Shattered Trident

by Larry Bond

  “I don’t get it.” Kirkpatrick’s tone mixed worry and confusion. “The display showed at least three batteries in range. Only one engaged. The sub base is untouched, but the other two targets…”

  “Find out what happened,” barked Myles. “If the Chinese have put a hex on our interceptors, we need to find out.”

  Kirkpatrick turned and started walking quickly toward the watch floor, when Myles’s voice called him to a stop. “And Ray, get our submarines clear of the area. This war is now beyond our abilities to stop.”

  9 September 2016

  0211 Local Time

  JDS Atago (DDG-177)

  Off the Noto Peninsula, in the Sea of Japan

  Captain Okubo Atsushi checked his watch and smiled. Four and a quarter minutes to battle stations manned and ready. Of course, they had good reason for being so quick.

  Okubo picked up the shipwide PA microphone. “This is the captain. Our national air defense network has detected ballistic missiles fired by China, headed for targets across Japan. They will enter our engagement range in a little over a minute. We are the first line of defense. Center your thoughts, do your jobs. Today you will all be heroes!”

  “Sir, Seasnake Two is airborne.” The helicopter controller’s voice came over his headset.

  “Tell him to watch for suspicious surface craft, as well as submarines.” Okubo had been flying the rotors off his two helicopters since they’d assumed this station. He was uncomfortable with the “bathtub” he’d been assigned, a box on the map just ten miles square. Warships were designed to move. Staying in the same area while radiating his radar nonstop was an open invitation to the Chinese.

  But it was necessary. The central display was zoomed well out, showing the entire Sea of Japan. Okubo could see not only his ship, but also Myoko to the north and Ashigara to the south, their missile coverage overlapping to protect all of Honshu and Shikoku, and part of Kyushu. He’d asked for, and been honored with, the center station: the hot spot, guarding Tokyo. Unfortunately, to prevent gaps in the coverage the defending ships were glued to their stations.

  Lieutenant Takagi, the missile officer, reported, “Our radar has detected the missiles. We have a good track.” The hostile symbols on the display shifted slightly as the secondhand data from the air defense network was replaced by information directly from the destroyer’s own SPY-1D radar. Atago could have fired using the other sensor data, but this was better.

  “Radar detects five targets. Engaging closest three.” Takagi’s voice was even. He had said those words hundreds of times in synthetic exercises. Okubo depended on that familiarity now.

  “Use standard firing doctrine.” Takagi acknowledged the order with a nod. The system would assign two missiles to each target. In full autonomous mode, the Aegis fire control system would fire automatically when the hostiles were in range.

  The only limitation was that they only had three illuminators, so their first salvo would only engage three of the five possible targets. A second salvo would go after the other two, plus any stragglers from first engagement, but it would follow ten seconds later, and the hostiles would be farther downrange.

  “Captain! Seasnake’s radar has multiple high-speed contacts, inbound! Range forty-seven nautical miles, bearing two nine two.”

  Okubo looked at the display. Datalinked from the helicopter’s radar, four “unknown” contacts had appeared on the screen, but he could see the symbols move across the display, much too fast for a surface vessel. The helicopter’s surface-search radar beam was pointed down. Normally it wouldn’t even see aircraft. These were clearly air contacts, but they must be skimming the surface.

  How fast? It took the computer two beats to get enough information to calculate the speed, and numbers appeared next to the unknown contacts. Almost six hundred knots. Large, subsonic, but no radar emissions? Were they cruise missiles? But fired from what? Then they disappeared from the display. Okubo’s insides turned to ice.

  Normally, Atago could deal easily with aerial contacts like these, whatever they were, but the Aegis fire control system was in ballistic missile defense mode. It couldn’t engage aerodynamic contacts at the same time as ballistic missiles, and the Chinese were taking advantage of that. And he couldn’t shift from aerial targets to ballistic missiles and back quickly enough to deal with both threats. He was committed.

  “Launching in thirty seconds.” The missile officer’s voice was steady, focused.

