Hunter Killer: The War with China: The Battle for the Central Pacific

by David Poyer

  “Yes. His daughter. Seattle.” She gripped the jamb, trying not to slide to the floor.

  “Would you have a current number for her, ma’am? We don’t seem to have up-to-date data on the secondary next of kin.”

  Hands shaking, she went back to Dan’s office and rooted until she came up with what she hoped was his daughter’s address. Carried it back out. “Here it is. I’m not sure if this is current, but it’s the latest I could find.”

  “If you’d just sign here, that you’ve been notified,” the lieutenant said, holding out the tablet and a silver stylus. “Also, please check that the contact number we have for you is correct. You’ll hear from us again with an update as soon as additional information becomes available. Here’s my card, if any further questions occur in the meantime. I sincerely hope the next news you hear is good, ma’am.”

  The woman took a step back, fitted her cap on. Together, in unison, they saluted. Blair took a deep breath, and tried to smile. “Thank you. You have a hard job.”

  “We’ve both lost people. Family, and friends,” the woman told her. “That’s why we volunteered for casualty notification.”

  “Well, you’ve carried it out very professionally. Thank you. Would you like—I have water hot for tea, or coffee—”

  “Thank you very much, ma’am,” the woman said. The man was already scrutinizing his tablet again, turning away toward the sedan. “But I’m afraid this is only the first stop we have to make today.”

  * * *

  SHE went to sit in an upholstered chair in the front room, hands over her face, trying to take it in. Then forced herself up. She couldn’t just sit here. Sitting here wasn’t doing anyone any good. She went to the foyer and checked herself in the mirror. Pale, but no tears. Good.

  She was still due in the Tank.

  * * *

  THE first call came in her car. She almost didn’t answer when she saw who it was from. Then, finally, pushed the Talk button on the steering wheel. “Titus.”

  “Blair? Hu Kuwalay.”

  Senator Talmadge’s senior staffer. “Hu. What can I do for you?”

  “I just heard. I’m so sorry.”

  “I thought there was a news blackout until after they notified the families.”

  “Uh, Bankey has back-channel. You know that, right? The congressional liaison notified us. The senator wanted me to call right away. Express our condolences.”

  “He’s not dead, Hu. Just missing. So condolences are not in order. Not yet.”

  “Right, right. Important to keep that in mind.”

  “Why didn’t he call himself?”

  “I’m sorry?” Kuwalay said.

  “Why didn’t Bankey call me? I know he’s up. He’s always been an early riser. Why didn’t he do this?”

  “Um, well … he’s got someone in there with him.”

  “He doesn’t want to speak with me?”

  “I’m sure that’s not it, Blair.”

  But from his tone, she knew it was. She and Talmadge had had a set-to three days before, about the funds he’d pledged to reimburse her for her campaign. Since she’d lost, it seemed to be a forgotten promise. Speaking off the record, woman to woman, his aide had let drop that the party’s isolationist wing cherished a grudge against her.

  “What for?” Blair had asked.

  “What for? For joining the other party,” Mindy had said, as if it were obvious.

  Now Blair said, “Hu, put Bankey on. I know he’s there in the office.”

  “He’s not here right now, Blair. I told you that.”

  She felt her face heat. “No, you said he was busy. So I’m on the other side of the fence now? For joining a wartime coalition government? Think this through clearly, Hu. You know what the national security adviser keeps pushing for? A hard-line strategy. Escalation. Without me pushing back, we could be in an all-out nuclear war.”

  The staffer said, “I hear what you’re saying. Seriously, I do. But you have to accept the reality, Blair.”

  She was pulling off the cloverleaf, under the overpass, up to the Pentagon. “What reality would that be, Hu? Make it fast, I’m on my way in to the Tank.”

  Kuwalay said, “The middle of the road is where people get run down, Blair.”

