clearly identifiable by her noise signature, and at 2215 the westerly Kilo assessed that the Americans would pass within 3,000 yards.
The Chinese prepared to fire, while the easterly Kilo decided to wait, just in case an attack by her consort should cause Big John to swerve her way. It is almost impossible to coordinate a torpedo attack by two submarines. Only one would open fire, since charging in at high speed would simply give the game away.
The westerly Kilo’s two torpedoes would come in from the carrier’s stern arcs on predictions from the last-known bearing. The big TEST weapons would be launched quietly at 30 knots, staying passive all the way, which at least gave them a chance of avoiding a full, frontal smash into the hull. The Chinese wanted only the shafts, and there would be nothing Big John could do. There would be no time.
2150. “Stand by one…”
“Last bearing check.”
“SHOOT!”
The Chinese torpedo came powering out of the tube, hesitated for a split second, then whined away into the dark waters.
“Weapon under guidance…” Kilo 636 was right on top of her game.
“Arm the weapon.”
“Weapon armed, sir.”
Ninety seconds go by. “Weapon now one thousand yards from target, sir.”
“Weapon has passive contact.”
“Release to auto-home passive.”
Moments later, Kilo 636 loosed off a second torpedo, which, like its colleague, was now streaking through the water toward the lights on the stern end of the carrier’s flight deck. It was a classic submarine attack, conducted with ruthless professionalism in a manner that would tolerate no comeback. There simply was no time.
Inside the ops room of the carrier, the sonar men picked up the torpedoes. At least they picked up one of them.
“Admiral—sonar. TORPEDO! TORPEDO! TORPEDO!…bearing Green one-nine-eight—Torpedo HE tight-aft…REAL CLOSE, SIR. REAL CLOSE…”
“Real close” now meant no more than 500 yards. Which put the lead torpedo 30 seconds from impact somewhere on the stern of the carrier. Firing back was out of the question. An 88,000-ton carrier is simply not built for close combat of this type.
Someone yelled: “DECOYS!” But that was about two minutes too late. The Combat Systems Officer alerted all ships that the flag was under attack. But before he could even utter the words “Chinese submarine,” the first TEST 71/96 smashed into the port outer propeller, blowing it off and buckling two of the four shafts.
Moments later, the second torpedo, undetected, slammed into the port inner propeller and blew up with staggering force, causing distortion to the starboard inner as well. Big John, even if she was still floating, was not going anywhere for a while.
The JFK was well compartmentalized, and she would not sink. But with her massive shafts damaged, she was no longer capable of operating aircraft. The great leviathan began to list slightly. Damage-control teams were right at work on the flooding. Engineers stared in horror at the extent of the harm done to the shafts.
The Admiral, still wondering where the next torpedo would come from, recalled the LA-Class submarines from deep water out to the southwest, bringing in one destroyer and a frigate for a close ASW hunt near the carrier.
The signal being sent to Pearl Harbor was as shocking to the communications room as the Japanese attack had been to the Naval staff 66 years previously:
“212155MAY07. Position 24.20N 124.02E. To CINCPACFLT from U.S. carrier John F. Kennedy. Hit by two torpedoes, passive homing unknown origin. Two explosions in shaft area. Three shafts out of action. One shaft remains serviceable. Max speed available 10 knots. Fixed-wing flying not feasible in less than 25-knot headwind. Initial assessment damage severity: requires early docking.”
Same time (0800 local).
Office of the CNO.
The Pentagon.
Admiral Alan Dixon was aghast. But the signal from CINCPACFLT Headquarters left no room for doubt. The Republic of China had unquestionably fired two torpedoes at a U.S. carrier, 125 miles off the east coast of Taiwan. Worse yet, they’d both hit, and the carrier had been powerless to stop them, and, so far, take any form of retaliatory action. Further attacks had to be expected but had not yet materialized.
Admiral Dixon decided that if the Chinese could torpedo the ship, they could also bomb it, and he ordered the immediate evacuation of all aircraft currently stationed on the carrier. Whatever crew could be spared and moved to Okinawa should go, too. All other manpower surplus to the essential running of the crippled ship should be removed to the JFK’s accompanying destroyers and frigates.
