The Monroe Doctrine

by James Rosone

  Once the soldiers were down, a couple of Heissler’s men broke cover to grab the bodies and drag them back into the bushes.

  With the immediate threat neutralized, the commandos advanced forward until they crested a slight incline and saw their target: two HQ-9 TELs and the accompanying HT-233 engagement radar.

  Looking down on the setup, Heissler noticed something; it was one of the PLA’s new advanced DWL 002 passive detection systems. He’d been briefed about the possibility of the units being integrated with the HQ-9s. The intelligence folks had specifically told him to look for them and confirm that they were being deployed with the traditional system.

  This additional DWL system was a state-of-the-art system—in theory, it could also detect the NATO JF-35s and American B-2 stealth bombers. Heissler now understood why the commandos had been tasked with taking them out as opposed to using some high-flying bombers. Pairing an HQ-9 up with one of these things created a stealth hunter.

  Heissler was reasonably sure that if the ChiComs had gone to the trouble of bringing one of these to the island, then chances were, they’d have a couple more. They were clearly making a play to turn this into a stronghold to control the shipping lanes in and out of the Red Sea.

  He turned to the sergeant controlling their drone. “Sergeant, send a message to the other operators that we found a DWL. See if they can find any additional systems near their targets as well.”

  A couple of minutes later, the other drones started looking for more DWLs, and sure enough, the HQ-9s around the island were all similarly configured.

  Damn, this would have been a turkey shoot had our planes flown in here before we took them out, Heissler realized.

  “On my location, Alpha Team,” Heissler said softly over the radio to Lieutenant Commander Dahlke.

  It took a moment for the rest of the teams to check in and let their commander know they were ready. One of the teams said they were still five minutes out from being in position. They waited for what felt like an eternity for them to get in place.

  Finally, they all heard the words they’d been anxiously waiting to hear. “All teams, execute, execute, execute!” announced Lieutenant Commander Dahlke.

  Heissler smiled as he motioned for his men to move forward and neutralize the PLA soldiers guarding the missile site.

  Rising from their covered positions, they advanced as a team with their rifles raised, looking for targets to kill. One of his guys fired several quick shots with his silenced pistol, taking out a sentry near some tents.

  The enemy soldier fell backwards with a thud, and shortly after, another Chinese soldier walked out of the tent to find out what was going on. The stunned soldier saw the German commandos racing towards him. Another soldier fired a silenced pistol at the man, hitting him in the face before he could scream or alert his comrades they were under attack.

  Heissler tossed one of his fragmentation grenades into the tent and waited for it to go off before he would dash inside to finish them off. When the grenade blew, it broke the stillness of the early morning hours. Cries and screams of pain drifted from the now-shredded tent. Around the camp, Heissler heard shouts from those who were reacting to the noise.

  Heissler’s men tossed a few more grenades into the tents and vehicles nearby before opening fire on the remaining soldiers with their rifles. With no more need for stealth, the operators switched from their silenced pistols to their rifles, cutting down the SAM crews and their naval infantry guards.

  A PLA soldier inside one of the half-shredded tents fired his weapon into one of Heissler’s petty officers. The man took half a dozen rounds to his chest as he was flung backward from the force of the slugs hammering him like a mallet.

  Petty Officer Schiefer dropped to a knee and rolled to his left just as a string of rounds flew over his head. As he rolled and came up into a firing position, he leveled his KH-MG5 at the soldier shooting at them. He pulled the trigger and raked the tent, sending dozens of rounds into the remaining soldiers, silencing their counterattack before it could get going.

  With the shooting started, the KSM operators had split into their four-man assault elements, making quick work of the remaining soldiers. Two naval infantry marines on the far side of the encampment repositioned one of their machine guns, delivering a barrage of bullets at the Germans, who dove for cover.

  A string of bullets slapped against the side of the radar trailer Heissler had ducked behind. One of the giant wheels on the trailer took a couple of rounds and chunks of rubber were flicked off.

  Hot damn, that was close, Heissler thought. These guys must have NVGs themselves.

  “Cover me!” shouted one soldier as he darted to another position.

  Heissler’s guys were trying to keep the machine-gun crew pinned down while another team tried to flank them or get in close enough to use their grenades.

  A bright flare illuminated over top of the German position. Then a string of flares, probably from a mortar crew, started going off across all the SAM and antiship missile sites. Where moments before, the Germans had been using the advantage of darkness and their NVGs, the ChiComs had just leveled the playing field by turning the darkness into day. The effects were felt almost immediately.

  “Crap! I’m hit!” screamed one of the Germans in pain as he tumbled to the ground. Bullets kicked up dirt all around him.

  Another operator left his covered position and ran toward the wounded man, only to be hit in the throat by one of the machine-gun bullets. Arterial spray squirted through the air as the man was spun around in a circle from the impact. It was a horrifying sight, illuminated by the brilliance of the artificial magnesium sun as it cast the oddest shadows on the ground.

  The wounded man desperately clutched at the gaping hole in this throat. With each heartbeat, blood shot through his hands. All Heissler could hear was the man gurgling and choking for air as he desperately fought to stay alive, and it infuriated him to no end that he couldn’t do a damn thing to help him.

