by James Rosone
Seeing a few of his officers listening to a portable radio, Wulf yelled, “What’s so important that you all have stopped to listen to the radio instead of seeing to the men’s training?!”
His officers startled as they suddenly realized he had been standing next to them.
One of the officers stiffened. “Herr Oberstleutnant, the American president just announced that they had dropped a nuclear bomb on the Chinese city of Shenyang.”
Wulf’s eyebrows rose, and he paused for a second as the news commentator continued, “The world waits with bated breath to see how the Chinese will respond to the loss of one of their largest cities and millions of its citizens—”
Wulf grunted and interrupted, “—Turn off the radio and get back to work. Whatever happens between China and the US will happen a long way from us. We have the Russians to worry about, and unless the Russians use nuclear weapons here in Europe, we have nothing to concern ourselves with.”
“Yes, Sir,” responded the chorus of chastised officers. They quickly scurried away to implement the next few days’ assignments.
It would not be long now before their unit, largely made up of draftees and green soldiers who had yet to see combat, would be facing off against the Russians. Wulf wanted them as ready as possible for what awaited them, and that meant spending a lot of time at the range.
The Red Storm
Twenty Miles East of Hong Kong
It had taken the People’s Liberation Army Navy’s Southern Fleet several days to arrive on station not far from Hong Kong. Now the fleet would begin a 30-mile-wide circle around one of their man-made islands and Hong Kong as they prepared themselves for the opening salvos of the invasion of Taiwan.
Nearly three dozen submarines had moved forward to begin identifying and then engaging the Taiwanese navy and other surface ships that could pose a threat to the fleet. They had already identified one Australian and two American submarines that were monitoring their positions. Once the final order was given to attack Taiwan, Vice Admiral Shen would also issue the order to sink those three submarines. He was not about to let an American or Australian submarine get close enough to his fleet to do any damage.
Today was the second day since the Americans had nuked Shenyang, and Vice Admiral Shen was still reeling with anger. “The death of over five million people screams for vengeance,” he thought. “My countrymen will be marching in the streets if we don’t balance the scales of justice after America’s disproportional response to the attack on Oakland. But in a couple of hours, I will sink this Yankee fleet.”
As the Mao plowed through the calm waters of the South China Sea, Admiral Shen grew more and more impatient as he waited to receive the orders for his fleet to initiate their attack. He had been told their cyber-warfare groups were going to cause some problems for the Taiwanese, and the air force and navy needed to wait for confirmation that their attack had succeeded.
Shen reached down and picked up the glass of tea one of his aides had just poured for him. He raised the glass to his lips and took in the hot liquid, letting it warm him. After taking several more sips, Shen turned to his communications officer.
“Have we received the final orders from Beijing yet?” he asked for probably the fifth time in the last hour. His forces had a hard fix on these hostile submarines, and he wanted to sink them now, before his forces could lose track of them.
The officer was just about to say no when the printer warmed up and spat out a single sheet of paper. The officer pulled it off the printer, briefly reading it before passing it to the admiral.
“The orders have finally come,” Admiral Shen thought as he allowed a smile to spread across his face.
He stood up and made his way to the combat information center. As he briskly walked into the room, he tapped his knuckles on the wall to get his officers’ attention. “Send a flash message to our submarines and destroyers to immediately engage the Australian and American submarines. I want them sunk now,” he announced emphatically.
One of his officers asked, “Shall I send the order to the cruisers and other ships to begin firing their cruise missiles at their assigned targets?”
Admiral Shen turned to the commander who had asked the question and nodded while smiling. “Yes, tell the fleet to begin engaging our assigned targets. The airwings should stand by for orders. We are not going to launch our aircraft until the mainland has at least hit the Taiwanese airfields with a barrage of cruise missiles. They can absorb aircraft losses; we cannot,” he responded.
A flurry of activity began as his operations officers issued the myriad of orders for the fleet to begin combat operations. Within minutes of the orders being given, the Renhai destroyers in the fleet began to fire off their land-attack cruise missiles at their designated targets. The Luyang III destroyers let loose with a string of anti-ship missiles at the Taiwanese naval ships they had been monitoring, and the Jiangdao corvettes joined the fray, going after the American, Australian, and Taiwanese submarines they had been tracking. The air filled with anti-ship and land-attack cruise missiles, and the war officially started.
Twenty-Five Thousand Feet Above Nanping, China
The sky was clear, with not a cloud to be seen, and the air was relatively smooth as Major Wu’s H-20 stealth bomber flew steadily towards its launch point. Wu and his copilot watched with delight as the radar screen filled up with short-range missiles being fired from their homeland of mainland China to Formosa. A moment later, their radar began to pick up the hundreds of People’s Liberation Army Air Force fighters and fighter-bombers lifting off to head for their targets. By the time the Chinese fighters arrived over the island, all the Taiwanese air bases would have already been hit multiple times by air- and submarine-launched cruise missiles, cratering their runways and preventing the Taiwanese aircraft from being used to defend the island.
