by Jeff Edwards
“What about World War Two?” Dr. Crane asked. “Do you honestly believe that Hirohito would have relinquished his stranglehold on the Pacific if we had sent him a letter of complaint? And how about Adolf Hitler? If the Allies hadn’t thrown their combined strength at the Third Reich, most of Europe and Africa—if not the entire world—would be living under the iron boot heels of the Nazis at this very moment. Except for the Jews, of course, because they’d be completely exterminated by now.”
Walsh rolled his eyes. “Oh, here we go with Hitler again. Whenever you need a boogieman to justify your military expansionist theories, you always trot out the Nazis. I hate to break it to you, doctor, but that was nearly three-quarters of a century ago. How is any of that relevant to the current political situation in Asia?”
“We’re wandering off the topic here,” the news anchor said.
“No,” said Dr. Crane. “We’re not off topic. Because, apart from Mr. Walsh’s inability to learn from history, there’s a strong correlation between World War Two and the present conflict with China.”
Ted Norrow lifted his right hand in a gesture of invitation. “Can I ask you to explain that?”
“Yes, please,” Walsh said. “Enlighten us. Dispel our ignorance.”
“I can sum it up in a single word,” Dr. Crane said. “Isolationism.”
He punctuated this one-word proclamation with a sardonic smile. “In the late nineteen-thirties and early nineteen-forties, the isolationist movement in America was powerful enough to keep our troops at home,” he said. “We sat on our hands while Germany and Japan were carving up the rest of the earth, and massacring millions of people. Back then, the isolationists were singing the same tune that Mr. Walsh and his buddies are singing today. Stay out of foreign problems. It’s not our business. We’re not the policemen of the entire planet. But where would the world be right now, if the isolationists had gotten the final word?”
Walsh snorted. “Once again, Dr. Crane is oversimplifying my position. I didn’t say that U.S. military intervention is never necessary. Of course it’s necessary in some situations. I’ll go a step farther, and say that—in certain cases—American military action is not just the best answer, it’s the only answer. But does that make it the solution to every foreign conflict that occurs? Are our options always so limited that we have to reach for our guns every time there’s a crisis somewhere in the world?”
Crane opened his mouth to respond, but Ted Norrow raised a hand to forestall further comment.
“I’m going to have to interrupt,” the newscaster said. “My producer informs me that Fox News has just received a statement from the Pentagon, confirming that the USS Towers did indeed shoot down a Chinese surveillance satellite over the Bay of Bengal. We’re expecting additional details in the next few minutes, but for now, we can confirm that the initial reports were accurate.”
“So much for our supposed role as impartial peacekeepers,” Walsh said in a sarcastic tone. “Just remember, whatever happens next, we brought it on ourselves.”
CHAPTER 41
USS TOWERS (DDG-103)
BAY OF BENGAL
MONDAY; 01 DECEMBER
1721 hours (5:21 PM)
TIME ZONE +6 ‘FOXTROT’
Captain Bowie was alone in the wardroom when Commander Silva arrived. An American Forces Network news broadcast was playing on the television, but Bowie had the sound muted while he jotted down a few changes that he wanted to make to the ship’s night orders.
He looked up when Silva walked in. “How’s it going, Kat?”
She headed straight for the coffee maker. “Pretty good,” she said. “But I’d wrestle a medium-sized alligator for a cup of Starbucks right now.”
She peered into the interior of the pot, bent to sniff the aroma, and decided that it was fresh enough to drink. She poured herself a cup, and then looked up at Bowie. “You want one while I’m pouring?”
“Sounds good,” Bowie said. “I’ll have my usual… a Grande Caramel Macchiato and a blueberry scone.”
“Coming right up,” Silva said. She poured him a cup of the plain black Navy coffee. “Will that be credit, or debit?”
She handed Bowie his coffee, and dropped into a chair from which she could see the television.
On the screen, a throng of demonstrators was waving handmade signs and banners, across the street from a high-walled enclosure. The protestors were visibly agitated, but they appeared to be respecting the line of police barricades that kept them from approaching the walls. Many of them were clearly shouting, but no sound came from the muted television speakers.
The image cut to another crowd scene. The people were dressed differently and the architecture and color of the walls were not the same, but the anger of the picketers was just as palpable.
