Carrier: A Guided Tour of an Aircraft Carrier

In the terrible summer of 2015, the great powers of the world-the United States, Russia, and China-all knew that the Indo-Pakistani War was likely to go nuclear at some point. They also knew that there was absolutely nothing that anyone could do to prevent it. Yet when India and Pakistan went to war over a series of escalating border clashes in Kashmir, the suddenness and magnitude of the catastrophe took everyone by surprise.

The roots of the conflict lay in over sixty years of deepening hatred. Border raids and warfare, terrorist actions, fighting on every level had been a part of the landscape since Pakistan's separation from India after the end of British colonial rule. By the time fighting escalated in Kashmir in 2015, the more fanatical elements of the Indian military and political leadership saw no way to resolve the conflict using conventional means. Instead, they chose a do-or-die course. India fired eight nuclear-tipped ballistic missiles at Karachi and Islamabad, the two most important cities in Pakistan. The results were terrible, horrifying beyond the most exaggerated expectations of the almost forgotten Cold War back in the 20th century.

Both Karachi and Islamabad were bracketed by a quartet of five-hundred-kiloton warheads, set to airburst over the cities for maximum damage to buildings and people. In a matter of minutes, both cities were destroyed, with firestorms roaring outward from the explosion epicenters at over sixty miles an hour. Over twenty-two million Pakistanis were killed instantly. Retaliation was automatic and immediate. Though somewhat more limited in their arsenal than the Indians, the Pakistani armed forces also had missiles with nuclear warheads, and they used them. They fired a dozen missiles at India, each with its own four-hundred-kiloton warhead. The targets they selected were Bombay, New Delhi, and Bangalore-the high-technology center of India's booming military-industrial complex. Over fifty-two million Indians died in the initial explosions. As prevailing winds carried lethal clouds of fallout over Southeast Asia, an outraged world demanded an immediate cease-fire. The demand was enforced by a unanimous United Nations Security Council resolution. Within days, that demand was backed up by the rapidly growing military presence of its members in the Indian Ocean.

Pakistan's provisional military regime immediately agreed to the cease-fire. They had seen that country's government and fully ten percent of its population snuffed out, and had their hands full dealing with the aftermath of the Indian attack. India's government, evacuated to a command center tunneled deep beneath a Himalayan mountain hours before its capital was vaporized, grudgingly complied. Nevertheless, they continued to denounce "external interference in our natural and inevitable leadership of South Asia." It was clear to everyone in the world that the situation was unstable, likely to explode again at any time. By the time diplomats had ironed out the new cease-fire line in late 2015, the other nations in the region were beginning to consider their options.

Ever since the enforced partition of England's imperial "Jewel of the Crown" led to the creation of India and Pakistan in 1947, conflict between the two newly independent nations had never died down. Other nations bordering the Indian Ocean took natural sides, with Muslim states supporting Pakistan, and non-Muslim ones supporting India. Yet after the nuclear holocaust that threatened not only India and Pakistan, but also the entire region, and possibly the world, the states in the region began to distance themselves politically from the two nuclear rogue nations.

Thus the small island nation of Sri Lanka, which had been under virtual Indian control since the partition, took initial steps to remove itself from India's sphere of influence. The reaction of India to Sri Lanka's attempt to declare independence was quick and fierce. India was determined to retain control of the island nation; and might even have managed to do so if the rivalry of the island's Sinhalese and Tamil populations had followed its traditional course. The Indian government had learned the art of "divide and rule" all too well during two centuries of English domination. After independence was declared in India, the ruling class put those lessons to good use, playing the divergent interests and goals of many minority groups off against each other in order to keep a firm grip on national affairs. But the current disaster had changed the Indian subcontinent forever. And in the days that followed, India would discover that the old rules had changed.

Aboard the Command Ship USS Mount McKinley (LCC-22), Two Hundred Fifty Nautical Miles (NM) Northeast of Diego Garcia, February 4th, 2016

Vice Admiral Matt Connelly was always happiest when he was at sea. His current post as commander of the U.S. Fifth Fleet, and the naval component commander (NAVCENT) for the U.S. Central Command (CENTCOM), had kept him out at sea for months now, overseeing a mission vital to his county and the world. He was in charge of the Navy's ships and aircraft in a place that was as geographically far as you could go from the miserable climate and politics of Washington, D.C. Even better, he was a real fleet commander, in charge of real personnel, ships, and aircraft doing a critical mission in an area of great tension. Best of all, his ships and aircraft were the newest and best in the fleet. Given where he was and what he was doing, nothing less was acceptable. India was poised on the brink of another war, possibly even another nuclear war. His success or failure in achieving his mission might determine the fate of this part of the world.

The ship he was aboard, the Mount McKinley (LCC-22), was a purpose-built command ship, based upon the design of the San Antonio (LPD-17) amphibious landing dockship. Even though it was built as a political concession to keep several shipyards busy following the completion of twelve San Antonio-class ships, the Mount McKinley was one of the finest fleet flagships ever built. Comfortable and fast, it was a marvelous balance of the complex technologies that make up specialized warships. Other wonderful ships were part of the Fifth Fleet, which Connelly was using to quarantine the Indian subcontinent while the United Nations decided what to do with the Indians and Pakistanis.

Several hundred miles to the east was the new carrier USS Colin Powell (CVN-79), another proud ship with a notable namesake. The second of the new class of carriers that was then being constructed, she carried an air wing with ten of the new F-25B joint strike fighters backed up by thirty F-18E and F-18F Super Hornet strike aircraft. These jets were armed with a new family of precision standoff weapons-weapons with amazing new warhead effects.

Also aboard the Colin Powell were several new variants of the V-22 Osprey, including the SV-22 ASW/sea-control version, the EV-22 airborne-early-warning /surface-surveillance variant, and the KUV-22 tanker/utility model. Though the Colin Powell was only one ship carrying a few dozen aircraft, it was a formidable weapon in the current crisis. The aircraft launched from its deck could maneuver anywhere in the region and hit anything that the National Command Authorities cared to target.

