by Peter Nealen
“But this wasn’t a small operation. They’ve got to know we’re out here. The fact that nobody’s said a word…”
“The same issue applies, Captain,” Vetter said tiredly. “There are those who still don’t get it, but FedGov is far too weakened to try to take on the Triarii on our home turf. And the powers that be know it. They don’t want to pick a fight when they’re already hanging on by their fingernails. The ones who are smart enough to know don’t want to rock the boat in either direction, which is why they’ve kept their mouths shut. But if we drag the Lake Erie into this, that’s going to change.”
Smythe didn’t have an answer, but from the look on his face, he couldn’t quite believe it.
“We’ll continue on our planned course and move carefully.” Vetter got back onto the subject. “We’ll need to recon and plan our next moves with a lot more patience. We might even need to back off for a little bit, until the Chinese get less paranoid.” He paused. “There’s some significant danger in that, as well, because they might not get complacent, but just use the breather to entrench their position further instead. Still, our next moves are going to depend in large part on what, exactly, they do over the next couple of days. We’re going to need that much time to get back out into the islands, anyway.
“Get some rest while you can, gentlemen. We’re going to be back in the suck shortly.”
***
It was almost a day later before they finally got some idea of what had happened to the Amerlin, Outcast, and Clairvoyant.
The thermal drone camera view was highly pixelated and taken from a considerable distance, a good fifty nautical miles. But it could still make out the shapes of the two converted trawlers and the large yacht.
When they suddenly blossomed with explosions and began to burn, Hank leaned in toward the screen and ran the video back. “Could anyone else see what just happened?”
“It looked like a cluster bomb strike. Except it was a lot more precise.” Spencer was leaning over his shoulder, squinting at the screen. “Never seen a cluster munition only hit the target. There should have been dozens of bomblets hitting the water.”
Chan was frowning, shaking his head as he rubbed his chin with one thumb. “No, it wasn’t a cluster bomb. Especially since it hit all three ships at almost the same time.”
Hank let the video play again, but the distance and the limitations of the thermal image—the strike had happened in the middle of the night—made it almost impossible to see enough detail. He straightened, his eyes narrowed, then tapped a finger on the desk. “I think I know what happened, and it ain’t good.”
“Well, no shit it ain’t good.” Lind had been leaning against the back of the chair while the leadership clustered around the workstation. “But what exactly do you think it is?”
“Drone swarm.” Hank’s grim words seemed to hang in the air for a moment.
“Oh, hell.” Chan half turned aside as he swore. “I didn’t know they had those damned things on ships now.”
“Why wouldn’t they?” Lind growled. “It’s a hell of a weapon. And apparently, it works.”
“Assuming that it is a drone swarm, and not something else.” Chan put his hands up as every eye turned to him. “I’m not saying it’s not. It’s the most likely explanation, especially since the Chinese demonstrated the tech years ago.” They’d all seen the video of the truck-bed mounted box launcher, elevating and launching dozens of small drones like a Katyusha rocket launcher. “We can’t get so wrapped around that particular explanation that we miss it if it turns out to be something else.”
“Agreed, but given what information we’ve got, I’d say we wouldn’t go wrong keeping drone countermeasures warmed up, just in case,” Hank said.
“No argument from me. But here’s the other thing.” Chan pointed at the screen. “Those ships were over twenty nautical miles away from Johnson South Reef. They were nowhere near any rock, reef, or island that the Chinese have laid claim to. They were on course toward Johnson South Reef, but they weren’t anywhere near it yet.”
No one commented at first. The Triarii leaders just took in that bit of information grimly. Smythe broke the silence. “That means they’re hitting anyone who isn’t one of theirs if it looks like they’re moving toward a Chinese ship or installation.”
“Maybe.” Hank waved at the still image of the fireballs on the screen. “We don’t have any comms from the sunk ships to know for sure what happened immediately before.”
“It does seem likely, though, especially after Gaven Reef,” Lind pointed out.
“So, we’ll step carefully, and maintain drone recce as much as possible.” Hank folded his arms as he frowned down at the maps on the table. “If we see anything in the drone feeds that either smacks of jamming or hostile movement, we move away.”
