“Get ready, Captain,” a tech said. “Liftoff is T-minus thirty.”
“I’m ready,” said Han, his mouth dry. He knew what he was supposed to do. He’d been thinking about it during the preparation. This was the greatest space attack in history, and he was afraid it might trigger World War Three.
I don’t want a nuclear holocaust. The Americans are sure to have located Nexus Command. If China and America exchanged nuclear weapons, this place would cease to exist, of that he had no doubt. Han knew the government had poured time, tech and money into building an impenetrable bunker, but he was sure it couldn’t survive a direct nuclear hit.
“Relax, Captain, you’ll do fine,” a tech said again.
Han had total faith in his abilities. He was the best in China at remote controlling. It was the results after the space attack that he wasn’t so sure about. By the tech’s nervous voice and constant reassurances, Han realized the tech also knew this could be the end of the world for them in this underground facility.
“All right,” another tech said. “This is it. Ten…nine…eight…”
***
Boost phase had lasted five minutes, sending Han’s King of Heaven missile into Low Earth Orbit.
“All systems are on,” a tech said. “It’s your show, Captain.”
Han’s mouth had dried out even more, making it impossible to speak. With his integrated VR system, he could have sworn he’d felt the vibration of the climbing King of Heaven, the roar of the three-stage rocket. Virtual reality imaging—it had become almost too good.
“Captain Han?” a tech said.
Han tried to swallow so he get could enough moisture in his mouth to speak.
“His heart rate is increasing.”
“Inject him!”
“No,” Han said. He didn’t want any drugs. He didn’t want to mar his thinking. His mind was his greatest asset, and the thought of fiddling with it through drugs frightened him.
“Hurry, Doctor, his heart rate has jumped again. You must inject him.”
Down in the pit, Han shook his head. “No injections, please,” he managed to whisper.
“Did you say something, Captain?”
“Please, no—”
There was a stab of pain in his shoulder. Han blinked rapidly. They had injected him. They had just done it.
“Captain, you must concentrate. The first target is coming into range. Captain! Can you hear me?”
Han blinked rapidly. They had injected him. They were modifying his behavior through drugs. How dare they do that to him. He was the best remote controller in China. Didn’t they understand what that meant?
“What’s wrong with him?” a tech asked.
“Captain Han!”
“I see it,” Han whispered. There was a cooling sensation in his mind. He was calmer. “Energizing now,” he said, twitching his gloves.
The massive King of Heaven missile had a nuclear power-plant embedded in it. It was to provide the energy for the missile’s long-range pulse-laser. The laser would need the strength and range in order to destroy the American GPS satellites high in geosynchronous orbit. The King of Heaven would need the nuclear power to destroy other American satellites afterward.
“Engaging laser,” said Han, who began to target the first GPS satellite.
VANDENBERG BASE, CALIFORNIA
Klaxons wailed as the base’s silos began opening like flowers. Moments later, the first ASBM missiles began to emerge for liftoff. They were the TX Mod-3. The ‘T’ stood for Triton, the ‘X’ was for Experimental. Mod-3 meant this was the third major modification of the Triton missile type.
The base’s commander watched from his bunker. He knew the President was dubious about this. The GPS satellites and other recon satellites were gone, swept away by the Chinese sneak attack. The Joint Chiefs had probably told the President the ASBMs wouldn’t be any good without real-time information.
At least our ABM lasers killed those Chinese laser-firing missiles, but not before they destroyed our most critical space assets.
The base commander grinned tightly. The Chinese hadn’t counted on the Mod-3 Triton. The Mod-3 was linked to over-the-horizon radar stations, and even now, the Navy was launching UAVs. The missiles would use data gained from those high-flying drones.
The thirty-three thousand pound missiles were ready. Each was thirty-five feet long. The engine was solid fueled. Its operational range was nineteen hundred miles, approximately three thousand kilometers. It was more than enough to hit the Chinese Fleet threatening to enter the Gulf of Alaska.
“Sir?” asked a major.
“Launch them,” whispered the base commander. “It’s payback time.”
