The Monroe Doctrine

by James Rosone

  “Yes, Father. I’m adding this to my core database.”

  This was a huge win in Xi’s mind. Prior to Dan’s termination, he had been working with JD on trying to understand some very specific human behaviors—behaviors that would prove invaluable in understanding the leaders of varying nations and the people within those nations.

  For the next thirty minutes, Xi and JD reviewed a couple of additional sitcoms. One was from Russia and another from Germany. All of these shows, movies, music, and books were part of building a cultural and social profile and understanding of the people and leaders of these different nations. Then they’d look to see what kind of patterns emerged between the different cultures. Xi wanted JD to understand that while what worked in one culture might not work in another, some universal attitudes or character traits transcended cultures and languages. It was those cross-cultural data points Xi was after. Those would be the points Xi would have JD use to craft very targeted propaganda pieces that would be used in the next phases of the war against the West.

  ********

  Central Military Commission

  Beijing, China

  President Yao Jintao looked at the map of the Indian Ocean Admiral Wei Huang had just brought up. The admiral overlaid the map with the shipping routes of the traditional cargo vessels and then the oil tankers. Much of the oil tanker traffic traveled through several choke points, depending on whether it was traveling to Asia or Europe. Aside from traversing the Strait of Hormuz, a ship traveling to Europe would have to travel along the coast of Yemen into the Gulf of Aden before eventually reaching the Bab al-Mandab Strait, which connects the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean. It was these points of interest the admiral was going on about.

  “We have a single Changzheng submarine positioned here, in the Gulf of Oman. Thirteen hundred kilometers to the west, in the Gulf of Oman, two of our Type 041 diesel submarines have just come on station. In twelve hours, the three submarines will begin a campaign of unrestricted warfare, sinking any ship flying the flag of a NATO member or registered to a NATO member. This will begin to put the squeeze on Europe as we look to choke off their supply of LNG and petrol. Further to the south, we have a single Type 041 near the coast of Kenya. That sub will go after the cargo vessels ferrying materials from Africa to Europe. This Indian Ocean campaign is going to hurt the Europeans, Mr. President,” Admiral Wei said confidently.

  “What about the Pacific, Admiral?” asked President Yao. “How are we holding up there? Because that is where the war will be won or lost.”

  “We are preparing to launch our next phase of operations: the capture of the Daiyo Islands, Ishigaki Island, and Miyako Island. Once we have wrested control of them away from the Japanese, we’ll have the first island chain protecting the homeland secured.”

  President Yao was not sure about this plan. Truthfully, his admirals and generals didn’t seem particularly confident either. However, this was an operation their super-AI had come up with. The generals had advised him that they did not believe they had enough men to support this campaign, not with the siege of Taiwan fully underway. Jade Dragon, however, believed otherwise.

  “What kind of resistance are we expecting from the Japanese, and are we ready to deal with it?” President Yao asked.

  “The Japanese Self-Defense Force or JSDF has raised their alert level to its maximum,” the admiral explained. “The government has also activated their entire reserve force since the start of our war with the Americans. All that said, the JSDF and their reserve forces combined still only consist of three hundred thousand service members. The bulk of their forces are stationed on their home islands, far away from the islands we are looking to capture. The bigger threat we’ll have to worry about is the remaining American Marines stationed on Okinawa—and there are also the Army soldiers on Japan proper and in South Korea.”

  “Didn’t the Americans deploy more of their Marines from Okinawa down to Guam prior to the war?” quizzed Yao.

  Admiral Wei nodded. “They did. They sent a regiment of Marines to reinforce the garrison on the island. But that still leaves two regiments on Okinawa.”

  “Jade Dragon isn’t recommending we attack Okinawa, is it?”

  Wei shook his head. “No, Mr. President. It is recommending we leave the island alone. It says we should isolate it, essentially neutralizing the Marines by not engaging them at all.”

  General Li Zuocheng, the head of the PLA, angrily interjected, “This plan the computer has generated for Siberia is not workable, Mr. President. I think someone needs to put some checks on that AI. We cannot just turn over the keys to this entire war to a machine like this.”

