Sword of Shiva (For fans of Tom Clancy and Dale Brown)

by Jeff Edwards

  The XO picked up the phone and punched three digits. “We’re ready, sir.”

  Captain Bowie arrived about four minutes later. He nodded in greeting to the assembled officers, and then poured himself a cup of coffee before taking his seat at the head of the table.

  “I apologize for the lateness of the hour and for the short notice,” he said. “I know that some of you haven’t had much sleep.”

  Lieutenant Meyer nearly responded by reflex, but she caught herself in time. She was a hard-charger who didn’t allow herself a lot of rest. Her favorite comment on the subject of sleep was blunt, politically incorrect, and sexually suggestive. Sleep is for pussies. As it was her commanding officer speaking, she decided to keep that particular opinion to herself this time.

  Bowie continued without interruption. “Our tactical situation has changed, and we need to make some decisions. In view of the damage sustained during the air attack yesterday evening, Admiral Zimmerman has decided to move the Midway out of the Bay of Bengal.”

  The XO looked surprised. “We’re pulling out of the op area?”

  Bowie smiled. “That depends on how you define the word ‘we.’ The carrier is definitely pulling out, but the admiral is thinking about detaching two of the destroyers for independent ops. That’s why I called this meeting at oh-my-God-o’clock. The admiral has ordered us to come up with a plan for taking out the Chinese carrier’s escorts. He wants to see at least a rough outline by 0600.”

  Captain Bowie looked at the clock. “That gives us about two and a half hours to hammer out a basic plan of attack.”

  Lieutenant Meyer pursed her lips. “Why bother with the escort ships? The biggest threat is the Chinese air wing. We should be going after the carrier.”

  “Admiral Zimmerman has a plan for that,” Bowie said. “He’s going to use the Midway’s air power to knock out the Liaoning. Our job is to soften up the Chinese battle group in preparation for the main attack.”

  “I thought the Midway was out of action,” the XO said. “How is she supposed to launch aircraft?”

  “I’ve been told not to worry about that,” Bowie said. “Admiral Zimmerman has a plan. We’re supposed to concentrate on wiping out the escorts.”

  The Combat Systems Officer raised an eyebrow. “Wiping them out?”

  “Yes,” Bowie said. “We’re not just supposed to take them out of the fight. Our orders are to sink them. Every escort ship in the Chinese battle group.”

  Captain Bowie paused to let the assembled officers absorb his words. Not damage the Chinese ships. Not defeat them. Sink them. Destroy them completely.

  After several seconds of silence, Commander Silva spoke up. “What about the Chinese submarines? Do we go after them? Or do we try to avoid them?”

  “USS California will be assigned to handle the hostile subs,” Bowie said. “If we happen to encounter one, we can engage it. But we’re not supposed to seek ASW opportunities.”

  The Combat Systems Officer raised a finger. “I assume that we’ll be operating with the Donald Gerrard…”

  “That’s correct,” Bowie said. “The Fenno has already expended 80 missiles—the majority of her inventory—so she’ll be sticking with the Midway to provide cover. That leaves the Towers and the Gerrard to stick around and do the dirty work.”

  He took a swallow of coffee and set his cup down. “That pretty much defines our mission parameters. Now all we need is a plan for carrying it out.”

  No one spoke for several minutes as everyone mulled over the problem and searched for a workable tactical approach.

  Again, it was Commander Silva who broke the silence. “I think we should run like hell,” she said. “The Midway is pulling out, and we should go too. Full retreat. Admit that we got our asses kicked, and run home.”

  Three or four people started to respond, but Bowie held up a hand. “Go on…”

  Silva looked at the shocked and puzzled faces around the table. She didn’t speak immediately, enjoying the moment of incredulous silence.

  “I was just thinking about Sun Tzu,” she said finally. “That famous piece from The Art of War, where he talks about all warfare being based on deception… Attacking when you appear to be unable, and making yourself seem far away when you’re near. I never bothered to memorize that passage, but the concept applies pretty well to our current situation.”