“And if they pursue?”
“Then we fight.” Hank didn’t hesitate, though he knew how difficult that would be without a destroyer escort. “Any way we can.”
***
By the time the Jacqueline Q was back on station, just off Charity Reef, the severity of the Chinese reaction had become even more evident.
Hank, Chan, Lind, and Spencer were watching the drone feed, currently focused on the Changsha, another Type 052D destroyer, escorted by the frigate Jingzhou and the corvettes Meizhou and Jieyang. The small flotilla was cruising in a wide racetrack between Mischief Reef and Johnson South Reef. Both the Changsha and the Jingzhou regularly had their helicopters out, circling the small task force, but there were drones up, as well.
The drone traffic meant that the Triarii had to keep their distance with their own unmanned plane, but that had become standard operating procedure.
What wasn’t normal was the fact that the destroyer and her escorts had just turned south, toward a Vietnamese fishing vessel that had just passed by Johnson South Reef to the east, coming from Sin Cowe Island, one of Vietnam’s main outposts in the Spratly Islands. The fishing vessel hadn’t done anything untoward or suspicious, but the Chinese were moving to intercept her, anyway.
Hank wasn’t sure how he felt about this. Two Communist countries picking on each other wasn’t his idea of a bad thing. But at the same time, the Vietnamese were still allies, if only of convenience, and these particular Vietnamese hadn’t done anything to deserve to be attacked, at least not so far as they could determine.
“Can we listen in? They’ve got to be using open comms if they’re talking to a fishing trawler.” Chan looked around at where Dominic was on the radios.
“Let me see.” A moment later, a scratchy but legible transmission came through, in accented Seaspeak.
“…prepare to be boarded.” The strident demand was clearly coming from one of the PLAN ships.
The Vietnamese captain protested, but it was obvious that the Chinese weren’t having any of it. The corvettes were closing in on the fishing trawler’s flanks.
Every eye snapped fully open as the Meizhou suddenly opened fire on the fishing boat with her 76mm gun. Ugly black puffs spat from the muzzle as it recoiled back into the turret, and hefty flashes erupted along the Vietnamese fishing vessel’s side, debris spalling off and spiraling into the water.
Shouts and frantic calls to cease fire burst from the radio, but were suddenly silenced, probably when the 76mm fire smashed through the Vietnamese boat’s transmission tower.
The corvette kept up the fire until the fishing boat was wallowing on the ocean, black smoke belching from her engineering spaces, clearly dead in the water. Then the Chinese ships pulled away, returning to their patrol route.
For a moment, the Triarii just watched the feed, as the Chinese ships steamed away, ignoring any possible survivors in the water, and the Vietnamese fishing boat burned.
It was Chan who broke the silence. “Well, they’ve made the stakes obvious enough, haven’t they?”
“Yeah, they have.” Hank glowered at the white silhouettes of the Chinese warships on the screen. “This mission just got a
lot harder, boys.”
Chapter 33
The situation got worse as they rounded the southwestern tip of Palawan and continued north.
Reports and distress signals were filtering down from raider groups in the Spratlys. They weren’t getting hammered as hard as they might have been because the Chinese were hitting the Vietnamese and Philippine traffic as well, but the Spratly Islands had clearly just become a non-permissive environment.
Hank watched the red dots gather on the plot in the command center. A ring of steel was being thrown around the Spratly Islands, as fast as the PLAN Southern Fleet could move in. And where ships weren’t close enough to intercept any vessel not flying a Chinese flag, air and drone strikes were moving on them.
Three Triarii torpedo boats and one of the converted cargo ships turned arsenal ship, steaming past Cuarteron Reef, were hit by YJ-83s launched by a flight of J-15s off the Shandong. One of the Chinese fighters was shot down by Stingers off the arsenal ship—Hank wondered just how the Triarii had gotten their hands on those, but there were some questions better not asked—but the follow-up strike had blown the ship out of the water from range.