Thirty seconds later, the ground shook as the first Triton ASBM roared into life, causing a great billowing cloud to engulf its launch pad.
The Tritons roared for the heavens. The initial boost phase lasted three point one-five minutes. The heavy rockets put the missiles into sub-orbital space flight. None of the missiles were intended to complete an orbital revolution around the Earth. Each missile’s flight path used a trajectory that went up and down in a relatively simple curve, well before it had a chance to orbit around the Earth like a recon satellite.
These were ship-killing missiles, essentially, they were ICBMs without nuclear warheads. The Tritons would use a conventional warhead and kinetic energy to destroy its targets. At the time of impact, each missile would be traveling at Mach 10.
The individual Tritons received telemetry information and made course corrections. They were beginning the mid-course phase of their flight. Triton missiles were MIRVed. They each carried multiple warheads with individual targeting abilities. Each Triton also used MaRVs, maneuverable reentry vehicles. Before those final maneuvers took place, the ASBMs would launch metallic-coated balloons. The balloons would carry the same thermal readings as the warheads and would hopefully fool Chinese targeting. Each Triton would also launch a full-scale warhead decoy to frustrate even further Chinese radar.
PRCN SUNG
The pride of the Chinese Navy was the supercarrier Sung. It was a massive ship, displacing one hundred and eight thousand tons. Its air wing of ninety modern fighters, bombers, tankers and electronic warfare planes gave it great offensive power. There were seven other supercarriers in the invasion fleet. Each had its escort of cruisers, destroyers, supply-ships, submarines, helicopter-tenders and other vessels.
The fleet was spread out across this tiny portion of the Pacific Ocean as it neared the tip of the Aleutian Islands. It was a grand armada of a type not seen since World War Two. Fighters flew Combat Air Patrol, CAP. Farther behind and much higher in the atmosphere, giant Type Nine COIL planes flew CAP. Those lumbering monsters had one task, shooting down incoming enemy ballistic missiles. They protected the Navy fighting ships and the vast number of cargo vessels carrying nine brigades of Chinese naval infantry, a regiment of Army T-66 tri-turreted tanks and fuel, food and munitions for the coming fight.
Admiral Niu Ling commanded the armada from the Sung. The giant supercarrier moved like a serene beast through the gray waters. Admiral Ling was old, but looked older. He was missing his left arm, while the left side of his face never moved. He’d been in an aircraft accident fifteen years ago as a two-seater had landed badly on a flight deck. Fortunately, his one good eye shone darkly. Ling was a gruff old man, wearing his injuries like armor. How could anyone hurt him more than he’d already hurt himself?
“Admiral,” an officer said. “The Americans have launched their ASBMs at the fleet.”
The old man grunted.
“If you’ll come over here, sir,” the officer said, escorting the admiral to a com-board.
Admiral Ling studied the board before he snapped off an order, “Alert the cruiser and destroyer captains. Then engage the joint Ballistic Missile Defense System. Let us see who is superior, the fallen Americans or us.”
The fleet’s cruisers and destroyers rushed into defensive mode as horns wailed on
the many ships. The computer systems were integrated, run from the mighty AI Kingmaker in the Sung. The fleet had practiced seven dry runs throughout the many days of the supposed naval exercise for just this eventuality.
The sky was overcast as the first defensive MIR-616 Standard Missile 4 blasted off from the Chinese cruiser Eastern Thunder.
The SM-4 was six point five-five meters long. It had a wingspan of one point seven-five meters and an operational range of five hundred kilometers. Its flight ceiling was one hundred and sixty kilometers, approximately one hundred miles.
The AI Kingmaker on the Sung used Chinese GPS satellites and INS semi-active radar to track the approaching missiles. It used that information to integrate its anti-missile defense.
On other cruisers and destroyers, SM-4 missiles began their first stage liftoff. Each used a solid-fuel Aerojet booster.
From the bridge of his supercarrier, Admiral Ling watched in admiration as a great flock of anti-missiles sped into the gray sky.