As they approached their launch points, dozens of the older H-6 bombers rose up to meet them and fell into formation with the stealth bombers. When their newer H-20 bombers fired off their Dong Hai-10 cruise missiles, they hoped to distract the US Air Force and make them believe that the older bombers had fired the shots.
“I hope this plan works and deceives the Americans,” Wu thought.
While the Americans knew of the development of the H-20, Chinese intelligence officials believed that so far, the US was still unaware that the bombers were combat-operational and being actively used. The PLAAF generals really hoped that once Formosa was secured, the H-20s would be unleashed on the American Pacific Fleet in Japan and once and for all cripple the American Navy.
As Major Wu checked and double-checked the weapon systems, the voice of their commander came over the radio. “All bombers, prepare to launch missiles on my command.”
Wu tensed up as he heard the order. His heart raced and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. As the tension grew, the minutes felt like hours. Finally, the voice of their commander broke the silence. “Fire all missiles and return to base.”
Wu toggled the safety switch off on his missiles and then depressed the red button on the side of his flight stick, firing off a missile each time he depressed it until he had expended his payload. One by one, the missiles dropped from the internal bomb bay from the rotary systems of each bomber, igniting and then flying off to hit their targets.
Each H-20 carried a total of eight cruise missiles, all of which whizzed through the air towards major Army installations and other key strategic strong points that Chinese intelligence had identified. Once the stealth bombers had fired off their missiles, they collectively turned and headed back to their base to rearm. The H-6 squadron that had joined them for the ruse also returned to base and waited to be called upon if a further deceptive plan required their services.
Declaration
Beijing, China
U.S. Embassy, Chancellery Building
Vincent Jones was feeling incredibly nervous, almost queasy as he and the ambassador’s senior leadership team waited for the Chin
ese Foreign Minister, Wang Yi, to meet with them. The reports they had received from the Defense Intelligence Agency, CIA and the Diplomatic Security Service had all said that war between the United States and the People’s Republic of China was all but inevitable. It was now a question of when conflict would begin and if any warning would be given prior to hostilities.
It had been nearly two days since President Gates had authorized the nuclear strike against Shenyang, and everyone at the embassy had been caught by surprise. They knew there was a chance the President would respond with nuclear weapons when Oakland and San Francisco had been destroyed, but they had not anticipated that Gates would nuke one of the largest cities in China.
“Could this really be the end? Are we at the cusp of a nuclear war with China?” Vincent thought as he stared out the window. It was starting to rain, adding further gloom to the already dreary situation.
A phone vibrated on the table. The regional security officer had received a message from someone.
“The foreign minister has arrived,” the RSO announced. “He’s being led up to the room now.”
The ambassador, Max Bryant, sighed. He was not looking forward to this meeting. He had done everything he could to try and calm the tension between President Gates and President Xi the past few months.
Bryant thought, “When I confronted the Chinese about the intelligence we had of their support of North Korea, they just shrugged it off like it didn’t matter. When the DPRK launched a nuke at us, I tried to warn them that President Gates would hold them accountable if they had any involvement, and there were crickets. Maybe now that the President has retaliated, they won’t ignore my warnings anymore.”
The others in the room fiddled with their coffee cups, exchanging nervous glances as they waited for the foreign minister to be led to their room. The senior DIA representative jolted to attention as his government-issued Blackberry buzzed on the table. He read the alert, then cleared his throat anxiously.
“Before the foreign minister arrives, I wanted to let everyone know the war has officially started. The US 7th Fleet is reporting an attack underway by the Chinese,” he said to the shock of everyone in the room.
At that moment, a knock at the door interrupted their thoughts, and all eyes turned to the noise.
Foreign Minister Wang entered the room with one of his deputies, surveying everyone’s faces briefly as they stood. Then he walked towards the ambassador to deliver his message in person. Without saying a word, the two men shook hands and bowed slightly, which was the customary thing to do.
Minister Wang presented the ambassador with a formal leather-bound folder with ornate lettering on it. “It is with great sorrow that I have to present to you, Ambassador Bryant, the People’s Republic of China’s formal declaration of war against the United States of America.”
“As I am sure you have just been informed, hostilities between our two nations have already begun. During this period of conflict between our two nations, we request that you send all nonessential personnel back to the United States and leave only those individuals whom you absolutely need to carry on the diplomatic mission between our two nations.”
“We will work with your embassy to allow American citizens to safely exit China to India, a neutral third-party nation. From there, they can travel freely. As a government, we are working to inform all US citizens currently in China that they are hereby ordered to leave the country within the next seven days. Any failure to leave beyond that point will result in immediate arrest and deportation.”
The Foreign Minister paused for a second, looking beyond the ambassador out the window behind him as the rain beat down, harder now than when he had first entered the building. After a few tense seconds, he returned his attention to the ambassador.