  No one responded, so she continued. “The Chinese blasted the hell out of the INS Vikrant. The Indian navy responded by pulling their carrier battle group all the way up the northern end of the bay, where it can draw on their coastal defenses and shore-based air cover. That’s a reasonable response. When you get your fingers burned, you pull your hand away from the fire. Well… The Chinese have blasted the hell out of our carrier too, and they know that we haven’t lost an aircraft carrier in combat since World War II. They also know how important carriers are to our national deterrence. If we circle the wagons and escort our carrier out of the danger zone, I’m betting they’ll interpret that as a reasonable response too.”

  Bowie nodded. “Continue…”

  “So,” Commander Silva said, “we maintain our places in the defensive screen, and cover the Midway’s retreat from the Bay of Bengal, until…”

  The XO slapped his palm on the table. “Until we reach the passage through the Nicobar Islands. Then, the Midway continues through into the Andaman Sea, while we break off and haul ass down the coast—using the sea traffic and the radar clutter of the island chain to mask our run to the south.”

  Silva smiled. “You catch on fast, Brian.”

  The other officers began exchanging interested glances.

  Bowie nodded appreciatively. “We could make our final approach after sunset tomorrow evening. Go in dark and quiet—full EMCON, and full stealth mode.”

  “Exactly,” Silva said. “If we do it right, we can get all the way inside their defensive perimeter. Then, we open up and blow their doors off.”

  Lieutenant Meyer grinned. “I like the way you think, ma’am. You’re one sneaky bitch.”

  The executive officer shot her a look. “Lieutenant…”

  The Operations Officer raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Sorry, XO, but I couldn’t think of what else to say. Sneaky bastard didn’t seem to fit, and son-of-a-bitch just isn’t right…”

  The XO pounded the table. “That’s enough, Lieutenant!”

  The Ops Officer grimaced. “Sorry, XO. It won’t happen again, sir.” She turned toward Commander Silva. “No disrespect intended, ma’am.”

  The XO looked like he was going to say something further, but Captain Bowie spoke up again. ‘I think it’s an excellent plan, Commander Silva. Let’s work out the details, and then I’ll take it to the admiral.”

  The tactical discussion began in earnest.

  About ten minutes into it, the exchange with Lieutenant Meyer popped into Silva’s head again, and she had to suppress a grin. Sneaky bitch… She could live with that.

  CHAPTER 46

  HONG’QI-12 MISSILE DEFENSE BATTERY

  ZIGONG, CHINA

  TUESDAY; 02 DECEMBER

  11:58 AM

  TIME ZONE +8 ‘HOTEL’

  The flashing amber light caught Chao Péng’s attention immediately. He tapped the button to acknowledge the alert, pre-empting the alarm buzzer that was programmed to sound if the warning went unanswered for more than five seconds.

  Chao’s rank was Xia Shi, the Chinese equivalent to the rank of technical sergeant. He was good at his job, and proud of it. He had been a radar intercept operator for three years, and the alarm had never once sounded while he was on watch. The computer had never caught him napping, and he was determined that it never would.

  With a brief flurry of keystrokes, Chao summoned up the system alert queue and scrolled through the flight characteristics of the new target. The data glowed bright red on the screen of his console.

  Parked at the center of a circle of six mobile KS-1A missile launchers, the H-200 passi
vely-scanned electronic array was a highly-effective radar sensor. The slab-shaped phased-array antenna was capable of detecting, identifying, and tracking three simultaneous air targets, and it could launch and control up to six interceptor missiles.

  The H-200’s sensitivity was both a blessing and a curse. It made the radar very difficult to hide from, but it also resulted in a high number of false target alerts. The system latched on to commercial airliners and private aircraft with almost monotonous regularity.

  Chao had little doubt that this latest inbound target alert would turn out to be yet another passenger jet. But he was too skilled and too dedicated to deviate from proper procedure. His keen eyes scanned rapidly down the columns of alpha-numeric target data, and then his pulse began to race.