Connelly also had an MEU (SOC) aboard the three ships of his amphibious ready group (ARG), as well as a dozen highly capable escort vessels. Eight of these were Aegis-capable cruisers and destroyers, while the rest were new SC-21-class land-attack and ASW destroyers to protect the underway replenishment train ships. Finally, he had four nuclear submarines prowling about, just in case the Indians decided to get aggressive with their fleet of diesel boats.

A few Allied ships would rotate in and out of what he was calling Task Force 58 (named in honor of Admiral Raymond Spruance's famous World War II force), but by and large this was an American force, protecting American interests and values. Not that Connelly didn't enjoy working with coalition allies. Over the years he had become known as a master of naval diplomacy. But like any commander, he felt more comfortable with a force whose personnel and capabilities he knew intimately, whose commanders spoke his language without the need to resort to translators, and whose ships and men did what he told them to do without him needing to say "please" first.

His mission was essential, even if it could sometimes grow rather monotonous. He had learned the quarantine game back in 1990 during Desert Shield, and knew how to make it work. Backed up by patrol aircraft out of Diego Garcia and satellite surveillance from the U.S. Space Command (USSPACECOM) warfighting center at Colorado Springs, Colorado, Task Force 58 had the whole region under tight control. His force would keep it that way as long as the equipment, crews, and food held out. He was an American naval officer doing what he had spent a life training to do. Here in the Mount McKinley's Tactical Flag Command Center (TFCC), with the computerized equipment around him constantly monitoring every creature and machine larger than a gnat within the theater of operations, Connelly was exactly where he wanted to be. As he cleared his head for the morning video tele-conference with his ship and air unit commanders, he took a deep breath, drank some coffee, and reviewed the computer screen in front of him. So far, it had been a quiet morning. It was his job to be sure that it stayed that way.

University of New Mexico High Energy Physics Laboratory, February 5th, 2016

Jill Jacobs was a lovely blonde. She could have been a college cheer-leader in Texas, or possibly a starlet in Beverly Hills. She turned heads wherever she went; she had the kind of looks that made most people assume she got by on body, not brains. Most people would be wrong. She was a well-regarded doctoral candidate in high-energy physical chemistry, exploring rare earth properties for her thesis. It was slow, painstaking work, typically done at night when the lab spaces were open and she could mix and test the bizarre concoctions that were the basis of her ideas about superconductivity. Tonight's work was typical of what she had been doing for almost six months-another apparent failure. It had not generated any of the improvements that her computer models had projected two years earlier. Oh well, she thought, at least this batch didn't explode.

She stared then at the next batch on her list-samples of a hybrid copper-platinum-scandium mix that represented a sort of cul-de-sac in her projected family of superconducting materials. Always a low-probability set within her computer-modeled group, she had mixed it only because she had the time and materials at hand, and needed to try this particular formula out sometime. She took the samples, formed into lengths of wire, to her test bench to measure their resistance and conductivity properties. As she stepped up to the bench, she was tired to her bones. It was discouraging to work so hard without noticeable progress.

She knew the world needed metals that were superconductive at average atmospheric temperatures, but wondered if she would ever find them. If she didn't find them soon, would she ever make a difference with this work? Most likely, she would wind up in a corporate lab somewhere working on improved alloys for jet engines or household appliances. It was the first time she'd even allowed herself to visualize failure, and it surprised her. Maybe the sleep she was losing every night to acquire the lab time for her tests was taking its toll. Or maybe it was the news in the paper every morning. That was enough to depress anyone. But something wasn't right, she decided. She was normally an optimist with a rose-tinted world-view. She needed a break. Perhaps after she finished this test, she would take off for the weekend, and drive to Taos for an overnight visit to a spa, or up into the mountains for a camping trip. If she could get away for a little, maybe she'd feel human again. Maybe.

Turning her attention back to the sample in the test stand, she began to run current through it at a variety of temperatures. At first the readings did not seem out of the ordinary. At -200deg Centigrade, the sample had exactly the superconducting properties that one would expect it to have. But as the sample came up past 0deg C, it finally hit her what was wrong, or more properly, what was right. The sample had stabilized its conductive properties at 98 % of their optimum, and held them. She continued to ramp the temperatures up, and the material held up until it finally melted at about 300deg C.

She'd done it.

If her eyes and her machinery weren't lying to her, she'd found her material. Stunned, she cleaned up the chamber, recalibrated her equipment, loaded an identical sample into the test rig, and tried it again. Identical result.

"I've really done it," she whispered to herself.

As she fumbled in her purse for her mobile phone to call her faculty adviser, her brain was spinning like a pair of dice in Vegas. Her doctoral thesis was a done deal now. She could finally finish her degree and get on with her life in the real world. She'd realized her goals in her current research and could move on to new frontiers. But even as she called her adviser to share the news, she had no idea how crucial her new discovery would be to the rest of the world. She'd just created a practical high-temperature superconductor, and in so doing was about to change the face of civilization. "Power" and "wealth" would never be the same again.

Headquarters of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, Near Mankulam, Sri Lanka, February 7th, 2016

Arjuan Ranatunga sat in the place he called his office and contemplated how to change the course of his nation's history. Grand thoughts for a man whose major passion had only recently been playing cricket. But the continued suppression of the Tamil sect by the Indians on the mainland and the Sinhalese on the southern half of Sri Lanka had no end in sight. This repression had drawn him to the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE), more commonly referred to as the "Tamil Tigers." The Tigers had always been a part of his country's political landscape-for as long as he could remember, anyway. He was a revolutionary soldier in a battle that had been going on for longer than he had been alive. Now, at age thirty-seven-an age when he should have been coaching a regional cricket team-he had become the leader of the LTTE. When events in his country had spun out of control, he had been unable to turn his back on the needs of the people. The final straw that had made his current occupation inevitable was the death of the previous Tiger leader, his brother Sanath. Sanath had been killed by an Indian helicopter gunship a few weeks earlier.

He was sitting in a tent surrounded by jungle near Route A9. His "desk" was a folding table and his office chair a ration crate. In front of him were a laptop data slate and his encrypted satellite cellular phone. Despite the spartan surroundings, he had the power to control considerable military clout from the humble resources at his fingertips. He could dispatch forces ranging from patrol boats to special assassination teams with just a few taps on his keyboard, or a simple phone call.