  “Cover me!” Heissler screamed as he grabbed one of his grenades from his chest rig. He pulled the pin on it and threw it hard at the machine-gun crew maybe thirty meters away. Then he ran for all his worth to the right, then to the left, shooting his rifle in short bursts the entire time.

  The grenade he’d thrown went off just short of the Chinese marines, flinging dirt, dust, and shrapnel into the air. It distracted the enemy soldiers as Heissler raced forward.

  Suddenly, a barrage of bullets flew toward him. The red tracers looked like glowing comets careening right for him as he dove to the right and rolled behind a set of rocks. The sound of angry bees flying all around him scared the hell out of him as chips of rock were flung into the air.

  “Grenade!” shouted one of his comrades. Moments later, Heissler heard a couple of explosions before more gunfire ensued.

  Dropping the spent magazine from his rifle, Heissler slapped a fresh one in place and waited for the machine-gun crew to pivot to another target so he could pop up and shoot back.

  Turning to his right, Heissler caught a glimpse of four PLA marines laying into his guys. Somehow, they must have missed this patrol prior to launching their attack. They were paying for that mistake now.

  Seeing that these new arrivals hadn’t spotted him yet, Heissler took aim at one of them and pulled the trigger. The Chinese marines were maybe two hundred meters away, not exactly close, but not too far away either. With his first couple of shots, Heissler managed to take one of the guys down. One stayed in his position to keep shooting at the Germans, while the other two tried to flank further down the line.

  Not forgetting the machine-gun crew he’d originally tried to charge towards and put down, Heissler repositioned himself so he was now on one knee. He raised his body and rifle above the rocks he’d taken shelter behind and scanned for them. The gunner was slumped over his weapon, smoke traces rising from his clothes. The assistant gunner’s body was half out of the fighting position, also slumped in an awkward positio
n, dead.

  One of the guys must’ve taken them out before I could, Heissler thought.

  A pair of grenades went off to his right, near where those Chinese marines had been trying to flank his guys. Then there was a short burst of gunfire, followed by silence. Moments later, one of his operators emerged from where those marines had been shooting from a few minutes ago, yelling out, “All clear! All clear!”

  Slowly, the commandos began to stand up as they surveyed the carnage and damage around them. The task was slightly more difficult with the ever-shifting magnesium light as the illumination rounds drifted back to earth.

  With the immediate threat cleared, they still needed to complete their mission. Heissler ordered his crew to start placing explosives on the radar units, the control vehicles, the missile TEL pods and the generators. They were going to blow this place up and then take care of their wounded. They’d wait for the Italian commandos to parachute in and assist them in securing the rest of the island. Now they just had to hold out long enough for their relief to arrive.

  Fifteen minutes after blowing their charges, they heard the familiar turboprop sounds of a C-130. Help had arrived. Craning his neck to look off towards the airport, the first C-130J Super Hercules was already disgorging its human cargo along the edges of the runway. Little parachutes opened just long enough to slow the descent of the operators before their feet touched down. The Italians were jumping from one hundred and fifty meters.

  The third and fourth C-130s swooped in much lower. They were practically skimming the surface of the airfield. With their rear ramp down, a sled with a 4x4 Puma armored car slid out the back of one of the C-130s and onto the runway. The Pumas had been laden down with extra ammo and equipment for the paratroopers. They’d also provide them with at least some sort of armor support.

  The fight to take Perim Island was on.

  *******

  Chinese Destroyer Chengdu

  40 Nautical Miles South of Perim Island

  Senior Captain Zheng Su was not prone to show anger, but he was irate at the report he’d just gotten from the naval infantry component on Perim Island, telling him they were under attack by NATO commandos. The Special Forces soldiers had somehow disabled the HQ-9 systems on the island, and even now, the commandos were attempting to destroy the antiship batteries.

  His flotilla was supposed to operate under the protective umbrella of the HQ-9s to keep NATO aircraft off their backs while his ships kept the critical chokepoint closed to shipping traffic. This new development was going to complicate his efforts significantly.

  Then there was the attack that had taken place last night as they’d transited past the coast of Djibouti. Somehow, a small squadron of NATO vessels had managed to slip past the garrison on Perim Island to carry out a quick hit-and-run attack on his ships. These weren’t large vessels by any means. Just a handful of small gun and missile boats outfitted with a few Exocet missiles. Even still, he’d lost two of his four corvettes while a frigate had taken severe damage, angering him to no end. One of his supply ships was so irreparably damaged, he’d almost considered blowing it up with all hands out of frustration and spite.

  Zheng had also nearly lost a submarine, but thankfully, one of his other frigates had been able to come to the rescue and had sunk the Spanish submarine hunter before they were able to zero in on it. He had a special mission saved for that sub, and the Spaniards had almost foiled his plan.

  Captain Zheng had always considered the Spanish and Hellenic navies to be shadows of their former selves, rocked by domestic economic implosions of the last decade. But somehow, those bastards had managed to sink their teeth into his force. He now understood why the Americans so loathed the Iranians and their little missile boats. The damn things were hard to take out if you weren’t equipped for that kind of warfare. If he’d had a Type 055 destroyer at his disposal, they would have made short work of them.