And now he hit the secure line to Admiral Morgan and broke the news to the incredulous, but thoughtful, National Security Adviser. “The thing is, Arnie, I am going to get the carrier back to Pearl—might have to tow her. Sounds too big for Okinawa. Anyway, she’s effectively out of action.”
“Yes. That’s a big ship to try to fix, so far from a major U.S. base,” replied Admiral Morgan. “Anyhow, I guess you better get over here…bring all the information you have and we’ll try to decide what the hell to do.”
Same time (2300 local).
Southern Fleet HQ.
Zhanjiang.
“Well, Jicai, very satisfactory,” purred Zhang Yushu. “That’s all of them, I believe. The Roosevelt, the Truman, the Constellation, and the John C. Stennis all so very busy seven thousand miles away in the Strait of Hormuz. The Ronald Reagan stranded nearly nine thousand miles away in San Diego. The John F. Kennedy out of action. Which leaves us entirely free to conduct some local business of our own.”
And at 2200 on the clear, moonlit evening of Tuesday, May 22, 2007, deploying the most massive display of military power since the UN’s 1991 advance on Saddam Hussein, the People’s Republic of China attacked Taiwan.
8
It was too quick even for STRONG NET, the brand-new multibillion-dollar air defense early-warning network. Taiwan’s Hawk surface-to-air missiles remained in their launchers as the Chinese onslaught came in. And there was not a bleep out of the new ultrasensitive Tien Kung medium-to-long-range system based on the old U.S. Patriot, and deployed around Taipei.
Everything about the attack from the mainland was utterly unexpected. Even the target was essentially way out in right field. But in the small hours of May 22, China was undeniably bombarding, presumably with a view to capture, the picturesque archipelago of the Penghu Islands, which sit 60 miles off Taiwan’s western shores.
Of course, the Penghus are not entirely picturesque. Taiwan maintains a 17,000-strong offshore island command army on Penghu. There is an airport, and outside the city of Makung a big Navy base, home of the 154th Fast Attack Squadron.
Now, at these midocean marks, China was literally hurling short-range ballistic missiles (SRBMs), launched into the night from the opposite shore from bases in Fujian and Jiangxi Provinces. And high above the Taiwan Strait an armada of China’s newly built B-6/BADGER long-range bomber aircraft, laden with land-attack cruise missiles (LACMs), was preparing to strike the Penghu Naval Base.
It was six minutes before Taiwan could respond, by which time the Makung shipyard was ablaze, with two 3,000-ton Knox-Class guided-missile frigates, the Chin Yang and the Ning Yang, burning ferociously alongside the jetties.
Taiwan launched her opening batteries of Tien Kung missiles from the west coast of the mai
n island, straight at the incoming BADGERs and downed nine of them in 15 minutes. But they could not prevent the first wave of SRBMs from screaming into the outskirts of Makung, almost demolishing the entire Hsintien Road to the north of the base, in the process reducing both the Martyrs’ Shrine and the Confucian temple to rubble.
The precision bombardment hit the airfield, blitzed the telephone company at the north end of the main Chungching Road and the main downtown post office.
Within 10 more minutes Taiwan had a squadron of U.S.-built F-16 fighters in the air howling out of the night in pursuit of the BADGERs, which were no match for them, and the U.S.-supplied deadly accurate Sidewinder missile blew eight more of them out of the sky.
Below the opening air battle, a big flotilla of Chinese warships was moving in on the Penghus, led by the second of their Russian-built Sovremenny destroyers, in company with four Jangwei-Class guided-missile frigates and six of the smaller heavily gunned Jianghu Class, which had been conducting regular fleet exercises in the strait for the past five days.
Shortly after midnight they opened fire with a long-range shelling assault on the tiny islands of Paisha and Hsi, obliterating the three-mile-long bridge that joins them. They slammed two missiles into Hsi’s spectacular Qing Dynasty Hsitai Fort from which, on a clear day, you can see the mountains of both Taiwan and China. Then they turned southwest and battered the islands of Wang’an, Huching and Tongpan.