And yet, force wasn't doing the job. Decades of active resistance against the Indians and Sinhalese had utterly failed to give the Tamil Tigers the homeland they dreamed of. Already today, he had been advised by his regional commanders to begin a terror campaign in the south to avenge his brother's death. Yet revenge was not his objective today. He knew better than anyone did how futile it was. Nothing would bring back his brother. Instead of planning and setting into motion a campaign of terror, he'd chosen to spend the morning considering his options, and the options of the organization and his people. Though well financed by the Tamil supporters on the mainland, he could see no combination of military action that would ever result in Tamil domination of Sri Lanka. Even if they won the bloody civil war that would be necessary, they would inevitably lose the peace that would follow. The Sinhalese would start their own liberation movement, and the cycle would start again.

What he needed was something different. A new kind of weapon-some new power that would break the rules, that would give his cause an edge that would count for something in a world where large-scale violence was relatively rare, but where the warfare of commerce, corporations, and economics was everywhere. A few days earlier, it came to him that an answer might lie in the rich earth at his feet. Sri Lanka was his home, the mother of his people. Perhaps that mother might provide the milk that would make them powerful enough to win, powerful enough to keep the Indians from crushing them, powerful enough to encourage a superpower like America to support them, as they had Kuwait back in 1990.

Not an easy task.

To catch the attention of the United States and focus it on the sufferings of a handful of people on the far side of the globe would take no less than magic. Luckily, he had recently hired a wizard.

West of the Kokkita Bird Sanctuary, Sri Lanka, March 9th, 2016

The foothills of north Sri Lanka are unique in the South Asian region. While most of the Indian subcontinent is among the newest terrain on the globe, these foothills are some of the oldest. Old things are likely to be valuable, and that was why the geologist was here. The contract to survey this area had been both lucrative and timely. Short of money for his children's school tuition, he had jumped at the chance when the Internet inquiries about his availability had reached his home in Perth, Australia. He had immediately said yes.

Before he'd even started packing, he had commissioned a series of one-meter-resolution multi-spectral satellite photographs from the French SPOT Corporation. Running the images through his desktop workstation in Perth, he had found several promising areas to explore. The commission had been explicit. Find rare and valuable mineral deposits, report them to the commissioning agent, accept the fee, and then deny that he had ever visited Sri Lanka. As an enticement to silence, the agent had promised him a tenth-of-a-percent royalty on anything that he found that was developed during his lifetime. With an offer like that, he had gone to extraordinary efforts for his employers. For almost a month, he had run the tires off of his hired Land Rover, looking for some exceptional mineral deposit to report back to them.

Now he was working the last area on his list of possibilities. So far he had found some promising discoveries, but nothing spectacular. A few days earlier, he spotted what might be a major vein of platinum in the side of a mountain, and he had taken several core samples around it to assay when he got home. Today, his chemical "sniffer" was finding samples of rare earth metals; and there seemed to be particularly large concentrations of scandium. What struck him was the purity of the sample he'd collected here-it exceeded anything he had ever heard reported.

In three days, he would return to Perth and start on his analysis and report. He hoped, for the sake of his future royalties, that the platinum find would pan out. Nobody had ever found a significant use for scandium.

National Press Club, Washington, D.C., April 1st, 2016

April Fool's Day is normally a day for pranks and lies, but this day would go down in the history books as a day when new truths were told. Jill Jacobs and the head of the Sandia Labs stood before a packed house of disbelieving science reporters to announce a breakthrough in superconductor technology, which would allow for the development of electric motors thousands of times more compact, powerful, and efficient than any made previously. A patent for the metal formulation had been applied for, and it would be available for commercial license immediately.

Chuckles broke out among the reporters, and there were cracks about cold fusion-until Jill came to the podium and asked everyone to go down to the street below, where she promised to demonstrate the material. Moments later, the assembled press personnel found what appeared to be a completely normal pair of buses painted with the logos of the University of New Mexico and Sandia Labs. After the reporters were all aboard and seated, Jill stepped onto the first bus, the Sandia chief onto the one behind it. A moment later, the buses accelerated smartly away from the curb, silent as ghosts, the typical diesel roar completely absent. In fact, the street noise outside was deafening by comparison. The stunned reporters sat in silence as they rode to the base of the Washington Monument several miles away.

After everyone got out of the buses and filed onto the sidewalk, Jill and the Sandia Labs chief opened the engine compartments to show the press corps a single car battery running an electric motor the size of a beer keg. All told, they informed the reporters, the two buses had consumed less than an amp-hour of power, less than one percent of what was stored in each battery. Even better, the motors, which had been designed from existing models, had cost less than a thousand dollars to build. Most of the reporters dragged out their cell phones then and there to report in, rather than waiting for the buses to return them to the Press Club building.

Headquarters of the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam, Near Anuradhapura, Sri Lanka, April 3rd, 2016

Today Arjuan Ranatunga's headquarters were located in a gamekeeper's hut, and his table and chair were actually comfortable. Moreover, the news on the data slate before him was like a gift from God himself. For the better part of a week, he'd had the mineral report he'd commissioned, but until now, it had seemed disappointing. It had promised nothing like the riches he had hoped for. But overnight, the news from America had turned the economy of the world upside down. Everyone had gone superconductor-crazy. Oil prices had taken a precipitous drop, and the prices for platinum and scandium had jumped off of the charts. This was hardly surprising. The world's known reserves of scandium could be measured in just a few tons. These would supply a bare handful of the proposed applications for the new superconducting metal formula.

He did not need to be a financial genius to figure out that what had been found in the foothills to the east could make Sri Lanka the superconductor capital of the world. The problem was what India would do when they found out what was sitting in the foothills of Sri Lanka. Once they knew what was there, they would crush both the Tamils and Sinhalese faster than they had nuked the Pakistanis. Even worse, the rest of the world would probably not care, if what he had seen over the Internet on the various news service web pages could be believed. As long as the resource was developed, it didn't matter who was offering it. He had to act quickly if he were to save his people and-ironically-their enemies, the Sinhalese. Taking a deep breath, he tapped out an E-mail message to his Sinhalese counterpart in Colombo.