  Yao had half a mind to agree with his senior military commander, but the damn machine had been right on absolutely everything thus far, making it hard to really doubt it.

  “General Li, you bring up a good point, but let me ask you this—can you refute the success we have achieved thus far in following its plans? We’ve followed them to the letter, and it’s led us to one victory after another,” the President offered in rebuttal.

  “I would not call the Cuba campaign a success, Mr. President, or the battle near Panama,” the general said hotly. “Our navy has suffered some terrible losses in the first week of this war.”

  President Yao turned to Dr. Xi Zemin. “Perhaps you can speak to this, Dr. Xi. It is, after all, your computer.”

  “General Li, my apologies for the losses of men and ships that the Navy has sustained. You are right, these casualties have been hard to handle, especially with so many of them happening in the first week of this new war. All of that aside, the war has largely played out exactly the way JD has said it would.”

  “I don’t remember the AI predicting we would lose an aircraft carrier on the first day of the war,” retorted Admiral Wei, who piled on to the discussion.

  “That is true,” Dr. Xi replied calmly. “But it was the AI that gave us the designs for the merchant raiders, and it was the AI who developed the target package for them. In the opening hours of the war, the raiders managed to sink twenty-two of the Americans’ fifty-three fast-attack submarines and five of their fourteen ballistic missile submarines. That same attack also damaged or sank nineteen destroyers out of their sixty-seven and five cruisers out of twenty-two. Not to mention the considerable damage that was done to the George H.W. Bush carrier and the near sinking of the George Washington carrier in the shipyard.”

  “Don’t forget the squadrons of fighters and cargo planes the raider managed to destroy at Langley and Charleston air bases, not to mention the damage that was caused to the garrison at Ft. Stewart and Benning, Georgia,” asserted General Luo Ronghuan, the head of the PLA Air Force.

  “Luo, your service has been getting ravaged, just like mine,” barked Admiral Wei angrily. “Surely you understand there won’t be much of the Air Force left by the time this AI has figured out how to fight.”

  Dr. Xi tried to regain control of the conversation. “Admiral Wei, General Li, JD knows the losses we are sustaining. That is why JD began the armament program eight months ago. Our shipyards are producing three destroyers, five frigates and fourteen corvettes a month. Our factories are producing a hundred and sixty fighter aircraft a week along with twenty strategic bombers and cargo planes. This is in addition to the two hundred plus drones a month our factories are churning out.”

  Waving his hand dismissively, Admiral Wei countered, “A fighter doesn’t fly itself. A ship doesn’t fight itself. These complex tools of war require trained crews to operate them—crews that can’t be produced at a factory. It takes years to train a pilot; so while it’s great our factories are producing these weapons of war, we need time to train people on how to use them effectively.”

  The President finally interceded. “Enough, everyone. I am fine with you voicing your concerns. But we are not deviating from the battle plan Jade Dragon has devised for us. For the last half decade, the AI has helped to transform our economy and country in ways we could only drea
m of. Despite the American trade war, our economy has flourished. Our military, while sustaining horrific losses, is still operational and still fighting. Our factories continue to produce the tools of war needed to keep fighting, and in time, we are going to grind the West into nothing more than dirt beneath our boots. Now, let’s continue with the briefing.”

  The meeting continued for a while longer, with many of the generals having to accept that they were steadily being replaced by a machine—a machine that wasn’t besieged by guilt, greed, or second-guessing—a machine that would accomplish its goal, no matter the cost or suffering it might inflict.

  Chapter Three

  Survivor’s Guilt

  December 2024

  USS Texas

  Vicinity Isla Socorro

  Commander Kurt Helgeson was exhausted. His mind had replayed the battle a dozen times; his mental after-action review was relentless. Had he initiated firing point procedures too soon in the initial attack? Should he have prioritized targets differently for prosecution with the Tomahawks? Could he have initiated the attack from a greater distance and chosen a different escape route at ultra-quiet? The questions hit him from every angle.