A Taiwanese research ship off Itu Aba Island, apparently every so slightly too close to Chinese ships, was struck by a suicide drone that slammed into her superstructure, just before a second hit near the waterline, sinking her.
Another fishing trawler converted to an assault ship, moving on several Chinese fishing boats near Gaven Reef was hit by another airstrike. A pair of J-10s off Subi Reef, armed with YJ-91 missiles, sent her to the bottom without warning. Sam Forsyth’s section went down with the ship in minutes.
More and more red dots cropped up. Things were looking grim. However, he couldn’t help but notice that there were a lot more blue dots outside the cordon than inside.
“Got an all hands coming in from Vetter.” Shevlin was taking a turn at the comms, watching the laptop that was tied into the mesh network radios. “Looks like it’s text.”
Hank nodded, looking around for Chan. The other section leader wasn’t up on deck, but then, it was his turn for rest plan. They were still far enough out that they didn’t need a full stand to. “Let’s see it.”
Shevlin brought up the message window and turned the screen so Hank could read over his shoulder.
All units east of 112 degrees longitude, make for 11 degrees, 30 minutes North, 119 degrees, 36 minutes E. All units currently within the PLAN cordon, proceed with caution, stay twenty nautical miles or more from any PLAN vessel, and adjust your course to avoid any Chinese vessel or installation.
All units west of 112 degrees longitude, check in and stand by for further orders.
Tango Charlie sends.
Hank straightened. “Print that off, will you?” He wanted a hard copy to take up to Smythe. The more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that Vetter had used text to keep the transmission too short for the Chinese to potentially zero in on. Things had taken a turn, and not for the better.
“Are we cutting and running?” Shevlin sounded rather conflicted about the possibility as he pulled the printout off the small, compact printer next to the laptop. “I mean, we are kinda outgunned, but then what did we come out here for?”
Hank accepted the printout, reading it over once more before he turned toward the hatch. “Oh, I don’t think we’re cutting and running. That’s not our way. We’re just regrouping.”
***
Smythe had some feeds of his own up on the bridge. It had been deemed a necessity, as more and more of the Triarii’s fleet got hit. There might not be time for the command post and the bridge to talk. A decision might need to be made in an eyeblink. So, the ship’s captain was getting all the same information that the Triarii down in the command compartment were, minus some of the comms.
“This doesn’t feel good, Hank.” Smythe was at the helm again, his eyes up on the horizon for the most part, though they kept straying to the screens to his right. “Did we bite off more than we can chew?”
“That’s always been a possibility,” Hank conceded, as he glanced at the feeds. One showed the plot, but Smythe was clearly paying more attention to the drone footage of the Caroline’s Dream going down. “But it ain’t over until it’s over, and we’ve still got assets on the board.” He handed the captain the printed message. “I don’t know what’s up that way, but we’re regrouping off the north tip of Palawan. At least, everybody on this side of the Spratlys are.”
Smythe took the message, frowning as he read it. “What are the others doing, then?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure Vetter’s got some tricks up his sleeve he hasn’t shown anybody yet. We’ve got an awful lot of helo carriers and arsenal ships out here that still haven’t engaged.”
Smythe put the page down and started plotting the course. “Still seems like not nearly enough against aircraft carriers and destroyers.”
“Having second thoughts, Captain?” Not that Hank had any idea what they could do if Smythe was having second thoughts about the entire op. They were way out in the wind. Hank wouldn’t force Smythe to continue at gunpoint if he decided he’d had enough. Under different circumstances, he might be justified in doing so, but while they were at war, this was an all-volunteer shadow war. And Hank wasn’t sure of the legalities of mutiny against a mutinous captain.
Smythe glanced up at him with a raised eyebrow, studying him for a moment, as if wondering just what Hank’s response would be if he said yes. “No. Well, sort of. But we’re kind of committed, aren’t we?” Smythe grimaced as he turned back to the plot. “It’s a long way back home without support, and we offloaded most of our fishing gear for guns and ammo.” He shook his head. “And I might not be as hard as you and your shooters, Hank, but I know what’s been done to us, and who was behind most of it.” He looked up again, a glint in his eye. “I’m in it for the long haul. I just hope we’re not going to all end up on the bottom of the South China Sea for nothing.”