Indian National Command Bunker, Near the Himalayan Town of Puranpur, April 4th, 2016

Roshan Gandhi was having another in a long string of bad days here in his bunker. The Indian Prime Minister had not seen a ray of sunshine for weeks, and was beginning to wonder if he would ever see sun again. Since the day four months ago when he had authorized the firing of the nuclear-tipped missiles into Pakistan, his fortunes and those of his country had been spiraling out of his control.

Like so many other Indian politicians who shared his name, Gandhi was in no way related to the great man who had led India to independence six decades earlier. It had never seemed to worry the Indian people that the name Gandhi had helped a string of politicians gain power in India over the years. Still, his family did share a political connection with him. Roshan's grand-father had been a follower of the great Gandhi's, and had adopted the name after the assassination in the late 1940s.

The current Gandhi had been a popular provincial governor before he ran for and won his present office. Hed become the political leader of his party, and was then elected to national office because he was an honest man. He'd offered a pleasant contrast to the scandal and graft of the previous administration. Unfortunately (tragically, as it transpired), during all the discussions and analyses of what he was not, nobody had ever thought to ask what kind of leader Roshan would be. It would have been an illuminating question. As Roshan himself was the first to admit, he was a better follower than leader. And, honest man that he was, he'd have admitted that to the press. But no one thought to ask the question. From his first day as Prime Minister of India, with a vast majority in Parliament, Roshan Gandhi had been in over his head.

In the early days of his administration, his Defense Minister had badgered him into ordering a nuclear war with Pakistan. Even after the war was unleashed so catastrophically, the man was still badgering him for more. Roshan wasn't happy about the way matters stood, either for him or for his country. Gandhi was aware of the problems his government's actions had caused. How could he not be, even insulated here in the mountain fortress? There were tens of millions of Indians dead. Even four months after it was over, more were dying every day from the lasting effects of the nuclear exchange with Pakistan. Prevailing winds had swept the fallout to the east, making whole swathes of the land uninhabitable. Uncontaminated water was in critically short supply throughout the country. Plague and famine were rampant. Existing food stores, the crops in the fields, dairy products-all were contaminated by radioactive waste.

Unrest was everywhere in India, in a thousand villages and towns. Over the war, over the lack of food and water, over the destruction of the infrastructure, even over the UN quarantine. Mobs were forming, demanding action. Military units were suppressing the demonstrators and rioters, using deadly force if necessary. Roshan had agreed to that. It was a bad choice, but the only one that might allow India to survive as a nation.

But Roshan's current problem was not centered on India's massive domestic difficulties. Just at the moment, he was worrying about what would happen if any of India's neighbors became too independent. Both Bangladesh and Sri Lanka had been showing signs of slipping away from India's influence. India was not really a "melting pot" like the United States, but a huge patchwork quilt composed of many thousands of distinct language and ethnic groups. Held together now only by the iron force of the Indian military, India might fragment into a hundred little kingdoms and regions-unless Roshan could make the center hold. In Roshan's opinion, a crucial stage in this process would be getting the trade and imports embargo imposed by the UN dropped. Roshan's people were starving, dying of thirst, rotting away from radiation sickness, and succumbing to a long list of ordinary diseases that could be controlled with proper medications.

Roshan wanted the means to repair the damage he'd done. He needed the basics of life-food, water, medical supplies. What the Defense Minister needed-ammunition-he unfortunately had in abundance. Maybe they could use it to buy more time. Right now, India had none. What Roshan really needed was a solution to the problems he himself had created by authorizing the launch of nuclear missiles against Pakistan. Such a solution was even less likely to materialize.

A Private Plantation near Colombo, Sri Lanka, April 5th, 2016

The plantation was a hallowed place in Sri Lankan history. It was the former home of a celebrated scientist and science-fiction author who had spent his later years tapping out novels on a computer in the study, and then uploading them to his New York publisher via a personal satellite uplink in the courtyard. A literary shrine for tourists, it was closed today, ostensibly for cleaning and maintenance. Venkatesh Prasad, the Sinhalese Prime Minister, had come here in response to an E-mail he'd received the day before from his counterpart in the LTTE. The unofficial cease-fire between the government and the Tamil Tigers notwithstanding, Prasad was extremely suspicious of this meeting.

But Prasad's suspicion rapidly gave way to astonishment when, a few minutes later, Arjuan Ranatunga arrived, accompanied only by a driver for his Land Rover. Prasad had spent a lifetime fighting the LTTE to preserve Sinhalese control of Sri Lanka. Now he was about to sit down for a private talk with his sworn enemy. About what? He had no idea. Maybe Arjuan would suggest that they settle everything in a nice, civilized way, perhaps with a cricket match. That thought made him smile thinly.

As the two men sat together in the former author's study, the LTTE leader laid out an astonishing offer before Prasad. Arjuan proposed that they just stop fighting. Stop fighting, put down their weapons, and share the most valuable mineral strike in the history of mankind. It was a peace proposal so remarkably simple it was impossible to refuse. Both men could see clearly what would happen if they could just cooperate. Their little island would become the 21st century equivalent of OPEC, with all the wealth, power, advantages, and liabilities that would naturally ensue. They agreed on the need for support from outside, particularly from the Americans. Most of all, they decided that the existence and location of the platinum and scandium would remain secret, until the security of their new nation was assured. Otherwise, that knowledge would bring genocide on both their peoples.