  He’d viewed the computer-generated playback of the fight at least fifteen times: at normal speed, in slow motion, and at three times normal speed. He’d listened to the sonar tapes and converted them into a CGI approximation designed to aid in generating a more detailed report to his superiors. They’d no doubt be chomping at the bit to review his actions and formulate a new doctrine to press the Chinese in future battles.

  Helgeson had a headache that just wouldn’t go away. He’d taken the maximum dose of Tylenol. If it didn’t go away soon, he’d have to see the doc, and if he did that, he knew the doc would read him the riot act for his present mental condition and lack of sleep.

  After the Texas had successfully evaded the wrath of the Chinese warships that were left, they’d managed to creep silently away using the thermocline to confuse the Chinese sensors. Helgeson had also used two of his Orcas to spread their pursuers out in several directions while they slowly made their way to friendlier waters. He was certain beyond doubt that if it hadn’t been for the Orcas and their ability to spoof sonars into thinking they were much bigger prey, the Texas would be on eternal patrol at the bottom of the ocean.

  Helgeson pushed aside the fog of pain and opened the hatch to the Maneuvering Room. He was instantly hit with a wall of steam. An engineering technician stood before him with his hands on his hips, staring at a console that looked like a Christmas tree with a mixture of blinking and solid lights. Helgeson knew that the red lights weren’t a good sign, and there were certainly too many red lights for his comfort.

  “Where’s the Eng?” Helgeson shouted over the noise of the compartment’s machines.

  The young sailor didn’t seem to hear him over the noise. Helgeson tapped him on the shoulder, and when the sailor turned his head, he snapped to attention and came out of whatever trance he had been in from staring at the lights.

  “Captain, I’m sorry, sir. It’s just that the system is a mess.”

  “I get it. Where’s the Eng?”

  “Aft, sir. By the turbine generators.”

  Helgeson nodded and headed off to find the boat’s engineering officer, LT Jim Grogan. As he moved aft, he saw the telltale effects of battle on a pressurized vessel. Bulkheads were bent, and there were flash burn marks on panels that had been damaged from the pounding that the Texas had taken. The entire boat was warmer than normal, and Helgeson knew this wasn’t good. The rise in temperatures had caused an equal rise in short tempers—he’d personally seen two arguments almost come to blows, and he’d heard reports of several more. The boat and the crew seemed on the verge of breaking.

  Helgeson ducked to enter another engineering space and spied Lieutenant Grogan, his engineering officer or Eng. He was holding a diagnostic tablet and shaking his head. When he noticed the captain enter the space, Grogan put the tablet on top of a bank of sensors.

  “Sir, what brings you to the dungeon?”

  “Walk about, Eng. Give me the news, and don’t spare me the bad.”

  “Well, that’s good, sir, because bad news is all I’ve got for you, Skipper.” He let out a deep breath with a huff. “Our reduction gear is damaged, and the sound mountings are off. The hull is warped somewhere aft. The alignment of the mounts is off, and we’ve detected a slight thud as the shaft turns the screw. Because of this warping, the shaft seals are off.”

  “Off?” Helgeson asked, left eyebrow raised.

  “Not off, off. There are microfissures in them. At our present depth, it isn’t leaking; it’s a slow drip. However, as the captain knows, water is supposed to be outside, not inside. I’ve got a sensor on it. It’s monitoring a rise in moisture in the compartment. I’ve set the alarm to sound if the sensor detects a rapid increase, and I’ve got a sailor in there as well.”

  “What else?” Helgeson asked. “How is the reactor?”

  Grogan scratched the stubble on his chin in thought for a long beat, contemplating his reply. “Well, if we don’t have to sink any more Chinese ships, I think we’re good. But honestly, Skipper, not to sound cliché…” Grogan switched to a voice that mimicked Scotty from Star Trek. “She’s given us all she’s got, Captain; I don’t think she can take much more.”

  Helgeson smiled and slapped Grogan on the arm.

  “OK, Scotty. I won’t be asking you for the impossible. Just keep us moving forward at a modest speed. If anything at all comes up, let me know.”

  Grogan looked puzzled for a second, and Helgeson got it right away. For the first time in the last few days, he laughed. “Right, duh.”

