by Jeff Edwards
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 muc
h 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.
If this had been a meeting of the full politburo, he could have leveraged enough votes and proxies to challenge virtually any rival. But among the limited constituency of the Standing Committee, he had no ranks of ministers to flock to his banner. Here, at the heart of China’s innermost-circle of leadership, he had only his own persuasiveness to draw on.
“There is very little time,” he said again. “If we give the order at once, we can have the water in the Three Gorges catchment down to flood-control levels within two days. Then, if the dam is attacked, the flooding downstream will be a nuisance, not a disaster.”
“Completely out of the question!” Ma Yong snapped. “Ludicrous! The hydroelectric turbines from Three Gorges serve almost fifteen percent of our nationwide power needs. If we lower the reservoir to flood-control levels, it will impact our industrial base, food production, transportation, communications… I can’t even begin to calculate how badly our national economy would suffer.”
Ma was Party Secretary of the Leading Group for Financial and Economic Affairs. His first, last, and only concern was the strength of the Chinese economy. This made him an instant opponent of any person or agency which threatened China’s financial bottom line.
“Then I suggest a different calculation,” Jia said. “Try calculating how badly our transportation and industry will be damaged when half the railroad bridges and road bridges in China are wiped out by catastrophic flooding. And while you are playing with numbers, you should try to estimate how long it will take your precious economy to recover when 400 million of our comrades are killed.”
“Where is your proof?” Ma asked in an acid tone. “How do you know that the Indians will attack Three Gorges? Have they shared their secret plans with you? Or do you have your own intelligence sources, operating within the Indian government?”
“Of course not,” Jia said. “But I can read a map. By eliminating our defensive missile sites at Chengdu, Zigong, and Chongqing, they have cleared a path for a cruise missile strike against the dam. I tell you, comrades—the Indians are planning to attack Three Gorges.”
This brought low murmurs around the table.
First Vice Premier Lu Shi raised a hand and all conversation ceased. “Comrade Jia,” he said slowly. “I do not doubt your sincerity, and your concerns are worthy of serious consideration. But there is such a thing as too much caution. As Comrade Ma has pointed out, we have no real evidence that our neighbors to the south are planning to destroy Three Gorges. Such an attack would constitute a direct and crippling strike against our national infrastructure. The Indian government understands that we would be forced to resort to strategic options.”
That last phrase seemed to leave a breath of chill on the air. Among the senior elite of the Communist Party, the word ‘strategic’ was an accepted euphemism for ‘nuclear.’
Wei Jintao, Party Secretary of the State Council, brought his fingertips together. “Perhaps it would be wise to deescalate the situation, before it becomes necessary to consider… ah… strategic options.”
He looked toward Lu Shi. “If our goal was to punish India for harboring enemies of China, surely we have accomplished that. If our goal was to demonstrate military dominance in the region, we have accomplished that as well. I’m not sure what we can expect to gain by continuing this altercation with India.”
Before Lu could respond, Jia spoke again. “Why are we speaking in circumlocutions? We’re the top echelon of leadership in this country. If we cannot talk plainly here, how will we make the straightforward decisions that need to be made? If we are talking about nuclear weapons, we should not disguise that fact by referring to them as ‘strategic options.’ And we should stop pretending that this is some kind of ‘altercation.’ Everyone in this room knows that we have gone beyond that. When we strip away the ambiguous language, we are discussing the possibility of nuclear war with India.”
He tapped a finger sharply on the table top. “Yes. I say the words openly. Nuclear war. We all need to think about those words, and we need to think about what they mean. Because we’re stumbling blindly in that direction, and no one at this table wants to admit it.”
Several of the committee members looked as if they wanted to agree, but none of them spoke.
Lu Shi regarded Jia coolly, but his voice remained level. “Again, Comrade Jia, I concede your sincerity, and I don’t wish to make light of your concerns. But I think you are overreacting. We have vanquished the Indian aircraft carrier. We have shown the American Navy that they cannot interfere in the affairs of China without consequences. The major engagements are now over. There may be a few skirmishes to deal with, but the remaining tasks will be primarily political, not military.”
Wei Jintao raised an eyebrow. “May we ask you to clarify that, Comrade Lu?”
Lu Shi didn’t answer. Instead, Premiere Xiao Qishan cleared his throat. Every eye turned instantly in his direction.
Since the Premiere’s triple bypass surgery the year before, there had been one overt attempt to force the old dragon out of office, and several behind-the-scenes maneuvers to nudge him into retirement. But Lu Shi had battled tirelessly to keep Xiao in power.
It was widely understood that Lu Shi would succeed Xiao Qishan as Premiere, which made his continued support of the aging leader something of a mystery. No one could understand why Lu Shi would deliberately postpone his own assent to ultimate power. Could it be something as simple as loyalty to the Premiere? Was Lu following a timetable which made the delay necessary, or desirable? Was it something else entirely? Although there was considerable speculation, no one seemed to have an answer.
Lu’s motive for continuing to support Xiao Qishan was not clear, but the result was no secret at all. The Premiere repaid that support in-kind, by putting his own power and influence at the disposal of Lu Shi.
Xiao went through the motions of thoughtful deliberation and personal objectivity, but—when the rhetoric was sifted out and his actions were evaluated—the old leader backed Lu Shi’s decisions every time.
Premiere Xiao cleared his throat again, more softly this time. Several of the faces turned in his direction had an expectant quality about them, as though some of the committee members were hoping that the gravity of the situation would force Xiao to break with Lu Shi, and reassert the firm hand of leadership. Pull them collectively back from what might be the edge of catastrophe.
If so, they were destined to be disappointed.
“The People’s Republic of China is no longer a nation of peasants,” Xiao said. “We are a global economic power, and the People’s Liberation Army is rapidly becoming the preeminent military force on the plane
t. The other nations of the world must learn that we can no longer be backed into a corner.”
Jia Bangguo and Wei Jintao exchanged glances across the table. The words coming from Xiao’s mouth had clearly been scripted by Lu Shi.
The Premiere continued speaking. “I have transmitted instructions to our ambassadors in the United States and India, detailing our demands to the governments of both countries. If India wishes to return to normal relations with China, they must cease harboring our enemies, including the terrorists who continue to incite violence in the Tibetan Autonomous Region. As a gesture of good faith, they must begin by extraditing the criminal agitator, the Dalai Lama. By similar token, the United States is placed on notice… The days of the American military hegemony are ended. If they attempt to intrude in the affairs of the People’s Republic, they will discover that their dwindling power is no longer a match for ours.”
Lu Shi nodded. “Well said, Comrade Premier.”
He pointed his fierce gaze at each of the other committee members. “This is our moment,” he said. “The star of the West is falling, even as ours is ascending. If our will remains strong, we will own this century.”
His voice grew quiet. “This is China’s hour. We must not throw it away.”
* * *
Ten minutes after the meeting adjourned, Jia Bangguo caught up with Wei Jintao on his way out of the building. Side by side, the two committee members strolled down the stone steps that led from the Great Hall of the People onto the flat expanse of Tiananmen Square. Both men had limousines idling at the curb, but they signaled for their drivers to wait, and they walked out past the security barriers to stand in the cold night air.
The seven determinative stars of Bei Fang Xuan Wu, the Black Warrior of the North, burned bright in the dark curtain of heaven. The ancient Chinese constellation was also known as the Black Tortoise. It was a symbol of winter, and the story of its creation dealt with terror, and death, and the unintended consequences of rash actions by men who were supposedly wise.