United Nations Security Council Chamber, New York, New York, May 2nd, 2016

The two Sri Lankan leaders had decided to let the British ambassador, rather than the Americans, convey their proposal to the Security Council. The old colonial ties with the British Empire would lend credibility to the proposal, and the American second would almost certainly assure its passage. By nightfall, the following resolution had been passed, with only two abstentions:

Indian National Command Bunker, near the Himalayan Town of Puranpur, May 4th, 2016

Prime Minister Gandhi was in the middle of another shouting match, this one involving his Defense Minister and the service chiefs. The mysterious union of the two warring factions on Sri Lanka into a single government was puzzling, but irrelevant. More important was the fact that the island was a de facto province of India, and the mainland population would see any attempt by the islanders to go their own way as a sign of weakness on the part of Gandhi's government. But neither Gandhi nor the men around him could decide what to do about it. The Navy and Air Force chiefs were busily trying to explain the suicidal folly of trying to take Sri Lanka in the face of the previous day's UN vote. After the war with Pakistan, the UN was looking for any excuse it could find to turn India into a null-power in South Asia. Within a matter of hours, American Army and Marine pre-position squadrons would sail from Diego Garcia. In just four days, they would unload in the harbors at Colombo and Trincomalee with enough equipment for a 25,000-man joint air/land task force to protect the small island. Already, there were reports of the American ARG beginning to head for Sri Lanka. As if to add to Roshan's troubles, there were reports from the BBC and CNN that units of the 82nd Airborne Division were preparing to deploy to Sri Lanka from Fort Bragg. In less than a week, Sri Lanka would be as free of India's rule as Antarctica.

Gandhi knew this turn of events would mean the end of his government, and he wanted it stopped. Since such an effort would involve amphibious and air operations, it would fall on these two chiefs to make it happen, and they did not want any part of it. Their forces had suffered in the short and bloody fight with Pakistan the previous winter, in humanitarian missions after the war, and in quelling the riots ever since. Both commanders, doing their utmost to hold what was left of their services for better causes, better days, were firmly opposed to Roshan's decision. Predictably, the Defense Minister was in favor of the Sri Lankan expedition. He didn't care about the preservation of the lives of the men in the armed forces; trained men could be replaced or bought.

After a time, further debate was useless. A decision had to be made. Roshan closed his eyes, thought for a moment, and ordered the expedition. It was another bad choice in a seemingly endless line of bad choices, dating from the very moment he'd sought to become Prime Minister.

Aboard the Command Ship USS Mount McKinley (LCC-22), Five Hundred Nautical Miles South of Colombo, May 5th, 2016

"Well, Jack, I think we understand what is needed here. I'll get the staff working on it," Vice Admiral Connelly said into his video teleconferencing terminal. His satellite-assisted meeting with the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff had gone as expected, and the official orders from the UN and American National Command Authorities would be on their way via secure FAX in a matter of minutes. Now he could officially begin what he had privately started two days earlier when the chairman had told him of the probable UN resolution. Already, he had begun to concentrate his forces around Sri Lanka, and set up the wall of fire and sensors that would be needed to protect the island nation from what was considered the inevitable Indian response.

Shutting down the terminal, he walked back to his day cabin, pulled out a yellow legal pad and mechanical pencil, and began to sketch an outline of the plan for the defense of Sri Lanka. He knew using pencil and paper was so outdated it was laughable, but he also knew that he did his best thinking while he wrote the old-fashioned way. He smiled as he began, knowing his Fifth Fleet staff would probably take twice as long to argue over what he was about to write as he would to do so. That was after they'd laughed themselves sick over his method of encoding the data. Well, he thought, this is how we did it on the old days before voice-recognition word processors and eye-controlled pointing devices. And it will work under any circumstances, even in a total power outage. I'd like to see them say that about their computers. Thirty minutes later, he was finished.

The plan was quite simple, actually. The 26th MEU (SOC) would land on the island and establish coastal defenses to keep the Indians from crossing the Gulf of Mannar. Two brigades of the 82nd Airborne Division would begin arriving in thirty-six hours to back up the Marines. He would then create a series of "missile traps," composed of pairs of Aegis ships and land-attack destroyers, to provide fire support and protect against air and ballistic missile attack. Finally, his command ship, the carrier, and the four remaining escorts would establish an operating area southeast of Sri Lanka to provide air cover and support for the ground and naval forces. When the MPS ships arrived in three days, he would land their cargo, and begin flying in the Army and Marine Corps personnel needed to make the island into a fortress. After that, UN peacekeeping personnel with their blue berets would arrive and take over, along with the inevitable multi-national air and Naval force to cover the island from attack. All he had to do was keep the Indians honest for the next few days.

Unfortunately, this particular Indian government was composed of a few irrational people with the ugly habit of launching nuclear weapons when they lost their temper. He was more than a little concerned about whether his Aegis ships and the battle staff at USSPACECOM in Colorado Springs were ready to play for all the marbles. The Indians were using serious firepower. Not modified SCUDs fired like shotgun shells, but IRBMs with nuclear weapons. He found himself wondering if American magic would be better than Indian magic.

Indian Naval Base, Goa, India, May 6th, 2016

After the destruction of Bombay, the major fleet units of the Indian Navy had made Goa their new fleet base. All told, over a dozen warships and a comparable number of submarines lay at anchor, surrounded by the merchant ships being taken up and loaded with men and equipment for the expedition to Sri Lanka. As he looked across the bay at his fleet, Admiral Ajay Jadeja, the Chief of the Indian Navy, contemplated the death ride that his fleet was about to take. He wondered how much he would personally sacrifice in the name of Indian honor, and how many young men on both sides he would have killed as he did so.

He had no doubt of the Americans' ability to destroy his surface force before it rounded Cape Comorin at the southern tip of India. Right now, his most hopeful outcome was for the world to be so appalled by his losses that the UN might back away from their resolution to maintain a complete embargo against India. Meanwhile, since much of his submarine force had been destroyed when Bombay had been destroyed, he wanted to be careful with the handful of subs he still had. He was still hopeful that his submarines would get in a few lucky shots against the American ships, though nobody had had much luck on that score since the 1990's.

But in his heart he feared a round of Indian nuclear missile launches against Sri Lanka would cause retaliation in kind against his country. Should that occur, he mused, India, the world's largest democracy, might just have solved its population problems permanently. He was a man of no little integrity; and he had argued against this silly adventure to his superiors. It did no good. They'd simply told him to "be silent and lead your men in their duty." He would follow his orders to the death, he supposed-anything but a glorious death. It would be a slaughter. On the other hand, if he resigned, his replacement would be indifferent to the fears that burned within him. Better to take his fleet to sea, and try to save what he could.