The Chinese Fleet now took emergency maneuvers as the warships made erratic course changes every fifteen seconds. At the same time, the SM-4s roared out of human eyesight. The AI Kingmaker kept track of them, however, as it kept feeding them information.
As the first stage rocket fell away, the second stage dual thrust rocket motor took over. More GPS data poured into the missiles as they rapidly climbed out of the atmosphere and into space. The third stage MK 136 solid-fueled rocket motor used pulse power until the last thirty seconds of interception.
It was an information and electronic war now as the SM-4s sought to destroy the carrier-killing Tritons.
Computers decisions were made in nanoseconds. On a SM-4, the third stage separated. The Lightweight Exo-Atmospheric Projectile sent the kinetic warhead at its chosen target. Chinese sensors on the kinetic warhead attempted to identify the most lethal part of the target and steered for it.
The seconds ticked by, and the kinetic warhead impacted against one of the Triton’s warheads. The SM-4 hit and provided one hundred and thirty megajoules of kinetic energy to the American object, destroying the first warhead of the battle.
MUKDEN, P.R.C.
Finished with his duties some time ago, a dazed Captain Han stood to the side. He watched operations in the large Nexus Central Command Underground Station. Green-jacketed operators at various stations used touch screens. Standing behind them, Space Service officers cursed or stared fixedly at the TVs. Others spoke into receivers.
“There, sir,” an operator said, “If you’ll look up on the big screen.”
Han turned his attention to the Nexus’s big screen, tracking the flock of ASBMs approaching the invasion fleet. Red blips had ASBM numerals under them. One winked out, a kill by a SM-4.
No one cheered yet. It was much too early for that.
The fleet was a cluster of blue-colored blips that cruised just south of the Aleutian Islands off the Alaskan Peninsula.
“Make certain the pilots are alerted,” the Air Commodore said.
Han noticed yellow blips. The majority of them circled the blue blips. They were Type Nine laser-planes on combat air patrol around the fleet. A few yellow blips moved away from the Kamchatka Peninsula of Siberia and toward the fleet. They would likely be far too late for the battle. The planes used short-ranged lasers, at least short as compared to the strategic ABM lasers.
“Where are the space-mirrors?” Han asked. “Why don’t we use them?”
A tech watching beside him whispered, “What was that, Captain?”
“Why aren’t we using our space-mirrors, bouncing our ABM lasers off them to destroy these ASBMs?”
“The Americans had the foresight to attack and de-calibrate the mirrors,” the tech replied.
Han nodded sagely. The Americans had fallen behind in the technological race. But they were still cagey.
More ASBM blips began to wink out on the big screen. That still left far too many. They would surely destroy the supercarriers, the heart of the fleet’s offensive power. That would end the invasion before it began. How would the Chairman and the Ruling Committee react to that?
“Why aren’t our Type Nine planes firing yet?” the Air Commodore asked.
“Range, sir,” one of the nearest operators said. “In another thirty seconds—”
“That’s cutting it too fine,” the Air Commodore said, as he stepped closer to the big screen. The Air Commodore arched his head to look up as he clenched his fists.
“Sir!” an operator said. “The Tritons are entering the atmosphere. The terminal phase has begun and the enemy warheads are maneuvering.”
Han didn’t know how anyone could make sense of the big screen. It was a blizzard of lines and colored blips. He noticed that lines stabbed from the yellow blips. The lines connected to the fast-moving red blips. There was less than two minutes to impact.
PACIFIC OCEAN
The Triton warheads with their semi-maneuverable vehicles and advanced guidance systems zeroed in on the supercarriers or anything that looked or gave the electronic signature of a giant ocean-going vessel.
High in the atmosphere, however, were the Type Nine COIL anti-ballistic planes flying combat air patrol. Each plane had a medium-ranged-powered laser, much weaker than China’s strategic ABM lasers. The plane’s lasers were chemical-powered as compared to the heavier pulse-lasers ringing China.
