Red Tide: The Chinese Invasion of Seattle (Occupied Seattle Book 1)

by Christopher Kennedy

  He gestured to the northern part of the port. “We’ll put these up now, which will stop cell phone usage in this area, and then, once the Erawan pulls into port, these jammers will be augmented with some heavy jammers that the ship is carrying.”

  “How do these jammers work?” asked the private.

  Senior Sergeant Cheng was starting to get frustrated with all of the questions, but answered anyway. “Like other forms of jamming, cell phone jamming works by sending out stronger radio waves on the same frequencies that the cell phones are using, overriding them. The interference caused by this type of jamming disrupts the signal from the phone to the tower and the tower to the phone, rendering them unusable. In most cases, the owner of the cell phone wouldn’t even know the phone was being jammed, as the jamming causes the phone to display its roaming message or its ‘no tower in range’ message.”

  He gestured to the city, “Right now, there are four other teams setting up jammers, just like we are. These little jammers are 200 watt cell phone jammers, each of which will block out coverage within about 1/3 of a mile radius.”

  “They’re not that little,” complained the private. “I had to carry this one up here.”

  “Stop whining,” commanded the senior sergeant, “the equipment only weighs 70 pounds, so it’s not that big. Also, the carrying case looks like a big toolbox, so if the people carrying it are dressed like repairmen, like we are, no one is going to notice anything out of the ordinary. Besides,” he said, looking up as he finished setting up the jammer, “don’t complain; if nothing else, the view is outstanding!” From 29 stories up, the men had an excellent view of the city and could see much further than the seven block radius that no longer had cell phone service.

  Softball Fields, Everett Naval Station, WA, 1300 Pacific Daylight Time

  Commander Gao Qiang watched his teams getting ready to play, while looking at the rest of the naval base located to the south of the softball fields on Fletcher Way. Most of the naval bases he had seen in his career had been rather dingy affairs, built over long periods of time. While one style might have been in fashion when a base was started, new styles came and went, usually leaving a mish-mash of building styles, in addition to the industrial look of warehouses and ship support facilities. As all major naval bases were built on salt water, rust was a constant enemy of any fleet, regardless of its nationality. Unless a lot of time (and money) was spent on upkeep, the facilities on the waterfront generally developed at least an orange-red patina of rust, if not a full-fledged case of it.

  That wasn’t the case with Everett Naval Station. Located on the west side of the city of Everett, Washington, the Naval Station was a nice-looking facility, with buildings that were all built in the same style and painted the same colors. It gave a sense of peace and ‘oneness’ that most ports just didn’t have, appealing to his Buddhist sense of what was right while blending in well with the city to its east and the civilian marina located to its north. Judging by the plastic climbing structures in the fenced off area behind the building to his right, even the child care facility matched the rest of the naval station’s edifices.

  Laid out together on Fletcher Way, the two softball fields faced southwest and southeast, with bleachers in between. Bleachers also lined Fletcher Way on the north side of the fields, with what looked like a barracks facility to the south. On the other side of Fletcher Way, a parking lot supported both the marina and the softball fields, part of which had been blocked off for their use.

  It was a beautiful day for a game and, even though he didn’t know much about the sport, he was looking forward to seeing how his teams performed. On the eastern field, his “B” team was lining up against sailors from the USS Ford. Watching the Americans getting ready for the game, Commander Gao didn’t think that the contest would be much of a game. While his team, even though fairly new to the game of softball, threw the ball with precision, the Americans looked more like they were playing “fetch” than “catch,” as half of the pairs were retrieving overthrown balls at any given point. Perhaps they were just trying to make his team overconfident, Gao thought. They couldn’t really be this bad at their own national sport, could they? Looking at them, though, he didn’t think it was a ruse, as most of the players didn’t even look like athletes, and many had pot-bellied stomachs.

  It was a different story on the other field, though. The Americans there gave every indication that they not only had seen the game before, but were also very proficient at it. Two of the men on the team in particular were large and athletic, and were going around to the others, watching them throw and correcting perceived flaws in their throwing motions. Noticing his interest in them, one of the Americans in the bleachers next to him started talking to him.

  “You may win the game against the Ford,” he said, “but you’re going to lose this game. The Shoup has not one, but two people that played college baseball. The captain of the team, Lieutenant Raul Espinosa, had a scholarship to Georgia Tech University to play baseball, until he hurt his shoulder and had to quit. The other guy, Petty Officer Brad Davis, played Division 3 college ball and then some semi-professional baseball in Texas before he decided to enlist in the Navy. They’ve been working with the guys the last couple of weeks. I don’t think you have much of a chance against them.”

  “We shall see,” Commander Gao replied. “Our sailors have been working very hard and hope to bring much honor to the People’s Republic today. Baseball is not unknown in our country, and has seen considerable growth since one of our players got hired to play professionally here.” He looked at where the “A” team was warming up. Although they didn’t have the physical size of the Americans, they threw the ball accurately and with good velocity. “You may be surprised.”

