Dragon Sim-13

by Bob Mayer

  Riley scratched his head. "One thing I would like to know is why we're hitting this pipeline. How important is it? Maybe that will give us an idea of why we're planning to do this."

  Mitchell knew a little about the pipeline's significance from his initial work as the S-3 on the Typhoon oplan, but he wanted to let someone with more knowledge answer. "Dan, you've been working on this pipeline all day. What can you tell us about it?"

  Hoffman pushed his thick glasses farther up on his nose and pulled a piece of yellow scratch-pad paper from the cargo pocket of his fatigue pants. "Well, sir, I think that someone did a damn good job in picking this pipeline as a strategic target, both for economic and psychological reasons. If you wanted to pick a target out of all of China to hurt them in both those areas, I really doubt that you could come up with a better one than this. Other than maybe the locks and dams that help control the Yellow River, but that's a target that fifty A teams couldn't hit.

  "The Daqing-Fushun pipeline carries oil from the Daqing oil field to the port of, hell I can't pronounce it." Hoffman struggled with the name until Chong interrupted. "Spell it please."

  "Q-i-n-h-u-a-n-g-d-a-o."

  Chong pronounced it correctly for Hoffman, who continued. "Anyway, it runs from Daqing to the port Chong just named. That section alone is 1,150 kilometers long and was operational in 1974. In '75, they extended that pipe to run all the way to Beijing. Another portion coming out of the same trunk line branches off to North Korea."

  Riley interrupted. "How much of that will be affected if we take it down at the point we plan on hitting?"

  Hoffman walked over to the map. "We're taking down the main line prior to any branching. That means that the lines to Beijing and to North Korea will both go dry along with the one to the port." He ran his finger up the pipeline to its starting point.

  "The Daqing oil field accounts for anywhere from one third to one half of all oil production in China. We're talking about at least an approximately million-barrel-a-day operation. That oil is not only critical to China's own industry, but they also export some of it. As best as I can make out from the data, one percent of Japan's oil imports comes from China, almost all of that out of the Daqing field."

  "Wait a second," Mitchell halted Hoffman. "What effect will that have on Japan if we dry that up for a couple of weeks?"

  "I don't know, sir. Hard to estimate. It's only one percent, but when you're talking the magnitude of the amount of oil Japan imports, that's quite a bit. I imagine they would be able to make up the loss by increasing their Middle East imports or their imports from other Asian sources. What I do know is that this will be a bad kick in the ass for the Chinese economy. Not only will they lose almost half their oil for the duration of the down time of the pipeline, but they'll lose valuable foreign currency that they need desperately."

  Chief Trapp had obviously been doing his homework in the intelligence field, and he tried to put it into a clearer perspective. "They think so much of this oil field and pipe that they don't even put it on their maps. In other words, if we take this thing down, the leaders in China are going to sit up and notice."

  Hoffman nodded his agreement. "This is a rough analogy, but it's almost as if some terrorist group attacked the Alaskan pipeline. It pumps more oil than the Daqing pipeline but contributes a much smaller percentage to our economy. Also, the U.S. economy is in a hell of a lot better shape than the Chinese economy. If we do this, it will hurt them bad where it counts—in the pocketbook."

  Hoffman shifted from the economic aspect. "As important as the economic impact is, there is also a psychological one. The Daqing oil field was used extensively throughout the sixties and seventies as a model for the rest of the country." Hoffman grabbed one of the books he had been using for research. "Let me read you something to give you an idea of what I mean."

  He flipped open to a marked spot. " 'Throughout the twenty years since liberation, and particularly during the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, the Chinese oil workers have displayed the revolutionary spirit of hard struggle,' blah, blah, blah." He went down a few lines. " 'The workers of the Daqing Oilfield, which is the model for developing the oil industry by self-reliance and arduous struggle, have continued to display the revolutionary spirit they showed during the battle to open up the oilfield. They have striven to catch up with and surpass advanced world standards,' blah, blah, blah. Oh yeah. Here's the good part. 'Using the invincible Mao Tse-tung Thought as their weapon, they sharply criticized,' that refers to the workers," Hoffman threw in, " 'the poisonous influence of the counter-revolutionary revisionist line, as* well, that's enough." Hoffman threw the book on the table. "Get the picture? This isn't just a pipeline. It's a symbol."