“I am sorry that it has come to this. Some disagreements cannot be settled through diplomatic talk but must be resolved through military force. The US can no longer dictate to China what we can and cannot do. With that, I wish everyone safety through these troubling times, and a quick end to the hostilities our two nations now face.”
Foreign Minister Wang unceremoniously turned around and left the room with his deputy in tow.
Everyone in the room stood there, not saying anything for a moment. The rain beat loudly against the window as they replayed the conversation over again in their own heads. It was quite a surreal scene to take in.
The ambassador finally sat down to look over the formal document. He signaled to the Deputy Chief of Mission.
“Send a verified copy back to the State Department and inform the Secretary of State and the President of what just transpired,” he ordered.
“Also,” said the ambassador, “we need to figure out how many American citizens are presently in China and might need assistance being flown out to India.”
“Yes, Sir,” responded one of the aides.
It was going to be a long day.
Like Sardines in a Can
Changle, China
Fourteen Kilometers from Juguang Island, Taiwan
It was 0300 hours and the smells of seawater and fish were strong in the air as the wind provided a gentle breeze for the 46 soldiers of Private Lei’s platoon. While it was still dark, the soldiers of the 27th Infantry Regiment were standing in platoon-sized formations, waiting for the dozens upon dozens of Type 067 utility landing crafts to finish pulling up to the beach.
As each landing craft aligned itself to the beach, it slid forward in the water until the flat bottom of the boat eventually ran aground and it stopped moving. The crews immediately lowered the ramps and signaled to the soldiers on shore to load up the ammunition and supplies that were waiting on the shore. Each of the landing crafts was 28.6 meters in length, large enough to carry one light tank or two small vehicles, or a company of soldiers. Three-quarters of the landing crafts assaulting Juguang would be carrying soldiers and their supplies, while the remaining ships would be landing several light tanks.
Despite the early hour, there was plenty of light as dozens of portable floodlights had been set up along the beach. Thousands of soldiers formed up into lines that stretched from the supply trucks on the beach to the numerous landing crafts and hovercrafts. While the men loaded the small ships, the thunderous roar of dozens of artillery guns and missile trucks broke the morning silence. The bombardment of Juguang Island, fourteen kilometers away, had begun.
As Private Lei passed another crate of ammunition to the soldier next to him, he paused long enough to look off to the horizon and saw hundreds of smoke trails from the rocket artillery heading to the small island they would themselves assault in a few more hours.
“I hope the artillery wipes the enemy out and we do not encounter any serious resistance,” he thought as the soldier next to him nudged him to take the next crate of ammo.
Ten minutes later, their sergeant yelled at them, “It’s time to load up! Everyone, get on the landing crafts. We’re going to push off shortly to head towards Juguang Island,” he shouted.
The soldiers obediently headed towards the water, wading up to their ankles before walking up the ramps to line up in the ships. Because the island itself was not very large, their assault force would not be landing with a lot of armor support. The goal was for them to quickly capture the islands and then be prepared to join the other units assaulting Formosa.
Private Lei waited anxiously in the dark, surrounded by the smell of nervous sweat. Thirty minutes went by before his landing craft finally backed off the beach and headed out into the channel that would lead them to Juguang Island. Once in the channel, their landing craft picked up speed until it reached ten knots, falling in line with the waves of other landing crafts, all headed towards the same objective. From time to time, a wave would crash against the side of the craft, splashing seawater over the men sandwiched inside.
A soldier standing next to Lei nudged him. “How long do you think it’ll take us to get to the island? I think I’m going to get sick if we stay on this b
oat any longer.”
Another large wave hit their boat, rocking it hard to one side, and the young soldier proceeded to throw up all over Private Lei’s boots.
Lei was about to yell at him when the unmistakable scream of an artillery round rushed nearby.
“That was close!” Lei thought, panicked.
Another scream pierced the air, then another. Lei poked his head above the metal lip of the boat just in time to see a lucky round land in the center of the landing craft next to them. It exploded in a ball of flames, throwing burning soldiers into the air like ragdolls.
Just as Lei thought it couldn’t get any worse, a long object that was on fire landed in his craft, falling mere feet away from him. Upon closer inspection, he saw it was the leg of one of the soldiers from the landing craft that had just blown up. As he screamed at the sight of it, he heard, ping, ping, boom, ping! His ears were assaulted as dozens of machine gun rounds bounced off the front ramp of their landing craft.
“We’re almost to the beach! Prepare to leave the landing craft!” their platoon sergeant shouted above the overwhelming percussion of machine gun fire. Lei looked up just in time to see a geyser of water splash down on them from a nearby explosion.
“I can’t take this anymore! I need to get off this boat before we all die!” Lei thought.
He didn’t have long to wait before the front ramp of the landing craft dropped into the water. The first row of soldiers ran off the landing craft into the water and then up the beach, quickly followed by the second and then the third row.