The news feed cut to yet another crowd, and this one seemed on the verge of riot. Some of the demonstrators were hurling rocks and bottles over the top of the wall. Occasionally, one of the bottles would smash into a wall and shatter, splattering the stone façade with what must have been red paint. In the background, trucks were disgorging squads of helmeted riot police.
The scene cut again. Another crowd, this one lighting red flags on fire, and dropping them in the street to burn.
Silva looked at Bowie. “What the hell’s going on?”
Bowie glanced up at the screen. “I was watching that earlier,” he said. “From what I can tell, Chinese troops gunned down about a hundred protestors in Tibet last week. The PRC kept a lid on the story until a video popped up on CNN. Some American tourist—McDowell, or McDonald, or something like that—witnessed the whole thing from his hotel window. He recorded the whole thing on his cell phone, and gave the recording to the media. This is the backlash. Tibetans and Tibetan sympathizers are protesting outside of Chinese embassies and consulates all over the world.”
“Some of those demonstrations don’t exactly look peaceful,” Silva said.
“Yeah,” said Bowie. “And the Chinese government is blaming this on the U.S.”
Silva stared at him. “What?”
Bowie set down his pen. “A politburo spokesman was on a little while ago, reading a statement. They’re saying that this tourist guy, McDonald, was some kind of CIA plant, sent into Tibet to stir up unrest. They’re also claiming that the American news networks are operating on instructions from the federal government, and the United States is deliberately trying to turn global opinion against the People’s Republic.”
Silva raised an eyebrow. “The media taking orders from the U.S. government? They obviously don’t understand how that whole freedom-of-the-press thing works.”
“They understand,” Bowie said. “But they’ve gotten themselves into one hell of a mess with India, and they’re trying not to come off like the bad guys—at least in the minds of their own population.”
He rotated his cup on the table, causing the coffee to swirl within its porcelain confines. “If I’m reading the tea leaves correctly, we’re going to see some action pretty soon. China is pretty pissed at us about this Tibet thing, and shooting down their satellite probably hasn’t done anything to improve their mood.”
Silva was about to respond when the wardroom door opened and the executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Matthews, walked in with a routing folder in his hand.
The XO nodded to each of the other officers. “Good evening, Captain. Evening, Commander. I apologize for interrupting.”
He strode across the room and held out the folder to the captain.
Bowie accepted the folder and flipped it open. “What’s up, Brian?”
“A change in ROE,” the XO said. “Our Chinese pals have just been officially designated as hostile.”
Bowie gritted his teeth, and scanned the message rapidly.
//SSSSSSSSSS//
//SECRET//
//FLASH//FLASH//FLASH//
//011027Z DEC//
FM COMPACFLT//
TO COMCARSTRKGRU FIVE//
COMDES
RON ONE FIVE//
USS MIDWAY//
USS TOWERS//
USS FRANK W FENNO//
USS DONALD GERRARD//
INFO COMSEVENTHFLT//
CTF SEVEN ZERO//
SUBJ/RULES OF ENGAGEMENT SUPPLEMENT//
REF/A/DIR/CJCSI 3121.01F/
REF/B/RMG/COMPACFLT/210114Z NOV//
NARR/REF A IS THE CHAIRMAN OF THE JOINT CHIEFS STANDING RULES OF ENGAGEMENT (ROE) FOR U.S. MILITARY FORCES//
NARR/REF B IS THE PREVIOUS RULES OF ENGAGEMENT SUPPLEMENT, ISSUED TO U.S. NAVY UNITS IN THE INDIAN OCEAN AND BAY OF BENGAL OPERATING AREAS//
1. (SECR) REF B IS HEREBY CANCELLED. YOUR ROE ARE AMENDED AS FOLLOWS:
2. (SECR) PEOPLE’S LIBERATION ARMY (PLA) MILITARY ASSETS WITHIN YOUR AREA OF RESPONSIBILITY ARE NOW REGARDED AS HOSTILE. YOU ARE DIRECTED TO ENGAGE AND DESTROY PLA MILITARY FORCES TO THE MAXIMUM EXTENT POSSIBLE, CONSISTENT WITH LAWS OF ARMED CONFLICT.