  Mitchell looked over at Riley. He had a feeling that the team sergeant was thinking the same thing he was: If this target is that significant, maybe this is for real.

  *From The Petroleum Industry of The People's Republic of China, H. C. Ling, Hoover Institution Press, Stanford University, 1975, pp. 166-168.

  Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 3 June, 1330 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 8:30 a.m. Local

  Colonel Bishop had been laboring over his charts ever since the initial concept of operations arrived. He was trying to figure out a way to get the exfil helicopters to the pickup zone that the team had designated and back out again. His main problem was fuel. The closest land base from which he could launch the aircraft was in either Korea or Japan. Right now he was thinking of using Misawa Air Force Base in Japan. For security reasons they were keeping the helicopters separate from the base where the team and infiltration aircraft were stationed. Misawa was the same distance as Osan, using the route from the Sea of Japan over either North Korea or Russia. Bishop had early on ruled out the route to the west of North Korea, shooting north up to the target. The Chinese air defense capabilities were much greater in that corridor. From Misawa, a straight shot to the PZ was 1,230 nautical miles one way. Even with the external tanks, the helicopters would still have only a total range of 1,090 nautical miles. Not even enough to make it one way.

  Bishop was beginning to think that someone in his office had made a mistake in planning to use the Blackhawks. He usually assigned one of his young captains to work the supporting air annex to the contingency oplans. He couldn't believe that the captain had overlooked the range factor—the idiot should have realized that the Blackhawks couldn't reach any part of the pipeline and make it back with one load of gas.

  Bishop considered the hand that his staff officer had dealt him. He thought about trying to get an air force HH-53 Pave Low out to Japan. The Pave Low had an inflight refuel capability, which would solve the fuel problem. Unfortunately, the Pave Lows were all stationed at Hurlburt Field in Florida, and he knew that it would cause quite a ruckus to get one loaded onto a C-5 transport and flown all the way to Japan. Besides, they'd already ordered the Blackhawks moved during the initial alert this morning.

  Bishop scratched his head. There had to be a way out of this mess.

  "By moral influence I mean that which causes the

  people to be in harmony with their leaders, so that

  they will accompany them in life and unto death

  without fear of moral peril."

  Sun Tzu: The Art of War

  5

  Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 3 June, 2030 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 3:30 p.m. Local

  At the first report of trouble in Tiananmen Square, Meng had left word not to be disturbed and locked the door to his office. Now he sat mesmerized as the disjointed pictures from the few Western camera crews that had braved the events of the previous night in China's capital rolled across the screen. The anchorman was making the most he could of the little information he had.

  "Thousands of Chinese Army troops supported by armored vehicles stormed Tiananmen Square early this morning Beijing time. Initial reports indicate that dozens were killed and hundreds wounded as troops opened fire with automatic weapons.

  "Exact reports on the num
ber killed are sketchy. The Associated Press reported that the state-run radio put the death toll in the thousands and denounced the crackdown. Shortly after that, the station changed announcers and began broadcasting reports supporting the Communist government. Our man in Beijing, Jim Thomas, is presently on the telephone. Hello, Jim. Can you hear me?"

  "I can barely make you out, Tom."

  "What can you tell us regarding the number of people killed in this crackdown?"

  " 'Crackdown' is a mild word for it, Tom. I think massacre would be more appropriate. It's difficult to get even a good estimate because there is still firing going on in the square and along Changan Avenue, where most of the killing has taken place. Soldiers are firing at anything that moves, so naturally most of us are reluctant to move out and about. I have been on the phone to local hospitals and they give me reports of at least sixty-eight corpses being received. Students I've talked with who were present in Tiananmen Square when the shooting began claim that at least five hundred were killed.

