by Larry Bond
Taylor stepped down from the periscope stand and looked at the paper plot, then the fire control display. “Hmmm, he’s just in the right place to be a major pain in the butt. We’ll have to plug him at the same time as the boomer.”
“That’s close to minimum enable run, Skipper,” the XO warned.
“Then we’ll shoot quickly. First we shoot tubes one and two at the Jin, cut the wires, then tubes three and four at Sierra five seven. Two weapons each. Set the acoustic seekers to ‘off’ for the first two weapons, high speed. The Jin is stationary, no Doppler, and the seekers would pick up too many echoes from the pier. The magnetic fuse will be good enough.” Taylor was speaking quickly but carefully. “Send out the second pair at medium speed, forty knots, minimum enable run. By the time the weapons hit the Jin, the others will have acquired the 056 and will be homing.”
The XO acknowledged the orders and relayed them to the fire-control technician.
Taylor then announced, “Firing point procedures. First the Type 094 SSBN, tubes one and two, then Sierra five seven, tubes three and four.”
“Ship ready,” called out the OOD.
“Solution ready,” barked Kerry.
“Weapons ready,” said the weapons officer.
“Stand by for final observation on the SSBN, up scope!” Taylor yanked on the hoist control and waited for the barrel to rise. Snapping out the handles, he quickly placed his forehead against the eyepiece. “Bearing, mark! Range, mark!”
“Bearing, one four five degrees. Range, two one double-oh yards.”
“Solution matches!” Kerry exclaimed.
“Ready, shoot!”
As the scope was lowered, the hull shook twice as the two Mark 48 torpedoes were expelled from their tubes.
“Impulse return, normal launch. Torpedo course one four five, speed six five knots, acoustics off,” reported the fire control technician.
“Conn, Sonar, own ship’s weapons are running normally.” McCarthy’s voice was just as steady as it was during their last exercise.
Taylor barely acknowledged the report when they all heard a faint rumble.
“Shift targets. Shoot on generated bearings, Sierra five seven, tubes three and four,” Taylor ordered.
Once again, Santa Fe shook as she launched more torpedoes.
“Conn, Sonar. Second set of weapons running normally. Also, the rumbling is off our starboard quarter, assessed as the reflection of an explosion aft, possibly one of our mines going off.”
“Sonar, Conn. Aye. Report status on Sierra five seven.”
“Conn, Sonar. The contact’s blade rate is increasing, bearing rate is drifting to the left. Yep, Sierra five seven is zigging to port.”
“Detect. Detect. Detect. Homing. Both weapons have acquired the target,” the fire-control tech sang out.
“Then his turn won’t matter.” Taylor ordered, “Cut the wires on tubes three and four and close the outer doors.”
Suddenly, two extremely loud and near simultaneous detonations rocked the boat. Everyone in the control room grabbed on to something to steady themselves.
“That was the boomer,” Kerry observed looking at his stopwatch. Taylor only nodded. There still was the business with the escort to conclude.
“Conn, Sonar. Weapon number four has sped up and is closing on Sierra five seven,” announced McCarthy. “Weapon number three has drifted away from the target and slowed down; it’s executing a reattack search.”
By the time Taylor acknowledged McCarthy’s last report, another loud explosion shook Santa Fe. Only one torpedo had hit the corvette, but that would be more than enough.
“Observation. Up scope,” Taylor ordered, and had the scope pointed straight at their second victim as the lens cleared the water. Low-level light and visible light images both showed the warship on its port side, its stern missing, covered in flames.
Once he was sure he’d gotten a good picture, Taylor panned the scope left. The Type 094 SSBN was gone, only debris and a large fire marked its last-known position. Facing south toward the open sea, the two lights that marked the opening in the breakwater were visible. Taylor took bearing and range to both, calling out “Mark” each time.
“Port light bears one six nine degrees, range seventeen hundred yards. Starboard light bears one seven eight degrees, range one six eight zero yards,” Larson reported.