3. (SECR) MILITARY ASSETS OF THE REPUBLIC OF INDIA ARE TO BE CONSIDERED FRIENDLY. ALTHOUGH NO JOINT U.S./INDIAN OPERATIONS ARE CURRENTLY PLANNED, YOU ARE DIRECTED TO AVOID INTERFERENCE WITH INDIAN MILITARY ACTIONS TO THE MAXIMUM EXTENT POSSIBLE, CONSISTENT WITH LAWS OF ARMED CONFLICT.
4. (SECR) THERE ARE TIME-CRITICAL GEOPOLITICAL FACTORS WHICH NECESSITATE A QUICK AND DECISIVE END TO THIS CONFLICT. THOSE FACTORS CANNOT BE DISCUSSED AT THIS LEVEL, BUT SECNAV CAUTIONS ALL RECIPIENTS THAT FAILURE TO ACHIEVE RAPID MILITARY DOMINANCE IN YOUR REGION MAY HAVE FAR-REACHING CONSEQUENCES TO NATIONAL SECURITY AND GLOBAL STABILITY.
5. (UNCL) MOVE FAST. STRIKE FAST. STRIKE WELL. GOOD LUCK AND GOOD HUNTING! ADMIRAL STANFORD SENDS.
//011027Z DEC//
//FLASH//FLASH//FLASH//
//RBT 2034539//
//SECRET//
//SSSSSSSSSS//
Bowie finished reading the message, and passed it to Commander Silva.
She had only read the first few lines when a sharp electronic klaxon came blasting out of the ship’s 1-MC speakers.
The alarm was quickly replaced by the amplified voice of the Officer of the Deck. “General Quarters, General Quarters. All hands man your battle stations. Set Material Condition Zebra throughout the ship. Commanding officer, your presence is requested in Combat Information Center.”
Captain Bowie was out of his chair and headed for the door before the GQ alarm cut in again. “Coming, Kat? Looks like it’s going to hit the fan a little sooner than I thought.”
CHAPTER 42
--------------------------------------------------
From:
Sent: Monday, December 1, 5:34 PM
To:
Subject: Poker
My Dearest Beth,
I have to tell you that I’m still pretty screwed up over what happened to Poker. I mean, one second, he was right there on my starboard wing, and the next second his 18 was going down in flames.
I can’t even understand how it happened. He was a good pilot. A great pilot. For all my bragging, he was a hell of a lot better than me. But he’s dead now, and somehow I’m still alive.
I wish I could take back all the stupid shit I said to him. His first two initials were O. W., and I used to tell everybody that they stood for Orville Wright. All I ever talked about was how ancient he was, and how it was time for him to get his crotchety old ass into a retirement home and make room for some real pilots.
Poker was a good guy. A good officer and a good man. He looked out for his people. He looked out for me. He taught me, and guided me, and kept me out of trouble. I would have never gotten my night landing quals if Poker hadn’t been covering my six.
How did I thank him? I sat back like an idiot while those Chinese fuckers blew him right out of the sky. Now he’s gone, and I’ll never be able to tell him how much he meant to me.
I’m sorry. I know I keep droning on and on about this, but it’s killing me. Everybody keeps treating me like some kind of badass because I shot down two J-15s, and blasted the shit out of another one. But if I’m such a badass, where the hell was I when Poker needed me?
I’m back in the patrol rotation, but I’m not sure I should be. What kind of a wingman lets his lead go down in flames? What if it happens again? What if I’m some kind of jinx, and anybody who flies with me gets iced?
I don’t know, Beth. I don’t know anything anymore. I wish I could talk to you right now. I wish I could hear your voice, and talk this through with you until it starts to make some kind of sense.
I wish…
Hang on. The GQ alarm is going off. Got to get to my battle station.
Love you!
More later,
Rob
LT(jg) Robert J. Monkman
VFA-228 Marauders
USS Midway (CVN-82)
--------------------------------------------------
CHAPTER 43
USS TOWERS (DDG-103)
BAY OF BENGAL
MONDAY; 01 DECEMBER
1734 hours (5:34 PM)
TIME ZONE +6 ‘FOXTROT’
The Tactical Action Officer pointed to the Aegis display screens. “Raid warning, Captain. Twenty Bogies coming in high from the southwest. No modes, no codes, no IFF. Threat axis is about two-one-four. Looks like they’re lining up for an air strike against the Midway.”
