by Andrew Watts
Every few seconds, he heard another explosion outside, followed a gasp from the passengers. He closed his eyes and said a quick prayer that the runway stayed clear long enough for them to take off safely. A prayer never hurt, he told himself.
Someone in a flight suit sitting in the forward-most seat yelled back to the passengers, “The pilots are going to fly low to the ground to stay out of trouble. Everyone, make sure you stay buckled in tight the whole time.”
The small twin-engine prop plane taxied as fast as Chase could remember, practically getting airborne as they made their way to the runway. Then the familiar whine of the engines, the surge of power pushing Chase back into the cushions of his seat, and they were barreling down the runway.
The aircraft lifted off, flying over the Korean peninsula. Below, everywhere Chase looked were signs of a massive war beginning. There was hardly a street that didn’t have a burning building or car.
“Look at that,” someone said. “Dogfight.”
Outside Chase’s window, a twin-engine fighter jet was chasing another, turning hard and spewing yellow tracer rounds towards its prey. A second later, the wing came off the lead aircraft, and then the fuselage erupted in flames. The fireball fell towards the ground, trailing the thick black smoke of ignited jet fuel. No chute.
“Was that ours or theirs?” someone asked.
“Theirs. It was an F-15 that shot it down. I think that was a MIG-29.”
The remains of the shot-down aircraft crashed into a cluster of one-story homes below. The last thing Chase saw before the image was no longer in view was a woman running out of the home next door, clutching her baby to her chest.
It took them thirty minutes before their aircraft was over water. Chase could feel his stomach flutter as the plane jolted up and down in the low altitude turbulence.
Tetsuo looked out the window in the seat ahead of him. “What is wrong with that ship?”
Chase saw what he was looking at. A cargo vessel maybe five miles away. There was something funny about the angle it was sitting on the water. As they got closer, he realized that its bow was much closer to the waterline than it should have been.
“They must have gotten that one.”
“Yeah, it’s sinking alright. I don’t see any obvious damage up top. Must be a big hole below the waterline. Maybe a contact mine?” An orange lifeboat ejected into the sea behind it.
“There they go. Good luck, boys.”
Their voices sounded detached. Like they were analyzing a sports team that they had no interest in.
The passengers shouted as the aircraft suddenly banked hard left. Chase felt his head being pressed back into his seat as a strong G-force came over them. Then the aircraft rolled wings level, and Chase felt a flutter in his stomach as the nose aimed down and they began diving towards the water. A white trail of smoke shot underneath them and continued on off the right side of the aircraft.
“Holy shit, was that a SAM?”
“Yup,” replied a disinterested voice.
Chase looked at the man who’d said it. Army uniform. Ranger patch. Chase recognized the look of a man who’d been in combat before. The eyes of a man resigned to whatever fate might come, knowing that up here, he couldn’t control it.
A uniformed woman in the rear of the aircraft was crying. One of the men in civilian clothes kept his head in between his knees, cursing over and over again like he had Tourette syndrome.
The aircraft leveled off, and the lurching maneuvers ceased. A few moments later, Chase watched as they passed a large gray warship on his right side. It looked like an American destroyer, a DDG, a long white wake behind it.
Chase could make out the crew members on the bridge wing looking up at his plane. Each of them wore the white masks and gloves known as anti-flash gear. Other crew members were manning machine guns along the ship. They were at battle stations.
32
Jinshan sat behind the Chinese presidential desk. It was the first time he had actually operated from the office, but the symbolism was important today.
“They are here, Mr. Jinshan.”
“Show him in.”
In walked the ambassador of Japan. He did not look happy.
“Mr. Jinshan, the people of Japan strenuously object to the abhorrent attacks that have occurred over the past twenty-four hours. We demand that—”
Jinshan held up his hand. “Please, Mr. Ambassador. If you will allow me to speak.”
The ambassador went silent, although he was visibly upset. His body language was, even in these dire circumstances, carefully calculated to convey just the amount of visual displeasure that his nation wanted to communicate.
“I understand that Japan must be very worried about what is happening. I could offer you reasons for why we have taken this course of action. But I will refrain from that conversation for now. It would be a waste of time. Something I have little of, I am afraid.” Jinshan sipped tea from his cup. He was tired. He knew that he could have had someone else do this part. But he didn’t trust anyone enough to get it right.
Jinshan continued, “Japan will be left alone.”
“China has already attacked us.” The ambassador did his best to control the volume of his voice.
“Mr. Ambassador, if you were to study the targets that we have attacked, you will note that they fall into one of two categories. The first category is any location that supports the American military. They are our true enemy in this fight. We cannot allow US military forces to inhabit a position in such close proximity to our own. The Americans have shown hostility towards us, and it would be strategic malpractice to allow them to continue this military presence unimpeded.”