Over the Gulf of Mannar, May 6th, 2016

The first action between the American and Indian forces inevitably took place in the air. In the late afternoon, an Indian force of 24 Su-30 Flanker fighter-bombers armed with antiship missiles launched with a dozen old MiG-29 Fulcrums as escorts. Their targets were the two missile-trap ships on either side of the narrows between Sri Lanka and the Indian mainland. The Indian pilots had no idea they had been detected even before their aircraft had left the ground. Their takeoff was picked up by one of the new EV-22 surveillance aircraft. As they flew toward their destination, they were intercepted by eight F-25B stealth strike fighters from the Colin Powell, armed with the newest long-range version of the AIM-120 AMRAAM air-to-air missile. Before the Indian fighters had even formed up, two thirds of their force was vaporized by the first salvo of American missiles. These were followed by a quartet of F-18E Super Hornets that finished off all but three of the survivors. Then came a salvo of standard surface-to-air missiles from one of the Aegis destroyers. When it was all over, only a single MiG-29 pilot made it home to tell about the massacre over the Gulf of Mannar. The Americans would later call it an "overmatch." The Indians called it suicide.

Aboard the Aircraft Carrier USS Colin Powell (CVN-79), Fifty Nautical Miles Southeast of Sri Lanka, 2000 Hours, May 6th, 2016

Admiral Connelly had taken a helicopter over to the Colin Powell to congratulate the pilots on their intercept of the Indian fighters, and to confer with the captain and air wing commanders on what they would do the next morning when the Indian fleet came into range. They all agreed that what he had in mind was not going to be easy, and could become extremely difficult if the Indian fleet commander tried anything radical with his course or formations.

As things were then proceeding, this appeared unlikely. The Indian commander seemed bent on a death ride. Already, the Fifth Fleet staff analysts had decided that the Indians hoped to shame the Americans with the slaughter-as the Iraqis had done during Desert Storm by drawing media attention to what was falsely called the "Highway of Death." More than one historian had noted that press coverage of that event had caused the war to be stopped at least a day or two earlier than it should have been. The price had been several decades of problems in the Persian Gulf. Connelly did not intend to repeat that mistake.

Over the Lakshadweep Sea, 0700 Hours, May 7th, 2016

The Global Hawk reconnaissance drone was settled safely over the Indian task force, and the live satellite imagery feed was operating perfectly. Launched eighteen hours earlier from Diego Garcia, it would stay in the air for days, feeding data to the American forces. Right now, the main camera was focused upon the Indian aircraft carrier Viraat, at one time the British flattop Hermes. She carried a dozen modernized Sea Harrier fighter-bombers, which were currently loaded with rather elderly Sea Eagle antiship missiles. Admiral Jadeja figured that he'd been indulging in a bit of wishful thinking when he'd had the Harriers tasked. More than likely, they would never leave the deck of the Viraat. His only real question was whether the attack that demolished them all would come from a submarine or from the air. Either way, the death of his fleet might serve to shame the superpower into relaxing its hold on Sri Lanka. In truth, he doubted that.

CNN Center, Atlanta, Georgia, 2000 Hours, May 6th, 2016

The LIVE EVENT graphic went up on the screen followed by an introduction by the news anchors. Viewers worldwide were about to see a live feed from the Indian Ocean where the Sri Lankan quarantine was in effect. The CNN feed was accompanied by a voice-over from the Chairmen of the Joint Chiefs, who began to provide the world's first official play-by-play commentary of an actual battle. What the world saw was the Global Hawk view of the Indian carrier group, with an occasional zoom in on the Viraat. What was said next stunned the worldwide audience.

"Since the United States wishes to fulfill its commitment to the Sri Lankan people and its UN partners, but wishes no excess bloodshed in the process, we are about to show the world, especially the Indian government, what will happen to all of their ships if they do not turn back their forces immediately."

He nodded to his assistant, who relayed a signal to Admiral Connelly on the Mount McKinley.

Over the Lakshadweep Sea, 0705 Hours, May 7th, 2016

The four F/A-18Es Super Hornets had just downlinked the final targeting templates for their ATA-equipped hypersonic cruise missiles, and fed the image of the Viraat into the guidance systems. When Admiral Connelly gave the order, the four pilots salvoed the missiles at fifteen-second intervals, the better for the world to watch the results. Each missile immediately ignited its rocket motor, and climbed at Mach 6 into the upper atmosphere for the two-minute run to the target. When directly over the Viraat, each missile began to dive, and scanned the surface below for a shape that matched the image template in its guidance package. The results were stunning even to the people who had planned the strike.

The Global Hawk camera zoomed in on the Viraat just before the first missile struck the flight deck on the fantail. The missile penetrated the flight deck before the thousand-pound warhead detonated, blowing chunks of the after flight deck into the air. Seconds later, the next missile arrived, landing about one hundred feet forward of the first missile hit. This time three Sea Harriers were blown apart, the pieces flung into the air. The explosions continued. By the time the last two missiles arrived, the ship was a mass of flames and explosions. Since there was no longer a target to hit, the missiles splashed into the ocean. Almost immediately, the old flattop began to settle. Within ten minutes it was nothing but a pool of burning oil, floating debris, and men fighting for their lives. One of them was Admiral Jadeja.

CNN Center, Atlanta, GA, 2010 Hours, May 6th, 2016

The images of the final moments of Viraat shocked even the JCS Chairman, who had to recompose himself before he completed his statement.

"As you can see, the United States has the ability to strike, and destroy at will, any Indian naval unit that it desires. In the interests of humanity, I make the following statement to the Indian National Command Authorities. You may spend the next two hours conducting search and rescue operations. At that time, if your ships have not reversed course, we will begin to sink additional units at our discretion. In the name of decency, please return your fleet to its base at Goa without delay."

He need not have said anything. As a burned and bruised Admiral Jadeja was pulled from the oily water, he himself ordered the fleet to complete search and rescue operations, and then to return to Goa at best speed. The Indian Sri Lanka expedition was over.

Indian National Command Bunker, near the Himalayan Town of Puranpur, 0900 Hours, May 7th, 2016

Once again, Prime Minister Gandhi was watching a fight between his Defense Minister and his service chiefs. This one had turned uglier than usual. Physical blows had been exchanged even before news of Admiral Jadeja's fleet recall order had been delivered. Far from shaming the Americans with a slaughter, the Indian Navy, the most powerful navy in the region, had been punished and humbled before the world-not just by a show of arms but by a show of mercy.