Each Type Nine was as large as a Chinese cargo airbus used to transport a main battle-tank to distant theaters of war. Each Type Nine used a COIL weapon: a chemical oxygen iodine laser. The beam was infrared and therefore invisible to the naked eye. A mixture of gaseous chlorine, molecular iodine with hydrogen peroxide and potassium hydroxide fed the laser. A halogen scrubber cleaned traces of chlorine and iodine from the laser exhaust gases. The focusable beam was transferred by an optical fiber, and it speared through the atmosphere at the Triton warheads.
The COIL planes represented China’s entire fleet, kept aloft by tankers. The scale of the operations was immense and impressive.
The Type Nine COIL planes continued to stab their lasers at the last warheads. The SM-4 missiles and the COIL beams had destroyed ninety-three percent of the attack. Now, the few American warheads to survive the journey began to strike with fantastic results.
PRCN SUNG
Admiral Ling gazed out of the ballistic glass on the supercarrier’s bridge. Something flashed down from the heavens. There was a brighter flash on the horizon. Ling stood frozen for a moment. Then he turned to a computer screen.
There was a sweaty, frightened odor on the bridge as the crew waited for life or death.
“No,” Ling groaned.
“They destroyed a carrier,” an operator whispered.
“Look, sir,” an excited operator told Ling. “The next one hit a camouflaged destroyer.”
The Sung’s XO laughed, nodding happily.
Admiral Ling didn’t laugh. He was glad the next warhead had missed another carrier. Yes, the last hit was good for China and the invasion fleet, but not good for the sailors on the destroyer. They had pulsed signals, trying to electronically mimic a carrier. The crew had paid the ultimate price for their success.
A terrific explosion occurred nearby.
Stricken, Admiral Ling looked up. “Was that another carrier?”
“…no, sir,” an operator said. “I think the warhead hit a fuel tender.”
Admiral Ling nodded sickly, waiting for it to be over. How many more ships would the Americans hit?
There was yet another explosion, another massive spot on the horizon. Everyone on the bridge waited. Ling was finding it hard to breath.
“Another fuel tender, sir,” an officer said.
Ling nodded.
Then a horn blared. It was the AI Kingmaker’s way of saying that the ASBM attack was over.
“We did it,” the XO told Admiral Ling. The man grinned. “Soon it will be our turn to attack the Americans.”
Admiral Ling became thoughtful. They had sur
vived with most of the fleet intact. Rubbing his stump of a left shoulder, Admiral Ling sighed. His fleet was headed toward the tip of the Aleutian Islands. The invasion of Alaska was about to begin.
ANCHORAGE, ALASKA
‘Professor’ Stan Higgins checked his watch. He had ten minutes to talk to his dad. Then he had to hightail it to the National Guard Depot. The news yesterday about the Chinese Fleet had frightened everyone at school.
We attacked the fleet with ASBMs and failed to take it out. They’ve already taken out two of our supercarriers in San Francisco. It looks like the Chinese are winning.
Stan sat in a cubicle with ballistic glass and a phone before him. The door in the other room opened. His dad Mack Higgins wore orange prison garb and was flanked by a guard. Mack looked around in confusion.
It hurt to see his dad like this. His father stooped more and his leathery skin sagged on his face. The worst was his cloudy eyes and that his wrists were handcuffed. What was the reason for that?
Stan banged on the glass to get his dad’s attention.
Instead of gaining that, a guard in the visitor’s room told him, “Hey, don’t hit the glass. If you do it again your time is over.”
Stan hunched his shoulders. He waved to his dad. The guard with Mack grabbed his dad’s arm. Big Mack Higgins flinched. More than anything else, that put a pit of pain in Stan’s gut. What had the guards done to his dad to make that happen? His father was a brave man, not easily frightened.
Has Officer Jackson been in to hit him again?
One of these days, Stan would like to face off with Jackson, both of them with nightsticks. Jackson was bigger and might have more training with the sticks, but Stan would jump at the chance to have a fair fight without the law involved. Then they would see what happened.
His dad sat down on the stool in the other cubicle. Stan picked up his phone and smiled. The cloudiness was still in his dad’s eyes.
Invasion: Alaska Page 21