  'The official news program now claims that more than one thousand police officers and troops have been injured and some killed. The report also says that an undisclosed number of civilians were killed but did not give any more detail. This was after an initial report of thousands killed."

  "Can you tell us how all this began?"

  "Well, it's difficult to say, Tom. It probably started yesterday afternoon about 2:15 local time when protesters overturned and set fire to several army vehicles that were attempting to move along Changan Avenue toward Tiananmen Square from the west. Troops retaliated by firing tear gas and beating protesters. Then, around 4:00 in the afternoon, a group of protesters threw stones at the Great Hall of the People. This may or may not have driven those in power to try to move more troops in. At about 6:00 another convoy was stopped trying to come into the square from the east. For the next six hours it was unclear what was happening, but it was obvious that the military was preparing for some sort of large-scale move. At midnight, there were the first reports of shots being fired. Then, at 12:30 this morning, troops entered the square from all directions. These troops were not the same ones who had tried on Saturday to enter the square. These were troops from the provinces who the government apparently felt would not hesitate to follow orders—and, as events have turned out, rightly so. Another change was that these soldiers came in armed with AK-47 assault rifles loaded with live ammunition. Once the firing began, the situation turned to chaos. I can still hear shots being fired as we speak."

  "Thank you, Jim. We'll be keeping in touch with Jim Thomas to give you the latest information as the situation sorts itself out over there.

  "The initial reaction from the United States government has been one of caution. President Bush made a brief statement from his retreat in Maine, where he is spending the weekend."

  The scene shifted to President Bush at his house in Kennebunkport.

  "I deeply deplore the decision to use force against peaceful demonstrators and the consequent loss of life. We have been urging and continue to urge nonviolence, restraint, and dialogue. Tragically, another course has been chosen. Again, I urge a return to nonviolent means for dealing with the current situation."

  "That was the president—"

  Meng turned off the volume on his set using the remote control. He was disgusted with Bush's comments. He didn't want to hear any more. He stared as the station replayed the few video clips they had. Meng stood up and talked to the TV. "What does 'nonviolent means' entail, Mister Bush? Against tanks and bullets? It is too late for that. The Old Men have spoken and they will not listen to your prattling."

  He slumped back into his chair. Staring at the pictures of bloody bodies being carried from the square by other students, Meng felt rage burn through his veins. A flickering shot of a lifeless body being tossed onto the back of a hand-held cart caused Meng to leap out of his chair and run to the TV. The scene shifted to a view of tanks rolling across the square, but the slack face of the young man being put in the back of the cart was fused in Meng's mind. It was the face he had been looking for on every broadcast since this whole crisis began.

  FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Saturday, 3 June, 2100 Zulu Sunday, 4 June, 6:00 a.m. Local

  Mitchell opened an eye as he felt someone tap him on the shoulder. "Hey, bud. Get up. The shit has hit the fan across the water in China."

  He leaned up on an elbow and focused in on Riley. "What do you mean?"

  "The government cracked down on those students in Tiananmen Square. There are reports of hundreds having been killed."

  Mitchell processed that slowly. "Anything from Hossey or the SFOB on whether this changes the mission?"

  Riley shook his head. "Not a peep. I'm having Lalli write up a message asking that question, plus a request for information on how much this has affected their army. I sure don't like the idea of going into a country in the middle of a rebellion if that's what this turns into."

  Mitchell found his glasses and put them on. "It's a hell of a coincidence that we're planning this mission during all this."

  Riley agreed. "I think we need to crank down another turn on the guys and make sure they really have their shit together for this mission. I still haven't seen anything on a training offset area. Maybe somebody in Washington knows something we don't about China."