After they'd watched the broadcast on CNN, the service chiefs had withdrawn, for their own physical security (they feared that the Defense Minister might find a weapon and kill them). In their absence the Defense Minister had turned his wrath on Gandhi. This infamy, the Minister ranted, must be avenged, and the American mission stopped, whatever the cost. It was at this moment that Roshan realized that he was a coward; he lacked both the moral and physical courage needed to defend himself and his country. So when the Defense Minister pressed for a nuclear-missile strike on Sri Lanka, as the madman hung over him threateningly, Gandhi signed the release orders.

As the Defense Minister left to commit another crime against humanity, the Prime Minister lowered his face into his hands to sob, silently praying to his God that someone would stop this man, even if it killed them all. He could only die once. Best for that to happen before the blood of more millions of innocents stained his hands.

North Coast of Sri Lanka near Jaffra, 1200 Hours, May 7th, 2016

Admiral Connelly liked what he saw. The MEU (SOC) was already in its defensive position. The troopers of the 82nd Airborne down at Colombo had volunteered to send them a platoon of engineers with bulldozers and earthmovers to improve the sites. The artillery was already dug in; and the air defense vehicles had excellent engagement arcs. Seeing that their colonel had things well in hand, he walked back to his HH-60R helicopter for the ride back to the Mount McKinley.

As they lifted off and headed out to sea, he got a message on his secure satellite phone, which set him immediately on edge. An NSA ferret satellite had picked up indications of commands being issued to an Indian IRBM battalion. Early analysis indicated that the unit had been ordered to erect and fuel their missiles, and prepare them for launch. Estimated time until they would be ready for action was less than three hours. Realizing that his force had very little time to prepare for what might be the world's first duel between nuclear-armed ballistic missiles and theater ballistic-missile defense forces, he ordered his pilot to push the chopper to the limit.

USSPACECOM Theater Battle Management Center, Falcon AFB, Colorado, 0322 Hours, May 7th, 2016

The battle management staff was fully manned, with off-shift personnel crowding in between the workstation terminals and the gallery. An Air Force brigadier general from the 50th Space Wing was in command, and he had his command and control links and satellites fully netted and ready. For years, they had practiced this very scenario on complex computer networks against synthetic missiles. Today, they would be doing it for real, with actual nuclear-tipped missiles as targets, and the lives of several million human beings at stake. The earliest deadline for possible launch of the Indian missiles had passed about twenty minutes earlier. Everyone was getting a little edgy. Just as the general was about to declare an alert break so his people could get some coffee and donuts, the Defense Support Program (DSP) satellite console operator came on the net with a voice that was frighteningly detached.

"We have missile launches in central India. I repeat, we have multiple missile launches in central India. Confidence is high. I repeat, confidence is high."

It took a few seconds for the DSP bird to obtain rough tracking information on what was now looking like six IRBM-type missiles as they climbed away from their launchers near Nagpur. When the information came in, it was fed automatically to the battle management consoles, where software began to send orders to a series of high-resolution targeting satellites in medium Earth orbit. Within thirty seconds of the last Indian missile's launch, each missile was being tracked by a telescope, which was supplying precise fire control information to the battle management network. The general, seeing that there was only a single wave of missiles headed south toward Sri Lanka, quickly made his decision, then spoke over the network.

"This is Silicon Palace to all stations. Werewolf. Werewolf! We have six inbound missile tracks to the Sri Lanka area. Confidence is high. I repeat, confidence is high. All ships and batteries, I declare weapons free. Repeat. I declare weapons free! Go get 'um, space rangers!"

He had done his job. Now they all got to see if a few hundred billion dollars had been wasted.

Aboard the Command Ship USS Mount McKinley (LCC-22), Five Hundred Nautical Miles (NM) South of Colombo, 1525 Hours, May 7th, 2016

The displays showed the inbound missile tracks, even though the radars of his Aegis ships could not yet see the weapons on their own. Like everyone else, Admiral Connelly had run simulations of missile defense time and time again. But this time, it was terribly real. Right now, the targeting data was being relayed via satellite link from Falcon AFB, and it was good enough to shoot with. The idea was to try to engage the incoming missiles as soon as they came into view of the Aegis ships. He had already given weapons-release authority to the theater ballistic-missile defense officer in the corner console in the TFCC. The young lieutenant commander had an Aegis cruiser and two destroyers to engage with, as well as a pair of Army Patriot batteries from XVIII Airborne Corps on Sri Lanka itself. This gave them two layers of firepower to apply against the incoming missile stream. He hoped it would be enough.

Over on the destroyers Mahan (DDG-72) and Hopper (DDG-70), as well as the cruiser Cape St. George (CG-71), the battle management software from Falcon Field ordered each ship to launch a modified Standard SAM with a miniature homing vehicle as the payload. Because of their limited loadout of ATBM SAMs, the three ships had to fire one at a time at the incoming missiles, so that the chances of a kill would be maximized. The first salvo had been dispatched before the Indian IRBMs had even come over the horizon, but this would increase the number of possible shots against the missile stream.

Admiral Connelly watched transfixed as the six SAM symbols moved across the large-screen display toward the IRBM icons. The flight time was almost two minutes, and the results were gratifying. Three of the Indian missiles were destroyed by direct kinetic energy hits from the SAMs, while the others would require further engagement. Another salvo of three ATBM SAMs erupted from the Aegis ships, this time with a flight time of less than forty-five seconds to their targets. The miniature homing vehicles vaporized two more IRBMs. That left just one targeted on Colombo.

Connelly began to ball his fists when he saw two shots at the final Indian missile miss due to bad engagement geometry, allowing it past the picket line of Aegis ships. This left only their goaltender, the Patriot battery on a hill overlooking Colombo Harbor. The site had originally been the headquarters of Lord Louis Mountbatten during the Second World War, and now had the best firing arc of the Army SAM batteries. The Indian missile was less than two hundred miles out when the battery spat out a pair of PAC-3 ERINT anti-missile SAMs. The Army had deployed this system in great numbers, and a second pair of ERINTs were fired to make sure that this last inbound had no chance.