“Helm, come left to course one seven four. XO, how does that match the HF sonar?” All U.S. subs had a high-resolution mine-avoidance sonar fitted to look forward. It was designed to show underwater obstacles.
“I show the gap between one six eight and one seven eight degrees. The image is clear.”
“Very well. Mark, what’s the water depth?”
“One hundred feet here, sir, sloping down to one hundred and fifty at the breakwater entrance, and deeper once we’re outside.”
Taylor ordered, “Make your depth nine zero feet. Increase speed to twelve knots.” He saw some concern on the XO’s face and explained. “We were supposed to be a lot closer to that breakwater before we fired a torpedo.”
“We’re going to leave a wake on the surface, Skipper.”
“It’s night, and the wake’s next to a sinking corvette.” The captain glanced at his watch. “And we’ll be outside the harbor in five minutes. Keep your eyes on the HF array, XO. I want to split the uprights.”
“Keep my eyes on the display, yes, sir!” They were going too fast now to use the periscope. They would have to depend on the display to keep them from ramming the breakwater.
After a few minutes, the XO reported, “Slight left drift. The southern opening bears one six five to one nine seven, recommend coming right to course one seven nine.”
“Helm, come right to course one seven nine.”
”Conn, Sonar. Faint explosions to the south.”
Taylor nodded while keying the mike. “Sonar, Conn. That should be Captain Walsh in Columbia. Are the explosions consistent with torpedo detonations?”
“Yes, sir!” shouted McCarthy from the sonar shack.
Taylor was ready to celebrate, but they weren’t out of the woods just yet. One SSBN, one corvette, and possibly one something else sunk or damaged. Not bad for a night’s work, he thought.
* * *
Santa Fe had snuck in, using stealth and darkness to hide her entry, but there was no time to be subtle. Her squadron mate USS Columbia was blowing a hole in the ring of escort vessels outside the harbor and, in general, creating a ruckus to draw Chinese attention away from Santa Fe. And if the air force was doing its part, U.S. fighters had entered Chinese airspace to shoot down any ASW aircraft that might be overhead.
The opening in the breakwater swelled on the mine-hunting display until there was nothing but open water on the screen ahead of them.
And they were out.
Oval Office
The White House
December 1, 2017
“It was Vietnam’s taking the Paracels back that started this.” Hugh Cambridge was President Jackson’s secretary of state. He sounded exasperated more than unhappy. Defense Secretary Peck and General Kastner, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, nodded agreement, but Kastner added, “Don’t forget the Spratlys.”
Cambridge waved the general’s words aside. “The Philippines already had troops on Thitu Island when the shooting started. They just reinforced the garrison.”
Peck backed up the general. “I disagree, Hugh. A few months ago, the Chinese would have raised a major stink about a military buildup on a contested island.”
“Both those situations are different than the issue before us,” President Jackson declared. “Vietnam recaptured territory from a hostile state. Our only role was making it too dangerous for the Chinese to intercept the landing force.”
General Kastner added sarcastically, “We didn’t even find out about it until our patrol planes spotted the ships coming out of Da Nang. There was no notice, and absolutely no cooperation between us and Vietnam.”
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��In the second case,” Jackson argued, “the Philippines, a U.S. ally, reinforced the troops on an island they already possessed. The Chinese may claim it, but they can’t bully the Filipinos right now.”
“The critical words are ‘right now,’” Secretary Cambridge argued. “Once this conflict ends, what’s to prevent the Chinese from reverting to their old ways? They fought a battle in 1974 to take the Paracel Islands away from Vietnam. Will they try it again? And this latest move is just going to make it worse.”
“So your recommendation is that I tell the Japanese no,” Jackson stated.
“I didn’t say that, sir,” Cambridge protested. “There are consequences with either answer. If we say we’re against it and they occupy the islands anyway, that only reinforces the notion that we have no influence in the region.”
“At least they told us what they’re doing, before they do it,” Peck observed.