  Grogan chuckled. “You’ll be the second person to know, sir.”

  With his inspection of the Maneuvering and Engineering space complete, Helgeson made his way forward and stopped in the galley. The epicurean center of the USS Texas was staffed by the finest cooks in the Navy. Their operation ran 24/7 and they produced some of the best meals that Helgeson had ever had the pleasure of eating in his entire career. He stepped aside as a detail of sailors carted food from the refrigerated storage locker.

  “What’s for dinner, boys?” Helgeson inquired.

  “Salmon fillets, sir,” a boyish-looking sailor replied. Of course, Helgeson knew what was on the menu. His relationship with the ship’s “chef” was such that he and the supply officer decided what special meals would be eaten and when. Food aboard a submarine added about thirty percent to the morale of the crew.

  “Carry on, sailor.”

  As they passed by, Helgeson continued on until he saw the chef. Chief Petty Officer Sheldon Lang ran the galley. Chief Lang extended his hand to Helgeson, who took it with a smile.

  “Any issues in the galley, Chef?” Helgeson was acutely aware that Lang preferred to be called “chef” over his naval rank, so he always made it a point to address him as such, especially when he was in his kitchen aboard the Texas.

  “Well, sir, there is an issue with the refer. It’s not as cold as it’s supposed to be.”

  “Damn, I was afraid of that. We’ve got issues the Eng is working on. The whole power plant is running hot.”

  Lang frowned and nodded. “Well, sir, I suppose we can put the bulk of our frozen meats into ice buckets and coolers for the duration of our transit back to Isla Socorro.”

  “Good. We should be there in thirty-three hours at current speed, unless something else goes wrong.”

  “OK, Captain. I think we should be good, then.”

  Helgeson watched as Chef began to bark orders to the sailors to get the meat in the locker on ice. He checked his watch and headed to the crew’s mess.

  As Commander Helgeson walked through the hatch to the mess, there were a few crewmen there. When they spotted him, their hushed tones fell silent. They all eyed him: some with admiration and some with trepidation. He understood. They were barely in their twenties, children really. They’d just been
in the most intense situation of their lives. Life on a submarine was stressful; combat on a submarine was downright terrifying. As he made eye contact with each of them, his head began to pound again. For a moment, he grew lightheaded.

  “Sir, are you OK?”

  Helgeson looked at the sailor’s name tag, but his vision blurred for a moment. He steadied himself on the table. He started to speak, but his mind was clouded. As his head cleared, he focused on the sailor.

  “Yes, I’m good. Just a little tired. How are you all doing?”

  They all perked up at being acknowledged by their captain. He chatted with them for a few minutes with his hand on the back of a chair. Once his head felt clear, he wished them all well and exited the compartment.

  *******

  Lieutenant Commander Evans had the Conn; she’d had it for the last several hours. Commander Helgeson had left her in charge while he walked the boat, ostensibly to clear his head. When he’d left the Conn, she’d noticed that he’d been rubbing his temples. She wasn’t worried about him, but she knew that something was off with the man. She just wasn’t sure what it was.

  The smell of fried circuit boards and smoke still hung heavy in the Conn. As she looked around the room, she saw exhaustion and lingering fear. The Texas had managed to go head-to-head with the most modern surface combatants in the People’s Liberation Army Navy and come out on the other side.

  The crew had performed marvelously, and they should have been congratulated by their captain. But when Helgeson had addressed them after they had secured from battle stations, his tone had been restrained and his remarks far too brief. Their transit had taken three days to get within escort range of the USS Chung-Hoon, an Arleigh Burke destroyer. The damage to the Texas had been more severe than they had originally thought. The boat was nearly blind, and they hadn’t been able to make more than fifteen knots at ultra-quiet.

  In terms of human losses, they’d been incredibly lucky; they’d sustained three severe injuries and only one had been life-threatening. They’d managed to stabilize the crewman, and the doc was optimistic about his survival as long as they could get back to Isla Socorro without any major delays. The Chung-Hoon had taken point on leading them home.