Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  “Clear!”

  Chang raised his eyes to a color video feed showing the Hwasong-12 missile cradled among the steel girders and cross bracing of the towers. From a distance, the casual observer could easily miss the green rocket body encircled by the clutter of the green drill towers.

  “Time to launch?” he said.

  “Sixty seconds and counting,” came the reply.

  The tension was palpable as all waited, watching the analog clock, the red sweep-second hand looking black under the red lighting.

  “Radar?” Chang said.

  “Still clear. No surface vessels, and no aircraft on the screen.”

  “Emissions?”

  “Only background. No change.”

  Five, four, three, two, one…

  Suddenly the deck shuddered under their feet, and despite their location deep within the ship, the control room reverberated with a deep roar. Chang imagined that it would be deafening if anyone had been foolish enough to be topside as the missile was launched. Propelled by a first-stage rocket motor fueled with a hypergolic mixture of unsymmetrical dimethylhydrazine and nitrogen tetroxide, the missile cleared the drill towers in seconds and rapidly accelerated in a near vertical arc.

  The red-brown smoke trail behind the first-stage motor was dispersed within minutes by the light wind. A video feed from one of the cameras followed the missile until it faded from sight.

  “Tracking true,” reported the radar technician.

  “Very well,” replied Rei. “Mr. Chang. Have the wash-down crew hose off the deck and towers. I want all residual propellant cleaned from the towers and deck within fifteen minutes in case we are visited. I’ll be on the bridge.”

  Captain Rei left the control center and hastily climbed the stairs, emerging onto the bridge. Wasting no time, he addressed the Officer of the Watch. “Is our course laid in as ordered?”

  “Yes, sir. Bearing one-seven-three. Radar is clear.”

  Rei placed a pair of high-powered binoculars to his eyes and scanned the horizon. Nothing but blue water and clear sky. “Very well. All ahead full.”

  The ship’s position was held stationary for the launch using sophisticated bow and stern thrusters, linked to the electronic navigation system. It was designed to hold a stationary position—essential for drilling into the sea floor—using GPS coordinates. With no anchors to raise, the two main engines, which had been idling, quickly came up to full power. Each massive power plant—a significant upgrade from the previous engines—turned huge bronze screws, specifically designed for maximum efficiency and speed. Soon the Royal Seeker accelerated forward, pushing an ever-larger bow wave as her speed increased.

  Cruising at her maximum speed, the Royal Seeker would be 100 nautical miles away from the missile launch location in just under five hours. Rei had been assured by the mission planners that it would be that many hours before a Keyhole satellite would pass overhead and capture multispectral images of the area. The search area would be defined generally by radar tracking data from U.S. warships in the South China Sea and the Philippine Sea.

  Captain Rei was accustomed to the routine of his seafaring life. Whether for military purposes or private industry, orders were given and followed. It was predictable, and provided for accountability—except that he had never met the mission planners. He did not know who they were, or if their motives were other than they had represented.

  At first, he was enticed by the money. The mission would have him at sea for a month, and during that time he would earn more than he could make over two years as captain of a cargo ship working for Hua Ho Holdings. But soon he found motivation in the purpose of the mission—to strike a blow against America and her allies, drive them from the coastal waters off China, and vanquish their military from Southeast Asia.

  A loyal member of the Communist Party, Rei believed China had been pushed around for too long. The abuse of Chinese at the hands of the invading Japanese Army in the middle of the twentieth century was bad enough—horrendous crimes against humanity had been committed by the occupying army. Yet, in 1945 and 1946, the Allies, under American leadership, refused to vigorously pursue criminal charges against the Japanese officers and politicians who were responsible for the inhumane treatment of so many Chinese and Korean civilians. Certainly, there were no trials like those faced by German officers in Nuremburg.

  In his late fifties, Rei Jianming had been born after the end of World War II. But his immediate family would never forget, and he grew up with first-hand accounts of rapes, beatings, executions, starvation—all at the hands of the Imperial Japanese Army.