  The umpires arrived and the teams all moved to their respective benches. Looking around at the two fields, Commander Gao saw that there were good crowds supporting the teams on both fields, as the games had been highly advertised. He had seen trucks from several television stations in the parking lot earlier and didn’t have to look far to see the camera crews in action, filming the public relations event for their nightly news. “The news will be very full tonight,” Commander Gao told the man next to him with a chuckle.

  The mayor of Everett walked out to the pitcher’s mound of the western “A” field with the Kunming’s Commanding Officer, Captain Tang Ping. The public relations people must be playing this up for all they are worth, thought Commander Gao, as he noticed the wireless microphone in the mayor’s hand. Looking around, he saw that several speakers had been placed in the bleachers areas so that everyone would be able to hear what the mayor said.

  “I would like to take this opportunity to welcome our guests from the People’s Republic of China,” said Mayor Tom Green. “We are very happy to have you visit our city. We hope that you will have time to get out and see the sights while you are here; I know that our folks have tried to line up some great tours for you. I’m looking forward to some good softball here today and have told our boys to be good hosts and not go too hard on you.” He smiled as a few people in the stands chuckled at his joke.

  He handed the microphone to Captain Tang, who knew a challenge when he heard one. “We are very happy to be here,” he said. “Thank you very much for your gracious welcome and for arranging trips so that my sailors can see all of your wonderful sights while we are here.” He smiled. “I, myself, hope to go many places and see many things while I am here.”

  He paused. “As some of you are aware, I’m sure, the People’s Republic just had our first baseball player, Peng Jun Jie, hired by an American team, the Mariners. What you may not know is that this has caused American baseball to grow in popularity in the People’s Republic. Our teams have trained for this match and are looking forward to giving you our best efforts. Do not worry about going ‘too hard’ on us; for we will be doing everything possible to beat you. In fact, I would like to propose one of your American ‘friendly wagers’ to you on the outcom
e of the game on this field. Whoever’s team loses has to take the winner out to dinner tomorrow night.” He handed the mayor the microphone.

  Commander Gao knew that this had been arranged earlier, so he wasn’t surprised with the challenge, although he agreed with his Captain’s annoyance. When the mayor had called the ship to welcome them, he had let it slip that he didn’t think the Chinese had much of a chance to win the softball games, arousing the ire of his commanding officer. While neither Commander Gao nor Captain Tang knew all that much about the game, having had other things to attend to prior to their departure from the People’s Republic of China, neither of them wanted to have the efforts of their men be disrespected by someone from another country. Commander Gao looked forward to the mayor’s disrespect being paid back in full, regardless of whether or not he had to take Captain Tang out to dinner.

  “You’re on!” said the mayor, acknowledging the bet. He smiled as if he could already taste his victory. “Now, if you would do the honors?”

  “Certainly,” said Captain Tang. Looking at the crowds gathered in the bleachers, he shouted, “Play ball!”

  Seattle ARTCC, Seattle, WA, 1300 PDT

  “Good Afternoon, sir,” said LCDR Lin to the portly gate guard that met them at the security checkpoint as they turned into the ATC facility from off of Auburn Way. “We are here to see Mrs. Barbara Morgan, the Air Traffic Manager. Along with the van behind us, we are the group from the Chinese ship Long. I believe we are expected.” He handed the guard his ID.

  The guard looked at his clipboard. “Yes, you are,” he said. “Please park in the lot to the left and go to the main door. I will have someone meet you there.”

  They parked the vans in the indicated lot and walked to the door of the facility, where they were met by a tall, brunette woman that appeared to be in her early 50s.

  “Welcome,” said the woman. “I am Barbara Morgan, the Air Traffic Manager for Seattle Center. In this position, I am responsible for air traffic control in the Northwest United States. Our airspace encompasses nearly 300,000 miles, including all of the state of Washington, most of Oregon, and portions of Montana, Idaho, Nevada and California. We have nine different approach control facilities, a Class B airport in Seattle, and four Class C airfields at Fairchild Air Force Base, Whidbey Island Naval Air Station, Portland International and Spokane International. We also have about 25 smaller Class D airfields that have tower facilities and 15 Class E airfields that don’t.”

  “Wow,” said LCDR Lin, bowing. “I think we’ve come to the right place to find out everything that we need to know about air traffic control in the area.”

  “Yes,” laughed Mrs. Morgan, “indeed you have.” She turned to the guard that was stationed at the door and picked up their visitor badges. She looked at the 11 people in front of her and frowned. “I was under the impression that there would be eight of you; six naval personnel and two civilian wives, but it seems that you brought five women.”

  LCDR Lin nodded. “When the wives of our sailors told their friends that there would be single men with their husbands, several of them asked to join us. It was nice for them to be able to speak Chinese to single men again.” He bowed. “It is my fault for not telling them “no.” As a military man, I understand completely about security, especially in so important a facility. If they are unable to join us due to your regulations, I will simply have them wait in the cars; it is no problem.”

  Mrs. Morgan considered his request for a moment before saying, “No, that is OK. It is a warm day out, and I’d hate to make them wait in the car.” She turned to the guard and asked for three more badges.

  “Thank you very much,” said LCDR Lin. “I greatly appreciate it.”