  “Helm, how long until we reach the mouth of the Bab al-Mandab Strait?” Zheng asked. He wanted to get closer to Perim so they could try to lend some support to the naval infantry on the island.

  “Sir, at normal speed, we could reach it in one hour and ten minutes. However, the damaged ships are slowing us down. Current estimate is closer to three hours.”

  Zheng nearly threw his tea at the sailor in frustration. In three hours, the battle on the island would likely be over with. He’d detail off a couple of ships to stay with the damaged supply ship, but frankly, he needed all the firepower with him he could get.

  Then a thought occurred to him. Maybe I can use the damaged supply ship to my advantage, as a decoy ship in case any additional NATO ships or submarines show up.

  *******

  Italian Sub, S-526 Salvatore Todaro

  Northeast of Perim Island

  Captain Rolando Paolucci hovered above his sonar operator, sweat running down the sides of his face from the stress and tension he was feeling in this moment. Moments ago, his senior technician had confirmed the contact to be a Chinese Type 054A frigate, and it was slowing down.

  “Why is she slowing? Is she damaged?” Paolucci quizzed.

  “No, sir. She seems to be dropping speed to let the damaged Type 903 get ahead of her. They’re probably trying to listen for us, see if they can spot any subs operating near them.”

  Paolucci was about to say something else when he looked at the second sonarman, who was concentrating so hard he seemed he was about to push his headset through his ears.

  “What is it?” he asked, placing his hands on the young sailor’s shoulder.

  “Sir, I’m not sure. I thought I heard cavitation from astern, but it could have been a transient. I-I’m not sure. Maybe it was nothing.”

  Scrunching his bushy eyebrows, Paolucci countered, “Play it back. Let’s all listen to it and see what we can make of it. Remember, we know we’ve got at least one and possibly two hostile subs operating in our AOR.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Navigation, while we figure out if we’re dealing with a sub, I want you to angle us in towards the rear of the enemy ships. When we fire our torpedoes from astern, their noise will be drowned out by their screws.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Paolucci gripped the overhead handrail a little tighter. They would begin their attack soon, but the possibility of another sub out there somewhere behind him made him nervous.

  *******

  Changzheng 32

  Gulf of Oman

  The Conn grew deathly silent until the sonar operator told the captain they were no longer cavitating. Captain Chen had been so eager with his last command to increase their speed that he’d failed to take into account their turn angle. Had the boat been moving in a straight line, it wouldn’t have been an issue, but in his haste, he might have committed a fatal mistake.

  Although the rim-driven propulsor made substantially less noise than a standard propulsion system, it was still governed by physics. If they lived through this day, it was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. The second the sonar operator had told him they were cavitating, his first officer had rightfully ordered a reduction in speed. It was a breach in protocol—one he’d forgive, just not one he’d forget.

  With the submarine again hidden in the baffles of the Italian boat, Chen began his attack preparations. Their tubes were all loaded with China’s newest torpedo, the YU-9. It was one of the fastest torpedoes in the world, and the mixture of chemicals in its warhead burned at two thousand degrees centigrade when it detonated, vaporizing the water beneath the hull and causing a ship to break apart from the absence of water beneath her. When it detonated against a submarine, it acted as a thermobaric device. No submarine on earth stood a chance of surviving a hit from the YU-9. This Italian Type 212A was already dead; they just didn’t know it yet.

  “Open outer doors and prepare weapons to fire,” Chen announced gleefully as they prepared to score another kill. They had already joined the ranks of Submarine Ace three times over. One more kill and it w
ould be number four, making them the deadliest submarine and crew since the days of the German wolfpacks in the Atlantic.

  “Open outer doors and prepare to fire. Aye, Captain.”

  *******

  Italian Sub, S-527 Scire

  Sonarman Subchief Remo Petri nearly jumped out of his seat. It had been three minutes since he’d thought he heard cavitation off their starboard bow. He’d been listening to the swath of ocean where he thought he’d heard the sound. It had just paid off.

  “Captain! Submarine, one thousand, six hundred fifty meters off our starboard bow. She’s opening her outer doors.”

  Captain Uranio Nappi practically jumped out of his seat and made his way over to his sonarman.

  “Is she gunning for us?” the captain pressed.

  The others on the Conn all looked at the sonar operator, waiting with bated breath to see what he was going to tell them.

  “Negative, Captain. She’s in a general line towards the Todaro’s last known position.”

  A sigh of relief washed over the crew of the Conn, but then anger brewed as they knew their comrades were now in grave danger.

  Captain Nappi smiled inwardly. His friend and sometimes nemesis had been right. He hated it when he was right, but if there was ever a time for it, this was it.

  Before entering the Red Sea, they’d received an adjustment to their orders. They were supposed to operate like the German subs were going to, functioning as a wolfpack as opposed to lone hunters like the American and British subs.

  Nappi had been excited by the opportunity to hunt with his frenemy until Paolucci had pulled him aside to talk before they returned to their boats.

  “I want your sub to hang back five to ten thousand meters to cover my six,” Paolucci had said.