“When they’re two days away from sailing,” Cambridge countered acidly. “And it wasn’t so much asking for permission, as it was, ‘By the way, we plan on placing military forces on Uotsuri Island. We’d like to coordinate with any operations you have planned in the area.’ They don’t really need our help. The Japanese task force includes two of their Aegis destroyers.”
Peck nodded. “They can take care of themselves, as long as the Chinese don’t concentrate too many assets against them.”
“Will the Chinese do anything at all?” Jackson asked. “Firing on a U.S. ally that currently isn’t involved in the war? China has enough problems without adding the Japanese to the list of combatants.”
“They’re already mad about our ships and planes operating from Japanese bases,” Cambridge pointed out.
“And have done nothing,” Jackson responded. “We haven’t attacked targets within China. If they strike Japan, all bets are off. General, are there any military implications of the Japanese operation that we should be aware of?”
Kastner grinned. “If the Japanese are going anyway, I’ll make sure PACCOM has good comms with their people. It’s part of the Chinese coast I won’t have to worry about.”
“Look at it from China’s point of view,” Cambridge protested unhappily. “After all, that’s what you pay me for. First, we start shooting up their navy, which they were going to use to exert control over the South China Sea. Now, while we’re keeping their fleet busy, all the smaller nations are using the opportunity to grab disputed territories. It’s all about the fishing rights and the oil and mineral deposits,” the secretary observed. “Did you know there are three oil-exploration ships getting ready to sail from Japanese ports? Each from a different company?”
“Mr. President, as far as I can see,” Peck argued, “this is all part of that ‘cost of aggression’ you included in your speech. It’s certainly more than they bargained for when they started shooting down our GPS satellites.”
“Which they are still doing. We lost the fifteenth satellite today,” Jackson observed. “And they show no intention of stopping. All right. Whether or not we say yes, the Japanese will seize the Senkaku Islands and formally make them their own. Their nationalist prime minister chalks up a win, along with their economy. It will be another loss of face for China and another crimp in their future plans for economic expansion.” He paused. “I’m not unhappy with that. Hugh?”
“I can make it work, Mr. President.” The secretary of state sounded resigned.
Secretary Peck was more positive. “I’m in favor of anything that gives the Chinese heartburn.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Jackson replied.
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Office Annex
December 2, 2017
They’d all heard the news of the incident before being summoned to the fourth-floor conference room. Every video screen on the base that was tuned to the news showed the same thing: rolling explosions and waves of orange flame billowing out of a chemical plant in Indiana. It was a bad one.
Ray waited, along with Schultz, Colonel Evans, and Josh Blake, the head of the IT section, for the Defender department heads to arrive. Biff Barnes, as the mission commander, was also present.
Given the urgency of the summons, most of the senior people had shown up within minutes, but Ray insisted on waiting until every department was represented. It was a very full room, with eight of nine department heads and the others at the front. Ray tried to not look too much at Jenny, representing her C3 section, but they did exchange smiles.
A large flat-screen display at the front of the room showed the Indiana chemical fire, less than an hour old. The sound was muted, but a banner across the bottom read, “At least fifteen dead, dozens wounded.”
The last to arrive, breathless, was Gail Summers, deputy head of propulsion. “Sorry, Aaron can’t stop what he’s doing.”
“Then you’ll have to brief him,” Admiral Schultz replied. “Go ahead and take a seat.”
Ray didn’t even wait for her to sit down. “The chemical plant explosion in Indiana was not an accident. The Chinese defense ministry has taken responsibility for the explosion, calling it ‘a strategic attack on the U.S. war machine.’ It says more will follow.”
Ray saw the reaction on many of their faces, but they were quiet, waiting. He only paused for just a moment, then explained, “That’s bad news, of course, but we didn’t call you here because of just that.” He nodded toward Admiral Schultz. “But because it’s a cyberattack, the admiral and I have decided you all need to know that eight days ago we arrested a Chinese spy, here at the project.”
