Ghost Recon (2008)
Page 17
"You mean bad guys guarding the place?" asked Brown, poking fun at Beasley's formality. The team sergeant didn't talk much, but when he did, it was always by the book.
Mitchell cleared his throat, and that quickly silenced those chuckling. He lifted his chin at Beasley. "Matt, we can assume the Tigers will bring their own security force. The larger that force is, the more attention they'll call to themselves, so we expect they'll limit that team to two or three squads, hopefully no more than twenty. I've requested streaming video of the castle so we can make an accurate threat assessment, assuming the security team will arrive before the Tigers do. If all goes well there, we'll run a split team op." Mitchell nodded to Ramirez, who brought up the personnel list:
ALPHA TEAM
Mitchell (team leader and rifleman)
Ramirez (asst. team leader, commo, and rifleman)
Smith (asst. operations sergeant and grenadier)
Nolan (medical sergeant and SAW gunner)
BRAVO TEAM
Beasley (operations team sergeant and rifleman)
Jenkins (engineer sergeant and grenadier)
Hume (engineer sergeant, demo, heavy support)
Brown (commo and SAW gunner)
CHARLIE TEAM
Diaz (marksman/sniper)
"Alpha Team will be the inner cordon, tasked with infiltrating the castle and terminating the targets. Matt? You guys will be outer cordon, taking out security, removing any chances of escape from the AO. Alicia, you're on your own to clear Alpha Team an entry point."
Jenkins raised his hand, his expression dubious.
"What do you got, Bo?" asked Mitchell.
"Sir, I don't doubt Bravo can secure the outer cordon. But even with our guy on the inside to help locate the targets, you'll be going through multistories, probably got animals running around to make noise, old guys getting up in the middle of the night to use the outhouse, and a thousand other things that can go wrong to blow your cover."
"You mean it's just another day at the office."
"All I'm saying, sir, is if we recon the place, and it looks too hairy, why don't you let Johnny and me cut loose with some rockets. We'll be standing off and take down the entire castle."
"Sounds like a plan to me," said John Hume, who would always vote yes for explosives.
"I agree, that's safer," said Beasley. "But if the general wanted it big and loud, he wouldn't have called us."
"That's right," said Mitchell. "But I understand your reservations, Bo. And I hope you don't mind me acknowledging your sacrifice to be here. Bo's father was admitted to the hospital just before he got the call. His dad's stable, but he didn't even get a chance to say good-bye. Bo, I speak for everyone when I say thanks for being here."
Jenkins averted his gaze and nodded.
Ramirez glanced up from the computer. "Sir, we have a call from General Keating."
Mitchell exhaled in frustration. "I thought he wasn't calling until later. Put him through."
With that, everyone sat up.
"Mitchell, good to see you soldiers arrived on time."
"Thank you, General. And we'll be happy to stop breathing in the asbestos and ship out ASAP."
"Roger that, soldier. We just received word from your CIA contacts they've procured their trucks and boat."
"We were just getting ready to cover the infil in detail."
"That's good. No other changes to report. Your request for live stream on the target has been sent up the pipe. I've also put in a request to the DIA to call upon their operative one last time, should we need him during the exfil. I have a feeling that when all hell breaks loose, we'll need every asset we have."
"General, it is my intention to infiltrate that castle, take out those targets, and be back home before they know what hit them."
"I like your style, son."
"Yes, sir."
Keating raised his index finger. "Now, Ghost Team, I'm depending on you to pull this off. Those maniacs plan to invade Taiwan, and if they do, the U.S. will go to war with China. Millions will die, the U.S. economy will be ruined, and God forbid they raise a Chinese flag over the White House."
Mitchell steeled his voice. "Sir, we understand what's at stake."
"Good. Now, I want a clean operation. No blood trails. I've made sure all your ammo comes from our friends in Texas, so you'll field your best weapons. That brass is unmarked, untraceable--and that's a good thing, because I don't want you people packing Chinese water pistols on this operation. Oh, and by the way, if any one of you dies without permission, you're going to piss me off. And worse, you'll piss off your buddies, because they'll need to carry you home. No one--dead or alive--gets left behind. Do you people read me?"
Everyone answered in unison, "Sir, yes, sir."
"Very well then. The XO from Montana will be contacting you once they arrive at the pier. Send additional intel requests my way. That's all for now. Make us proud, people."
Mitchell answered for all of them: "We will, sir. Thank you, sir."
Ramirez cut the link. Every pair of shoulders slumped.
"Geez, no pressure at all," said Smith. "He sounded worse than my old man."
"But he's not nagging us to go to college or take over as sheriff," said Mitchell, hoisting his brows.
Smith gave a reluctant nod.
"All right, let's break for a drink. When we come back, I'll walk you through the infiltration. And whatever I don't cover, the SEALs will later on."