The problem was that the Indian missile was of a fairly advanced design, with a system for detaching the warhead at apogee. This improved the accuracy of the warhead and made interception more difficult. However, U.S. design teams hadn't been standing still either. Hard-won experience from several decades earlier in the Persian Gulf had taught the software engineers some valuable tricks, and the Patriot radar easily picked out the warhead from the fragments of the missile that were breaking up upon reentry into the atmosphere. As it turned out, the first salvo of ERINTs was enough. The second PAC-3 struck the warhead, vaporizing it into an exploding stream of plutonium and ceramic from the heat shield. On both sides of the world, the winners of the first nuclear-missile/anti-missile battle jumped to their feet and issued a collective victory cry. The American magic had been better.

Indian National Command Bunker, near the Himalayan Town of Puranpur, 1835 Hours, May 7th, 2016

Prime Minister Gandhi sat alone now in the conference room. He'd sent the military chiefs away to their quarters, and put the Defense Minister under arrest. He had finally pulled himself together enough to do the right thing, which was precisely nothing. The failure of the missile strike had given him back his options, and now he was going to limit the retribution on India to this bunker, and probably the missile launch site. He knew that the Americans had probably already targeted both locations, and that they would hit them soon. He ordered all non-essential personnel out of the facility, than sat down and began to pray for his soul. He hoped that it would be over soon.

Flight Deck of the Aircraft Carrier Colin Powell, 1925 Hours, May 7th, 2016

They had been forced to wait until the resolution of the Indian missile strike to know which weapons they would upload. Had any of the Indian IRBMs hit their targets, then the F-25Bs would have been each loaded with a pair of B-61-15 nuclear penetrating gravity bombs targeted on what had been called "strategic" targets. The population density of India meant that the use of any such weapon would kill hundreds of thousands of civilians at a minimum. Thankfully for the ordnance personnel and the pilots, the orders from the National Command Authorities had been explicit. Response in kind. This meant that unless a nuclear detonation had taken place, only convention weapons were authorized for use in the coming strike on the Indian leadership and their nuclear missile depots.

The F-25Bs would each carry a GBU-32 JDAMS with a modified BLU- 109 two-thousand-pound penetrating warhead to seal the bunker entrances. Then the F/A-18 Super Hornets would finish the job with 4,700-pound GBU- 28 "Deep Throat" bombs armed with BLU-113 warheads to collapse the tunnels. Similar attention would be given to the Indian missile silos near Nagpur.

It took a little over three hours to get the aircraft loaded and the crews briefed. As usual for such things, it would be a precision night strike to help degrade the Indian defenses. As the first pair of F-25Bs taxied up to the catapults at the bow, the deck crews lined the catwalks, cheering the pilots as they launched into a beautiful night sky. It would take a few hours for the planes to reach their targets.

Indian National Command Bunker, near the Himalayan Town of Puranpur, 2242 Hours, May 7th, 2016

Prime Minister Gandhi lay in his bedroom waiting for the end. He had authorized the actions that had resulted in the deaths of tens of millions of human lives. He would be remembered as the first great genocidal despot of the new millennium, and that was a difficult thought to die with. But he knew he was doing the right thing now. Down the corridor he heard the sounds of the first penetrating bombs sealing the exits. At the same time, the air raid sirens went off, an unnecessary distraction. Death was at most a minute or two away.

When the F/A-18s finally arrived overhead thirty seconds after the F-25Bs had done their jobs, it took just a few minutes for the four pilots to set up their laser designators, get the weapons into parameters, and make the drop. Thirty seconds later, eight of the big bombs entered the solid granite protecting the mountain bunker. They split the wet stone for almost a hundred feet before detonating, setting up a shear shock wave in the rock strata. The effect was to collapse the bunkers below, destroying everyone and everything inside instantly. With the destruction of the command bunker, the American aircraft headed home to the Colin Powell and an early breakfast.

Aboard the Command Ship USS Mount McKinley (LCC-22), Five Hundred Nautical Miles South of Colombo, 0400 Hours, May 8th, 2016

"That's right, Jack," Admiral Connelly said over the conference phone to the JCS chairman. "We got them back safe and with all the targets hit, at least as far as the early BDA can tell. In addition, the two MPS squadrons arrive in the morning, and should be off-loading by midday. What do you hear on your end?"

The JCS chairman was quick and concise, having been up for almost two days holding the President's and National Security Advisor's hands during the short but brutal combat. "Well, what's left of the Indian government is asking for UN peacekeeping and nation-building teams to reform their government. Pakistan is doing the same thing. My guess is that we'll be able to pull you and your people out within a few weeks, when the permanent UN units arrive. The boss says to tell your people that they did an incredible job out here, and that he'll meet them when they get home next month."

"Thanks, Jack," said Connelly. "You know, he'll probably want to give me another star or some other damned thing and get me back home again on shore duty."

"He just might at that. You'll be back to that snoozer work you love so much," the JCS chairman replied. Unable to resist that perfect opening, he ended the conversation with, "Have a nice nap."

As it happened, Connelly slept for two straight days.

Stockholm, Sweden, February 14th, 2017

The Nobel Prize ceremonies were agreeably short this year, though the significance of the awards made the usually esoteric descriptions of the winners' work absolutely sparkle with excitement. The combined prizes in physics and chemistry went, of course, to Jill Jacobs, who was already a billionaire from her licensing advances on the superconducting-wire formula. She chose to donate the Nobel Prize money to her alma mater at New Mexico. The Peace Prize went jointly to Venkatesh Prasad, the Sinhalese Prime Minister, and his new Interior Minister, Arjuan Ranatunga, for their peaceful forging of a new nation. Both men had decided to donate their prizes, as well as significant funds from their overflowing national coffers, to disaster relief in India and Pakistan, an olive branch to their new customers to the north. Finally, the Nobel Committee had awarded a special peacekeeping award to Admiral Connelly, now the JCS Chairman in Washington, D.C. It was the first time that all of them had met, but their paths had already crossed in the currents of history, and between them they had created a better world.