  This was not a single airliner straying out of the commercial air corridors; it was ten fast-moving targets, all traveling at altitudes of less than 200 meters. Chao reacted automatically, his right palm shooting up to slam the threat warning alarm.

  As the klaxon began its harsh repetitive cry, Chao was swiveling the microphone of his communications headset to a position in front of his lips. He keyed the circuit. “Watch Officer, this is the Radar Intercept Operator. I am tracking ten confirmed inbound targets, converging on this position. Flight profiles are consistent with land-attack cruise missiles. Request permission to arm the missile batteries.”

  The Watch Officer’s voice sounded startled and confused. “Wait! You are certain? This could not be a system malfunction? Or a simulation?”

  Chao cursed under his breath and then keyed the circuit again. “Sir, this is not a malfunction. It is not a simulation. This site is under attack, and the inbound missiles are closing at high speed. There is no time to discuss this, Lieutenant. I request permission to arm the missile batteries.”

  “If you are certain…” the Watch Officer said vaguely. “I mean, yes! You have permission to arm the missile batteries! Engage the inbound targets!”

  Chao’s hands were already moving over his keyboard. “Yes, sir. Arming missile batteries now.”

  The circular formation of twin-armed missile launchers came to life. All six batteries pivoted to different angles as the H-200 radar assigned a target to each launcher. A few seconds later, the first missile leapt off the rail, followed in rapid succession by five others.

  The radar array was mounted to the front chassis section of a heavy duty ten-wheeled military vehicle. Chao sat in the H-200’s operations cabin, a box-like steel structure which occupied the rear section of the vehicle’s chassis, a few meters behind the huge rectangular radar sensor.

  Despite the vehicle’s heavy shock absorbers, he felt the rumbling vibration of the launching missiles propagate through the soles of his boots and into his feet. On the tracking screen, each of the interceptor missiles arced toward one of the incoming cruise missiles.

  Chao Péng’s mathematical and spatial orientation skills were much higher than average. He wasn’t a genius by any accepted definition of the word, but he had an intuitive gift for solving problems of geometry and mathematics that would challenge or defeat the majority of the common population.

  Early in his military training, a PLA captain had recognized Chao’s ability to accurately estimate the terminus of a ballistic arc without calculating tools, or even scratch paper. Chao had an instinctive understanding of how objects moved through three-dimensional space, and how influences like gravity and wind resistance could affect their vectors.

  His eyes were locked on the tracking screen. He didn’t need any of those advanced skills right now to know that he was seconds away from death.

  Between them, the twin-armed missile launchers carried twelve missiles: two per launcher. But the H-200 could only control six of those missiles at a time. The other six would have to wait for the second salvo, after the radar’s fire control channels had been freed up by the failure or success of the first six missiles. But there wasn’t going to be time for a second salvo.

  That made the math both simple, and inescapable. There were ten inbound cruise missiles, only six of which had interceptors assigned to them. The other four inbounds were going to get a free ride to the target. As Chao Péng happened to be sitting at the precise center of the target area, that meant he was about to be obliterated.

  For a quarter of a second, he considered throwing open the door of the operator cabin and running (literally) for his life. But there was no time to run. There was only time for the briefest possible flare of panic.

  The enemy missiles were here.

  He didn’t hear the impact of the first cruise missile. He had a brief sensation of increasing weight as the heavy chassis of the radar vehicle left the ground on the rising crest of the shockwave. He caught a fleeting glimpse of the thick steel floor plate bending beneath his feet. Suddenly, the world seemed to come apart, with a sound and a fury that Chao Péng had never imagined.

  And then there was nothing.

  CHAPTER 47

  WHITE HOUSE SITUATION ROOM

  WASHINGTON, DC

  TUESDAY; 02 DECEMBER

  7:30 AM EST

  The president took his chair at the head of the table. “Okay, tell me about this missile strike.”