  * * *

  THE E Ring, Corridor 9. Officially it was the JCS Conference Room, or the Gold Room. When the guard opened the door most of the Chiefs were already gathered around coffee urns and plates of sweet rolls set out on a sideboard. The room was carpeted and curtained in gold and centered with a glass-covered conference table. She wondered why the truly important spaces—the Situation Room, the Oval Office—always seemed too small. The chairs were covered in cordovan leather. Yellow pads and pencils lay precisely squared at each place. Bowls of peppermints and lemon drops were spaced along the table, at a convenient arm’s length from each seat.

  The chairman, General Ricardo Vincenzo, was already seated, reading a document, halfway down the table. When he noticed her, he pointed to the chair to his right. An honor; usually the SecDef sat there. Obviously he wasn’t going to be here today. She nodded to the other generals, to Dr. Hui.

  A bearlike form intercepted her. Nick Niles. “I heard about Dan,” the CNO rumbled. A huge hand enveloped hers. “I’m very sorry. What have they told you?”

  “Not much, Admiral. Just that he’s missing, after a crash. Do you know anything more?”

  “Apparently he was leaving his ship and the helo went down. Unfortunately, it was in a battle zone. Which complicates the search. But if he’s out there, we’ll find him.”

  “Let’s get started,” the deputy chief called.

  The first agenda item was the battle in the East China Sea. A naval captain she didn’t know briefed. On the whole, Operation Recoil had proceeded satisfactorily. Transit to the objective had been accomplished without significant loss. Advance force operations to degrade air defenses had gone well. Heavy carrier air and long-range bomber strikes had struck airfields on Okinawa and the mainland Ningbo complex. Preliminary reports estimated a 50 percent reduction in enemy forces. During the intrusion, two enemy submarines were also destroyed, and a total of twenty-one enemy aircraft and dozens of UAVs were shot down. No enemy surface forces had participated in the battle. Four theater ballistic missiles were launched from South Korean territory. Two got through, but inflicted no damage.

  “Friendly losses were limited to damage to four ships and a loss of ten aircraft, as follows: six fighter, two strike, two helicopters. Also, significant losses were experienced in drones and autonomous vehicles. Overall, though, lower own-force erosion than was forecast, mainly due to the absence, so far, of a nuclear response, which was predicted by some staff officers.”

  The briefer paused, but none of the admirals or generals spoke. He went on. “Advance elements are withdrawing under cover of the carrier groups. PaCom recommends recovering damaged units and continuing search-and-rescue efforts, then transiting the combined force southward, after refueling and rearming, to cover continuing action in the northern Philippines.”

  The Chiefs questioned him closely on details. The captain seemed to have the answers, and after thanking him, Vincenzo let him go. As the door closed he said, “Any necessity for deliberation?”

  Shaken heads. Niles glanced at her, then away. She inspected her yellow pad. DAN DAN DAN was written on it in increasingly jagged cursive.

  “Next agenda item: Mandible,” Vincenzo said.

  A Marine general briefed on the landings on Itbayat. Blair kept her head down, but registered that fighting was continuing and casualties were heavy. Computers and electronics had been taken down by sectorwide cyberattacks. A lot of dead on the beach. More as the Marines moved inland. Severe losses, too, among the Navy units getting them ashore. She realized that those must be the other calls the casualty team had said they had to make this morning.

  “The island’s been cut in half,” the general said. “But the enemy has regrouped to the north and is count
erattacking. All our reserves have been committed,” he concluded. “The major shortage is ammunition. Expenditure has been heavier than planned and due to the nature of the beaches and the loss of ship-to-shore transport, resupply is difficult.

  “To be blunt, the issue’s still in doubt. Additional support from the northern strike group will be greatly welcome.”

  “Deliberations?” Vincenzo asked again, leaning back.

  The Air Force deputy chief of staff: “How soon can the airfield be made operational?”

  “We’ll staff you an answer on that,” the chairman said, scribbling a note, tearing the paper off, and handing it to an aide. “Other comments? All right, then I have a quick update.

  “Our global security overwatch has been preempted by responding to China. But the New Caliphate is threatening Israel. Russia’s infiltrating Latvia and Belarus, a replay of the destabilization tactics used in Ukraine. NATO and the EU are debating their response, but we can’t help. All our forces are either in the Pacific or en route there, except for the advisers left in the Mideast.