Hank turned back toward the hatch, leaving Smythe to his work. “I hope so, too, Skipper. But like I said, I suspect that Vetter’s still got some tricks up his sleeve. He’s a sneaky bastard, and I don’t think the Chinese are quite ready for whatever he’s got in store, no matter how many warships they’ve sent south.”
***
Vetter did indeed have some tricks up his sleeve yet, though Hank didn’t get to see all of them, only finding out via drone feeds and reports after the fact.
***
Nearly fifty ships turned northeast following receipt of that message. Yachts and fishing trawlers that had been converted to privateers or torpedo boats sailed away from their current targets, keeping drones up to watch the Chinese forces, both regular PLAN and PAFMM. The Chinese fishing fleet had gotten a lot less aggressive since several of their vessels had disappeared, but as it appeared that everyone not flying the PRC’s flag was fleeing the Spratlys, they regained some of their bluster.
The Yasmine was pursued by a dozen green-and-white trawlers as she motored away from Second Thomas Shoal. People’s Armed Forces Maritime Militiamen in uniform and brandishing weapons took shots at her from the bow of the lead trawler, but they were well out of range, and the Yasmine was making good speed away. The rounds fell short, but the message was clear.
***
Sixty-five nautical miles to the southwest, another Zhaoyu-class cutter, backed up by the larger silhouette of a Chinese frigate, bore down on the Thomas South, a converted bulk carrier turned arsenal ship. Helicopters circled the seemingly innocuous vessel, as loudspeakers demanded that she heave to and prepare to be boarded.
In response, launch cells disguised in the holds slid open, and the Thomas South opened fire.
While missiles might have been just as useful, and with more range, the Triarii arsenal ships were mostly armed with drones. More maneuverable, if slower, they were a compromise that it had been hoped would provide the Triarii with more flexible firepower.
The drones lau
nched at steep angles to either side of the ship, deploying their wings and starting their engines as they left the launch rails. Jetting higher, they banked and dove on their targets.
Not all of them hit. The angles were bad for some, and their crude programming couldn’t correct fast enough. But enough of them hit to do some damage.
One slammed into the Harbin Z-9 circling close in toward the Thomas South, though it hadn’t been targeting it. The helicopter, with PLAN marines in the door, had simply gotten too close. The drone hit the boom just behind the fuselage and exploded, tearing the helicopter in half. Burning, its rotors still turning, the helo spun into the sea.
Four more dove on the cutter. Two hit the superstructure, their twin explosions peeling back steel and flinging razor fragments through control and working spaces. A third smashed into the hull, just above the waterline. The fourth clipped the stern and spun into the water, exploding on impact and adding the pressure of the underwater detonation to the forces tearing at the ship.
The cutter fell back, smoking, as a dozen more drones swarmed the distant frigate. With more warning, the frigate’s point defenses managed to knock most of them down, but one still got through, leaving a rising plume of dark smoke above the ship as the Thomas South steamed away, making best speed to the south.
Missiles roared off the frigate’s rails, but while the Thomas South might not have been an Aegis cruiser, her own point defenses weren’t insignificant. Storms of bullets roared back into the sky in front of the missiles, and one, two, three, and four were blotted out of the sky.
The fifth one detonated just over the Thomas South’s bow. Fragments sleeted through decking and hull alike. The Thomas South stayed afloat, but she wallowed, wounded, to the south, trailing her own plume of smoke.
***
As the Triarii naval forces within the Spratlys pulled back, the PLAN kept up the pressure. The Shandong was running continuous air ops, launching J-15s off her ski-jump prow and recovering returning flights astern. It was probably the heaviest op-tempo the Chinese People’s Liberation Army Navy’s first truly operational aircraft carrier had ever sustained. Sustainment ships were already on the way with more jet fuel and munitions. There were more targets than the PLAN commander had imagined, though objectively there were fewer legitimate targets out there than the Chinese jets were hitting.