  Fort Meade, Maryland Saturday, 3 June, 2400 Zulu Saturday, 3 June, 7:00 p.m. Local

  Meng sat in his usual position in the back of the room as General Olson and his staff held their meeting. With the rational part of his mind he listened in. They were trying to decide whether the events in Tiananmen Square would have any effect on this mission. Meng himself was not concerned. The operational area was far enough away from Beijing, or for that matter any other big city, that it would not make any difference. He did not plan on making any changes to his program. If anything, he would estimate that it improved the team's chances of infiltration because the Chinese military was sure to be in some degree of disarray. There was a good chance of troops being moved from the Shenyang Military Region, where the target was, down to Beijing, reducing the enemy threat for the mission. There was also less possibility of the Combat Talon being picked up on the way in, since the Chinese military would have its eyes focused inward.

  Meng's first run-through using the team's proposed concept of operation had yielded a surprising 58 percent chance of success with no losses or discovery. Meng thought that number quite high, considering how deep the target area was in China and the difficulties in infiltration and exfiltration. That success percentage included destruction of the pipeline for the indicated period of seven days. Meng thought, on the whole, that the percentage of risk was quite acceptable for such a high-profit target.

  Meng was somewhat surprised that his mind could still function on

  the task at hand while his emotions tore at him. His son was dead— the son he had never told the Americans about when he'd come to them in Hong Kong twenty-three years ago. If he had told the intelligence officer that he had family back in China, they would never have accepted him. He would have been sent back. This lie was the foundation upon which Meng's freedom and career had been built.

  Even having the picture on his desk had been risky. He'd always been afraid that someone would ask who they were and he would have had to lie. It seemed such a trivial thing now that they were both dead. He would no longer have to lie.

  FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Sunday, 4 June, 0003 Zulu Sunday, 4 June, 9:03 a.m. Local

  Riley was working on the tactical plan for the actual assault when Hossey entered the isolation area and signaled to both Mitchell and him.

  "I've got the staff officer from the aviation unit that will be flying the exfil birds. He's in the operations center, and I don't want to bring him in here because he has no need to know your mission. He's got what he needs to answer your questions."

  Hossey led the way to the op center, where an army captain wearing a flight suit and a green beret
was waiting. Riley was immediately annoyed. The least the idiot could have done was to wear a nondis-tinctive uniform, Riley thought. Between the Talon being rolled into a hangar on post and this guy showing up, any North Korean spies— who were surely watching the air base—were probably curious about what was happening. Security and espionage were two very serious subjects between the two Koreas.

  Hossey didn't bother with introductions. There was no need for the pilot to know who they were. Riley could see the velcro on the man's flight suit where he had removed his patches. Despite that, Riley had no doubt that the man was from the 1st Special Forces Group aviation detachment—the yellow flash on his beret signaled that. God save me from pilots who think they're hot stuff, Riley thought. Even though this pilot isn't Special Forces qualified, he gets to wear the Green Beret because he is assigned to a Special Forces group. A Green Beret aviator must be the ultimate in cool at the o club bar, Riley mused bitterly.

  Rambo and Top Gun combined. But this wasn't an o club bar, and it was obvious that the aviator didn't know the first thing about mission security.

  "Afternoon, gentlemen. The colonel tells me you have some questions about the mission my men are supposed to fly for you."

  Mitchell let Riley take the lead. "Sir, I don't have a warm fuzzy feeling about this exfiltration. Can you tell us who the pilots are going to be?"

  "We're going to be using four of my own. Men with extensive flying experience. Both primary pilots have more than a thousand hours of blade time in the Blackhawk."

  "Are we going to be able to meet with them for coordination prior to infiltration?" Riley asked.

  "I'm afraid not. The aircraft are already in place at the forward launch site at Misawa Air Force Base in Japan. If you need to give them any information, I'll relay it. You've got the frequencies, call signs, and recognition signals. We've got your pickup zones, both primary and alternate. What more do you need?"