The Tangs presented a series of deadly upgrades over the former Jinn Class SSBNs. For starters, they held twenty vertical missile tubes as opposed to sixteen. The increased number of rockets were not her most troubling asset. Rather, the issue was more the question of from how far away she could throw a punch.
Tubes sixteen through twenty housed China's newest sea-borne offensive weapons, known by their class name: J-2. Thirteen meters long and two in circumference, these second-generation missiles carried a striking distance of eight to ten thousand kilometers. Plenty enough to do the job from here. This was the one improvement that mattered, and it was quite an upgrade. Currently positioned not far off China's eastern seaboard and targeted east over the Pacific, these birds carried everything necessary to devastate the west coast of the U.S., laying waste to vast economic and agricultural corridors and its 50 million residents.
For decades the American Navy had held the strategic high ground in this contest, garnering no real competition to speak of from anyone, including their massive Asian-Pacific neighbor. Everyone understood: nuclear provocation from China would come by two means only; long-range ballistic missiles or the near-impossibility of a closer reach strike via bombers over U.S. sovereign territory. The presence of the J2s had changed everything, advancing the threat into the younger nation's back yard.
American intelligence services identified the new sub and its corresponding missile production in early 2009 as ongoing satellite surveillance confirmed all suspicions of Beijing's progress. Washington then communicated its concerns through both front and back diplomatic channels.
These dispatches were received, duly noted, and routinely ignored.
The U.S. Department of Defense, for all its influence, had no answer other than a promised retaliatory strike. Pointless and ineffective, this kind of international rock throwing only ratcheted up the already tense economic and diplomatic environment of modern Sino-American relations.
As it stood the Tang and her J2s were an irremovable pebble in the Pentagon's shoe. Given a complement of 85 sailors, provisions, and ordinance, this boat could stay at sea undetected for months at a time. Her belly was filled with nuclear-tipped rockets and her nose housed a full array of torpedoes—six bow tubes stacked for conventional warfare. The 069 was fit for both the ordinary and the unthinkable. She was present and she was formidable.
On board the sub a solitary figure made its way forward from aft, through narrow passageways, heading toward the control tower. From body language, even without seeing the insignia on his uniform, it was clear this person moved with bearing and purpose. Foot pace increased but not rushed as darkened shadows in cramped spaces gave way to the eerie glow of a red light above the conn.
A narrow, chrome handrail marked off the boundary of the small, elevated area. Not unlike the chancel in a traditional church setting, the space itself designated authority, office. No man or woman took this platform casually. Anyone breaching its borders did so purposefully, to assert control with the weight of command resting on themselves alone.
Into the red glow. Bars and stripes on chest and shoulders.
Captain Ghouzi Chan held the conn.
The corded microphone came off its cradle and the senior officer surveyed the anxious expressions of the twenty or so crew members in close proximity. A look of assurance and a slight nod from their leader reminded them of who they were, what they were about, as Chan's directives landed with an authority earned over twenty-five years of solitude and trial at sea.
The "talk" button produced an audible click. With the intercom opened, his next words were brief yet ominous.
"Fire control, this is the captain. Ready missile tubes sixteen through twenty. Await launch. This is not a drill. Repeat, not a drill. Live fire on my orders."
The captain released the button on the hand unit and awaited the required verbal reply. Confirmation of his directives came back swiftly.
"Fire control, aye. Missile tubes sixteen through twenty. On captain's orders. We are live-fire ready on your orders, sir."
The Tang stood her post with a posture of moral neutrality toward the horrific scenario unfolding in these expansive, forbidding waters of the Pacific. And with this short technical exchange the People's Republic of China was ready to launch a nuclear attack on the continental United States.
__________________________________
US Embassy Compound—Beijing, China
The metallic black BMW Series 3 Touring Sedan strode through the steel and brick gates of the American Embassy compound without incident. Led to the diplomatic entry around back, it displayed only a small, hood-mounted flag of the People's Republic; nothing to distinguish it as anything other than a routine official vehicle. Nothing to indicate that inside rode one of the most powerful men in the Chinese Communist Party and by extension, the entire government.
This appearance of everyday business was shattered, and abruptly so.
The Beemer glided to a stop. Both sets of doors opened as heavy, Kevlar-reinforced mechanisms swung forward with surprising heft and an eerie near-silence. Three large men exited first, surveying and securing the immediate surroundings for their charge. With hands near sidearms and eyes roving behind aviator glasses they assessed potential threats with the loyalty and intensity of a pit bull protecting its master. They signaled for him to exit the vehicle, all the while still scanning for changes in the unfolding environment around them.
The small entourage entered the classic Italian portico of the late nineteenth-century structure, forming a blocking maneuver with their persons. Once inside, the mysterious passenger took the symbolic lead out front of his team, moving forcefully down the long, ornate hallway.