  The Situation Room Duty Officer pointed a remote at the master display screen, and three high-resolution satellite photos appeared, enlarged to show detail. In each photo, a roughly circular pattern of blast craters was visible. Pieces of mangled machinery lay in and around the craters, blackened and twisted scraps of metal that gave little clue as to their original forms.

  The Duty Officer looked at the president. ‘Sir, we’re looking at the remains of three PLA defensive missile sites, located—respectively—in the Chinese cities of Zigong, Chengdu, and Chongqing.”

  He thumbed the remote and a map of mainland China appeared, with the named cities circled in red. The three circles formed an almost perfect right triangle, rotated about ten degrees to the west, making the base roughly parallel to the nearby Yangtze river.

  “According to NRO’s reconstruction, all three sites were hit simultaneously by multiple long range weapons, fired from mobile launch vehicles in the Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh. Estimated flight speed of the weapons was Mach 0.7, and the transit range to each target was between 800 and 900 kilometers. Based on performance parameters and the relatively long standoff distance, we believe that the strike weapons may have been Nirbhay series land attack cruise missiles.”

  President Wainwright nodded. “What do we know about the target sites? Do these three cities have some military or political significance that would lead the Indians to select them as targets?”

  The Secretary of Defense spoke up. “Not the cities themselves, sir,” she said. “But the geographic locations of the three missile sites may be important.”

  The president gestured for her to continue.

  The secretary took a laser pointer from the conference table, clicked it on, and swung the beam toward the master display screen. The laser dot hovered on the map, near the eastern end of the Indian state of Arunachal Pradesh. “This is the approximate launch site of the cruise missile strike,” the secretary said.

  She moved her hand, and the laser dot shifted to the east. “This is the location of the Three Gorges Dam, situated on the Yangtze River, near the town of Sandouping.”

  She began moving the laser pointer back and forth. On the master display, the laser dot traced and retraced a line from eastern India to the location of the Three Gorges Dam. On every pass, the line went right through the middle of the triangle formed by Zigong, Chengdu, and Chongqing.

  The president looked at her. “You’re saying that the Indians are clearing the flight path for a cruise missile strike against the Three Gorges Dam?”

  SECDEF switched off the laser pointer and returned it to the table. “It looks that way, Mr. President. Assuming that they intend to launch from Arunachal Pradesh, they’d need to take out those three Chinese missile sites to get a clear
shot at the target.”

  The president sighed. “So we’re still stuck with this damned Shiva thing? I thought the Indians were supposed to call off the dogs when we agreed to help them take on the Chinese carrier group.”

  The National Security Advisor spoke up. “Sir, I’ve got an appointment with Ambassador Shankar at ten o’clock. That’s obviously going to be the main topic of our conversation.”

  The president nodded. “But…”

  “But I pretty much know what she’s going to say,” Brenthoven said. “They appreciate our help and our show of solidarity, but our contributions to the fight haven’t stopped Chinese aggression.”

  The president said back in his chair. “So, the clock is still ticking.”

  “I’m afraid so, Mr. President,” the National Security Advisor said. He glanced at his watch. “And we now only have about eleven hours before the Indians move forward with their plan.”

  CHAPTER 48

  GREAT HALL OF THE PEOPLE

  TIANANMEN SQUARE

  BEIJING, CHINA

  TUESDAY; 02 DECEMBER

  8:49 PM

  TIME ZONE +8 ‘HOTEL’

  Jia Bangguo stood with his hands on the lacquered teak surface of the conference table. His eyes made a rapid circuit of the assembled leaders, taking in the other eight men who formed the Politburo Standing Committee of the Communist Party.

  “Comrades,” he said, “there is very little time. We must begin an emergency drawdown of the Three Gorges reservoir, and the entire Yangtze River Valley will have to be evacuated.”

  In nearly any other forum within the People’s Republic, Jia’s words would have brought a flurry of assents, followed by immediate action. As Second Vice Premier and Party Secretary of the National People’s Congress, he was nominally the third most powerful man in China.