  President Chen Jinghua had continued a policy of occupying disputed islands in the East China Sea and the South China Sea, including building artificial landmasses on some of the many shoals and reefs. All of the constructed islands were now occupied by Chinese military—Navy, Marines, Air Force. In response, the U.S. supported many legal challenges from Japan, Vietnam, Malaysia, Taiwan, Brunei, and the Philippines. But other than pointless UN resolutions lacking any teeth, and unenforceable legal rulings from the International Court, nothing had come of this posturing.

  That is, except for the insistence of the U.S. to sail its military ships through the disputed waters on a regular basis and occasionally fly Air Force spy planes over the occupied islands. Many Chinese citizens believed they were being bullied by America. And with the Japanese government moving away from a purely defensive military doctrine, and Japanese leadership still refusing to apologize for past wartime atrocities, Chinese fear was giving way to a surge of nationalism.

  Captain Rei was no fool, and he knew that the missile launched from his ship a few days earlier had sunk a Japanese warship. But he allowed his mind to think of the dead and wounded as abstract statistics—nothing more than a number on a sheet of paper. It was, he reasoned, perfectly within his rights—the rights of his homeland—to correct past wrongs and to regain dignity and self-determination.

  But if this was the case, why did the mission planners remain so secretive? The question nagged at him.

  Chapter 12

  East China Sea

  August 24

  The deck of the USS Makin Island was bustling with activity. Aircraft—F35B Lightning fighters and helicopters, both attack and transport—were landing, long enough to refuel and rearm, then taking off again. All the while, crew were scurrying about in apparent frenzied motion, but in fact it was a well-orchestrated team action.

  The WASP-class amphibious assault ship was large by any measure at 840 feet long with a beam of 106 feet. She was the newest and most modern of her class, the pride of the Marine Corps. She was the centerpiece of the Expeditionary Strike Group participating in this live-fire training exercise—a beach landing and coordinated air, sea, land assault. The training target was an under-developed island at the northern end of the Philippine archipelago: Mavudis Island.

  Located about midway between Luzon to the south and Taiwan to the north, Mavudis Island was situated at the eastern edge of the South China Sea—a key factor in choosing this location for the joint Australian-Philippine-American exercise.

  The first wave of Marines from the 31st Marine Expeditionary Unit was about to embark in their air-cushion landing crafts, or LCAC. Australian and Philippine troops, in much smaller numbers, were anchoring both ends of the broad landing beach. The American forces would land in the middle, supported by armored vehicles and Marine Corps aircraft.

  Sunrise was marked by a naval barrage of five-inch high-explosive shells, fired from two destroyers at simulated enemy troop positions at the edge of the beach, where the white sand gave way to lush, tall grass, bushes, and trees. The battle plan had been developed during some of the bloodiest engagements of World War II and had changed little over the intervening decades, other than to accommodate modern military weapons and machinery.

  The annual Balikatan exercises came at a fortuitous time, as it provided cover for the Navy to deploy two attack submarines plus a range of su
rface warships to the region. Soon, a carrier strike group would also arrive in the disputed waters, providing a significant U.S. military presence.

  Today, the seas were light at about one to two feet, ideal conditions for the LCACs to sprint to shore and unload men and materiel. With aircraft darting across the sky like hornets buzzing around a hive, battle-ready Marines were gathering in the well deck, preparing to board their large hovercrafts. The USS Makin Island carried three LCACs, and today all three would be deployed.

  There was hardly any roll as the amphibious assault ship moved through the water at a few knots, just enough forward speed to maintain steerage. The large door at the aft of the ship was open, allowing bright tropical sunlight to flood the well deck.

  Sergeant Larabee led his squad onto the flat deck of the LCAC and into the personnel compartment. His men were the last to board.