  As she handed out the badges, Mrs. Morgan told them, “These IDs must be kept in plain sight and worn somewhere between your hips and chin. Security is very important in the facility and is ensured by a variety of cipher locks and personal IDs. Because of this, you must be accompanied by a Federal Aviation Administration employee at all times; everyone must stay with the group. This is a bigger group than we normally give tours to; please help me out by paying attention and staying close.”

  LCDR Lin looked at the group and nodded. “We will,” he said.

  “I also need all of you to turn off your cell phones for the time that you are here,” instructed the Air Traffic Manager. “We will be seeing some sensitive electronic equipment on the tour and stray emissions could literally have catastrophic effects.”

  LCDR Lin nodded as he turned off his cell phone. “We have the same policies,” he said with a smile. “It will be quite satisfactory to have everyone’s cell phones off while we are here.’

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling back. She opened a cipher-locked door. “If you would follow me, I will show you the facility and then we can talk about how your aircraft can integrate into our system.”

  Softball Fields, Everett Naval Station, WA, 1325 Pacific Daylight Time

  Many friends and families had come out to support the American teams and about 150 Chinese nationals had driven up from the Zhejiang Geely Automobile factory. The alcohol was flowing, as many of the Americans had brought coolers of beer to the fields. One enterprising group of sailors from the USS Ford had gone so far as to bring a keg to the game, which was matched on the Chinese side by the 20-foot U-Haul truck that the Zhejiang Geely men had used to bring their own drinks and snacks. While Commander Gao was greatly in favor of the Americans drinking as much as they wanted, he was monitoring the alcohol intake of his men to ensure that they didn’t overindulge. While almost all of his sailors carried around cups or cans of beer, so that they would appear normal, most either sipped them or dumped them out when they went to the bathroom. There also seemed to be an unusually high incidence of beers that accidentally got knocked over for some reason. Overall, though, Commander Gao was sure that it would appear to anyone watching that a good time was being had by all.

  He smiled. His teams were doing as well as he could have hoped. Although only a couple of innings into the game, both of his teams had leads on their American rivals. At 8-1, his “B” team already had a good lead on the sailors from the USS Ford, who were lucky to have scored that one run. A walk, followed by an error by the Kunming’s shortstop, had put an American runner on third, where he had been driven in by the only well-hit ball so far by the Ford sailors. The ball was caught in center field, but it was deep enough for the runner to tag up and score. Commander Gao expected continued success on that field, especially as a couple of the USS Ford outfielders had started carrying their beers with them to the outfield. The Americans didn’t seem to be trying too hard to win; if anything, it almost looked like they were going out of their way to lose. They did, however, give every impression that they were having a lot of fun.

  It was a different story on the western field, where his “A” team clung to a narrow 3-2 lead. The two players from the USS Shoup that had played college baseball were much more serious about the game and were exhorting their comrades to do their best. They had also scored both of their team’s runs. Already down 3-0 in the bottom of the first inning and with two outs, Petty Officer Davis had hit a triple that bounced off the fence in center field. Although he probably could have scored, he was held at third base because their team captain, Lieutenant Espinosa, was up next. LT Espinosa got the pitch he was looking for and hit the ball so far that it not only cleared the left field fence, but put out a window on the first floor of the barracks next to the field. Their pitcher would have to be a lot more careful with him the rest of the game, thought Commander Gao, if they were going to have a chance at winning.

  Seattle ARTCC, Seattle, WA, 1330 Pacific Daylight Time

  “Thanks,” said John Thomas, as his relief sat down at his radar console. “I really need to hit the head.” Despite having left the navy five years ago, the former Special Operations air traffic controlman still used the word “head” to mean a bathroom. A former Senior Chief, his orders were t
erminated early in the 2013 sequestration process as the Navy looked for easy ways to trim billions of dollars from its budget. He had retired to Seattle to get away from it all and had picked up a job at the ARTCC to make some extra money. With 21 years of guiding aircraft to targets in a high-stress environment (i.e., one where people were actively trying to kill you), he found the environment of an air traffic control facility to be far less stressful than most of the other people that worked there did. Still, nature took its toll, and he walked carefully around the dim room in order to answer its call.

  In the early days of air traffic control, it was necessary to have the radar rooms dark, in order to see the radar displays. This environment had persisted into the 1990s, when new radar technology had allowed the ambient light levels to be raised. Although they no longer “needed” to have it dark, most controllers were used to the dim lighting and preferred it that way, perhaps because it lent an aura that made working in an ATC facility seem more exotic and mysterious than other jobs. Regardless of the reason, radar rooms persisted in being kept darker than normal office rooms, which required extra vigilance in walking around them.

  As he walked out the door of the radar room, a large group of visitors was walking in. He recognized the Chinese naval uniforms on the six men (one officer and five enlisted, he noted automatically) who were entering with five women (who also looked Asian.) He remembered hearing that the Chinese Navy was in town; he decided that they must be trying to spy on how Americans did air traffic control. The navy personnel were probably still trying to learn everything they could to better operate the new aircraft carrier that they had just put into service. He held the door for them to enter and then shut it securely, forgetting the visitors as his original purpose (and need) reasserted itself.