As the group filed out toward the door, Ramirez lingered behind, looking more than a little concerned. "Sir, this ain't Europe. This ain't the 'Stan. This is China."
Mitchell repressed a shudder. "I know what you mean, Joey."
TWENTY-ONE
THIRTY-FIRST GROUP ARMY HEADQUARTERS (NMR)
SPECIAL OPERATIONS FORCES OFFICES
XIAMEN, CHINA
APRIL 2012
Colonel Xu Dingfa had just spent a few days with his parents, and it had been exceedingly difficult not to tell them they would soon be reunited with their children. All he could say was that he had a great surprise and that they would know more joy than they'd had in many, many years.
His father, well aware of the current escalation of forces between the United States, Taiwan, and China, had warned Xu, "I hope, dear son, you are not talking about war."
Xu had not answered.
He wished he could have shared the Spring Tigers' great plan. He and his colleagues had waited far too long to set the dragon free.
In the days to come the Third and Sixth Destroyer/ Frigate Flotillas would set up a naval blockade of all Taiwan's principal cities, disrupting the flow of food and oil. The Tigers assumed that Washington would not sanction attacking a Chinese man-of-war patrolling in international waters. Moreover, those carrier commanders could not divert screening assets away from their carriers to shadow the Chinese warships, because that would leave antisub, antiair, and antisurf gaps in the screens protecting them. U.S. officials would be enraged, but their own rules of engagement precluded any military response as a viable option.
Once surface elements from the Third and Sixth were in place, air units from the Fourth and Sixth Naval Air Division would carry out surgical strikes on Taiwan's airfields, command and control centers, and those newly erected Patriot missile sites. This one-two punch would sever Taipei's communications with its U.S. protectors and eradicate the island's fledgling missile defense system.
At the same time, Xu's Special Forces already on the ground in Taipei near the Datong District would link up with two more companies of Chinese sleeper-cell forces and continue with direct-action missions to destroy radar facilities and further disrupt command and control as they moved south to capture the presidential office building.
At this juncture the pendulum could swing either way. The Americans could step up or Taipei could step down. Xu envisioned the inhabitants of the Pacific Rim watching, waiting. Only diplomacy could keep the pendulum motionless, but Xu had allowed for even that.<
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Those four Shang-class nuclear attack submarines from the Twenty-second and Forty-second Submarine Flotilla would, under Vice Admiral Cai's command, assume key positions in the Taiwan Strait, with their primary objective the two U.S. carriers.
Major-General Chen had argued that if those subs could damage or sink just one carrier, the loss would be catastrophic, and the U.S. Navy would have to retaliate with lethal force to save face. The Americans would hunt down the four Shang-class subs, while Major-General Wu ordered the launch of Dong Hai-10 Land Attack Cruise Missiles (LACM) with 900-mile ranges from the NMR into Taiwan, targeting major seaports.
Those LACM's would inflict even greater pressure on Taipei to capitulate while upping the ante on the U.S. to stand and deliver. The U.S. would have to launch a direct attack on mainland China to neutralize Wu's missiles, drawing both countries closer to nuclear confrontation. In his mind, Xu saw the entire world holding its breath.
And if the Tigers wanted their dragon to pounce even harder, they could launch even more missiles at the U.S. Air Force bases in Yokota, Kadena, and Misawa, Japan, as well as those in Kunsan and Osan, South Korea--all five within the Dragon's Lair, a term coined in a Rand Corporation report made several years prior. A translated copy of that report sat on Xu's desk.
Indeed, the U.S. would have to fight an all-out war with China or give up Taiwan.
However, the U.S.'s ongoing war on terror had stretched military personnel and its defense budget to the breaking point. What's more, the American public was still screaming for an all-out withdrawal from the Middle East and continued to be abnormally sensitive about military casualties. Officials seeking reelection would not vote for war.
Thus, the Spring Tigers had concluded that the United States could not afford to be challenged on its promise to defend Taiwan.
And once Pouncing Dragon was completely under way, the Chinese government could not afford to stop it, whether they took credit or not.
Finally, the plan cleverly avoided the use of large-scale amphibious landing forces, which all Tigers had agreed were far too predictable, far too cumbersome, and far too complicated to communicate with and support.
After finishing his tea, Xu left the office and took a drive out to a training field behind the base to see how Fang was doing with their security force, two eight-man squads who would be leaving tomorrow afternoon, bound for the Hakka castle.
The training field included an obstacle course with bridges and barbed wire, wall climbs, and a few other training challenges. At the far end of the field stood several buildings used for close-quarters combat training, and it was there that Xu spotted a circle of men.
As he drove closer, he realized Fang was in the middle of the group, and another man, one of the soldiers, was lying on the ground, head pulled into his chest as Fang struck him repeatedly across the back with his unsheathed sword cane.