  “Hey, Sarg!” a Marine yelled to be heard above the echo of engine and propeller noise in the confined space. “Is it true the Aussies are cooking lobster and steak for lunch?”

  “Yeah, man. What’s on the Barbie?” another Marine joked.

  “Who cares as long as the beer is cold!” a third chimed in.

  Larabee smiled. He thought of himself as firm but fair. Blowing off some steam was acceptable, maybe even preferable. Although today was only training, he knew that tomorrow it could be for real. A veteran of three deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, Sergeant Larabee had witnessed death and destruction. He’d often dealt it out without mercy. With tensions rising between the U.S. and China, he knew they were practicing diplomacy through demonstration of superior firepower—and training.

  “Everything you need, Marine,” Larabee said, “is on your back or your belt.” His comment earned a groan.

  The engines spun up to a higher rpm, signaling that the LCAC was about to fly out on a cushion of air. The machine moved slowly at first, and then picked up speed as it moved down the long well deck toward the aft opening.

  Larabee was facing toward the rear and had a clear view out a small window. He’d seen this view many times before. Although he understood the physics, it always struck him as odd that he could be on seawater within the ship, and all was normal.

  A sonic crack louder than anything he’d ever heard overpowered the chatter and engine noise within the 180-man troop compartment. Instantly, a brilliant white light momentarily blinded him. But just as fast as it appeared, the flash was gone, replaced by the most terrifying image he could imagine.

  A yellow-orange fireball filled the forward end of the well deck. Flame billowed and moved like a living creature. It expanded, chasing after him. Larabee felt his body pulling against his straps as the LCAC accelerated hard, the craftmaster knowing that survival depended on escaping the bowels of the ship.

  As the seconds passed, Larabee was regaining his hearing. The frightening sound of steel bending, buckling, and failing was background to the explosions of ordnance. Now, the walls of the well deck appeared to be moving, and the ceiling was coming down, threatening to drive the LCAC into the seawater. And still the fireball approached, but not as rapidly as before.

  Larabee was jarred to the side when the hovercraft collided with the steel wall, only to have the air skirts serve as a bumper and bounce the large craft back into the lane. Blackness filled folds between the pillows of flame that seemed to be touching the rear of the hovercraft.

  And then, daylight! The LCAC shot out the well deck opening like a cork off a Champagne bottle. A moment later, the well deck completely slid beneath the waves as the USS Makin Island broke in two. The hovercraft slowed and turned, circling back to the churning sea where the two halves had sunk beneath the water.

  Chapter 13

  Sacramento, California

  August 24

  Commander James Nicolaou was hunched over his desk reading the most recent update emailed from Mark Williams. He rose from his chair, headed directly to Ellen Lacey’s office. He opened the door without knocking. “Lieutenant, follow me to Conference Room A. Have your team meet us there.” Within minutes they were assembled around a polished conference table, tablets powered up and ready.

  “Ross and Sanchez are cross-checking briefings from several agencies,” Lacey said, explaining their absence.

  “Fine,” Jim said. He stood ramrod straight, arms folded across his chest. He was the first of his family to be a naturally born U.S. citizen, his parents having immigrated from Greece and naturalized. With thick, black hair and rugged, masculine appearance, he could have made a living as a model. But he’d chosen to enlist in the Navy, preferring challenge and adventure to an easier path. After serving in the SEALs and commanding a team of his own, he was recruited by Colonel Pierson to head the then newly-formed SGIT.

  As the analysts settled in, he cleared his throat. “With the attack on the USS Makin Island, we are moving quickly toward a shooting war,” Nicolaou said. “Now, you’ve all read the intelligence, including the assessment by Sergeant Williams. The problem we have is identifying who is behind this. We need answers.” Jim took a seat and folded his hands on the table. “Speak freely.”

  Mark Williams spoke first. “China is the obvious culprit—perhaps too obvious.”

  “Explain,” Lacey said.