  “Tell Falcon flight to radiate and engage,” Okubo ordered quickly. The unknown contacts were very low, and still over Atago’s radar horizon. Falcon flight, four F-2 fighters silently loitering at high altitude, was only ten miles to the east. They were high enough to see the intruders as soon as they lit off their radars.

  A siren on the weather decks sounded, loud enough to be heard even in CIC. The controller announced, “Ten seconds,” and Okubo reflexively braced himself, although there was no need.

  The first missile’s roar was background for the air controller’s report. “Falcon flight’s radars are on.” After a moment’s pause, “They have our unknowns—classified as Flankers. Falcons are firing.” All through the narrative, Okubo could hear Atago launching SM3 missiles, each roar following another at one-second intervals.

  The four air contacts reappeared on the screen, now labeled as “hostile aircraft.” They were accelerating, and climbing. “Still no radar emissions from the aircraft,” the air controller reported.

  The last of six SM3 missiles left Atago, roaring toward the incoming hostile missiles.

  Okubo saw new contacts on the display at the same time the air controller made his report. “Four new, very small contacts, evaluated as missiles. Range to Atago twenty-five nautical miles.”

  Okubo immediately ordered, “Falcons, engage the new contacts.” He told the CIC crew, “Stand by missile defense stations. Stand by chaff.” As he gave the last order, Okubo realized he still hadn’t seen any radars from the hostiles. Of course they didn’t need radar to find him, not with his SPY-1 energized. And the threat must be anti-radar missiles, homing in on his radar’s signal. He was right to have Falcon flight shift targets.

  Anti-radar missiles wouldn’t care about chaff. They simply homed in on the SPY-1’s radar signal, using it like a spotlight. And he couldn’t turn the radar off because his own SM3s needed it to find their targets.

  Another roar echoed outside, the beginning of the second salvo, another six missiles following ten seconds behind the first.

  The Chinese Flankers had turned away, diving back down to low altitude now that they’d launched their missiles. One of them suddenly disappeared, and the air controller reported, “Splash one.”

  Okubo felt no joy in revenge. The incoming missiles were fast; labeled now as Kh-31Ps, speed Mach 3. He knew his air cover had shot at them, but it was a four-way race now.

  “Splash one, splash two!” The missile officer’s near-shout was overtaken by a rattling sound. Atago’s Phalanx point-defense guns firing. One long burst from each, then a second burst from the forward mount.

  He had to see. Okubo left CIC and ran forward, but as he stepped onto the bridge, the windows were suddenly filled by black smoke laced with orange streaks. He’d felt no shock, but now there were metallic bumps and bangs, as if someone were throwing rocks, large ones, at Atago’s side. The doors to the bridge wing were open, and acrid smoke made them all cough.

  Holding on to the doorframe for support, he fought for air, and finally cleared his lungs. Looking up, he saw the night sky outside the bridge.

  The bridge phone talker reported, “Captain, damage control says we’ve taken a secondary hit. Ship control is good, but the radar’s been hit!”

  There was nothing to do here. He was back in CIC in moments, but many of the displays were dark. The main display still showed the tactical situation, but it was all secondhand data.

  “We missed the last two, sir,” Takagi said, upset, almost shaking. “I’m sorry, sir. The radar
went offline before the terminal seekers were in range. The secondhand data wasn’t as accurate, and we only splashed one more missile. Air defense was watching, they’ll engage with Patriots soon.” He was breathing hard, fighting for control. “I should have—”

  “Forget that. What happened to the radar?” Okubo demanded.

  “We lost two radar faces to fragments. The datalink showed missiles from Falcon flight splash two of the Kh-31s, and our Phalanx systems got the other two, but one was so close we got caught in the fireball.”

  “Sir, those missiles were aimed at Tokyo.” Takagi was staring into space. “If…”

  “No,” Okuda said sharply. “It couldn’t be helped. You did well. And whatever will happen is already under way.”