Bowie nodded. “What does Hawkeye say?”
“Hawkeye concurs that this is a probable strike against the carrier, sir. They’re vectoring in three flights of Combat Air Patrol for mop up work, in case any leakers get past us.”
Bowie looked at the cluster of hostile air symbols. Twenty red inverted v-shapes were moving toward the Towers, and toward the aircraft carrier on the other side of the destroyer’s protective missile envelope.
It took him a couple of seconds to realize that something didn’t look quite right about the geometry of target motion playing out on the big display screen. The hostile air symbols were approaching steadily, but the rate of closure didn’t seem high enough.
“How fast are those Bogies moving?” he asked.
The TAO checked a digital readout on his console. “Airspeed around four hundred knots.”
Bowie frowned. “Four hundred knots? That’s a little slow for a strike approach, isn’t it?”
“It’s definitely not typical,” the TAO said. “But we’ve never actually seen the Chinese navy carry out a strike mission against a carrier. Nobody knows exactly what their tactical doctrine looks like for this kind of thing.”
“You’re right about that,” Commander Silva said quietly, “but four hundred knots is still awfully damned slow for a strike approach.”
Before the TAO could respond, a report came over the tactical net from the Electronics Warfare module. “TAO—EW. The Bogies just lit up! I am tracking twenty—that is two-zero—active X-band emitters. Pulse-doppler signature indicates KLJ-10 fire control radars. First cut looks like Chinese J-10 strike fighters.”
The TAO keyed his microphone. “EW—TAO. Copy all. Stand by on jamming and chaff.”
He released the mike button and turned to his commanding officer. “Captain, request batteries released on inbound Bogies.”
Bowie hesitated. Something wasn’t quite right about the way the Bogies were acting. The EW emissions and angle of approach added up to a large raid of strike fighters from the Chinese aircraft carrier, but the relatively low airspeed of the raid was puzzling.
Two-thirds the speed of sound wasn’t exactly poking along, but the J-10 was capable of better than Mach 2. Why weren’t they taking advantage of the aircraft’s speed? It didn’t make sense.
Or rather, it didn’t make sense to Bowie. It obviously made sense to whoever had planned the raid. There was definitely a reason for the departure from accepted aerial tactics. Of course, there was little or no chance that Bowie was going to spontaneously guess what that reason might be within the next few seconds. Low airspeed or not, the hostile planes were heading toward the American aircraft carrier. It was up to the Towers
to ensure that they never got close enough to launch their missiles at the Midway.
That made the decision a no-brainer. Bowie made eye contact with his TAO. “Do it,” he said. “You have batteries released.”
The Tactical Action Officer keyed the net again immediately. “Weapons Control—TAO. Engage air tracks Zero Zero One through Zero Two Zero with missiles.”
“TAO—Weapons Control. Engage air tracks Zero Zero One through Zero Two Zero with missiles, aye. Stand by…”
A series of rapid shudders propagated down the length of the warship’s hull, accompanied by a sequence of muffled roars as nearly two dozen SM-3 missiles streaked into the sky.
The Weapons Officer’s voice came over the net. “TAO—Weapons Control. Twenty birds away. No apparent casualties.”
They appeared on the Aegis display within a couple of seconds: the blue shapes of twenty friendly missile symbols, closing rapidly on the hostile air symbols.
Bowie watched the converging symbology for several heartbeats before he reached for a communications headset and punched into the ship’s 1-MC system. When he spoke, his voice came from every speaker within the skin of the ship.
“All hands, this is the Captain. We’re currently launching missiles against a large raid of hostile aircraft. This is the real thing, people. This is what you’ve been training for, and I know you’re ready. Stay sharp. Stay tough. And be prepared for anything.”
He released the mike button and spoke under his breath. “Good luck. To all of us.”
* * *
Xianglong:
With its top-mounted jet engine and v-configured tail wings, the Xianglong Unmanned Aerial Vehicle was similar in appearance to the Northrop Grumman RQ-4 Global Hawk that had drawn so much media attention during U.S. military operations in Iraq and Afghanistan. But despite its physical resemblance to the American UAV, the capabilities of the Xianglong were still largely a mystery to the analysts and engineers of the United States.