Xu parked, climbed down from his Brave Warrior, and approached the group. The soldiers immediately snapped to attention, and Fang glanced up in midswing, then lowered his sword.
"What do we have here, Captain?" asked Xu, flicking his gaze down to the soldier, who chanced a look up at Xu, his face covered in blood.
"We have a discipline problem, sir," answered Fang, trying to catch his breath. "This soldier is not comfortable with my leadership."
"What do you mean?"
"Apparently, and I'm unsure how, a few of them learned that I was born in Taiwan. Sergeant Chung here has already referred to me as a spy."
Xu leaned down and got into the bleeding man's face. "Is that true, soldier?"
"I am sorry, sir."
Frowning, Xu faced the men. "Captain Fang's loyalty is without question. Is there any man who disagrees?"
The men stood, statues dressed in camouflage.
"Excellent. Carry on, Captain. You have less than twenty-four hours to be ready."
"Yes, sir!"
As Xu climbed back into his truck, a chill woke at the base of his spine. Fang Zhi's anger knew no bounds, but he would earn the respect of his new force.
Still, that rage could turn into something uncontrollable. Xu would continue to watch the man.
As Xu left the field, his cell phone rang. One of his smugglers in Pakistan was on the line. Another arms shipment had been successfully sold to the Taliban. Xu congratulated the man. The Tigers had turned their gunrunning operation into a most profitable venture. They used the money to buy the silence and fierce loyalty of many more military commanders within the region, men who, while not part of the group, would do as they were told when the time came.
HAKKA CASTLE
XIAMEN, CHINA
APRIL 2012
Buddha stood on the ridge overlooking the castle, watching as Huang ascended the dirt road winding back and forth like a brown snake--or better still, a noodle, the thought of which made Buddha's sagging gut growl.
Buddha's real name was Hsieh Chia-hsien, but over the years he'd actually come to prefer his CIA moniker. He had been working for the agency for more than two decades, recruited at the ripe old age of forty-one. He'd had a full head of hair when the Americans had come calling, and Bill Clinton had been in the White House.
Yes, times had surely changed. Now the agency had paired him up with some college kid. Both the CIA and the DIA had been hiring too many of these Boy Scouts, as the Americans called them, and twice Buddha's cover had nearly been blown by them.
As an expression of his disdain, he'd dubbed his new partner, the baby-faced Chan Chi-yao, as Boy Scout, and that would be his code name, whether he liked it or not.
Boy Scout wore a perpetual scowl that he thought concealed his inexperience. At twenty-four, what he knew about the world could fit in a teacup. But oh, he wasn't afraid to tell you how smart he was, in case you forgot. Poor boy. It might take him fifty years, but he would realize what a young fool he'd been and that he should have had more respect for his elders. This new generation had been raised by wolves.
Buddha fished out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow, then shoved up his spectacles. The temperature was mild, but that didn't matter. He seemed to sweat no matter what he was doing.
Boy Scout glanced over at him, shaking his head. "Have you considered a diet?"
They spoke in Mandarin, but occasionally Buddha would throw an English phrase at the kid to test him, like he did now: "You wanna play, you pay. That's the way it is, kid. And I'm way too old for a diet."
The kid frowned. Nope, he didn't quite understand that one. But hadn't the kid said he was an expert on American slang? Uh-huh . . .
Their inside man Huang finally reached the ridge, and Boy Scout gave a slight whistle. The elder moved into the dense stand of trees and nodded to them.
"How did it go?" asked Buddha.
After a slight shrug, Huang answered, "Okay, I guess."
"What you mean, old man?" snapped Boy Scout. "Did you tell them or not?"
"I told them, but they still want to meet you. They don't trust me."
"Quiet for a moment," Buddha ordered the kid. "Huang, all they need to do is stay out of the way. You keep telling them that those men coming tomorrow night are drug smugglers working with the army. You tell them the secret police will be coming to arrest them, and that everyone should remain in their rooms. And when we're finished, I promise you that those men will not bother you or your family ever again."
"I want to believe you."
"Just do as we say. And when you know exactly where each man will be staying, you will call us with that information."
"And if I don't?"
"Then we'll--"
Buddha slapped a palm over Boy Scout's mouth. "Then we'll assume you're dead. If you want to save your village, help us."
"But you are not with the secret police, are you?"
"What makes you say that?"
Huang flicked his glance to Boy Scout. "He is too young and too stupid."
Buddha smiled. "I agree. But the police are despera
te these days, and we need anyone we can get."
"Okay, but remember our deal. The man I told you about?"
"Yes, Fang Zhi?" said Buddha.
Huang nodded. "You will kill him."
"Of course. Better go now. Fang will be calling you soon. And so will we."
For a moment, Huang just stood there, looking at them, and Buddha pitied the man. He was just a simple farmer caught up in something far more dangerous than he could possibly imagine.