  9 September 2016

  0215 Local Time

  Littoral Alliance Headquarters

  Okutama, Nishitama District

  Tokyo, Japan

  There was no siren. They hadn’t been there long enough to have a warning system installed. Instead, every cell phone, tablet, and computer suddenly beeped, buzzed, and rang while displaying the simple message: Take cover immediately.

  Komamura’s shelter was in the house, but farther back, where the structure burrowed into the hillside. It was solid rock, they said, and would withstand anything short of the unthinkable.

  The shelter had been used for storage until quite recently, and even as he’d hurried in, staffers were shifting boxes and cartons to make more room for the thirty-plus people, most of them in pajamas, crowded into a space the size of a large bedroom.

  In deference to his rank, or age, or both, Komamura had been ushered to a fairly comfortable spot in the far corner, farthest in and farthest from the door. Sitting on a sturdy crate, he waited with the others, his back leaning against the cool rock wall. It had already become stuffy, and he could only wait for— What? An explosion? An all-clear?

  The air defense people had promised them about fifteen minutes’ warning. According to his cell phone, the alert had been sent almost that long ago. It had taken them far too long …

  There. He felt a sharp, sudden movement in the rock behind him, and for a moment he thought of earthquakes, but it lasted only a fraction of a second, and then the sound reached them all a moment later—a deep, hard, boom loud enough to prevent speech, if the surprise and fear hadn’t stopped it anyway. There was no sensation of blast, but a little dust fell from the ceiling.

  A few people tried to speak but were hurriedly shushed, as if to not attract attention. The all-clear signal, like the alert sent to everyone’s cell phone, made most of them jump, then laugh nervously. Everyone started to file out, and some made space for Komamura to go ahead of them, but he waved them on. He was comfortable, and suddenly reluctant to leave his place.

  He was the last to leave, and had planned to head straight back to bed. Instead, a commotion in the hall outside carried him forward to the front of the house. Shouts and sirens prevented him from asking any questions, and he finally worked his way into the open.

  A hundred meters away, on the hillside, a missile had struck. The impact point was easy to find by all the blown-over, burning trees. There was a lot of smoke, and small fires littered the nearby blast area. Helmeted rescue workers in bright-colored vests were already working with fire hoses to stop them from spreading.

  He was still working to grasp the force of the explosion. A DF-21 supposedly had about a half-ton warhead. If that had stuck the building …

  “Sensei!” It was Miyazaki, running again, but tearful and breathless. There was a dark, shiny patch of blood on her blue tracksuit, and the alarm must have shown on his face, because she quickly stopped and shook her head. “No, sensei, I’m fine, but the admiral…” That was all she could say before her legs gave out.

  With Komamura on one side and a staffer on the other, they lowered her to the ground. She sobbed, then pointed, back toward the explosion. “The storage shed, they were in there.”

  Komamura knew she meant another one of the shelters, separate from the main house, but solidly built, with rock walls and a timber roof. Admiral Kubo had been in that shelter, along with many others. Hisagi was in a third. They’d collectively decided that if the alliance headquarters were attacked, no country should have its entire delegation in the same shelter.

  He noticed rescue workers now, reflective white vests marked with red crosses, running around to the far side of the estate. Some of the staff headed in that direction too, but the professor stayed put. He didn’t want to see.

  Breathing carefully, Miyazaki spoke softly. “It was the closest shelter to the blast. After the all-clear sounded, I ran over to see how they were, but there was no shed, just rubble with the roof collapsed on top. We tried to pull it off, and some of it came away in pieces. Then I found Admiral Kubo, or at least I could see the top half of him. The rest was buried, and he wasn’t breathing, but his eyes were open…”

  She started shivering, and the professor found himself putting an arm around her shoulders. He intended to comfort her, but he found some strength in it as well. “There were more people killed, I think, and everyone in there must have been hurt. I’m sorry I didn’t stay to help. I don’t know first aid and when I saw the admiral I just panicked.”

  “It can’t be helped, child.” Komamura stood, then helped her to her feet. “We must move forward. Go change your clothes, then find Minister Hisagi for me. I’ll wait here.” Blinking and still sniffling, she bowed quickly and ran off. By the time she came back, he’d have thought of some other chore for her.