  “Well, why go to so much trouble to remain anonymous? I mean, they’d know we would place China at the top of the list of suspects. It’s only natural given their aggressive position regarding taking control of the South China Sea and, to a certain degree, the East China Sea as well.”

  Mona Stephens added her thoughts. “With Japan positioning for a greater leadership role in defining the policies of the region, including evolving their military doctrine to include some offensive operations rather than remaining strictly defensive, President Chen would have reason to act now.”

  “So far, you haven’t shared any theories that haven’t already been thoroughly considered by every intelligence agency. This hasn’t gotten us anywhere. I need something more.”

  “China has been a vocal critic of the U.S. for meddling in the South China Sea,” Lacey said, “an area they clearly view as their front yard. The analogy has been drawn to the Caribbean—how would President Taylor respond if the Chinese government began to play a role in regulating naval vessels wishing to make port calls at any of the many islands within a few hundred miles of Florida?”

  “I don’t accept that analogy,” Jim replied, his face drawn taught.

  “I agree,” Williams added. “It’s an inaccurate comparison. In fact, there are no disputed landmasses in the Caribbean, unlike the Spratly Islands, Senkaku Islands, Scarborough Shoal, the—”

  Jim held up a hand. “Okay, point made.”

  Williams nodded, then continued, “In the Spratly chain, China has engaged in island building—another controversial action—and based on pretty solid satellite imagery, fortified their positions including building long runways capable of serving as forward bases. The Chinese government does not deny the allegations of militarizing the Spratly Islands, and insists it is their right and responsibility to ensure safe passage through the region.”

  “I find it hard to fault their argument,” Stephens said. “After all, we have maintained a significant military presence at Guantanamo on the island of Cuba since the end of the Spanish-American War.”

  “Whether you agree with the Chinese or not is irrelevant,” Jim said. “Our job is not to establish foreign policy—that’s for the President and the State Department.”

  “Yes, sir,” Stephens said. “We agree the Chinese have motive to drive the U.S. out of the Western Pacific. So, why play games about it? The answer may be as simple as they want to avoid a war. Maybe President Chen thinks he can establish doubt that his government has launched these attacks. Maybe he thinks he can coerce President Taylor into withdrawing forces pursuant to the demand.”

  Lacey shook her head. “No way. I don’t buy that. Whoever is behind this would have to know the President would never gi
ve in that easily.”

  “The loss of life—American and Japanese—has already been high,” Jim said. “And since two weapons have been used, we have to assume that more can, and will, be deployed.”

  Lacey had been here before. Yet she still felt the pressure of needing to supply answers when they knew next to nothing. “So it’s a high-stakes game of poker—see who folds first?” she said.

  “That’s a fair analogy.” Jim rubbed his temples, a habit to try to release the tension that was building. “Our other prime suspect is North Korea. Comments?”

  “They have the missile technology,” Stephens observed. “But do they have the warhead? Mark?”

  He leaned forward, resting his arms on the conference table. “Unlikely that they’ve developed a kinetic penetrator that even remotely resembles what sunk those two ships. The material science know-how and manufacturing expertise is beyond any recognized capability of the North Koreans. However, it is possible they acquired warheads from the Chinese.”

  “Which brings us back to square one,” Lacey said. She leaned back in her chair and let out a sigh.

  Jim looked across the faces of his team. “This is as real as it gets, people. You are the first string, the A team. No one is better at gathering and interpreting intelligence. The President is demanding to know who is sinking our ships. Men and women are dying. We have to provide answers.”

  “What if we can’t?” Williams asked the question he was sure was on everyone’s mind.

  Jim’s countenance softened. “You will. No one has more faith in the abilities of this team than I do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, what can we deduce from the launch coordinates?”

  “The obvious,” Stephens replied. “The missiles were not launched from either the Korean Peninsula or mainland China. In fact, we aren’t certain they were even fired from any land mass.”

  “Are you suggesting they were sub-launched?”