  “Basically, we’re still weak—mobilization is far behind schedule—and we’re facing a long, grim war. I presented our options to the heads of state conference in Sydney. The strategy agreed on there is to tighten the encirclement, aid those currently fighting the common enemy, and open two new theaters of war, as well as to stir up internal dissent. That will be a CIA mission, mainly. We’ll also be taking steps against Iran.

  “In the middle of the conference, we received disheartening news. The Vietnamese lines were penetrated by armored forces. The People’s Liberation Army is surging toward Hanoi amid bitter fighting and massive casualties on both sides. We had to offer increased logistic and air support, or risk having Vietnam knocked out of the alliance.”

  The Air Force deputy said, “They’ve invited us to establish a forward base at Da Nang. We’ve identified a bomb wing and initiated forward movement and initial security.”

  Vincenzo nodded heavily. “All right. Now, I’m going to ask that the room be cleared. Principals only.”

  “Deputies?” one of the generals asked. The chairman hesitated, then nodded, reluctantly, Blair thought.

  When the doors were resealed, Vincenzo turned to her. “All right, Blair. Tell us about Jade Emperor.”

  She took a breath, composing herself. “We actually know very little. A lot is inference, gleaned from traffic between the mainland and an island outpost.

  “The Jade Emperor was a legendary figure in Chinese history. He overthrew an army of evil demons through his wisdom, and became the supreme sovereign of men and gods.”

  Vincenzo gestured impatiently; she cut to the chase. “‘Jade Emperor’ is a massively capable artificial intelligence being built in western China. Even in a partially completed state, it can infiltrate and degrade any Internet data packet anywhere in the world. It’s behind the brownouts on the West Coast, the nuclear-power-plant scrams, the disruptions in satellite communications, the fires at our refineries, the banking-network takedowns. There are indications it can penetrate our most secure high-side command networks.

  “As its capabilities increase—as it learns—it will be able not just to degrade, but actually to take control of industrial processes, financial networks, and communications and power nodes.”

  “Can we bomb it?” someone asked.

  “Anything can be bombed,” the Air Force general said. “The question is, what losses you’re willing to take.”

  Vincenzo said, “Now tell us about Battle Eagle.”

  Blair nodded. “Battle Eagle began building three years ago, in secret, of course. A DARPA-chartered joint venture of eight software developers, known as Archipelago. Dr. Hui here probably knows more about it than I do, since one of its earliest outputs was a hitherto unsuspected way to degrade North Korean ballistic missile guidance. Denson?”

  “I’m constrained by classification,” Hui said, a bit stiffly.

  “Even in front of the Joint Chiefs?” Vincenzo frowned. “Doctor?”

  Hui inclined his head. “All I can say is that the way Ms. Titus describes the enemy AI more or less resembles Battle Eagle as well. The architectures differ. But they’re both massive self-programming neural networks, designed to dispute digital infrastructure with peer competitors.”

  “I’m having difficulty buying this,” said Niles, unwrapping a peppermint. He examined it doubtfully, then popped it into his mouth. “Are you serious?”

  “Every war brings technologies forward,” Blair told him. “Bombing aircraft were a fantasy in 1913. Atomic weapons were science fiction in 1939. Now, instead of teams of human hackers or code breakers, we’ll have two massive programs locked in combat in cyberspace. And whichever wins, I’m sorry to say, may determine the course of this war, whatever we do on the ground.”

  The officers looked disbelieving. A tap came at the door. “Come in. We’re done here,” Vincenzo called.

  The captain who’d given the opening briefing came in. “New developments, General. The Chinese are finally buckling on Itbayat. Marines report accepting surrenders at the company level.”

  “That’s good news,” said a National Guard general.

  “Also, the Philippines have announced they’ll send a force to take over the occupation.”

  “Oh no they won’t,” Vincenzo said, flicking his chin. “They handed it over to the fucking Chinese. We paid in blood to get it, and we’re keeping it. I’ll call State and make that clear. Anything else?”

  “Yes, sir,” the captain said. “Tokyo has renounced Zhang’s cease-fire. Also, they’ve announced stand-up of a nuclear deterrent, which they will use if China attacks the home islands.”