They’d remained silent at the news of a Chinese cyberattack, but now almost everybody expressed surprise. A few started to ask questions, but Ray, raising his voice slightly, said, “We’ve kept it quiet this long because, as far as we know, the Chinese don’t know he’s been arrested. Colonel Evans will explain what happened.”
There was immediate silence as Evans spoke first about the suspicions of a spy, without mentioning Lewe’s role, then about the dead drop and the use of video surveillance to get confirmation. Evans kept it short and left the spy’s identity for the end.
“It was Glenn Chung, in the IT section.” That provoked another verbal reaction from the group, but Evans kept talking, and they quickly fell silent. “We briefed Josh immediately after the arrest, of course.” He motioned to the IT section head.
Josh Blake was in his late thirties and a little overweight. Glasses and premature baldness only emphasized his round face. He held up a plastic envelope with a small black plastic box inside. “We found six of these attached to hubs on different secure servers. They capture and record anything that passes by. The FBI has the other five. I’ll pass this one around. Do not break the evidence seal. If you do, Colonel Evans will make whoever does fill out the paperwork.”
He handed the device to Ethan Kirsch, head of the power section, who examined it and passed it on. Blake said, “My people, assisted by others from the FBI and other three-letter federal agencies, have checked every network and transmission line, and we appear clean. But after this latest incident, we’re checking everything again.”
Evans added, “Note that it looks handmade. We don’t know if Chung built these himself, but virtually all our IT gear is off the shelf. If you see anything else that looks homemade, of any size, contact me immediately, and I mean it. If you see any strange behavior from your IT systems, or from anyone working on your IT systems, call me first, then call Josh for tech support. Put me on your speed dial, if I’m not there already.”
The colonel paused for a moment and looked to Schultz. The admiral stood and said, “Some of the material Chung sent could be used to facilitate sabotage”—he held out his hand to forestall the immediate questions—“which is why there were bomb dogs all over the complex last week.”
Schultz added firmly, “I believe that if the Chinese were able to sabotage Defender or make some sort of cyberattack on us, they would have already done so. T
here’s no indication that Chung placed any other devices, electronic or explosive, outside of the computer networks, and we didn’t find anything after a most thorough search. But we can never be one hundred percent certain. Which is why we’re telling you now.”
Ray said, “For the moment, this stays at the department head level, although you can brief your deputies,” he said, nodding toward Gail. “But nobody else, and don’t even discuss this with each other. If you see anything that seems off, contact Colonel Evans immediately and let him make the call about whether it was your imagination or not.”
U.S. Space Force Headquarters
Edwards Air Force Base
Office Annex
December 3, 2017
Ray heard the klaxon in his office. It was a security alert, but this time, there was no announcement over the loudspeaker. He ran to the window but couldn’t see anything. Then the three short bursts sounded again, followed by the PA announcement of an unidentified approaching aircraft.
His first thought, of the hydrogen and oxygen tanks at the pad, was so frightening that his mind raced. Then he heard machine gun fire, close by. Desperate to know what was happening, he dashed down the stairwell next to his office and ran outside.
Others were standing outside the annex, tasks forgotten as they pointed to the west. He didn’t see where the firing had come from. The hangar doors, normally open, were closing.
An open-topped Humvee loaded with armed Marines roared up. An officer waved frantically and yelled, “Everyone get inside. Take cover!”
A pair of Marines jumped out and started herding them back toward the annex, but one of them recognized Ray. “It’s Mr. McConnell, hold up,” and pointed toward the officer.
Ray nodded his thanks and headed for the vehicle at a trot, but as he approached, a Marine began firing a heavy machine gun mounted on the roof. The sudden noise almost knocked Ray off his feet. The officer, a lieutenant directing the fire, spotted Ray and pulled him off to one side.
“It’s a full alert. Radar’s detected a slow-moving aircraft headed for the complex. It’s already inside the prohibited zone, and the pilot won’t answer on the radio.”