Wang Lieu's face would not be recognizable to most Americans yet he was about to change the lives of millions of them forever in a few, brief moments of international relations. As Foreign Minister of the People's Republic—Chinese counterpart to the American Secretary of State—he held the legal-national power to both sign treaties and declare war on behalf of his country.
This evening he was hand delivering something in-between the two.
Once through the side lobby he proceeded to the inner office core of the ranking diplomatic officer in China: the U.S. Ambassador. As the bold, next steps of this Asian nation would require heavyweight geopolitical leadership, anything less than senior cabinet authority would not suffice.
U.S. Ambassador to China Gary Locke had received word of the minister's coming only minutes prior. Such a hasty, unannounced visit did not conform to protocol. At present, Locke was still raking over his five o'clock shadow in the private washroom connected to his office. Though minimally presentable for the meeting, he could not have prepared himself professionally for what he was to hear next.
Locke entered the room just before Lieu and two of his protectors and then took a standing position beside his antique Baroque-era desk, right in front of the American flag. High drama was the required subtext for major international players such as these.
Formal, measured handshakes. A slight bow at the waist, followed by an invitation to be seated.
Lieu declined the offer and remained upright; neither had he removed his dark gray overcoat. Apparently he didn't intend to be here long.
A confused look from Locke to his diplomatic colleague invited further explanation. The Chinese minister supplied it, all the while standing a mere three feet from his counterpart.
"Mr. Ambassador, I am here to inform you of the actions of the People's Republic of China in annexing American territory south of the Canadian province of British Columbia, bordered on the east by the Cascade Mountain Range, west by the Pacific Ocean, and to the south by the Columbia River."
Shockingly, he continued.
"This area, so designated, will become a new province of the PRC, ceasing to exist as sovereign territory of the United States and requiring the removal of American governmental and military personnel within seventy-two hours of acceptance of these a
ctions. The civilian population will come under the laws and purview of the PRC and enjoy the rights and privileges of citizenship in our great nation. Refusal to comply with orders given here and those to come will result in a nuclear attack via our strategic fleet in the Eastern Pacific upon the western coast of the United States."
Lieu looked up. The gravity of the moment settled as everyone in the diplomat's office experienced both its weight and resulting disorientation. Ambassador Locke stared back, unblinking. The minister returned the same unflinching gaze as before.
Locke wished he were joking. His mind raced at the implications for his nation and people yet his words came measured, slow and careful.
"Minister Lieu, if I am to understand you correctly, the United States of America is to hand over the most populous portion of Washington, its forty-second state, without reprisal to your country. A state that has been a part of our union since 1889 and one fair state, I might add, that I was privileged to serve as Governor for eight years. Is this what I am hearing from you, Minister?"
Lieu's next words—so cold, sterile—rocked even the experienced diplomat.
"You are accurate in your assessments, Mr. Ambassador."
Locke paused before asking the obvious next question.
"So please help me understand then," he said. "Why we wouldn't launch a preemptive nuclear attack to stop this provocation? If this is only a race to mutual destruction then I have a direct line to the White House. We will not hesitate to act unilaterally. You of course know this, Mr. Lieu."
The minister, knowing he held a superior hand, smiled ever so slightly.
"You will comply Mr. Ambassador, because we have taken control of your weapons systems. They are no longer an option for you. The airliner crash in the city of Seattle yesterday? Tragic, but necessary. Simply the first example of our ability to re-purpose your communications networks across both civilian and military arenas."
Locke, equally stunned and angered by the assertion, immediately realized it to be true, understanding that no systems were ever truly independent and protected. Highly secured—yes, but all systems based on computer code essentially came down to ones and zeros. And when someone came up with a better arrangement of those digits all bets were off.
The minister enjoyed watching these thoughts play out on the ambassador's face. It was time to press the issue, so he did.
"Consider this event and all those lost a grave warning. You have no other options. Our superior military and technical resources have seen to it."
Lieu closed the black leather notebook. With message delivered, he took the first step away from the visibly shaken ambassador and then turned back for one last, critical statement.
"In case you are thinking of applying conventional armed tactics, please be advised the PRC will use its nuclear advantage. If you truly value the lives of the three million people in this region you will comply without delay. You may find me at the Central Committee offices, ready to receive your formal and unconditional surrender."
The minister's eyes narrowed, driving the timetable home one more time.
"You have three hours, Mr. Ambassador. I would advise that you not waste one minute of it on anything other than compliance and communication."
Lieu exited as unexpectedly as he'd entered a mere ten minutes before. For his part, Locke stood there wondering how his world had changed so horrifically in such a brief span of time. Then he got on the phone.
TWELVE
The White House, Washington DC
The WH Situation Room was full, every last cabinet official located and ushered into the national security sanctum within sixty minutes of initial word of the crisis out of Beijing. This task alone was no small matter, considering it was the middle of the night, East Coast Time.
"Overture is on station," the Secret Service Agent in Charge whispered into the cuff-mic just short of his left hand.