The Taiwan High Command in Taipei was forced to the opinion that China was in the process of capturing all 64 of the Penghu Islands, with their historic 147 temples, mostly dedicated to Matsu, the goddess of the sea, who would always protect the islanders but who was not having that much effect right now.
The Penghus have been for centuries permanent home mostly to fishermen and farmers. Walls of coral, built to protect large crops of peanuts, sweet potatoes and sorghum, form a unique landscape. The endless beaches and blue waters have made the Penghus one of the great tourist attractions in the East.
However, at this precise moment the beautiful Lintou Beach, on the seaward side of Makung, resembled Dunkirk, 1940, more than anywhere else. Batteries of China’s CSS-X7 missiles—a new version of the Russian-designed M-11 with a 500-kilogram warhead—were detonating everywhere. Oceanfront bars and restaurants were flattened, huge spouts of salt water and sand blasted over the city.
In Taipei, the President, in conference with the Premier and his military Chiefs of Staff, ordered an immediate defense of the islands, “before the Chinese attempt a landing.”
Lieutenant General Chi-Chiang Gan, Commander-in-Chief of the Army, ordered 25,000 troops from all military bases on the northeast coast to head south by road and rail. At 0200, the government commandeered every fast train on the electrified west coast line, particularly the Ziqiang and Zuguang expresses. The General ordered an airlift of 20,000 troops from the Taipei area to the big southern Navy base at Kaohsiung.
Admiral Feng-Shiang Hu, Commander-in-Chief of the Navy, ordered the 66th Marine Division based in Kaohsiung to embark and sail immediately to reinforce the island garrison at Makung. He put three Newport-Class troop landing ships and a 9,000-ton Cabildo-Class LSD on four hours battle notice. The Cheng Hai docks down three small Japanese-built LSUs, each capable of carrying 300 men right into the beaches.
In the small hours of the morning, the Taiwan High Command desperately signaled the U.S. Seventh Fleet HQ requesting immediate military assistance, informing the United States that Taiwan was under attack from the forces of mainland China. Admiral Feng-Shiang personally told Admiral Dick Greening, Commander-in-Chief Pacific Fleet (CINCPACFLT) in Pearl Harbor, that he feared for his country’s existence, that right now an air battle was raging over the Taiwan Strait, and that his pilots were winning it. But on the sea, China had a major flotilla of warships both bombarding and preparing to land on the strategically important Penghu Islands, which everyone knew China had always wanted to own.
“We badly need a carrier battle group, anything to get them away.” Admiral Feng-Shiang was almost pleading. But there was nothing CINCPACFLT could do. Nothing anyone could do. The United States did not have a CVBG available except in the Middle East, which was nearly two weeks away from the Taiwan Strait. And anyway, it could scarcely be spared.
Powerless in Pearl Harbor, the Admiral knew now why Big John had been hit in such a brutal and unexplained manner. “Holy shit,” breathed Admiral Greening. “The bastards are gonna take Taiwan. And as far as I can see there’s not a damn thing we can do about it—we don’t even have the hardware to attack China.”
He promised to get right back to the distraught Taiwanese Admiral, but right now he had to call Washington and inform Alan Dixon about precisely what was happening.
They patched him through to the White House, where the CNO was with Arnold Morgan. Kathy put the secure call on the conference line, and both Washington-based Admirals listened aghast as Admiral Greening informed them that China had militarily invaded Taiwan. At the conclusion of the call, Admiral Dixon requested 30 minutes to thoroughly appreciate the situation.
But Arnold Morgan stood up, and there was a strange smile on his face. He shook his head, over and over, and kept saying, “Those little bastards…those cunning little pricks.”
Finally he turned back to the CNO, and he said, “Alan, old buddy, did you ever hear the term ‘checkmate’?”
“Guess so.”
“Good. Because we’re in it.”