The Japanese ambassador said, “I disagree with this assessment. The Americans showed no hostility to China. They have been a peaceful—”
“Please, Mr. Ambassador. Hear me out first. Then we may have a short discussion. The second category of targets in Japan were, in fact, Japanese military targets. We regret that this was necessary, but it was. We have and will continue to destroy any weapons or systems that could hurt our own military progress in the region. I suggest you immediately convey this information to your superiors in Japan. Tell them to abandon all military assets while our campaign progresses. If you like, we can even have our military coordinate with yours to let you know when it is safe to proceed back onto your bases.”
The ambassador fumed. “This is insulting and ridiculous. You can’t expect us to agree to this. What gives you the right?”
Jinshan looked at his diplomatic team, who sat quietly on the couch beside the ambassador. Then he turned back to the ambassador. “Our military power gives us the right. It gives me no pleasure to say this, Mr. Ambassador. You must understand that. But if we wanted to, we could bomb your island nation into oblivion. We could coat it with fire. We could launch weapons of mass destruction that would make Hiroshima and Nagasaki look like child’s play. The firebombing of World War II would be nothing to what China could unleash. But this will not happen—not as long as you agree to terms.”
“What terms?” The ambassador looked squeamish. “Not surrender.”
“No. I wouldn’t ask that. It is undignified. Neutrality. I want Japan to remain neutral. To retain their honor and be at peace with China.” He looked into the ambassador’s eyes, knowing how important honor was in the Japanese culture. “We are speaking to the political leaders in South Korea and Taiwan today as well. We will make them the same offer. Promise neutrality, and we will not bomb your people. We will not invade your nations. We will allow you to live in peace and prosperity. But you must renounce any partnership with the United States and agree to terms. You must promise to stand idle while we wage war upon America. Do not sacrifice the well-being of your people for a bunch of gaijin.” Jinshan used the Japanese word for foreigner.
The ambassador’s face betrayed his shock at Jinshan’s blunt words. When he regained his composure, his tone was hushed. “How is what you ask not to be cons
idered surrender?”
Jinshan gave a slight grin. “Surrender will occur if you decline this proposition, Mr. Ambassador. And many lives will be lost before I offer terms of surrender. Surrender will come with a Chinese military occupation of your homeland. These terms contain no such caveat. This is an opportunity. I suggest you take it.”
All pretense of shock and anger was gone from the ambassador’s face. He was, after all, a professional diplomat, and Japanese to boot. His stoicism and discipline won the day. “I will provide you an answer soon.”
Jinshan’s face was impassive. “That is all, Mr. Ambassador. Please have an answer for me by tomorrow. Our military operations will proceed as described.”
The ambassador rose and left the room, escorted by one of Jinshan’s security guards and a member of his diplomatic team.
When the door closed, Jinshan turned to the others sitting on the couch. “Summon the South Korean ambassador next.” They nodded. One of them hurried off to get the Korean ambassador, who was already waiting in the building. The ambassadors were probably alarmed at the notion of being brought hours away from Beijing to the Chinese leadership bunker in the mountains. But these were unusual times.
The roar of supersonic jets could be heard overhead. They would be the fighters, standing guard against any possible strikes on Beijing.
“Do you need any lunch, sir?” an assistant asked from the side door.
“No, thank you.” He saw the way she looked at him, concern in her eyes. He must look dreadful. Jinshan sighed. He just needed to get through these first few months. After that, he could rest, for however long he had left.
The door swung open. “Mr. Jinshan, the ambassador from South Korea.”
The ambassador walked in. She was an older woman, experience and intelligence in her eyes. Unlike the Japanese ambassador, she made no effort to display anger or shock at recent events. She stood until Jinshan offered her a seat, then sat quietly, waiting for him to start.
“Madame Ambassador, I wish to express my most sincere condolences at the loss of so many of your countrymen. I hoped that this day of North Korean aggression would never come.”
The woman didn’t miss a beat. “I don’t believe it is unassisted, Mr. Jinshan. Or should I call you Mr. President?”
He shrugged. “Whatever pleases you.”
“What do you want to ask me, Mr. Jinshan?”
“I can make it stop.”
She stared back at him, her nostrils flaring. “How?”
“We will instruct the North Koreans to cease fire and return north of the DMZ. But no retaliatory strikes can be made.”
“I can’t say that I have knowledge, due to my communications restrictions that your guards imposed on me, but I believe that retaliatory strikes must be ongoing, Mr. Jinshan.”
“I understand. But they must come to a stop.”
“So, you are negotiating a cease-fire? Is that all?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“I thought as much.” She turned to look at his diplomatic team, listening along the wall. “I am told that many of the weapons launched towards the South may not have been North Korean in origin. I have heard rumors that China has attacked American military positions in Asia today. Although it is hard to know what the truth is, with all this confusion.”
“The fog of war can be very confusing.”
She hummed in agreement.
Jinshan placed his fingers together, hands resting on the table before him. “Madame Ambassador, here is my offer. A cease-fire with North Korea. And a treaty with China. We have, as you have been informed, begun our attack on American forces in the area. My time with you here is limited. But the people of South Korea are friends to the Chinese. We wish to maintain peace. I understand that you have agreements with the Americans. But their presence in the region has become untenable.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Has it?”