  One of the generals whistled, but the captain pressed on. “Along with that, they made a commitment to eject all foreign forces from Okinawa. And they will support the Allies quote, ‘wherever else in Asia they may move against aggression.’”

  Blair sat back as the others smiled. Japan had returned to the war. The third-biggest economy in the world, with a skilled if small military. Situated directly astride the sea lanes from China out into the Pacific.

  The Pacific, where … Dan was still missing. And after a crash … not even bodies recovered …

  She was a widow, it seemed, whether she could bear to acknowledge it or not.

  Not that her personal suffering mattered much, in a world at war.

  Because that’s what it was turning into: A world at war.

  And a war that looked, increasingly, as if it might go either way.

  The Afterimage

  THE yellow raft bobbed gently on the blue. Three figures sprawled with heads back, eyes closed, bandages wrapping hands and faces. Seawater sloshed slowly under sagging bodies.

  The last drinking water was long gone. The last food, a few dry bars in the raft’s survival pouch, had been eaten at the end of the third day.

  A gull circled, first curious, then avid, onyx eyes agleam. It descended gradually, tilting this way and that, tee-tertottering on the westerly wind. A cruel beak gaped greedily.

  None of the figures moved. Only the raft stirred, tossing uneasily on a gentle chop, under a burning sun.

  The gull circled again, a wary eye cocked for competitors. It dipped lower, spreading white wings to land.

  The figure in the blue coveralls suddenly twitched. A hand removed a hat. Red swollen eyes blinked. Blackened fingers dug at an itching rime of pus and salt.

  Dan Lenson blinked up into the glare of the noon sun as the angry squawk of a frustrated bird drifted down. He panted, rubbing cracked, bleeding lips. Hoisted himself an inch or two, and peered around.

  Flat empty sea. He couldn’t tell its color, he’d stared at it so long. Only that it glittered like a broken mirror, agonizingly bright by day, then chilled with an inky black stirred with streats of phosphorescence by night.

  * * *

  WILKER’S groping hand at his chest, in the cockpit of the sinking helo, had been for h
is own bailout bottle, which the pilots carried zipped into their vests. Once he’d gotten that into his mouth, holding his broken jaw closed with one hand, he and Dan had buddy-breathed until they’d extricated the pilot’s legs from the crushed-down instrument panel, popped their inflation, and made for the surface.

  He and Wilker had bobbed for a time, calling out for other survivors. At last a weak response. Captain Hwang, breaststroking toward them, but with difficulty. His life jacket trailed uninflated. Something seemed to be weighing him down. Dan checked the jacket, but kept bumping something hard. At last, between waves, he’d sputtered, “What’s that you’re carrying?”

  “Notebook.”

  “You saved your computer?”

  “Classified. Must save.”

  “Let it go, Min Su. It’ll drown you.”

  “I will go down with it … if so.” His head went under just then, and both Dan and Wilker had to haul him up. The Korean coughed desperately, but muttered, “Must safeguard. At all costs.”

  Then his eyes had lit suddenly, and he’d raised a dripping arm to point. “Raft!”

  They never knew where it had come from. Either deployed automatically by the sinking helicopter, or released, before he’d died, by the crewman. But there it was, riding high and about the most welcome sight they could have imagined, aside from a rescue helo. Unfortunately, it was drifting away from them, driven briskly by the wind.

  “You guys wait here,” Dan had snapped, and struck out.

  The swim had exhausted him, but he’d caught up, finally. Then, after a short rest, climbed in, and paddled back with the little emergency oar. A slick coated the waves, a stink of fuel, bobbing plastic items, paper debris. Hwang pulled himself in, with his computer. They tried to be gentle, but Wilker screamed as they hauled him aboard. “I think they’re both broken,” he’d gasped.

  Feeling the pilot’s legs through his flight suit, Dan had to agree. But he couldn’t think of a thing to do about it, other than to find the survival kit. Unfortunately, the radio had absorbed a fragment from whatever hit their engine. At about that time, he also realized the raft was softening under them, leaking from multiple holes.