The President had arrived, his protection detail's use of musical terminology as his call sign a respectful nod to his former life as an accomplished, semi-professional cellist. Previously chaotic chatter ceased as all stood in acknowledgment of their Commander-in-Chief.
Ladies and gentlemen, the President...
Overture charged through the reinforced glass and steel doorway and took his place. Carrying an air of disbelief mixed with pretty pissed off, he opened the proceedings. Seconds later Ambassador Locke came alive on the floor to ceiling video wall, so present it seemed he was in the room with them. He began briefing them on the Chinese Minister's visit and demands.
"Mr. President, this was both unforeseen and unusual, as you might expect. China has not shown overt nationalistic aggression in decades, not showing in any way a willingness to go toe to toe with America like this. I need to ask Mr. President: have they captured our nuclear capabilities? If so, how in the name of heaven did we find ourselves in this position? Do we have any kind of play besides handing over a third of the State of Washington to them?"
The president nodded toward the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. He spoke first.
"Mr. Ambassador, we now have confirmation from Strategic Command. A little over an hour ago we lost control of ordinance and delivery. NORAD is black. Our bunkers are cold. Target and release systems on board naval and air assets are unresponsive. Even the football is BSOD."
The football was a small suitcase carrying portable launch capability, one always within actionable reach of the president. BSOD simply meant no boot or control activity on the unit—'blue screen of death', as computer techs referred to it.
"We are scrambling to discover the issues and regain capabilities," the chairman continued. "At this point though sir, yes, we are without nuclear recourse."
The president spoke now.
"Gary, any back channels open for a possible diplomatic solution? I'm having a hard time believing this is what they want, that they're threatening to slaughter millions of innocent people and turn Seattle into a moonscape. Tell me there is another result awaiting us, Mr. Ambassador."
"I dearly wish I could, Mr. President. This much is clear: they fully intend to extend their national boundaries to the west coast of the United States of America, beginning with Western Washington. It doesn't take great predictive powers to see this as an initial incursion with more still to come. Oregon, California, the entire Pacific Coast, is their likely and logical next step."
Gary extrapolated the idea further.
"Sir, larger ambitions would need a test case. You can't just take over a country of nearly 400 million people with one move. This action fits the mold. Capture an achievable amount of land and then attempt," the ambassador's voice trailed off. "To overthrow their people, economy, and culture."
Resignation and weakness, brought on by the gut-level realization of what was transpiring, struck him hard. This was happening to his country. And at the hands of those so much like himself.
Locke was a man of Chinese heritage and the first state executive of such lineage in America. The ambassador had always been proud of this fact. Given his people's cultural and technological achievements of the past two millennia this pride was rightly merited. Presently though, none of this mattered. Anger and shame was all he felt.
The president recognized the angst playing out in his friend's countenance and released him from the proceedings in the room. Of course, this would be especially difficult for him.
"Thank you, Mr. Ambassador. That will be all for now."
The screen went black and then transformed again to displaying only the Presidential Seal.
"Options, people. Scenarios. Now."
Conversations in the room grew more animated as the directive to engage the dilemma came from the barely-seated president. Sentences started running together, more stream of consciousness than distinct thoughts.
"What do we know?" the president posited. "And what is it we don't know that's going to kick us even harder in the ass still. Personally, I don't see how that could be possible. But I sure as
hades don't want to find out."
The Secretary of State chimed in, summarizing a list of potential partners.
"Russia stands with China," she said. "No surprise there. Great Britain is politely not answering our request for a checkmate of sorts. France is a no. Israel is with us, although the range of their missiles is far short of an effective strike into China. They are also well aware of Russia's desire to use this as a pretext for aggression toward them, opening a door for Syria to draw more Muslim nations into a back alley fight with the Jewish state. That leaves India and Pakistan, neither of whom want to step into this on our behalf."
SecState continued, swallowing hard. She was a strong woman and a skilled and faithful public servant. What she knew the case to be was distasteful, almost too painful to admit out loud. Finally, she said it.
"Sir, I'm afraid we have no nuclear alliances at our disposal. It seems none of our friends is willing to enter a scorched-earth interchange with China over a portion of one of our fifty states."
The chairman of the chiefs spoke up again.
"Mr. President, the implications are obvious and dire. Not only do we have no recourse against China in this instance. We also have no viable counter to provocations from any other bad actor. China will, because of their own expansionist interests, likely counter any threat of attack for now. Still, we cannot be certain of this. No one knows how this will play out."
"Sure, protect the whole world for decades," SecDef mumbled. "And this is what we get."
At that moment each person in the room came to the same realization. The nuclear chess game America had played to its advantage for the past fifty years? It was now an utterly different board, with all new set pieces.
"How in the world... ?!!" the president started, slamming his briefing notebook down on the hardened maple table. "We have the most sophisticated launch and lock systems ever developed. How exactly did this happen?!"
When Totems Fall Page 6