Every piece of information he had absorbed in the past several months, every twist and turn of the plot in the Gulf of Hormuz, sprang now, miraculously, into place. Right back to that moment when Lt. Ramshawe had called him in the restaurant. Arnold Morgan could remember the young Lieutenant’s words verbatim: “It is my opinion that there may be a serious minefield out there, maybe running from the Omani coast, place called Ra’s Qabr al Hindi, right across to Iran. And I think we ought to find out.”
The Admiral was talking aloud now. “Jimmy was right. And he ought to be promoted for brilliance. Borden is going to be relieved of command at Fort Meade. George Morris is gonna get better in the next twenty minutes or he’s fired too, so are all his fucking doctors. And I’m about to admit I’ve been outwitted by the goddamned Chinese pricks. They never wanted to screw up the oil, never gave a flying fuck about the oil, they just wanted to tie us up, at least tie up the carriers, thousands of miles from the South China Sea.
“I guess we threw ’em a curve when we diverted the JFK back to Taiwan. So by some damn clever means they crippled her. And then there were none…. Hours later they attack Taiwan, knowing beyond any doubt there is nothing on earth we can do about it, save for starting World War Three with nuclear missiles. And even Taiwan ain’t worth that.”
“Holy shit,” breathed Alan Dixon. “You mean there’s nothing we could do to save her?”
“There’s plenty we could do. But not in time. Taiwan will fall inside two weeks. That’s how long it would take the Truman Group or the Roosevelt Group to get there. The fight would be all over before they could get out of the Indian Ocean.”
“But so far they’ve only taken a few shots at the Penghu Islands.”
“Alan, that news is gonna be so out of date by tomorrow morning it’ll make the Washington Monument look like Stonehenge.”
Admiral Morgan checked his watch. It was already 1700 hours—0600 hours the following morning over the Penghu Islands, where, suddenly, the rumble of battle grew steadily more faint, and the surviving Chinese bombers swung back toward the mainland. The flotilla of warships ceased their bombardment but closed rapidly, effecting a complete blockade of the islands. Anyone wanting to get in would have to fight the Chinese Navy.
With half the armed forces of Taiwan already well on their way south, Admiral Zhang, who had assumed command of the entire operation, moved to Phase Two. And as the sun rose bloodred out of the Pacific Ocean, he unleashed the massive missile bombardment of the west coast of Taiwan he had been planning for six
months.
It started in the north with Chiang Kai-shek International Airport, the powerful SRBMs blasting craters in the runways, but surprisingly taking out only the air-traffic control tower. The regular passenger terminals were not targeted.
Zhang’s ballistic missiles slammed into the road system, blasting huge chunks out of the coastal highway. They hit the town of Chungli, where the main south-running freeway crosses Route 1. They obliterated that junction and took out 400 yards of the railroad track.
They blew apart a freeway road bridge west of Hainchu. They hit the Mingte Dam, west of Miaoli, and three times more they knocked serious hunks out of the south-running roads, freeways and railroads before they reached the majestic bridges that span the estuary of the Choshui River.
And there, with a withering salvo of missiles, the Chinese took out all four of them, blasting steel and masonry into the water, stopping Route 17 in its tracks, ending the long winding path of Route 19, splitting asunder the great north-south freeway, and closing down the south-running railroad.
The entire transportation system that crosses the pancake-flat, rice-growing plains of west-central Taiwan was in ruins. And that was before the Chinese missiles reached the southwestern city of Tainan, Taiwan’s provincial capital for more than 200 years until 1885.
Zhang’s missiles completely destroyed every runway on the airport. They hammered Routes 17 and 19 north of the river and blasted yet again the main highway south. There were three massive separate hits on the most important road-freight artery in the country as it swept west of the city toward the port of Kaohsiung, 30 miles farther south.
At that point it was just about impossible to move troops or anything else back to the north. Admiral Zhang’s brilliant feint to the Penghu Islands had drawn half the Taiwanese army 235 miles away from his main objective, Taipei.
The Shark Mutiny Page 26