“And it would be advantageous for you to align yourselves with us now. We can stop the fighting on the Korean peninsula. But there are tens of thousands of US troops and their families there. We do not want any Korean-based military units to attack Chinese interests. That includes the Americans. So—we have a few potential solutions. Either the Americans agree to leave immediately, or they are made to stop military operations from Korea. If the latter is the option, it does not matter to us whether the South Korean military enforces this new policy or whether the Chinese military does it. But my guess is that you would prefer that Chinese military forces were not deployed on Korean soil?”
The woman’s eyes stared at Jinshan’s own. “I understand what you are asking. And I will relay the message. But the Americans have a saying, Mr. Jinshan.”
“And what is that?”
She rose. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Jinshan frowned as she left the building. In truth, he hadn’t counted much on South Korea being cooperative. But soon enough, that wouldn’t matter. The Korean strategic landscape was about to change dramatically.
The Chinese Type 094 ballistic missile submarine had been preparing for their launch for the past twelve hours. When the time finally came, it ejected two JL-2 missiles from its vertical launch tubes. Each missile was over thirty feet in height. Their booster rockets fired soon after they broke the surface of the deep blue ocean. The missiles had almost identical paths, their trajectories taking them over North Korea before they broke into a total of six independent reentry vehicles, each one carrying its own ninety-kiloton warheads. Hiroshima was sixteen kilotons.
The target each MIRV was aimed at had been chosen based on two factors: the likelihood that the US military would pick it, and the desire to minimize potential radioactive fallout on Chinese territory.
In six brilliant flashes of light, China attacked North Korea with nuclear weapons. The weapons had been programmed to detonate near ground level. At each target, all people and buildings in the immediate vicinity were vaporized, the bursts leaving craters almost two hundred meters in diameter. Thick mushroom clouds of radioactive ash and dust bloomed up over forty thousand feet into the air, and the winds pushed them east to spread their slow rain of poison.
Three of the targets were military bases with clusters of North Korea’s most capable weaponry. The other three nuclear detonations were decapitation attempts. Locations where the Great Leader was thought to be. Because, Jinshan decided, that’s what America would do. Fortified military bunkers, deep underground. One of them was a correct guess. That particular bunker location turned out to be ten meters above the bottom of the nuclear crater, when all was said and done.
Six locations in North Korea were now uninhabitable radioactive wastelands. Giant burning pockmarks on the earth. The surrounding populations to these detonation sites that hadn’t already been killed in the initial attack would suffer radiation sickness and dramatically increased rates of cancer.
But Jinshan’s ruse could now go on.
His cyber warriors and intelligence operatives around the world began information campaigns that spread the word.
The United States was responsible.
The only country to have ever used nuclear weapons in a war had done so again. America should be considered a pariah state. Jinshan would call upon all nations around the world to stand with China and against the US, or stand clear.
33
Lieutenant Lin and his team had become more familiar with how to navigate the US over the past week. At first, they had remained in hiding, at a remote Ministry of State Security safe house in America’s heartland. There were a dozen teams like his, each now hidden throughout the United States. Most of the teams had just recently entered the country, having finished their specialized mortar training in the mountains of China.
Each team had an MSS agent who helped them to manage their affairs. The MSS agents were the babysitters, Lin knew. There to ensure that none of his men did anything that got them noticed. No phone calls, no computers, no communications. No walking out in
town with a submachine gun slung over their shoulder. Phones weren’t even allowed on the premises of the safe houses. Inconspicuous vehicles were used—aged pickup trucks, mostly. Just like they had trained with.
Lin’s team received two sets of orders. The first was to PRESTAGE. To head to their attack point and prepare for orders to execute. The drive to New Jersey took his team twelve hours. Every time they passed a police car, the hair on the back of Lin’s neck stood up. But they finally reached the house near the outskirts of Trenton, New Jersey, and he was confident that they would be ready.
The MSS operative showed him the cache in the garage, and Lieutenant Lin was impressed. He didn’t ask how they were able to get military weaponry of this size and lethality into the United States. It didn’t matter now.
When the EXECUTE order came that night, a familiar rush of adrenaline filled his veins. The order contained a specific time, only hours away. A wave of excitement shot through his men. Then everyone flipped a switch and moved with deliberate, controlled motions. They had been well trained, and they would conduct themselves with professionalism.
Two of them—the mortar experts—loaded up the equipment in to the pickup truck, which was backed into the three-car garage. The mortars were heavy, as were the cases of mortar rounds. The deadly cargo weighed the heavy-duty vehicles down enough that he worried it might attract attention. But that was what the rest of their weapons were for. Light machine guns with modern scopes, and two heavy machine guns with tripods that were now mounted to the pickup trucks.
It was late at night when they arrived on the empty road just north of McGuire Air Force Base. The air was still, everything calm and quiet. No sign of trouble. Lin’s special forces team quickly unloaded the mortars and set up a defensive perimeter around them, waiting for police or base security, whoever came first.