  Keeping busy was the best tonic. He tried to do the same thing, making a list of tasks, but found himself tripping over the first item: notifying Kubo’s family. His wife was dead, but he had three children. But could they even release such news? Wouldn’t the Chinese brag about such a thing?

  His thoughts jumbled together. The oldest was a girl. Natsuki. She lived outside Ueda. As he tried to remember the other two children’s names, Kubo’s face and voice filled his memory and the tears came.

  9 September 2016

  0130 Local Time

  41st Group Army Forward Headquarters

  10 km South of Pingxiang, Near the Vietnamese Border

  Lieutenant General Luo Shi found his chief of staff waiting outside the communications tent. “If we have to go tonight, are we ready?”

  Qu Ding almost saluted. “Yes, sir. Everything is in place.”

  “Good, because General Su himself just gave me the order. Get the staff together. I’ll speak to them in five minutes, but get word to the first-echelon units now. The infiltrators and engineers have to step off within the hour.”

  The ground campaign for Vietnam was under way.

  19

  EVACUATION

  9 September 2016

  0120 Local Time

  USS North Dakota

  West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

  The captain was in a foul mood. Jerry paced silently around the confined control room looking first at the sonar operator’s screens, then the useless fire control displays—still no trace of Chakra. After putting some distance between them and the Akula following Minot’s sinking, North Dakota had lost contact, but that was expected. Some forty hours later, Jerry’s sonarmen still hadn’t reacquired the elusive Indian. The only clues they had of Chakra’s whereabouts were two sets of distant explosions leading them northward, toward the Gulf of Tonkin.

  Jerry paused by the UUV control console. “Anything from Fargo?”

  “Sorry, Skipper, nothing,” replied the petty officer.

  Sighing deeply, Jerry gave the enlisted man a solid pat on the shoulder and made his way back to the CWS—the starting point for yet another lap. Thigpen watched as his captain beat a well-trodden path in the linoleum deck, and after almost two hours, his patience was gone. Inching closer to Jerry he whispered quietly, “If you want the watch, Captain, I don’t mind turning it over. I have plenty of other stuff to do.”

 
Jerry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Thigpen’s tone and the use of the word “captain” were a clear indication of his frustration. It was Thigpen’s watch as the command duty officer, Jerry’s had ended at midnight, but his silent lingering was putting everyone in control on edge.

  “Sorry, XO,” said Jerry. “It just grates me that we can’t find this guy.”

  “Join the crowd, sir,” Thigpen responded flatly. “But with all due respect, Captain, your rambling about is driving everyone in control crazy; and you know how short a trip that is for me.”

  Thigpen’s quip took most of the bite out of his comment, but the message was loud and clear. Jerry was distracting the watchstanders with his moping about, and as CDO, Thigpen was completely in the right to put a stop to it.

  “All right, all right, XO,” replied Jerry, chastened. “I’ll … just sit over here if you don’t mind.” Jerry pointed to one of the empty fire control chairs.

  “As long as you behave yourself,” jabbed Thigpen sternly. Lymburn desperately tried to stifle a laugh, but ended up emitting a loud snort instead.

  “Something wrong, Q?” Jerry asked with mock annoyance.

  “No, sir. Just clearing my throat. Ahem, Ahem,” replied the young lieutenant, smiling.

  “Hmph! Insubordinate twits,” Jerry muttered.

  INS Chakra

  50 km West of Hainan Island, South China Sea

  “Report, Number One,” demanded Samant as he strode into central post. He’d ordered Chakra to action stations just before he left the torpedo room, where he had supervised the loading of the first six land-attack cruise missiles.

  “Yes, Captain, all compartments report they are at action stations. All torpedo tubes are at action state, with the exception of opening the bow caps. The target’s coordinates have been successfully loaded into the missile’s guidance computers,” Jain answered promptly.

  “Did you double-check that the missiles’ navigation systems are selected to use Beidou satellite guidance?”